His Christmas Assignment. Lisa Childs
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href="#ulink_ee20bf77-c276-5006-9cd6-69ac87c9071f">Chapter 4
At that ski cabin in Northern Michigan, Candace had gotten her quota of quiet. She might have needed it then—the boring to outweigh the excitement she’d had and left. Now she needed noise, and it had to be loud enough to drown out the voice in her head that kept calling her an idiot.
She had found it at the downtown club. The music was so loud that it wasn’t heard; it was felt. It throbbed low in her body, beating as hard as her heart. But her heart hadn’t started beating that hard—that frantically—until she’d seen him.
On some level, she’d probably known Garek would be here—since Viktor Chekov owned the club. It was probably why she’d gone home and changed after she’d awkwardly stumbled into the middle of that conversation at the Payne Protection Agency. She’d told herself that she’d just wanted to look her best to make herself feel better.
But she’d wanted to make him feel bad.
As if Garek would care...
He hadn’t sought her out. And now she knew why. He’d reunited with the girl he’d loved since they’d been teenagers. Or so Logan thought. Stacy had denied her husband’s claim even though it was apparently what Garek had confided in him.
Logan had broken that confidence because he hadn’t wanted her wasting her time or her heart again—like she’d wasted it on him.
Yet here she was, wasting her time some more—coming down to a club to torture herself with the sight of Garek and his girlfriend. At least her martini was good. Over the rim of the glass, Candace studied them. They were a distance away since they sat at some raised-up, roped-off table near the dance floor and she sat at the crowded bar.
She’d been lucky someone had given up his seat to her. He’d even bought her martini. He stood near her now, his mouth near her ear as he tried talking to her. She couldn’t hear anything, and it had nothing to do with the music. It had everything to do with that voice in her head—the one that continued calling her names.
Tori Chekov was as beautiful as Candace had suspected she’d be. Petite. Curvy. With long curly blond hair. No one would treat this woman like one of the guys—or a buddy.
But Garek...
He wasn’t flirting and joking as he usually did. Instead he seemed tense, on edge—more cognizant of his surroundings than of the woman who sat beside him. He acted as if he was on a job—not a date.
But he looked like he could be dressed for a date. In a black shirt and pants, he looked dangerously sexy. His blond hair gleamed like gold under the strobe lights from the dance floor.
In Candace’s mind flashed the image of how she’d seen him last, lying naked in her bed, moonlight gleaming off his bare skin. He was almost too beautiful to be a man, but he was masculine, too—all toned muscle and chiseled edges.
How had she left him lying there alone? How had she just walked away?
But she hadn’t just walked. She’d grabbed her half-packed suitcase, and she’d run.
Garek continued his visual surveillance of the club—his attention on everything but the woman beside him. She knew he was assessing the entire building for possible threats like the vigilant bodyguard he was. In that assessment, he turned and his gaze met hers.
The air between them vibrated like the bass of the music. There was an electricity—a connection so overwhelming that she had that urge to run again.
And this time she needed to keep running.
* * *
“Damn it!” the words slipped involuntarily through Garek’s lips as he leaped to his feet.
One of Chekov’s goons reached beneath his jacket for his weapon. “Is there a problem? A threat?”
Tori reached out and grasped his arm. “What’s wrong, Garek?”
He shook his head and lied, “No problem...”
But he had a problem. She sat at the bar, her legs endlessly long and sexy beneath the short hem of her strapless dress. It was red and tight and so damn sexy that it was drawing every man in the club to her.
One of those men placed his hand on her bare shoulder, and Garek ground his teeth together as jealousy and rage coursed through him. He wanted to break every finger in that man’s hand for having the audacity to touch his woman.
Candace was his.
But he couldn’t stake his claim—not without risking her life when Garek put Viktor Chekov behind bars. Because even from behind bars Viktor would be dangerous—maybe even more dangerous because he would be out for vengeance.
And if he wanted to hurt Garek...
He was already hurting, every muscle tense with desire and fear for Candace. He had never wanted any woman the way he wanted her. And making love with her once had only increased the intensity of that desire to madness. His body throbbed with the need to be with her again—to be inside her—because now he knew how amazing it was. How amazing they were together...
“You want me to get rid of her?” a voice in his ear asked.
He touched his fingers, which shook slightly, to his earpiece.
“What?” he asked, fear gripping his heart in a tight fist.
“I can get rid of her,” the man offered.
Because the danger was real, he thought immediately she would be gotten rid of for good—forever. But then he remembered the man talking to him wasn’t one of Chekov’s hired goons. It was his brother’s voice in his ear, offering to help—not hurt.
Not that Candace wouldn’t get hurt. Hell, knowing Candace, Milek might get hurt, too, if he tried to get rid of her. The woman wouldn’t go anywhere unless she wanted to. She was stubborn and strong.
So why had she left him that night?
He wanted to know. Had to know...
“I’ll handle her,” Garek said, although he doubted he was any more capable than Milek of getting Candace to go anywhere she didn’t want to. As a former soldier and cop, the woman had skills. “I need you to watch Tori.”
Her hand tightened on his arm. “Nobody needs to watch me,” she said, her tone as waspish as it had been since he’d taken over as her bodyguard.
She hadn’t welcomed him back into her life. In fact he wasn’t sure from whom he had more to fear: her or her father. Viktor had accepted his explanation for why he’d stayed away after he’d been paroled. Tori wouldn’t even let him explain. She had barely spoken to him over the past two weeks—which was probably fortunate for him, given how nasty she sounded when she did speak to him.
“It’s for your protection,” Garek reminded her.
She pulled her hand away from his arm and sat back in her chair. He didn’t know why she’d wanted to come here. She didn’t dance. She didn’t drink. She didn’t even seem to enjoy the music. Hell, she didn’t seem to enjoy anything anymore. But then, had she ever?
He wasn’t sure if he ever remembered Tori Chekov being happy—even when they’d been younger. He hadn’t had the chance to be a kid; his father and uncle had recruited him into the family business at a young age. And then when his father had gone to prison, he’d gone to work for Tori’s father. She hadn’t had to work, though. Ever.
Her father made sure she had everything she wanted. So why wasn’t she happy?
But then Milek—finally—approached the table, and she actually smiled. “It’s great to see you. Come sit with me,” she implored him.
Milek slid past Garek to take the chair he’d vacated, and his brow was furrowed in bewilderment. Maybe Tori’s warm greeting had confused him since she’d never been that friendly to him before. Or maybe