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“I’m surprised you would be assigned to my security detail.” I kept my eyes on Luke as I dug in my purse for Timothy’s keys hooked onto a pewter mailbox keyring. No way was I going to let Mr. Super Profiler with the charming freckles and thick-as-hell hair know he had me quaking in my pumps. He might be the kind of man who made my girlie parts tingle in all the best ways, but he didn’t need to know he had that much power over me.
Luke seemed to have the same idea of not looking away, since his gaze never left mine. “Technically speaking, you don’t have a security detail yet. But you’re right. Once everything’s official, I’m going to be your new best friend.”
Oh, boy. “That doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Why’s that?”
“A profiler is a specialist, correct? I mean, that’s how they’re portrayed on TV.”
“I’m definitely considered a specialist.”
“Generally speaking, I would think that a specialist like you wouldn’t also be the rough and tumble, gun-toting kind of guy one usually needs as a bodyguard.”
His smile became downright lethal. “Are you looking me in the eye and telling me you don’t think I can keep you safe?”
Eek. “I didn’t say that.” I changed my face as I stopped by Timothy, shooting for contrition as I hit the key fob. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“Really?” He came to stand so close to me I could smell a hint of his cologne—musky. Woodsy. Surprisingly yummy. I’d never wanted to lick a man more. “I wonder. Do you really think you hurt my feelings?”
“Again with the odd questions. What’s the point of them, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“You’re very polite,” he said after a moment, and whether it was an answer to my question or some rando comment, I had no clue. “Between you and me, I fucking hate good manners. To a profiler’s point of view manners are a lie, just white-noise garbage people have been programmed to use to hide what they’re really feeling and thinking. You should know I’m not going to use politeness with you, Eden Steadfast, and I’m inviting you to do the same with me. Maybe then I’ll be able to get a better read of you.”
Well, that sounded terrible. “A better read ofme? Shouldn’t you be trying to get a read of my stalker?”
“Stalkers are easy enough—loners with bad social skills, obsessive compulsive tendencies, narcissistic or other borderline personality disorders, blah, blah, blah.” He waved a vague hand as if swatting away a pest. “Considering the broad swath of internet-stalking this person’s done—and all the physical evidence you’ve been so careful to preserve—we’ll nail down who your stalker is soon enough. No, the unusual subject here isn’t the stalker. It’syou.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck… “Forgive me, but I’m not a danger—”
“Don’t be polite,” he said again, looming even closer. God, his eyes were so blue. Why couldn’t I look away from them? “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not a danger to anyone,” I plowed ahead grimly, ignoring him. A polite veneer saved the world from my true face. He should be thankful it was there. “Why would you focus on boring old me? How is this part of your job in keeping me safe?”
“It’s not,” came the shocking reply. “Andboring old youendured being relentlessly stalked for weeks without you calling for help because… why? You didn’t want any bad publicity for your father and HEG?”
I loved it when people answered their own questions. “Exactly.”
“But you and your father’s lawyer both said you haven’t been involved with HEG for years.” A faint breeze teased a tendril of hair loose from the chignon I’d twisted it into, and he reached out to gently stroke it behind my ear. “That can’t be the answer.”
I stared at him, stunned. Not only had Quantico Boy laid a trap for me—which I’d swan-dived right into—but then he’d gone and touched me in a way that felt like a caress. What was I supposed to do with that? “Uh, I’m still Tru Steadfast’s daughter, Mr. Keyes—”
“Luke.”
“Luke.” That was nice. Kind of rolled off the tongue in a breathy rush. Easy to say if a woman happened to be reaching the height of pleasure as he plunged his cock into her again and again… “Um. Light-giving.”
“What?”
“Your name. It means light-giving. Either that, or a man from Lucania.” I offered him a tentative, let’s-be-friends smile, all the while trying to wrestle the image of Luke Keyes fucking a woman like an award-winning porn star. “If you and your coworkers can protect me from whoever is harassing me, and maybe even figure out who it is, I’ll be convinced that you’ve brought your light-giving abilities in to save the day. It would appear that you were well-named.”
He seemed to chew on that for a few seconds. “Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Sorry, I lost the thread.” I hadn’t, really. I was just hoping to distract him with a fun little bit of Luke-centric information. “Unless you’re from Lucania?”
“Born and bred right here in Chicago, actually, and the question is why didn’t you shout for help immediately when you realized you were being stalked? And don’t tell me it was because you didn’t want the publicity.”
“But that’s exactly why I tried to cope with it all on my own. I may not be a part of HEG anymore, but I’ll always be Tru Steadfast’s daughter. Whatever happens to me invariably happens to him, at least from the media’s point of view.”
His expression remained unmoved. “Really?”
