I roll my eyes. "I have a house in Studio City. Plus a cat I have to feed. I'll be fine."
His phone chimes, indicating that someone is downstairs waiting to be buzzed in. More folks from studio publicity, I assume. "I'll meet them at the door," I say, as he presses the button to authorize them to enter the foyer and operate the elevator.
"We're going to find a compromise," he says as I head out of the room. "I'm not leaving the country unless I'm certain my staff is safe."
I pause long enough to glance over my shoulder at him. "You've read too many action scripts." I see him roll his eyes as I head to the door. "I'm serious," I call out, because I don't want to admit that his concern is making me a little bit nervous. "I'm perfectly safe," I say as I start to open the door. "No one is going to hurt me."
"They damn sure aren't," Riley Blade says as I pull back the door to reveal him leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his eyes lost behind the kind of dark glasses that hide a man's secrets. "Not on my watch."
He smiles, wide and slow, then tugs the glasses down with the tip of his finger to reveal gold-flecked brown eyes that he uses to rake his gaze down my body and then back up again, leaving my skin unexpectedly--and unwillingly--humming.
"Don't worry, Tasha," he says when his eyes meet mine. "I promise I'll keep you safe."
Chapter Three
Within seconds, Riley has stepped over the threshold, and Lyle has emerged from his office.
As for me, I've been standing like an idiot, my feet practically glued to the floor as my mind whirs through the situation, finally arriving at one painful, unpleasant, inescapable conclusion--my boss sold me out.
Son of a bitch.
Furious, I whirl toward Lyle, only to find myself that much closer to Riley, which really wasn't my intent. The man exudes a sensual kind of heat that's hard to ignore--and believe me, I'm trying. I neither want nor need Riley Blade in my life, and I really don't understand what the hell he's doing here and why he's talking like he already knows my situation.
Except, of course, I do know, which takes me straight back to that whole my boss sold me out analysis.
"Seriously?" I snap at Lyle, who holds his hands up in self-defense as he starts to talk, presumably intending to calm me down.
"Now, just a second, Tasha," Riley says, but that's as far as he gets because I round on him, my throat full of tears and my eyes burning from the strain of not letting them escape.
"Do not call me that. Dammit, Riley, you of all people should know not to call me that."
I turn away, because if I look at him I know I'll burst into tears, and as I do, I see Lyle's baffled expression.
Oddly, that gives me comfort. It means that Riley Blade kept my secret. I'd never really doubted that he would. I've known Riley since I was twenty-two, and even though I've made it perfectly clear that I'm not interested in dating him, that doesn't mean that I don't trust him.
But even so, it's nice to know I was right.
"Okay, hold up," Lyle says. "What do you mean, Riley of all people? You two barely spoke twelve words to each other the entire time Riley was consulting." What he doesn't add is that those twelve words mostly consisted of me saying no to his repeated advances.
I look between the two men, both of whom I respect, and feel my shoulders go slack as the fight drains out of me. "Dammit, Lyle. Why'd you pull Blade into this?"
"He didn't," Riley says gently. "He called to ask me to recommend a bodyguard. That's all."
I scowl at him. "Then recommend somebody, dammit."
"Come on, Natasha," he says. "You know what an arrogant son-of-a-bitch I am. Do you really think there's someone in this town I trust more than me?"
The answer, of course, is no.
I run a finger through my hair, tucking one long strand behind my ear in frustration.
"Let's sit," Lyle says. "We'll bring Riley up to speed, and then we'll figure out what to do next. And if you want to take pity on me, you can explain to me why you two know each other a hell of a lot better than I thought you did."
"My dad and Riley were part of the same FBI SWAT team," I explain grudgingly once we're settled. I'm on one section of the L-shaped sofa, and I slip my feet out of my heels and tuck them up under me, then pull a pillow into my lap, as if somehow that will keep me safe. Then I draw a breath and look down, my focus on the geometric pattern of the area rug. "I don't--The memories," I say, switching gears. "It's not a time I like to think about."
I glance up to see Lyle nod from where he sits in an Eames chair, his back against the buttery leather. He never knew my father, but I told Lyle about my dad one long night when he was shooting The Price of Ransom, a true crime movie about a horrific kidnapping. Since my father had been killed in the line of duty during a nightmarish raid in a human trafficking case, I'd been more than a little edgy during filming, and I'd shared more than I usually did with my boss. Lyle had been kind. He'd thanked me for sharing, told me that I'd helped him center the character, and then offered his condolences for my loss.
That night, honestly, had been a turning point for me. Before, I'd liked my job. After that day, I knew my boss would have my loyalty forever.
Now, Lyle looks over at Riley, who's sharing the sofa with me, albeit on the other section. His long, muscled legs are stretched out in front of him, and he's leaning back, as if he's completely at home. It's not until Lyle speaks that I remember just how well he and Riley know each other. "Didn't you leave the FBI for the private sector after the take-down of a human trafficking ring in East LA went south?" Lyle asks.
Riley nods.
To his credit, Lyle doesn't look at me. But he's a smart man; he knows there's history between me and Riley--and more than the basic fact that Riley and my father worked together. Lyle doesn't know the details, though. And he doesn't ask.
Just one more reason to sing my boss's praises.
As for him expecting Blade to babysit me...
I shift on the sofa, my head tilted so that my eyes are fixed on Riley. "I don't need you to stay."
"No?"
"No," I assure him, then turn to Lyle. "Really. No."
Riley sits up and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "Dammit, Natasha, you know I'm good at what I do--and with all the work I've been doing with McKay-Taggart, I'm even better at the bodyguard gig than I was before. I can keep you safe. Don't be an idiot and turn down my offer."
He aims those dark eyes at me, and I swallow. With that piercing gaze and his sexy swath of five-o'clock shadow over a strong, rugged jaw, the man really does ooze sensuality. More than that, though, he gives the impression of strength. Of solidity.
Of safety, pure and simple.
And, yeah, some part of me wants to know that he has my back.
I'm going to cave--I know it. I'm not stupid, and now that I've seen Riley again, up close and personal, I don't want Lyle to give in and hire me a rent-a-cop.
I want Riley. I just don't want Riley.
But I'm damn sure not going to admit it just yet. Do that, and I'll never manage to erase his smug expression.
He says he wants the job? Fine. He can work to convince me. At least then we'll be on somewhat even footing.
Not that I've ever felt like I'm on even ground around Riley. I'm far too attracted to the man, and always have been.
I'll let Riley watch over me. But that's as far as things will go between us. I'll tell him the same thing I told him when he consulted with Lyle. No passes. No flirting. Business only, or else I'll shut it down and find my own damn bodyguard.
I don't say a word, but he must have picked up on my acquiescence, because he looks between Lyle and me and then says, "So fill me in, and we can talk about the best approach."
I meet Lyle's eyes, and when my cheeks start to heat with a rising blush, I nod, silently urging him to tell the story.
"Matthew Holt's pushing me hard to sign on to a new project. A thriller with an erotic edge."
"Nice," Riley says, his eyes cutting to me. I'm sure the look is simply a question mark--What does this have to do with Natasha? But to me it feels personal, as if he's sizing up my own erotic potential.
I know that's ridiculous--more than that, I know that my reaction is fueled by the simple fact that I know where this story is heading--but I can't deny the sudden sense of awareness that floods my body, pooling most intensely at my breasts and between my thighs.
I force my attention back to Lyle and keep it locked there.
"The thing is, I really want to do the project--Holt's company, Hardline Entertainment, is doing some terrific work--but the script's not finished, so I'm hesitant to commit. But the screenwriter is willing to shoot me pages as she works for feedback, which is great. But if I'm going to be able to comment intelligently, I need to have a better sense of the world."
"The world?"