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“What about you?” she asked.
“My company’s doing great.”
“Your family. What did they expect from you?”
“Ah, my family.” He sat back, stretching his arm along the back of the sofa.
The arm wasn’t around her, but it was close, and her body reacted with awareness. In fact, it was more than awareness. It was arousal. She took in his square chin, his softening eyes, his full, dark lips, the broad chest and firm abs beneath his black T-shirt. The temperature in the room seemed to move up a notch.
“Kassidy and me,” he said. “That’s all there is.”
“Your parents?”
“Mine are both dead. Kassidy’s mom is still alive, but, well, we don’t talk about her.”
“You’re an orphan?”
He cracked a smile. “I’m thirty years old. I was in my twenties when I lost each of my parents.”
Mila felt vaguely guilty for criticizing her own family. There wasn’t anything to criticize, really. The flaws lay with her, not with them.
“Do you miss them?” she asked.
“We’re not talking about me.”
She felt a whisper of a touch and realized it was on her hair. Troy was fondling her damp hair. Desire glowed in her belly, radiating out.
“Chilly?” he asked in a whisper.
“No.”
His touch grew bolder, his broad fingers running against her scalp, along the length of her hair. “You’re still damp.”
Her skin tingled at his touch. “I’m drying.”
He drew his hand through her hair again.
She knew she should push him away, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She was trapped by his blue-eyed gaze, mesmerized by the heat of his hand, enticed by his scent.
He cradled her cheek with his hand, shifting closer. His thigh brushed hers, and his thumb stroked the corner of her mouth.
She desperately wanted his kiss. She remembered every nuance of his mouth, the taste, the texture. Her imagination took flight. He’d press his lips to hers, kiss her deeply. His other hand would go to her waist, cradling her ribs, pulling her tight, or maybe slipping beneath the robe.
Her nipples tingled and tightened in response to the image. His fingertips were rough, just callused enough to be masculine. His hands were strong. He could pull her tight, envelope her in an overwhelming embrace. It would feel so good.
Then he spoke, and his voice was a low, pained growl, and she realized he hadn’t moved an inch. “We have to do something about this.”
She blinked him back into focus.
“I want you pretty bad,” he continued. “And you’re not shutting me down.”
Her lips parted. She didn’t want to admit it, but she couldn’t lie to him, either.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he rasped.
“We can’t,” she managed. She needed him to take her seriously.
“What’s the alternative?”
She didn’t have an answer.
“If we don’t,” he said, “we’ll go crazy.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She was already going crazy.
“We do it,” he stated. “We get it out of our system. We move on.”
She was tempted. Her body shifted toward him. She was inches, seconds from melting into his arms.
A boom reverberated through the apartment while white light flashed outside the windows.
In a split second, they were on the floor, Troy’s body covering hers as the apartment plunged into darkness.
“What?” she gasped against the press of his shoulder.
Troy raised his head. “Don’t move.” He pulled up.
She sat, blinking against the dark room. Through the windows, she could see city light a couple of blocks away. Whatever had happened, it was local.
“It was an explosion,” she said.
Was it a pipeline? A gas stove? A bomb?
“I’m going to check it out,” said Troy.
She came to her feet. “I’m coming with you.”
“Stay here.” It was a clear order. He’d already moved across the apartment, and a small flashlight beam shone in the foyer.
“I’m not some delicate flower.” No way, no how was she cowering up here while the men investigated the danger.
“You’re also not dressed.”
She tightened the robe around her. “So what, I’ll—”
The apartment door banged shut.
“—find something to wear,” she finished.
It only took her a moment to find the dining room table. She felt her way to her cell phone and turned on the flashlight.
Permission or not, she was borrowing some of Kassidy’s clothes.
Seven
Troy and Vegas were on the rain-swept street with the majority of the Pinion staff on duty. Edison was inside with a few other men, starting the backup generator and making sure Pinion wasn’t the target. Sirens whined, red and blue lights flashing in the dark as more police and firefighters arrived.
“A vehicle hit the electrical pole,” said Vegas. “They’re guessing a faulty wire, or the impact could have cracked the insulation on the transformer. Went up like a torch.”
“The driver took off?” Troy asked.
As he spoke, his gaze caught a flash of orange leggings and a glittering top. His first thought was Kassidy had arrived home. But then he saw it was Mila. She was soaking wet, talking to a man in the crowd.
“Probably drunk,” said Vegas. “Cops only heard from witnesses that it was a black SUV. Our security cameras might show more.”
Mila handed something to the man. With a sinking feeling, Troy realized it was probably a Pinion business card. She was representing Pinion Security looking like that. Fantastic.
“Anyone gunning for us right now?” He wasn’t particularly paranoid, but Pinion did gather its share of enemies.
“Nothing particular comes to mind,” said Vegas. “Most of the messy stuff is offshore.”
“That’s what I thought.” Troy watched Mila approach another man. He assumed she was introducing herself as a Pinion employee. “Good grief,” he muttered.
“What?” Vegas glanced around.
“I’ll be back.”
Troy strode through the puddles, rain falling on his face, the lingering fire from atop the power pole flickering against the wet ground. The strobes of the police cars put Mila into light and then shadow, light and then shadow.
Her hair was soaked. Her shoulders were bare. And her boots, still saturated from the obstacle course and shower, were unlaced and flopping around her ankles.
He shrugged out of his jacket as he approached, wrapping it around her shoulders as he spoke into her ear.
“I thought I told you to stay inside.”
“Thank you,” she said to the man, handing him a card. “If you remember anything else, please give me a call.”
“I’m investigating,” she told Troy as the man walked away.
“It was a hit-and-run. Both the police and station fifty-one are here investigating.”
“But who hit and who ran?”
“Put your arms in the sleeves.” He latched the bottom of the zipper.
She quickly stepped back. “Don’t treat me like a child.”
“We have a dress code.” He eyeballed her up and down. “You look ridiculous.”
She closed his jacket around herself. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“You had the choice to stay put upstairs.”
“This could have something to do with Kassidy.”
He paused for a moment, thinking his way through the incident. He wasn’t seeing it, but Mila had his curiosity going. “How?”
“Whoever hit the pole was distracted.”
“Or drunk.”
“Maybe. But it’s a Wednesday night, and there aren’t a lot of bars in the neighborhood. Someone might have been checking out the Pinion building to look for Kassidy, missed seeing the pole, set off the explosion then took off to protect his identity.”
“You’re reaching.” It was a common mistake, particularly among rookies—looking at evidence in a way to fit a pet theory.
“It’s a theory,” she said. “I’m not married to it. But I’m not discounting it, either.”
“You have evidence?”
“Two witnesses say it was a man. They describe him as a businessman.”
Troy waited. “That’s it?”
“There was a guy at the last gig. He was in a blazer. Something about him looked out of place.”
“And you’re thinking businessmen wear blazers.”
“Exactly.”
It was the first time Troy had been disappointed in her reasoning. He hadn’t always agreed with her, but he’d taken her for logical and intelligent.
“There are a lot of blazers in DC,” he said.
“And somebody’s stalking Kassidy.”
