Audition (North Security 4)

“Nothing good.”

“No? I thought you might want a partner for your lovely ballet studio.” I peer into the dusty corners. A few broken shipping pallets. Some flattened boxes. Quite a few scurrying shadows. The richest man in fifty square miles, and his sister practices ballet in a goddamn hovel. How many AK-47s did he have to sell to afford this prime piece of real estate? The least he could do is spring for some air-conditioning.

“Where I practice is none of your business.”

“And the business of anyone who walks in here.”

“I thought you worked for Caleb.” She makes a face. “I’m still not sure you don’t.”

“A bit of hired muscle, that’s what you thought. A bouncer at his nightclub of ammunition and white powder. I don’t think he’d like to hire me. I don’t take orders very well. Besides, if I got my paycheck from Caleb Lewis, I wouldn’t be able to do this to his sister.” It’s meant to be a threat. To make her flinch. She’ll put her fists up. She’ll fight me. I loom over her, threatening. If I’m half the thug she thinks I am, she should be wary. In fact I’m worse. Instead her head tilts up. Her dark eyes dare me. I’ve never turned down a fucking dare.

I have a million graphic images of her in my head. The ways I’ll bend that flexible body. The hard fuck I’d give her up against the burning hot wall of the tin box we’re in. It’s coarse and

disrespectful. There isn’t a sweet bone in my fucking body, but somehow my lips meet hers. It’s a kiss, more innocent than anything I’ve ever done before—more terrifying, too. She’s warm beneath my lips. Pliant. I brush against her slightly, savoring the tremor in her body, the cool rush of her sharp inhale.

“We shouldn’t,” she says, her Louisiana accent think as sorghum. Even if I hadn’t known where she came from, by virtue of her brother’s origins, I would recognize the distinctive lilt.

“Of course we should.” My voice comes out thick and low. Arousal makes me rougher, usually. Enough that I can slap a woman’s ass and have her begging for more. I slip my hand behind her neck, as gentle as if she’s made of spun sugar. I can’t break her. I can’t let her crack. “We’re alive, aren’t we?” A kiss to her bottom lip, soft enough to make my eyes burn. So goddamn sweet. “You and I, we’re surrounded by violence. Surrounded by death. Both of us hurting people just to survive, but this isn’t hurting anyone.” I kiss the corner of her mouth. There’s a shudder through her body. Then she kisses me back—an urgent, artless press of her lips against mine. It’s innocence and hope and a painful stab in my chest.

I lied before. It’s hurting me, how tender I feel toward this stranger. It’s torture.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Caleb Lewis stands in the doorway. The man I came here to meet. The man I came here to kill. This woman’s brother. She moves her body in front of me—protecting me. Jesus. When’s the last time someone protected me? Not since I was a dumb kid, and my brother took our father’s punch meant for me. Then he grew up and enlisted, and I learned how to fend for myself.

There is nothing this slender slip of a woman could do to defend me against her drug lord brother. Nothing I would let her do, but the idea that she’d try to protect me makes my throat burn.

I step around her, approaching Caleb with a cocky smile. It helps to have people underestimate you. “There you are. I figured I’d have a taste of this fine piece since you made me wait.”

He scowls. “That’s my little sister, you fucker.”

How could I have known? my expression says, hands raised in helpless amusement. I’m the kind of dirtbag who makes a pass at every woman, who doesn’t take no for an answer. Exactly the kind of bastard you do business with. “Sorry, man. I thought she was fair game.”

There’s nothing fair about this woman. She’s threatening. Not with guns and knives. I know how to defend against that. She’s dangerous because she makes me feel things.

That’s what’ll get you killed on a job—distraction.

Caleb Lewis frowns. He doesn’t look much like his sister. They have the same coloring, but her features are delicate while his are rough. Her eyes are guileless while his are full of shadows. “I’ll give you the tour I promised, but you stay the fuck away from Bethany.”

I glance back at the woman who’s already dipped into a graceful plié, her face in profile. Bethany. That’s her name. The woman who turned my fucking world upside down.

CHAPTER FOUR

A professional ballerina wears out 100 to 120 pairs of pointe shoes in a season.

Bethany, present time

The temptation overwhelms me. It’s enough to steal my breath, to weaken my muscles. How easy would it be to put myself into this man’s keeping? Whatever else he is, he’s strong enough to protect me from harm. Except I know what else he is—mercenary. Pretty much heartless. He would protect me for a price far too high.

I’m still paying for the last time I let him help.

“I have to pee.”

He blinks, his green eyes startled. For once I’ve managed to surprise this man. He’s worried about threatening letters, not something mundane. Like bathroom breaks. “You do,” he repeats, his voice flat.

I push aside my bulky jacket, its size more for the train than the weather, revealing my performance clothes underneath. “I dressed for the show six hours ago and couldn’t change after because of the ball. Kind of hard to go with a leotard and tights.”

An athlete doesn’t blush about such basic body functions. That’s what I tell myself as my cheeks turn hot. His low laugh makes it worse. “Then go, sweetheart. I’m not stopping you.”