And kissing Jake was not an option.
Chapter One
Thursday night was movie night at Jake’s penthouse apartment and had been for most of the four years she’d known him. Kim didn’t think movies had featured much in Jake’s life before then—he usually didn’t sit still long enough, so she liked to believe she’d brought a little culture into his world.
Well, as much “culture” as one could attribute to a Terminator movie. Jake was too serious and needed someone to get him to relax and just enjoy doing nothing.
That was her job, and she was glad for a chance to get back on a normal footing with him since her foiled break-in attempt last week. She’d managed to convince herself that the almost-kiss had been a figment of her overactive imagination.
Of course, Jake wouldn’t kiss her—why would he?
All the same, things had been a little weird. And if she’d just heard him correctly, their relationship was still far from normal.
“You expect me to wear a what?” She’d been admiring the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows—the whole of London spread out below her. Now, she spun to face him. “Are you serious?”
He looked serious. But you never could tell with Jake—he’d perfected the art of deadpan long ago.
Lounging back in his huge black leather sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him, he returned her scrutiny, his dark-blue eyes examining her in minute detail. Kim shifted from foot to foot, never quite comfortable with the full force of his concentration focused on her.
Jake caught the movement and quirked his lips in obvious amusement. She hated that.
“Oh, yeah,” he drawled. “I’m deadly serious. The job came in last thing today. It’s a favor for a friend, and there were no other female operatives available.”
“Well, thank you for making me feel like a last resort. And where exactly do you expect me to get a dress?”
He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I don’t suppose there’s much point in suggesting your wardrobe?”
Kim raised an eyebrow; the question wasn’t even worthy of an answer.
“I thought not. That being the case, a dress shop would be the obvious choice. Don’t worry.” He held up a hand to preempt her next argument. “You can put it on the expense account. I don’t expect you to purchase such a superfluous item out of your own pocket.” He gave her another long look. “The assignment is security detail at a fashion party. I want you to blend in. So absolutely nothing in camouflage or khaki.”
Kim plucked at the cotton of her khaki combat pants. She thought they were pretty nifty, and teamed with Doc Martens and a black T-shirt, her outfit was both comfortable and durable. However, she had to agree that an element of glamour was missing.
From Jake’s expression, he thought so as well. “Actually,” he continued, “it’s probably best if I come shopping with you.”
“You don’t trust me, do you?”
“Kim, I’d trust you with my life. But with something as complicated and contrary to your nature as buying a dress? No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
A warm glow washed over her. Jake trusted her with his life? She couldn’t believe how good the first sentence made her feel. Good enough to let the second pass, anyway.
“Okay, I think it’s above and beyond the call of duty, but I’ll come peacefully. But”—she glanced down at herself ruefully—“I suspect you’re going to have your work cut out for you trying to make me look glamorous.”
Still, she wouldn’t turn down any job that might prove she deserved a promotion.
Jake had originally employed her as receptionist in the security company he’d set up shortly after he’d left the army. That had been four years now, and right from the start, the actual security work had fascinated Kim. The thought of learning to fight, to defend herself, sent a thrill of excitement through her. She’d taken classes in mixed martial arts, trained every day until she could hold her own with just about anyone in the company—except Jake.
She had one particularly pleasant daydream of coming across her ex-husband, Michael, and flooring him with a smooth kung fu–like kick. The thought always had the power to cheer her up.
She sank into the far corner of the sofa, unlaced her boots, and kicked them off. “So, do I get to wear a gun on Saturday?” she asked hopefully.
“No, you get to wear a dress.”
“Super.” Kim hadn’t expected a positive answer anyway. It wasn’t fair—she was the best shot in the company. Jake knew that, but he still refused to promote her to that last elusive grade, the grade that would allow her to carry a gun and do the more dangerous work. Instead, he’d set that damned test: break into his office and steal the contents of his safe, and then he’d consider it. Unfortunately, Jake used his office to test out new security gadgets.
But she wouldn’t give up yet.
She didn’t actually want to shoot anyone… Well, unless it was her ex. But something was driving her to prove to Jake she was ready to be seen as an equal. It would be the final proof that she was in control of her life.
“I’ll get in there in the end, you know.”
His lips curled into a slow smile. “Never going to happen.”
“I would have gotten in last time if you hadn’t been sneaky and pretended to go home.”
“Maybe, but I’m thinking of getting a retinal or fingerprint scanner fitted—virtually impregnable.”
She considered him, her gaze lingering on his long fingers, then his dark-blue eyes. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’d need a body part, and I’d hate to permanently maim you just to get a promotion.”
He grinned. “But you’d do it?”
“Hell, yeah. I deserve that grade.”
Curling her legs under her, she tugged absently on the end of her ponytail. It occurred to her—once she overcame her natural antipathy at being told what to do—that changing her image fit quite neatly with her own plans. Though she hadn’t considered anything quite as drastic as a dress, just something to make her appear a little more feminine.
She’d been on edge since that night in his office. For some reason, after four years of never thinking about it, she couldn’t get sex off her mind. Eventually, she’d accepted that it was merely hormones—an itch that needed scratching. And by scratching it, she’d not only get rid of the itch, but would also have the final proof that she was totally over her asshole of an ex-husband.