Trust in Me (Hawkeye Book 2) Page 3

  This might turn out to be one of his more challenging assignments. He’d protected beautiful women before. But none of them had this kind of sensual effect on him.

  She stood, reached for the ceiling, then eased slowly back, elongating her torso, displaying her toned body to perfection.

  He finished the water and looked out the window so he didn’t give in to the temptation to drag her against him, wrap her in his arms, then kiss her senseless. It was going to take every bit of his self-control to keep his hands off his boss’s little sister.

  Chapter 3

  When was imprisonment going to end?

  The past three weeks had been the longest of Aimee’s life.

  Restless, she paced the length of her back patio, unable to look away from the six-foot privacy fence Trace had insisted she needed. Now, she couldn’t enjoy the neighbor’s flower garden with its colorful snapdragons and large pots filled with stunning lavender.

  Ever since the break-in, her life had been turned upside down, taking her emotional equilibrium with it. Trace was everywhere, sleeping on her couch, cooking in her kitchen, showering in her guest bathroom, running on the treadmill in her office. He’d dealt with the forensics team that had gone through every bit of her house, overseen the technicians who’d installed the security system and set up monitoring in her office, authorized IT people to examine her computer for a hardware hack. Annoying her, he’d also started to make friends with Eureka. How was she supposed to dislike Trace when she’d caught him giving her bird a strawberry?

  But maybe worst of all was the way she noticed the sexy agent. This morning, she’d been up early to work on her project.

  She’d tiptoed toward the kitchen for coffee. Though she was as quiet as possible, Trace woke up. He tossed back the blanket and sat up. In a single move, he stood. Loose gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, showing his muscular abs and the tempting V-muscles near his groin.

  Frozen in shock, she was still standing there when he rounded the couch, gun in hand. “Everything okay?”

  When she didn’t respond, he repeated the question.

  “Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just up early. An idea I want to work on.”

  “Get up!” Eureka squawked. “Get up, get up, get up!”

  “It appears we’re all awake now,” Trace replied, casting a glance at the birdcage.

  “Sorry. I’ll keep him in my bedroom from now on.”

  “No need. He’s tolerable…at least sometimes.” The words were begrudging but welcome. “How about I make the coffee and bring you a cup when it’s ready?”

  “Would you really?” With the craziness spinning inside her, she seized the opportunity to escape. With his sexy, sleepy eyes, the man was dangerous as hell. “Will you let Eureka out too?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “No.” She smiled. “I’ll do it while I make the coffee.”

  “Uhm.” He placed his gun on the coffee table. “You go. I’ll take care of the bird.”

  “Are you sure?” The previous day, she’d brewed the first pot. Since he dumped his cup down the drain when he obviously thought she wasn’t watching, she could now put him in charge of coffee making and bird sitting.

  “I got this.”

  Though she’d closed herself off from the living area of the house, she hadn’t been able to concentrate. While the machine gurgled and hissed, spitting out the aromatic brew, Trace was doing some type of exercise, if the sounds of his heavy breathing were anything to go by.

  When he brought her a mug, a faded T-shirt clung to his chest, and a sexy sheen of sweat dotted his upper eyebrows.

  Aimee wasn’t sure she could take much more.

  Pretending to be occupied with her work, when in reality she’d just minimized a cute otter video, she didn’t look up as she murmured her gratitude.

  Back in the dining room, she overheard him communicating with the team, ensuring everything was quiet. Then he took a shower.

  He whistled, like he always did, and Eureka picked up a few notes as well, creating a cacophony of distraction.

  At this rate, her part of the project would never be finished. And Trace would be assigned to her forever.

  She pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. Something had to change before she lost her mind.

  Aimee sent a text message to her sister, and the response wasn’t surprising.

  Until we find out what happened, Trace stays.

  After slamming down the phone harder than she intended, Aimee turned off her computer in favor of a long run on the treadmill. She set the speed ridiculously fast and ran hard, trying to shed the frustration. Twenty minutes later, out of breath and energy, she attempted to return to work.

  Outside, rain began to splatter against the roof, matching her mood perfectly. And even with the door closed, the sound of the news on the television reached her, as did the deep, sensual tones of Trace’s voice as he spoke on the phone.

  Skies remained cloudy most of the day, adding to her inner tension. If she didn’t get out soon, she was going to explode. With him around, she hadn’t just lost her privacy, she had lost her concentration.

  As the afternoon dragged on, the gray clouds began to dissipate, and she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and went into the backyard.

  Now, still searching for some sort of peace, she dropped into a chair near the wrought-iron table.

  What was wrong with her? Her focus had never been fractured like this before.

  The door opened, and Trace exited the house. The late-afternoon sun played with strands of his hair, and as always, his musky, masculine scent aroused her.

  “Is there any end in sight?” she asked as he took an uninvited seat across from her.

  “Meaning?”

  “You’ve been here for weeks.” And nothing else had happened. No one else on the team had anything strange happen. Her files hadn’t been hacked. “It had to have been a random thing. Kids or something.”

  “You’ll have to take that up with your sister.”

  “I already tried.” She needed her life to get back to normal. “I was hoping you could influence her.”

  “This assignment is fully at her discretion.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Aimee blew out a breath. “It seems like a waste of resources.” So many agents. In addition to Trace, there were two separate teams stationed in the neighborhood, providing twenty-four-hour coverage.

  “Is it all bad?” He leaned toward her.

  “You have to be losing your mind as well. Babysitting me can’t be any fun for you.”

  “On the contrary. My cardiovascular capability has improved since I’ve started running with you. I can’t keep up. Yet.”

  At his lighthearted comment, she couldn’t help but grin. “You’re a charming liar, Agent Romero, but a liar nonetheless. You’d rather be doing something much more exciting.”

  “Such as?” His gaze locked on her. Then slowly, he allowed it to drift over her.

  Her pulse skidded to a halt. She’d imagined the sensual tone in his voice, hadn’t she? She swallowed the sudden onslaught of nerves.

  After his casual comment about seeing her collection of erotic books the first day he arrived, he hadn’t mentioned it again. His search had been so thorough that she knew he had to have seen her toys. Had he wondered about them?

  Aware of his scrutiny, she tried to remember his question. “Like, I don’t know, battering down a door in some remote part of the planet.”

  “I don’t know.” He glanced up. “Denver in late summer isn’t so bad. Better than a jungle somewhere.”

  Aimee pushed back from the table. “Well, enjoy it.”

  “Going somewhere?”

  The sun had peeked out from behind the clouds, and she was seizing the opportunity. “I need a cocktail.”

  “I’ll make you one. Margaritas are my specialty.”

  “No.” She dragged the ponytail holder from her hair. “Just no
. I’m going to take myself out to dinner and have the biggest rum cocktail I can find as I pretend I’m on a Caribbean beach somewhere.”

  “I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

  Had he listened to a single word? “What part of I’m taking myself out did you not understand?”

  “You know the rules.” He looked at her through his impossibly long lashes, but there was nothing but lethal coldness in the depths of his brown eyes. “Don’t push me, Miss Inamorata. You can’t win, and you won’t like my tactics.”

  Ever since she’d broken away from Jack, she’d hated bossy alpha men, and she’d never allowed another one to tell her what to do. “That sounds a bit like a threat.”

  “Doesn’t have to be.” He shrugged, but there was nothing casual about the motion. “You can consider it a gentle reminder or a friendly suggestion.”

  The words hung between them, as did his unveiled threat. She had no doubt he’d act on it. Her reaction was some where between petrified and intrigued. The last part bothered her the most.

  “Do you have somewhere specific in mind?”

  She tipped her head back. Though she rarely went out, not being able to jump in her car and go was maddening.

  “Your choice. If there’s somewhere you’d like to go, I’ll make it happen.”

  Aimee sighed. He had, indeed, won. “There’s a restaurant in Morrison that has a cool rooftop bar.”

  “What’s the dress code?”

  “Casual. There will be a lot of hikers, and some people dressed for a concert at Red Rocks, if there is one tonight.”

  “What’s the name of the place?”

  When she answered, he entered the information into his watch. “Team’s notified. Fifteen minutes?” he asked, repeating his earlier question. “Or do you need longer?”

  “The sooner the better.”

  Without another word, he went back inside, careful not to let Eureka out.

  Confounding man.

  Once she returned to her bedroom, Aimee changed into a short skirt while Trace closed the door to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Even though he annoyed her, awareness of him blossomed.

  It had to be natural. They were in close quarters with no other stimulation. Captives fell in love with captors. Survival of the species was hardwired into her.

  She pulled on a tank top. Just because she understood the mechanics of their attraction didn’t mean she wasn’t woman enough to be firmly in its grasp.

  When the shower fell silent, she slid into a pair of strappy sandals. As she walked past the closed bathroom door, the scent of his masculinity was imprinted on the air. And he was whistling.

  Shaking her head, she continued to the dining room. Eureka was perched on the top of his cage, preening. “Step up.” She put her hand in front of the bird. Instead of responding like he normally did, he walked away from her. “You don’t have to go in for the night. I’ll be right back.”

  Eureka shook his head.

  “Having trouble?” Trace asked, joining her.

  She turned to face him. His hair was damp, and his T-shirt was tight around his biceps and chest. He was devastatingly handsome, so much so that she suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  Ignoring him, she repeated her command to Eureka.

  The parrot shook his head. “Aimee! Stay!”

  “I’ll be back. Promise.”

  Eureka lifted a foot to shield his face

  “How about a walnut?” Trace offered.

  The bribe would probably work. “Thank you.”

  Trace brought over the nut and placed it inside the cage, at the far corner. Still regarding them critically, Eureka went to explore the gift.

  Once he was inside, she closed the door. “Most times he doesn’t mind going in his cage, but sometimes he can be stubborn.”

  “Not like anyone else I know.” Trace cleared his throat, then smiled, disarming her.

  His high-tech watch lit up with an alert. “Your car awaits.”

  “Ready?” He pulled on a formfitting black blazer that made him all the more impossibly handsome.

  When she nodded, he pressed a key on his watch, and it was then that she noticed his tiny earpiece. “Falcon is ready to roll.”

  “What?” Falcon? “Why Falcon?”

  “You like birds. And you’re a flight risk.”

  “I don’t want to be reminded that you’re my keeper.”

  “Do you want to go or not?” He lifted a shoulder in a little uncaring shrug. “Your call.”

  Frustrated, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

  In full secret agent man mode, he pulled back the drapes before offering her a tight nod.

  Outside, a vehicle idled at the curb. As they approached, a woman exited to open the back door. “Afternoon, ma’am.” The agent didn’t smile.

  Aimee scooted inside the SUV, and Trace slid in next to her, his thigh bumping into her. Senses swimming with awareness, she edged away from him.

  “Agents Bree Mallory and Agent Daniel Riley.” Trace introduced them as they pulled away from the curb.

  Aimee crossed her legs, uncomfortable with the realization that her need to get out meant a lot of effort from the team. No matter how crazy she was going, the confinement wasn’t just about her. Her actions impacted a number of people. “Thank you for doing this.”

  “It’s a pleasure.” Agent Riley met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Turned out to be a beautiful afternoon.”

  In contrast to the dismal morning and drizzly noontime, now only a few high clouds danced across the cerulean sky.

  Once they were away from the neighborhood and deeper into the rolling foothills, she relaxed against the seatback.

  The tiny stress lines next to Trace’s eyes were trenched in deeper than they had been this morning, reminding her of the sacrifice it was for him to escort her out in public.

  Finally, in the heart of downtown Morrison, Agent Riley pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant, and Bree opened the door for them.

  As if they were on a date, Trace offered his hand. Knowing it was anything but, she accepted, but when he held her tight, her stomach flip-flopped.

  Though it wasn’t necessary, he held her hand as they made their way up the wooden steps. When they reached the hostess station, he didn’t let her go. Heat, as uncomfortable as it was unfamiliar, chased through her. It had been years since she’d reacted to a man in this way. Aimee gave herself a hard shake. Men like Trace were the reason she’d avoided dating.

  Since it was still early, they had their selection of tables, and Trace chose one at the outer edge, close to an enormous cottonwood tree, shaded by an umbrella, and with a spectacular view.

  The moment she sank into the chair that he held for her, her stress eased…until he scanned the occupants and angled himself so he could catalog every person walking into the bar.

  “Could we pretend you’re not my bodyguard?”

  “We could.” He grinned. “But I’m not going to.”

  “Look, Agent—”

  “Trace,” he corrected, maybe for the hundredth time. “At least for tonight. You’d call me Trace if I wasn’t protecting you.”

  She met his eyes. They weren’t filled with challenge as they had been earlier. In fact, they were inviting. She kept her distance because using his first name would be a step toward destroying the wall she needed to keep between them.

  The server brought over two glasses of water, and Aimee ordered the sweet, fruity cocktail she’d promised herself.

  “For you, sir?”

  “I’m good with the water.”

  Less than five minutes later, the first sip of her punch flooded through her, warming her insides and chasing away the stress.

  “How is it?”

  “Lethal.” Over the rim of the glass, she looked at him. “I forgot to order it without the rum shooter on top.”

  “Enjoy it.”

  She did. While Morrison wasn’t the same as
being on a Caribbean beach, the evening was pretty close to perfect. A gentle breeze drifted around them, and the sun trekked toward the foothills, turning the sky a spectacular shade of orange. “At times like this, I realize how much of a homebody I’ve become.” She stirred her drink with the tiny red straw. “I should enjoy the sunset more. How about you”—she hesitated before opting to use just his last name—“Romero? Do you take time to notice the sky?”

  “Sunrise? Sunset? No. The weather, yes. Rain, wind, temperature potentially impacts my work.”

  “The stars?”

  “The full moon makes it easier to move at night.” His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was remembering some past event, reminding her they had so little in common.

  The server arrived with their food. Aimee picked up a thick-cut French fry and took a bite. “So, how long have you done this secret-agent stuff?”

  He grinned, relaxing for the first time since they’d left the house. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

  “Okay.” She popped a second fry into her mouth. “This never noticing the sunshine thing.”

  “All my life. Went to the police academy right out of school, like my dad. Like my older brother. Most of my uncles. Eventually, I was bored, so I tried out for the SWAT team.”

  “You like risk.”

  “Being challenged. If I had it to do over again, I might join the military instead. Try out for Special Ops.”

  “How did you learn about Hawkeye?”

  “Through a friend. Nate Davidson. Do you know him?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve heard of him, though.”

  “Working for Hawkeye is more interesting than police work. I never know what I’m going to be doing, where I’ll be sent. I volunteer for extra assignments.”

  “The riskier the better?”

  “You could say that.”

  She leaned toward him a little. “Where’s home?”

  “Wherever I am.”

  “So no permanent address?” So different from how she lived her life. Because of her father’s chronic unemployment, her parents had moved a lot, and then after they died, Aimee and her sister had rented a two-bedroom apartment in the Denver suburbs. Even that had proved costly, so they’d downsized again. During college, she’d shared with three roommates. As soon as Aimee fled from Jack, she’d bought her small home and cocooned herself in it.