Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

"You're playing with me on purpose, aren't you?"

"Never," he says, but I have to press my lips together to keep from laughing. He is, of course. And the smile that is now crinkling at the corners of his eyes proves it.

"Actually," he continues, taking a seat opposite me. "The priv

acy does come in handy. I wanted to tell you that I have a couple of ideas for security companies we can talk to about beta-testing. A good friend heads up Sykes Security and has access to WORR."

"Which is?"

"The World Organization for Rescue and Rehabilitation. It's a private organization that works closely with international law enforcement."

"Which you know about from when you were doing the covert work?"

"Right," he says. "Which is another reason the door is closed."

I realize just how much he told me during our afternoon out. Personal things. Private things. And several things that weren't his to tell. "Thanks," I say.

"For what?"

"For trusting me."

"I do," he says, and for a moment silence hangs between us. Then he clears his throat and adds, "We can't actually use Stark International's security team to beta our own product, but I'm sure that Ryan Hunter--he heads it up--will have some additional suggestions."

"This is all great. Can you make the introductions and I'll call them?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I can introduce you to Ryan next week when we go to LA."

I lean back in my chair, my fingers twined behind my head. "We're going to Los Angeles?"

"The wrap party for M. Sterious is next Thursday."

"That superhero movie?" I'm incredibly confused.

"My friend Lyle's the lead guy," he explains. "And you're coming to the party. As my plus one."

I sit up, the chair spring bouncing me back faster than I had expected. "Noah!"

"As a friend and a business colleague only."

"No," I say firmly. "I have too much to do here. And--"

"And what?"

I have a killer glare when I need to, and now I aim it hard at him. "There's just too much work and too little time."

He says nothing, and after a while I can't hold the glare any longer. I look down at the desktop and try to calm down.

When I look back up, I find his eyes on me, like I'm some complicated equation. Which, I suppose I am. He's invited me for business. I'm not going because it feels personal.

But it only feels that way because I'm seeing him that way. And because I do have feelings for him.

And because, more than anything, I want to protect my heart.

"You're right," he finally says, his voice firmly professional. "I'll speak to them, and if they're interested we can get on a call. That will be fine."

He's right, that will be fine. Better, even.

I nod in agreement, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach that keeps twisting and turning and tightening.