Marrying Mccabe. Fiona Brand

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СКАЧАТЬ If I’d left him, he would have died.’’

      He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression neutral, cop-cool. ‘‘Did you think the shooting was random?’’

      ‘‘There’s no proof it was anything else.’’

      He was silent for a moment. ‘‘You were scared when I woke you in the Jeep. Would you mind telling me why?’’

      Resentment stirred. Not only did McCabe look like a cop, he was questioning her like one. ‘‘I woke up in an unfamiliar place. I was…off balance.’’

      ‘‘If you have information about the shooting that I should know,’’ he said softly, ‘‘you’d better tell me. I can’t do my job effectively unless I know all the facts.’’

      The sluggish aftermath of her nap and the odd sense of disconnection that went with it evaporated on a hot rush of anger. McCabe thought she was withholding information. Lying. More…he was interrogating her as if she were a suspect in the shooting, not a victim. ‘‘I don’t know anything about the shooting other than that the person I was with got hurt,’’ she snapped. ‘‘Everything there is to know is included in the report in that envelope.’’

      Keeping her expression carefully blank, Roma stood up and collected her case, strode toward her room and dumped the case just inside the door. Too angry to leave the conversation hanging, she spun on her heel and almost ran into McCabe’s chest. She stared at the sleek gold skin of his throat and the pulse that jumped there, trying to steady the hard pounding of her heart. ‘‘What made you think I might know anything more?’’

      ‘‘You were scared when you woke up. And you’re evasive now. I need to know why. I have staff who’ll be involved in your protection programme. Their safety’s important. I have to check out all the angles.’’

      All the angles. She took a deep breath, every nerve in her body jangling at his closeness. He was blocking the doorway now, one hand resting on the jamb, muscled bicep gleaming in the sunny glow of the room.

      Hurt and resentment warred with common sense. Common sense won out. He was doing his job, asking the questions he had to ask. But if he’d been nicer about it, explained what he was doing, there wouldn’t have been a problem. She would have been happy to discuss the shooting with him. ‘‘I panicked while I was giving Lewis first aid,’’ she said flatly. ‘‘I’m not proud of it, but for a few seconds I did think I was being watched. I did think I was a target.’’ She met his gaze squarely. ‘‘I didn’t put that in the police report for a good reason. It was paranoia, pure and simple.’’

      ‘‘I’m sorry if I offended you, but you were so jumpy I had to find out if you felt directly threatened.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘Gray doesn’t think there’s a threat, but given your family’s past history, he’s not taking any chances. I’m not taking any chances, either.’’ His voice had dropped, the low, rough register making her tighten up inside. ‘‘If at any point you feel that someone is after you, then tell me. It’ll make a difference to the way I protect you.’’

      Roma eyed him warily. He’d used that same dark, honeyed tone at the airport. It was probably the one he used for escaped mental patients. Or for seducing women. Warmth spread through her at the thought of being seduced by McCabe. ‘‘What if it turns out to be my overactive imagination?’’

      ‘‘It wouldn’t matter. As long as the protection makes you feel safe.’’

      The concern in McCabe’s voice startled her, and she wondered if he was actually on the verge of offering her comfort. His face was half in shadow, half out of it, wide mouth distractingly soft, set as it was against the square line of his jaw. His scent filled her nostrils, musky and hot in the warm room.

      He was aroused.

      The shock of the discovery sent a spasm of heat through her stomach, tightening her nipples in a rush, so that they pushed achingly hard against the soft cotton of her bra. For a long moment, time seemed to stop, become suspended, along with her breathing, while she struggled with that knowledge.

      Awareness flashed in those cold wolf’s eyes, shivered down her spine. He held her gaze, seemingly unconcerned that she knew he was aroused.

      One part of her wanted to back up a step, confused. After all, they’d been fighting on and off ever since they’d met. But another part of her was irresistibly drawn, attracted and curious. She wondered what it would be like to step up to McCabe and rub herself against him, bury her face in the curve of his neck and taste his skin, wind her fingers in his hair, then reach up and press her mouth against his.

      A little shudder ran through her. Dangerous, she decided.

      Her brothers had been wild when they’d been single, and they’d run with a wild bunch. Apart from his brief marriage, McCabe had always been in there.

      ‘‘Did you tell Gray how you felt about the shooting?’’

      For a moment Roma had trouble grasping that, despite his sexual arousal, McCabe had coldly switched to bodyguard mode and wanted to talk about the shooting again.

      ‘‘He knew I was scared.’’

      Ben studied Roma’s expression, the defensive way she clasped her arms across her chest to hide the jut of her nipples. Her breasts were round and full against her slim figure. The contrast of feminine lushness with sleek, firm muscle made his mouth water. He wanted to reach out now and cup her breasts, weigh them in his palms, rub his thumbs over her tight little nipples, then have them in his mouth. The mere thought of having her naked breasts in his hands, then sucking her nipples until she moaned, made him achingly hard.

      Not that anything like that was about to happen. He was already walking a knife’s edge with his client, and when she heard what he was about to say, it was more likely she would slug him than allow him to touch her in any way.

      ‘‘There’s just one more thing,’’ he said softly. ‘‘You can’t have that room.’’

      Her eyes narrowed. McCabe watched her closely, reluctantly fascinated by every nuance of expression. He knew Roma’s brothers as well as if they were his own family. Gray and Blade were both big, male, muscled—capable of pounding most other men into the dirt without breaking a sweat. Not that they brawled; they didn’t need to. Gray and Blade had always fought with intellect and technical skill as much as with the physical power of their bodies; they were warriors in every sense of the word.

      Idly, he wondered how Roma would fight. Dirty, he decided—suppressing a grin. He could see her temper now, simmering just below the surface. Her skin had taken on a luminous glow, and her eyes flashed, dark and slumbrously exotic, as if she would go for the kill in a deceptively lazy feminine way that would flummox most men. They wouldn’t know she’d sunk the knife in until hours later, maybe days.

      Then again, maybe not…

      Suddenly he could see the resemblance to her brothers in her cheekbones, the strength in the line of her jaw, that fierce Lombard pride.

      His lids lowered. No, Roma Lombard wouldn’t bother with manipulation or veiled insults, or even that female version of brawling, a sissy slap. An unholy excitement pulsed through him. She would just out and out slug him.

      She didn’t bother to hide her incredulity. ‘‘Did you just say,’’ she said slowly, ‘‘that I can’t have this СКАЧАТЬ