Taming the Lone Wolff. Janice Maynard
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“I’m always up early,” he said, his throat like sandpaper.
Winnie hovered, straightening a knickknack, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle from the spread. “I’ll have someone bring you coffee first thing. You’re welcome to have breakfast here or in the dining room.”
The longer she lingered, the harder he got. Hopefully, she didn’t notice, because it wouldn’t do for her to get the wrong idea. He had never allowed his professional life and his personal life to intersect. Even though taking Winnie to Wolff Mountain made sense, and even though he would be the one taking her there because it was his family, he had never had a relationship with a client, and he wouldn’t start now. “I’ll be fine, Winnie. Good night.”
Her face fell as she registered his clear dismissal. “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” It took everything he had to watch her leave the room and not stop her. When she was gone, he sank down on the bed, head in his hands. He’d never taken on a case he couldn’t handle. This couldn’t be the first. He wouldn’t let it.
Four
Winnie was aroused. As ill-timed and unusual as the symptoms were, she recognized them. Her skin was damp, her thighs trembled and the butterflies pitching to and fro in her stomach weren’t from nerves. She wanted Larkin Wolff. This was a complication she had never anticipated when she set out to hire a security expert.
She’d been so upset in recent weeks about the stupid article that she hadn’t allowed herself to remember the past. Now that omission came back to haunt her. What did she know about men, after all? One nasty encounter just after her parents’ deaths had put her emotions into deep freeze. She didn’t want to feel like a sexual being. Acknowledging such vulnerability scared her to death.
Though Larkin was here to protect her, some deep survivalist instinct told her he was dangerous. And yet, paradoxically, that very danger called out to her. Suggesting that she might abandon her lifelong persona as a good girl and throw caution to the wind.
The evening passed with agonizing slowness. She was uncomfortably aware of Larkin’s presence mere steps down the hall. So accustomed was she to being alone in the house at night, she was distracted by the novel sense of companionship. After a couple of hours of legitimate work, as well as sixty minutes of guilty-pleasure TV, she took a shower and prepared for bed.
Though she had not heard a single sound from Larkin’s suite, his presence was loud. She imagined him walking around the room…or reading…perhaps stripping off his clothes and letting them lay where they fell as he strode into the bathroom and ran water in the Jacuzzi. Imagining a naked Larkin Wolff was not conducive to sleeping.
It was a cool night with no air-conditioning needed. But her skin was hot to the touch, and perspiration dampened her pillowcase. Grumbling at no one in particular, she climbed out of bed and flung open a window, leaning out to inhale the fresh, scented night air. At last, with the lacy sheers swaying in a light breeze, she returned to her bed and fell into a restless slumber.
Sometime around 2:00 a.m. the gentle beep of the alarm at her bedside went off. She jerked awake, fumbling to glance at the readout. Probably nothing more than a bird or squirrel on a windowsill. It had happened before. But she always checked. Always. Because she knew firsthand what it meant to be scared and helpless. She’d made it through her own dark days unscathed. Thank God. And that deliverance gave her a moral imperative to pay it forward.
After shoving her feet into flip-flops, she grabbed her gun from its hiding place, tucked a small flashlight into her pocket and tiptoed down the hall. Larkin’s quarters were silent. No hint of light beneath the door. He was probably sound asleep.
For one brief moment, she contemplated waking him. After all, she had hired Larkin to deal with intruders. But the alarms were extremely sensitive and often went off for no good reason. It would take her only minutes to dash down to the safe house, do a quick reconnoiter and come back to bed. Besides, the thought of waking Larkin made her shiver. Seeing him all sleep-rumpled and sexy might be a temptation she’d rather not face.
She wasn’t stupid, though. If anything at all looked dangerous or out of place, she’d back off immediately and get him to help her.
The grass was chilly and wet against her toes. She moved quickly but silently, sure of the familiar terrain. Overhead, the Milky Way arced its way across the sky, peopled with a billion stars. It was a night for lovers and romance. But as usual, she was alone.
When she reached her destination, she slowed, listening intently. Only if someone actually opened a window or door would the residents be awakened. Otherwise, Winnie dealt with the nuisance of the very sensitive alarms. Once, a groundhog had begun chewing through one of the wires, and all hell had broken loose. Even now, she remembered in vivid detail the looks of sleep-muddled terror on the faces of women and children in her care.
She moved covertly, fairly certain no danger lurked, but taking precautions, just in case. As she neared the back of the brick house, a shadow melted into the darkness. She froze. Was she seeing things, or had someone actually moved?
The mournful hoot of a nearby owl made the hair stand up on her arms. In the darkest hour of the night, it was easy to let an active imagination run wild. With her hand fixed on her gun, she inched her way forward. The safety was on. She wasn’t stupid. But she could get off a shot quickly if she needed to.
She took one more step. In an instant, hard masculine arms came around her from behind, her gun was wrestled from her grip and a big hand clamped down over her mouth. Her muffled scream was nothing more than a whisper in the night. She fought wildly, trying to free her arms.
What must have been only seconds played out in agonizing slow motion.
And then a very familiar voice rumbled at her ear. “Shut up, damn it. You’ll wake the whole house.”
Her body went limp in relief. Larkin dragged her like a rag doll to the garden shed at the rear of the building. Pulling her inside, he shut the door and yanked the chain to illuminate a single lightbulb, all the while cursing a blue streak as he checked the safety on her gun and laid it aside.
He glared at her. “What in the hell are you doing?” he demanded, veins standing out in his neck. “I could have killed you.”
Fury replaced the knowledge that she wasn’t in the hands of an ax murderer. “The alarm went off in the house. I told you I’m the one who checks on it.”
His eyebrows rose to his hairline. “You hired me. Remember?” The thumb he jabbed toward his chest emphasized his anger.
Where did he get off chastising her? “I didn’t know you were prowling around.”
“I told you I’d take care of things.”
“Tomorrow. You said tomorrow.” They were both yelling in hoarse, muted syllables that nevertheless escalated in volume.
He scraped his hands over his head. “My team is already here. We were running some preliminary drills to see how much we have to do to lock this place down.”
“You should have told me. You should have introduced them. These women and children are my responsibility. I won’t be kept in the dark.” She was so mad, she shoved him in the chest. It was like pushing against granite. Yanking her hands back, she wrapped her arms around her waist, trembling wildly.
Larkin stared straight at her, remorse in his gaze. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I should have. It won’t happen again. In my defense, none of my clients has ever been as invested in the process as you are. I’m sorry I didn’t keep you informed.”
His genuine contrition deflated her indignation. “Was it you who set off the alarm?”
He nodded. “Probably. To be honest, I assumed you had turned off the monitor in your bedroom now that I’m here. I was intent on bringing my people up to speed or I would have mentioned it.”
Adrenaline winnowed away, leaving her spent and shaky. “I thought you