“No, but I don’t require a bodyguard,” Declan said. “I’ll take precautions. I can look after myself.”
Jess snorted. He turned his attention to her as she raised one arched brow. “Well, you’re certainly doing a good job so far. And could you not have phoned up and canceled the meeting, Mr. McCabe?” Her tone was cool, bordering on insolent. “As a professional courtesy. Or don’t you think the people you employ deserve courtesy?”
“I promised my father I would see you, and I have.”
For the first time, shock flashed across her features, her eyes narrowing, a frown forming between her brows. She was astonishingly beautiful, he’d forgotten just how stunning she was—well not so much forgotten as pushed the knowledge from his mind. Now his brain flooded with memories of her, dancing, her hair wild about her face, drinking shots, daring him to match her, lying beneath him, her eyes almost black with passion as she fell apart for him. Shit. He needed to stop thinking like this. He needed to get his head together.
But however much he would like to deny it, a deep, slow burn of excitement was starting low down in his belly. He wanted to push her, make her acknowledge him, but maybe not just yet. First, he needed to pull himself together. Whatever happened next, he planned to be in control of it.
“Your father arranged this?” Jess said, and he could hear the disbelief in her voice and something else.
He gave a bland smile. “He worries about me. He has my best interests at heart.”
“I bet he does,” she muttered, and this time her comrade did turn to look at her.
“Do we have a problem here, Jess?”
Declan shot a glance at the other man. He didn’t like the familiar way he addressed Jessica. They obviously knew each other well. How well?
“Of course we don’t have a problem,” Jess said. Her tone should have been conciliatory instead, it was…sarcastic. “Mr. McCabe is the one with the problem,” she continued. “Someone wants him dead, but I’m sure that’s not a first. Probably lots of people have wanted Mr. McCabe dead. But as he said, he’s a big boy, and he can look after himself. And if not, I’m sure his daddy can do it for him.”
God, she was a bitch. He liked it.
Her colleague obviously gave up at that point. He relaxed back in his seat arms folded across his chest and watched them.
“Tell me, Mr. Grantham, what’s your background?” Declan waved a hand toward Jess to include her in the question. How the hell had she become involved in security work? He would have thought it was the last type of career she would pursue. Really, he couldn’t imagine her settling down to any job—she’d been too wild. But she must be good, otherwise why would his father have employed the company—he only employed the best. He couldn’t have known Jess worked for them. No way would his father throw them together again, when he’d gone to such lengths to push them apart.
“I’m ex-army,” Grantham said. “We both are.”
Army?
No way. His disbelief must have shown because Grantham continued. “Most of the employees at Knight Security have a military background.”
He wanted to ask more but it would look weird. He’d get a security check run on her once they’d left. He intended to discover everything about what Jessica Bauer was up to right now. Had she orchestrated this meeting? Maybe she’d had him shot herself, so he’d need a bodyguard… His mind raced ahead of itself, making up more and more far-fetched conspiracy theories.
Jess looked bored now. Staring out of the window, she tapped her foot on the ground, but a small tic twitched in the side of her cheek. She turned her head slightly and looked him in the face. “Are we done here?”
As she rose to her feet, her jacket swung open, and he caught sight of the shoulder holster and pistol nestled under her arm. Shit, she was for real. Why did the idea of Jess and a gun together make a shiver of apprehension run through him?
Because she hated him. She’d told him so at their last meeting in no uncertain terms. Shouted the words from her hospital bed as he’d turned and walked away from her.
“Mr. McCabe,” Grantham said. “I think you should reconsider this. Maybe you aren’t feeling quite yourself. You could be in shock from the shooting yesterday.”
Oh, he was in shock all right. But not from the shooting. “If I come to my senses, I’ll be sure to call.”
Jess gave a tight smile. “That will be nice. We’ll look forward to it.” She turned to Grantham. “Come on, Dave, let’s not waste anymore of Mr. McCabe’s valuable time. I’m sure he has important bits of paper to play with.”
Grantham was back to frowning. He glanced from Declan to Jess and back again, but then gave a shrug. “I think you’re making a mistake. But what do I know.” He rose to his feet and held out his hand. Declan stood as well and shook it. “Call us if you change your mind.”
He sat back down as he watched them walk away. Jess moved with a long stride, her hands shoved in the pockets of her pants, her ponytail swinging. Her hair was longer than it used to be; he was guessing loose it would touch her ass.
An image of that ass naked flashed up in his mind. Smooth and perfect and pointing up at him, thighs parted so he could see the damp blond curls peeking out. His dick twitched. Then the image was overlaid with another memory, and before he could think it was a bad idea, he called out to her, “Jess.”
About to open the door, she stopped short—maybe it was the use of her first name—and turned slowly. Her eyes were narrowed. “What?”
He grinned. “Do you still have the tattoo?”
Chapter Three
“Fucking asshole,” Jess muttered and slammed the door behind her.
Whirling around, she reached for the door handle, meaning to go back in there and find just what he was playing at.
“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Dave asked from beside her.
“No.” She forced her hand back to her side. No way was she going back until she had cooled down.
“Come on, Jess. I wouldn’t say you have the best of attitudes with clients, but even for you that was over the top.”
She opened her mouth to tell him to mind his own bloody business, then snapped it closed again. It was his business, but that didn’t mean she was going to tell him anything. What could she tell him anyway? She had no clue what was going on. “He started it.”