doubt I’ll have much to say about it, anyway. As much as I hate to admit it, Elliot’s as stubborn as you when he makes up his mind.”
“Then let him make it up.” Brant stopped short of pleading.
“I told you, I’m making no promises.” With that she turned and flounced back into the house.
Brant remained rooted to the spot, feeling much like he had the day he’d gotten shot in the gut. Numb all over. That was when he noticed Elliot standing at the window, peering out, his face pinched in sadness.
Pain, as lethal as the strongest narcotic, shot through Brant’s system, almost sending him to his knees. Dejected, he turned and walked back to his vehicle.
Nine
The situation had worsened. Jessica didn’t think she would ever adjust to having another man in the house, especially a stranger. She kept telling herself something was terribly askew when one had to have a bodyguard.
The reality of that was appalling. Determined to reroute her thoughts, she opened the French doors onto the small balcony and stepped outside. Evening was settling in, and the temperature was quite pleasant. Soon, however, the heat from the brutal blast of summer would hit Texas with a vengeance, the Dallas area in particular, with very little rain to ease the pain.
Still, she wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. This lovely, high-profile city was home, the place where she lived and worked, the most important thing in her life, the reason she climbed out of bed each morning. Since she had lost Porter, she’d had to refocus, though not a lot. Without children, it was logical and easy to focus on their careers—his more than hers, as she was the backbone behind him, or so he’d told her many times.
The pain of losing Porter had subsided, thank goodness. Time had taken care of that. Now she could think of him with fond, sweet memories that were to be cherished at moments like these, when she was down-and-out. A bird sang merrily in a nearby oak tree that draped over her small deck. The oak’s thick foliage served as an umbrella against the sun during the heat of the day.
Jessica heard a sound and leaned over the railing slightly, peering down. Immediately, her heart almost stopped beating. Someone was there. She leaned farther, but whoever it was had gone.
Brant? Had he been outside? Or had her imagination been playing tricks on her? Instead of thinking about him, she forced herself to peruse the vibrant annuals, their colors bursting from the various pots spaced around the area. But her thoughts refused to cooperate. Then she heard that sound again.
With her heart thumping at an even faster rate, Jessica moved slightly, then peered down once again. Brant in the flesh. Her breath caught, and every nerve in her body jumped to high alert.
He stood unmoving with his hand shoved into his pocket, staring into the twilight. Instead of the slacks he’d worn today, he was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Not sloppy, but definitely comfortable.
Jessica swallowed hard, feeling her heartbeat move from her chest to her throat, where it seemed to pound without mercy. She was behaving like an idiot, like someone totally out of control. She fought to remove her gaze. Nothing doing. It was like her eyes had been welded to him, embracing everything about him, from his tanned muscled arms to his powerful thighs. It hit her suddenly what the problem was: he was simply too male to suit her.
A dose of trouble wrapped in a sexy package.
She wondered how he perceived her, especially when those eyes seemed to touch every part of her body when he looked at her.
Jessica shivered.
That was when he turned and looked up. In the remaining light, their gazes met and held. Her cheeks blazed, and her mouth went dry. Words she would ordinarily have no problem speaking jammed in her throat.
This would never do.
“Nice evening,” he commented, then raked his long fingers through his dark hair.
His voice had just enough harsh strength in it to further assault her senses. She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if he really meant it. It wasn’t important. It wouldn’t be wise to enter into a light, bantering conversation with him. Ever. That in itself would be asking for trouble. Strictly business. The less she knew about him, the better off she would be. He, on the contrary, seemed to think everything about her life should be an open book.
But this mess she’d gotten herself into for whatever reason wasn’t his fault. She had to remember that and not take her mounting frustrations out on him.
She didn’t know much about him. But she knew enough to realize he didn’t take orders nearly as well as he gave them.
“It’s lovely,” she finally forced herself to say, though she barely got the words past her dry lips.
He didn’t respond for a second, but he didn’t stop looking at her, either. “Hopefully we’ll nail the bastard and I’ll be out of here ASAP.”
Jessica flushed at his uncanny ability to read her mind. “I hope so, too,” she responded, not about to apologize for anything, including her attitude.
“Try and get some sleep,” he said, following another moment of strained silence.
“Do you need anything?” She hadn’t planned on continuing the conversation, but a myriad of hidden emotions seemed to be driving her to say meaningless, irrational things.
“I’m fine. You don’t need to concern yourself about me.”
Something in his tone further irritated her. “I’m not,” she said coldly. “It’s just that you are in my home.”
His lips turned into a smirk of sorts. “Trust me, I’m aware of that.”
Her flush deepened. “Good night.”
She didn’t know what his response was to her abrupt words or departure. Moreover, she didn’t care. If that conversation was anything to judge by, this was going to be a worse ordeal than she’d first imagined.
Only after she was back in the sanctuary of her room did Jessica breathe a clear breath. As Brant had said, she could hope it wouldn’t take long to find the pervert, then both of them would be out of their misery.
Although she wasn’t sleepy in the least, Jessica slipped out of her clothes. That was when her stomach rumbled and she realized she was hungry. She supposed she could wander downstairs and grab a quick snack. Or not. She might cross paths with Brant again.
So what if she did?
If not tonight, then certainly in the morning and all during the day, she reminded herself, slipping into a caftan. Still, she didn’t move toward the door. Instead, she grabbed a folder out of her briefcase and headed for her desk, where she turned on the computer.
Her first instinct was to check her e-mail, but, as usual these days, she hesitated, choosing to finish her work first. If she had a frightening or degrading message, it would upset her and detour her concentration.
If only the phone would cooperate.
