‘After you.’ He stood aside. ‘Or did you want me to go first?’ He ground his teeth in frustration. Could he not even decide something that simple anymore?
Jemma appraised him for a long moment. ‘I think I’d like you to be first.’
No, he wasn’t imagining her double entendre. But it was different; her insinuations were laced with an intelligent gravity, not just sexual hunger. His grin returned.
‘Really? You’ve not had anyone … here … before?’
She chuckled and waved him toward the stairs. A light turned on at their approach, then another on the landing. Jemma handed him the keys and he unlocked the door, and stepped back for her to enter. She hesitated, and he was surprised to realise the extent of her nervousness.
‘Your dad mentioned there’ve been three notes,’ he said, locating a light switch by running his hand down the wall.
‘Of course he did,’ she said, her dark eyes flashing resigned annoyance.
‘What did they say?’
Jemma pulled a face. ‘Generic intimidation. “You’re being watched. You’re not as safe as you think you are.” And the last one was “three strikes, you’re out”.’ She put the fabric bag on a glass-topped table.
‘What were the strikes?’
‘That’s just it: I have absolutely no idea. I’ve not done anything of note to tick anyone off. Not lately, anyway.’ Her grin suggested she derived some enjoyment out of infuriating people. ‘One of my clients had been a bit off, but I thought we’d moved on from that. Guess I’ll find out on Monday.’
‘You’re seeing the client then?’
‘Meeting with my managing director.’ Jemma opened the bar fridge, leaning down to look inside. She opened a bottle of milk and sniffed at it. ‘Hope you like your “something hot” black and in a teabag.’
‘I don’t need a drink.’
‘I do,’ she said. She left the carton in the fridge, sighing as she straightened. ‘I’ve been tag-teaming on a case withthe other barrister, Rohan. But we have very different ideas on what will bring the best outcome for our client.’
‘Is that normal? That you don’t agree?’
She placed a glass kettle in the sink and flicked the tap on. ‘Typically we’d argue it out, then move ahead with a cohesive strategy. The problem is, while I’ve not been in the office—actually, before that—Rohan’s been playing his own game. And he just happens to be the boss’s nephew.’
As they chatted, Hamish glanced around the apartment with more interest than when he’d briefly been here before. The colour palette was boringly restrained, with inoffensive off-white walls and austere furniture. The kitchen was functional: black subway tiles on the small splashback, silver appliances, smooth white countertops. He assumed the single door on the left of the open-plan space led to the bedroom—but dragged his mind away from there immediately. The opposite wall boasted the only colour in the room: the rich, muted tones of the leather-bound spines of what he assumed were legal books seeming to lend credibility to their heavy contents. There were no plants, no artwork, no sign of the personality of the owner. No heart.
Jemma searched through the cupboards, eventually locating a box of teabags. She shook it dolefully, holding it against her ear and pulling a face before tossing it toward the chrome bin. She poured two glasses of water instead and handed him one.
His fingers touched hers briefly, but he snatched his hand back. ‘Seems like you don’t spend much time here?’
‘Don’t know what gives you that idea.’ She chuckled. ‘But you’re right. I’m at work most of the time, and I get my coffee from the cafe downstairs.’ She widened her eyes theatrically. ‘So I guess I have you here under false pretences.’
He frowned, trying to make the link. Her brain was so agile, her mouth so fast, if he let his guard down for a moment he’d fall behind.
‘I can’t deliver on the “something hot” Iinitiallyhad in mind,’ Jemma clarified.
He took a sip of water, hoping to buy some time to slow his pulse. Jemma’s eyes danced with merriment and he recalled her assertion that she only ever said precisely what she meant. Yet, as appealing as that lack of subterfuge was, Jemma had been outspoken about the fact that she viewed men as nothing more than accessories—and he suspected that the more he got to know Jemma di Angelis, the less he’d be willing to settle for that role.
He held up his glass. ‘I’m more of a coffee-in-the-morning guy, anyway.’
She quirked a brow.
‘There’s a time and a place for everything.’
She narrowed her eyes on him for a long moment, then nodded. ‘Interesting.’
He needed to keep control of the situation. ‘So, now I know you’re home safe, I’ll get back myself.’
She frowned, then a wicked smile curved her lips. ‘You’re new to this bodyguard business, aren’t you?’
