GABE BOLTED AS SOONAS they pulled into the lot at Southerland Security, barely waiting for the SUV to come to a stop.
“Great to meet you, Sophie. If my brother starts to wear on your nerves, let me know and Berlin and I can make space for you at our place.” He gave her a wink and then he was gone, jogging across the lot to a Porsche Cayman. The flashy car fit him, the same way Emerson’stake no prisonersSUV fit him.
“Is Berlin his wife?” she asked when she and Emerson were alone in the car again. She’d been so caught up in everything that happened to her, she hadn’t thought to ask Gabe any personal questions.
“Not yet, but soon I hope. If my brother’s smart, he’ll lock that down before she realizes what an asshole he is. Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.
“I’ve heard that word before too.” Honestly, where did he get the impression she’d grown up in a convent?
“Old habits. He’s not really an asshole.” This time he gave the word an extra punch and shot her a cocky grin, reminding her that he and Gabe really were brothers. “He’s just a better man with her than without.” He sounded surprised, and she wondered if he’d just realized that about his brother and the woman he loved.
Before she had a chance to think any more about it, they pulled into the lower level of the garage attached to the Southerland Security building. The dimly lit space felt cavernous, which only served to remind her how alone they were. Without Gabe’s teasing and chatter to fill up the space, there was no buffer between them and the man beside her seemed to somehow grow larger every minute. She wasn’t scared of him—not in the traditional sense anyway. She trusted Emerson more than people she’d known for years. More than anyone since her brother left for college and came back in a coffin. She had no doubt he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe. He’d already proved his willingness to stand between her and a bullet.
What she didn’t know was who would protect her heart. Aside from thevictim saviorco-dependence thing she seemed to be rocking, she was having a hard time ignoring the way her ovaries jumped to attention every time he got close to her, a feeling made stronger by the fact that he seemed to be taking up every bit of available space in the SUV and her thoughts. She shouldn’t complain. Thinking about the way Emerson’s black Southerland Security polo fit his broad shoulders and spanned his hard chest was a thousand times better than obsessing about whoever took a shot at her.
Emerson hurried around to her side of the car and opened the door for her. She still wasn’t used to the attention. In her experience, chivalry was dead, buried, and memorialized on hand-chiseled stone tablets. The two of them did this weird kind of shuffling dance around each other, making her even more aware of his strength, of the warmth of his body. He reached in the backseat for the pizza, close enough for her to smell the clean citrus scent of his aftershave. She sucked in a breath, resisting the urge to lean in and sniff him, and waited until he stood, the box balanced in one hand and her overnight bag in the other.
“At least let me carry the pizza.” She felt silly walking beside him empty-handed while he balanced both the box and her bag. “If you drop the pizza, one of us is going to have to cook, and you do not want it to be me.”
“I’m not going to drop it.” He maneuvered around one of the concrete columns, balancing the box like a waiter during the dinner rush.
As they approached the elevator, he glanced in her direction and she held out her hands. “Give me the box, Southerland. You can deal with everything else.”
He hesitated, and she could practically see the options rolling across his face. He finally held out the box, but she didn’t have any doubt that he could have just as easily managed the elevator and anything else that came their way without any help from her.
“You don’t have much of a commute, do you?”
Emerson followed her into the elevator and punched the button for the fourth floor.
“I picked the building because it had a mixture of commercial and residential space. I’m not the only one who lives on site and when we grow in the next couple of years, there will be room to expand. The second floor is primarily vacant. The realtor’s been showing the office space in the front half, but there hasn’t been much interest in the back. It would make a great information security lab.”
His expression shifted as he talked about his business, not softening exactly. It was more like he lit up from the inside. She didn’t have any trouble seeing the passion that drove him. He wore competence like a custom-made suit, and it only made him sexier. She didn’t have any doubt Emerson Southerland would be good—hell, spectacular—at anything he set his mind to.
The elevator opened onto a normal hallway, but the door they stopped in front of was anything but ordinary. She could tell just by looking that it was made of sturdier stuff than the flimsy wooden door that marked the entrance to her apartment, and the touchpad lock looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. He keyed in a seven-digit code and pushed the door open, waiting for her to enter before following.
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting from Emerson’s home, but it wasn’t the eclectic blend of objects and furnishings stretched out in front of her. A deep-brown leather sofa that would have looked at home in an old school gentleman’s club took up the most real estate. It was flanked by a pair of hand-carved wooden tables that looked like they came from Bali or Indonesia, but they wore a patina that made it clear they were authentic and not some Pottery Barn reproduction.
A huge flat-screen TV hung on the wall opposite the sofa and the rest of the wall space was covered with a combination of strange tribal masks and an abstract piece that reminded her of work done by Aboriginal artists. The shelves taking up part of the other wall held groups of bottles and small pottery bowls. It was the kind of collection that happened over time, not some designer-created tableau, and everything about it charmed her. It felt more like walking into a wizard’s private studio than the apartment of the head of a security firm. The state-of-the-art gaming and entertainment system along with the electronic lock were the only indication of Emerson’s work.
Seeing the game system reminded her she knew something he didn’t. She wondered what he’d say when he realized they’d been playing together online for months. She probably ought to tell him, but something made her hold onto the information for the time being.
“You have a great place,” she said, soaking in the surroundings.
“Thanks. It’s kind of a mishmash of things I’ve collected over the years,” he said, sounding sheepish for the first time since they met.
She could get used to an uncertain Emerson. It eased the lines on his face and made him look younger. Not that he seemed old to her. It was more that he seemed to carry the weight of everything around him on his shoulders all the time. It bugged her that she’d contributed to that burden, but she couldn’t see an easy way to eliminate it. Even if she insisted on staying at her place and stopped having any contact with him, she didn’t think it would stop him from caring. He didn’t strike her as the kind of man to let go once he’d made something his concern.
“Here, let me take that.” He’d set her bag somewhere while she’d been ogling his apartment. Taking the pizza box, he motioned toward the sofa. “Have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”
“A beer would be great if you’ve got it.” She didn’t drink much but her nerves were running on overload. It would feel good to have something to take the edge off. She relaxed back against the leather, wondering if it would be bad form to kick off her shoes so she could curl her feet up underneath her.Better not.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea with the concussion...” He took in her expression and let the rest of what he’d been about to say trail off. “Beer it is. I’ve got a decent IPA and a grapefruit shandy. There’s probably an amber or something darker left over from the last time Gabe stopped by.”
She should have known a man with tastes as refined as the apartment suggested would have more than Foster’s in his refrigerator.
“The shandy, please. Between the grapefruit and the veggies on the pizza, we can practically count this as health food.”
“That’s a stretch.” He cocked an eyebrow at her, but his smile was warm.
