Текст книги "Wyatt's War"
Автор книги: Myla Jackson
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 8 страниц)
Oh, he could imagine all kinds of strange and disgusting things he’d like to do to her body. He crossed to the bathroom door. “I’m ready…” For more than she could imagine. And wouldn’t she be appalled if she could read his mind? “…er, I’ll be ready in less than five minutes.” Closing the door behind him, he switched on the shower and stepped in even before the water warmed, hoping the cool shower would deflate his boner. He’d have a difficult time getting into his jeans as hard as he was.
The bathroom smelled like her, the shampoo some honeysuckle-scented perfection that reminded him of home in the Texas hill country and only made him crazier with need. With quick, efficient movements, he scrubbed the sweat off his skin and shampooed his short hair. When he ran a soapy hand down to his dick, he groaned. Damn he really needed to get laid. No woman should have that much of an effect on him. Rinsing in ice-cold water, he gave up and climbed out, toweling off with more speed than care.
As promised, less than five minutes later, he exited the bathroom, wearing uncomfortably tight jeans and sliding his arms into his chambray shirt. “Ready?”
Her brows furrowed. “Don’t you think you should button up first?”
“I can do it on the way down in the elevator.” Wyatt pulled his boots on and held the door open for her, waiting for her to pass. When she did, he inhaled the fragrant scent of honeysuckle in her hair.
She reached the elevator before him and jabbed the down button.
When the door slid open, she stepped in. Wyatt followed, slowly buttoning his shirt as the car slid toward the ground floor. By the way she glanced sideways at him, he figured he was getting to her. Either that, or the bright pink in her cheeks was the result of too much sun, a distinct possibility in Texas.
The elevator car stopped on the second floor and a group of teenage boys in matching baseball uniforms scrambled in, laughing and poking at each other.
The redhead eased to the back of the car, backing over Wyatt’s boots. She wobbled and would have fallen if Wyatt hadn’t slipped an arm around her middle to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’,” he whispered against her ear.
She stiffened. “I’m not your darlin’,” she said, her voice low, her comment meant for his ears only.
He liked that even though she’d started out stiff, by the time they reached the lobby level, she was leaning against him.
The boys piled out quickly, leaving Wyatt and the woman to exit at their own pace.
The redhead bolted, heading straight for the reception desk.
Wyatt hurried after her, a step behind, thinking damn, she has a great ass every step of the way.
Several people stood in line, many wearing business suits, some speaking Spanish, others speaking languages Wyatt wasn’t as familiar with.
“Damn,” the redhead muttered. “I don’t have time to wait in line. I have a meeting in…” she glanced at her watch, “…three minutes.”
Two of the people checking in gathered their key cards and documents and wheeled their suitcases off, opening up a clerk for the next two in line.
Wyatt glanced at his own watch. He’d be late for his meeting as well. “Next!” a female receptionist called out.
The redhead hurried toward her. “Excuse me, but there seems to be some confusion. This man claims he was assigned to the room I reserved over two months ago.”
“Name, please?”
“Fiona Allen.”
Finally a name to add to the beautiful face. Fiona. It suited her. She had that red Irish look to her, with the pale skin and freckles.
The clerk’s fingers flew over the keyboard and she glanced up. “The system shows you in room three twenty-eight.”
Fiona’s head jerked up and she gave him a triumphant smile. “See? It’s my room.”
“Your name, sir?” the receptionist demanded.
“Wyatt Magnus.”
Again the clerk’s fingers skimmed across the keys. She frowned and hit a few more keys. Then she glanced to the side at the man wearing the manager nametag. “Scott,” she called out.
Busy welcoming another guest, he ignored the clerk’s entreaty.
“Scott!” she called out, louder this time.
Scott turned toward her, the smile he’d been sharing with a customer fading when he looked at the clerk’s face. “What seems to be the problem?” He joined her at the monitor and added his frown to hers.
“It appears we’ve inadvertently double-booked the room,” he said.
“What do I do?” the clerk asked.
“Assign Mr. Magnus another room,” Fiona shot back as if it were the most obvious solution.
“But—” the clerk started to say.
“Here, let me.” The manager brushed her aside and pounded the keys, glancing up only briefly. “We apologize for the inconvenience. With the International Trade Convention and the All-Star baseball tournament going on at the same time, we’ve been super busy and corporate loaded new software, just in case we didn’t have enough to deal with. It’ll only be a moment.” He tapped the keys, frowned, tapped more keys and his frown deepened. “I’m sorry, but it seems that all the rooms are booked.”
“What do you mean booked?”
“As in full,” the manager said. “Let me call around and see if there are any other rooms available at the neighboring hotels.” He lifted a telephone and called one hotel after another, each one reporting no vacancy. Finally, he glanced up. “I can get you into a motel on the outer loop.”
Wyatt shook his head. “No can do. My business in San Antonio requires that I stay downtown, as close to the convention center as possible.”
Fiona frowned. “Are you here for the International Trade Convention?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She smiled one of those, I-have-the-perfect-solution-that-doesn’t-require-me-to-sacrifice smiles. “There will be park-and-ride bus service from strategic locations all across the city. I’m certain there will be a pick-up close to one of the outlying hotels.”
“I need to be downtown.” He captured Fiona’s gaze. “You seem like a fair person, Fiona.”
“I am. So?” Her eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with this situation?”
“Well…” he started.
“I’ve had this reservation for months. I’m not giving up my room.” She glanced at her watch and then shot a glance to the manager and clerk. “Look, I have a meeting to go to. When I get back, I expect a room…to myself…in this hotel.”
“I don’t know how we can make that happen,” the manager said.
“I don’t care how you make it happen. Your company made the error. Fix it.” She spun on her gray high heels and marched away.
“Sir?” the clerk asked tentatively. “Would you consider going to another hotel?”
He chuckled. “For anyone else, maybe. But not for her. Let her stew.” Giving the clerk and the manager an apologetic smile, he added, “Watch the cancellations. I’m sure something will free up. In the meantime, which way is the lounge?”
“Through the lobby and take a left at the elevator.”
The snowbirding assignment was getting more interesting by the minute. Double-booked with the redhead in pink shorts had to be fate playing her tricky hand.
Wyatt wasn’t sure how these cards would play out, but he was in for the hand and, if all went well, for the game.
Chapter Three
Fiona stomped all the way to the ladies’ restroom, steaming. Mad and aroused, wrapped up in one tight knot of screaming nerves.
Holy hell!
Wyatt Magnus had to be the most aggravating man she’d met in a very long time. So what if his dark chocolate eyes smiling down on her made her knees go weak. And so what if having pressed her naked breasts to his equally naked chest had fired up a raging inferno at her very core. He was a beast. An ungentlemanly beast who would take advantage of a woman in a bad situation.
She punched the number for her assistant, Maddie Wells.
“Hey, boss,” Maddie answered cheerfully. “I got the replacement quartet lined up for the meet-and-greet tomorrow night. They’ll arrive an hour early and stay until midnight.”
“Good. I—”
“I also got the florist to come down six hundred dollars on the table arrangements and they will deliver and set up, instead of having one of our vans and people do the job.”
“Great. I—”
“Oh, and Carmelo DaVita, the delegate from Paraguay will be arriving late tonight. He prefers to have satin sheets on his bed. I called the hotel to make sure they arranged to have the bed made up in satin.”
“Maddie!”
“I’m sorry. Did you have something you needed to say?”
“Yes.” Fiona inhaled and let the breath out slowly, calming herself. “The hotel screwed up my reservation and double-booked me with an odious, pain-in-the-ass man.” With broad shoulders, narrow hips and eyes she could totally fall into. And equipped? Oh yeah. Pulling her head out of the image, she said, “Stay on the phone with them until they fix it. I forgot to look and I’m already downstairs and late. Do you have the name of the man from Homeland Security?”
“No, do you need me to call?”
“No, no. I’ll figure it out. Just stay on the hotel and get me another room.”
“You’re supposed to meet with the DHS rep now though.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m on my way.” Fiona muttered a curse. “How hard can it be to find some old government employee?”
“Deep breath,” Maddie said. “It’ll all work out. The fabulous Fiona Allen is on the job. She never lets a detail slide by her without tweaking the hell out of it.”
Fiona’s lips twisted as she pushed through the door to the ladies’ room. “Let’s hope I can tweak up a hotel room in the next hour or so. My feet are killing me.”
“I’m on it like hair on a monkey’s back.” Maddie laughed and hung up.
In the bathroom, Fiona made quick work of the facilities, washed her hands and tried to make sense of her crazy curls. Well, hell. Short of chopping it off, nothing would ever bring her hair under control. It would have to do. Besides, it didn’t matter for this meeting. The man Homeland Security had sent was bound to be an older government employee with poorly fitting clothing and worn shoes, and be completely clueless when it came to organizing a security staff of over fifty people.
The security firm she’d hired came highly recommended, fully vetted and bonded. They screened all their employees and trained them extensively. Fiona had full faith in them and thought the added layer of supervision redundant and frankly annoying.
Smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles out of her skirt, she left the bathroom and headed for the lounge. Her gaze darted to the reception desk. The man who’d wrecked her perfectly ordered day by first knocking her into the river and then stealing her room had disappeared.
Good.
Out of sight, out of mind.
Sadly, he was all over her mind and fully entrenched in her thoughts. Images of his naked body couldn’t be wiped from her memory that easily, like they’d been permanently etched on her brain. The man had a great shape and he was by far the most well-endowed man she’d ever had the pleasure of viewing naked.
Her heart pounded and her palms moistened, along with other areas of her body she would prefer remained nameless. Yes, indeed, the man was hung like a—
As she stepped into the lounge, the man foremost in her thoughts appeared in front of her, seated at the bar, tipping a longneck beer back. He even made swallowing look sexy.
Aggravating man!
Determined to ignore him and get on with this untimely meeting with the rep from Homeland Security, she stood in the center of the room and made a 360-degree turn, searching for a likely candidate.
A couple sat at one of the tables, completely engrossed in each other. Four men sat at another, suit jackets hung over the backs of their seats, glasses of whiskey in front of them. Not one of them looked up from their conversation.
A man sat at a table nursing a martini, wearing slacks and a polo shirt with a logo for an aerospace company embroidered on the left breast. He stared into his drink, never once glancing up.
The only other man in the place stood beside the odious Wyatt Magnus. Or should she say swayed beside Wyatt. Five empty shot glasses were stacked in front of him and he waved to the bartender for another.
The bartender shook his head. “Sorry, mister, I believe you’ve had enough.”
“Ah, don’t be a party pooper. Jush one more.” The man nearly fell off his seat, righted himself and raised one finger.
“Sorry.” The bartender turned away and went back to stacking beer bottles in a cooler beneath the counter.
“Wass with the service ’round here?” the drunk exclaimed. “Can’t a man get a drink?”
“Hey, buddy. Why don’t I help you up to your room?” Wyatt suggested.
“I don’t need help gettin’ to my room. I’m perfeckly capable.” He slid off his barstool and would have done a face plant on the floor if Wyatt hadn’t caught him beneath his arms.
“That’s right. You don’t need any help.” Wyatt grunted, straining under the man’s weight.
One of the waiters rushed forward and looped the drunk’s arm over his shoulder. Together, they half-walked, half-dragged the man toward the exit.
Much as she wanted to detest Wyatt Magnus, everywhere she turned, he was helping someone out. First the little boy who almost dove into the river, now this drunk. Most men would have let the guy hit the floor and left him for someone else to clean up.
Not Wyatt. He patiently hauled the guy out.
A bellboy met them at the door, insisting on taking over for Wyatt.
Relieved of his burden, Wyatt turned back toward the lounge and spotted her for the first time since the drunk fell all over him.
Fiona’s heart stuttered and then raced, her belly tightening. She scrunched her damp hands into fists, digging her fingernails into her palms. Maybe that little bit of pain would keep her from drooling over the broad shoulders and dreamy eyes of the man who’d been a thorn in her side since she’d met him.
“That was nice of you,” she admitted reluctantly.
“So now I’m nice?”
“I didn’t say you were nice. The gesture was nice. I’m still mad at you for taking my room.”
Wyatt motioned toward a barstool. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m supposed to meet someone here.” She glanced around and back down at her watch. “He was supposed to be here by now.”
Wyatt’s eyes narrowed briefly and then widened. His lips turned up at the corners in a very sexy smile. “I’m kinda slow on the uptake here, but let me guess—Fiona Allen. As in F. Allen of FA International Event Planners?” He shook his head. “I expected to meet a man, not…well, not you.” He stuck his hand out. “Wyatt Magnus, sent here by my commander, on loan to the Department of Homeland Security to supervise the security for this convention.”
Taken aback by Wyatt’s revelation, she took his hand automatically as she scrambled for a functioning brain cell and a single coherent thought. “You?”
He chuckled, the sound warming her insides more than she ever cared to admit. “Me. Granted, it wasn’t my idea. I’d much rather brave a deployment to Afghanistan than stand around checking for Boy Scout knives in businessmen’s pockets.”
“This will never do.” Fiona swallowed hard. “I can’t work with you.”
Wyatt almost laughed out loud at the way the blush rushed up Fiona’s neck and she pressed her hands to her cheeks. The woman was far too uptight and stirring the sand in her sandbox suited Wyatt perfectly.
“Sorry, but I’m on orders.”
“What do you mean on orders?” She shook her head. “I’m telling you, I don’t need you here. I have a perfectly good security firm with fifty guards lined up to handle the security of the convention center and this hotel. They’ll have metal detectors in place and will perform whatever pat downs need to be done.”
“That’s all well and good for checking for weapons on people entering. What about bombs and improvised explosive devices?”
“We aren’t allowing vehicles to park close the convention center. It will be cordoned off to keep that from happening.” She crossed her arms. “So you see, you’re services are not needed.”
“Did you consider that not all bombs are going to arrive in a truck? Plastic explosives are hard to detect with metal detectors. Do you have bomb-sniffing dogs lined up to sweep the convention center before the party begins?”
Her brow furrowed. “Not that I know of. I’ll put a call into the security firm.”
“No, I’ll call them. From now until the convention is over and the foreign dignitaries have departed, the security firm will be reporting directly to me.”
“No way. I’m not having some stranger I know nothing about circumvent all the planning I’ve put into this event.” Fiona pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through her contact list and then hit a number. As she raised the phone to her ear, her eyes narrowed. “As soon as I clear this up, you will no longer need a room and you can crawl back under whatever rock you came out of.”
Wyatt shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. He knew what the answer would be before Fiona said hello.
His commander had specifically stated that he was directed to provide one of his best men to head up the security. His commander’s orders came straight from the Pentagon. Probably from the same place Fiona was now calling.
Fiona turned, walked a few steps away and stood with her back to him, her voice low and determined. “You have to be kidding. This was not in my contract,” she was saying.
A grin slipped across Wyatt’s lips.
“It is? Well, it must have been in the fine print, because I would not have agreed to these conditions.” She listened for a moment, her body stiff, her hand squeezing the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. “How many of those do you get a day?” She nodded. “You do? And it came in this morning?” Fiona pushed her long red hair back from her forehead. “Fine. He can stay. But I won’t have him making a disaster of it. He will report to me every step of the way or you can find someone else to finish this event.” She clicked the end button. Her chest expanded as she sucked in a deep breath and then let it out before she turned.
“Was I right?” Wyatt queried.
“You know damn well you were.” She poked a finger at his chest. “If the FBI hadn’t received a report of a threat that came across their desk this morning specifically targeting the convention, I’d send you packing. Unfortunately, the Pentagon trusts that you’re the man for the job.” She snorted. “Not that I fathom why. But you report to me. Don’t make a single change without consulting with me first.”
He tried to school the smile from his face as he raised his index finger. “I’d like to suggest change number one.”
Fiona rolled her eyes and clamped her jaw tight. “Go on.”
“I’d like to bring in bomb-sniffing dogs to sweep the convention center tomorrow, first thing, before any conventioneers arrive.”
“And how do you propose to bring on enough dogs to perform this sweep on such short notice? This convention took months of planning.”
Wyatt’s grin widened. “I have a buddy who runs a dog training business here in San Antonio. He has search and rescue, protection, drug control and bomb-sniffing dogs available in his kennel.” At the skeptical frown on her forehead. “He owes me a favor.”
He’d saved Joseph Goodman from a burning vehicle when their convoy had come under attack by Taliban in Afghanistan. His vehicle had taken a direct hit and crashed into a wall. Joseph suffered compound fractures in both legs and burns on his arms. If Wyatt hadn’t been there to pull him out, he’d have died in the fire. As it was, Joe’s legs would never be the same and he walked with a limp. He’d spent weeks at SAMC’s burn center for the burns on his hands and arms. The military had medically retired him and he had nothing to look forward to. No job, no home, no purpose in life.
Deep in depression, he had no motivation to recover. Once the external wounds healed, he’d gone to a rehab facility. He’d been there when a local organization that specialized in training dogs for service had come through. The handler brought with her a golden retriever, trained to provide comfort to soldiers with PTSD. One touch and Joe had known what he wanted to do.
It still choked up Wyatt to think about Joe’s recovery. He’d been in the depths of depression when he’d been laid up in the hospital. More than anything, he’d wanted to get back to the fight, to defend his brothers in arms. Yet, here he was, safe on American soil, away from the turbulence of war, the uncertainty of each day. Kind of like Wyatt. Only Joe had found a purpose.
“Fine.” Fiona’s word cut through his memories like a knife, bisecting the real world from the past. “Get the dogs. I’ll figure out how to pay for them. But I’m warning you, I don’t have much wiggle-room. The catering and convention center costs took up most of my funds.”
“I’m sure he’ll give me the best deal he can.”
“Good, and while you’re at it, see if he can put you up at night. I need that room more than you do.”
Wyatt shook his head. “Sorry. As the man in charge of the security of this convention, I need to be as close to the convention center as possible.”
“Fine. My assistant is working on it. She’ll come up with a room for you somewhere close by.”
“And where are the majority of the high-powered delegates staying?”
Her brows puckered. “Here.”
“Aren’t you having a social event here?”
She nodded.
“Exactly. Security is not all about the convention center.”
“I can’t be expected to provide security for every one of the participants.”
“No, but if the most politically inclined are staying at this hotel, I need to be here to ensure everything that can be reasonably done is being done.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, the frown deepening.
Wyatt could almost see the gears turning in her brain.
“Let’s talk to the front desk again. Surely by now, they’ll have a cancellation.”
They exited the lounge and returned to the reception desk where a crowd had gathered. Ten men in business suits, an equal number of police officers and the hotel manager stood in front of the desk. One police officer stood with a clipboard, questioning one of the men in a business suit. He spoke Spanish and wrote as the man in the suit fired words back at him.
Fiona pushed through the crowd to the manager, Wyatt on her heels.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Oh dear, Ms. Allen.” He nodded toward the man speaking Spanish. “Jesus Rodriguez, the political delegate from Columbia, was on the way from the airport to the hotel when someone shot as his limousine.”
“What?” Fiona exclaimed. “Who? Where?”
“That’s why the police are here. They’re taking his statement.”
Wyatt suspected that the shot taken at the limousine was some dumbass taking a pot shot at the pretty, expensive car. But was it more than that? Was this the reason he’d been called in to head up the security? The piece of cake job might be more interesting than he first thought.
The manager gave Fiona an apologetic look. “By the way, I had a cancellation.”
Fiona’s face brightened. “That’s great.”
Wyatt didn’t think it was. In fact, he was somewhat disappointed at the news.
“Ms. Allen, Mr. Rodriguez is demanding a room for the additional bodyguard he wants on the premises to protect him while he’s here. What do you want me to do?”
Wyatt choked back a chuckle. The redhead couldn’t win. “Give him the room,” he whispered near her ear.
“What, and let you have our room?” She chewed her lip some more. “It’s even more important for me to be in the same hotel. I need to be where the high-profile delegates are staying.”
“Same here,” Wyatt said. “Even more so.” He crossed his arms. “How about this…we share the room—” He raised his hand when she started to open her mouth. “Hear me out, please.”
“Fine. Talk. But make it quick. The manager needs to find you a room.”
“I’ll bet they have a rollaway cot we can put in the room. I can sleep on the cot—I’ve slept on worse—you can have the bed and we can take turns in the shower.”
“No.”
“At least until the manager has another cancellation.”
“I’m not sleeping in the same room as you. I don’t even know you. You could be a pervert, or worse.”
Wyatt gave her his most convincing smile. “Or I could be nice guy forced to share a room with a very inflexible event planner. I can be trusted. If you don’t believe me, check my references.” He handed her his phone. “Call my boss. Better yet—” he took back his phone, “—call your contact with the government. They can get a background check on me faster, and they’re not biased.”
She glared at him. “I need the room to myself. How am I supposed to work with someone else in there?”
“The room is to sleep in. And I’ll be out checking on security staff at the convention center during the day and into the evening hours.”
The manager had been watching their exchange, his gaze shifting from Fiona to Wyatt and back with each verbal lob. Finally, he glanced at his watch. “Ms. Allen, I need an answer. The hotel is full and my people are working with a system that has proven less than reliable. I need to help them out.”
Fiona nodded. “Fine. You can give the bodyguard the open room. Mr. Magnus and I will share our room. If you can get us a rollaway bed. Now all I need is a gun to tuck under my pillow in case he tries anything funny.”
The manager’s eyes widened. “Ms. Allen, talking about guns might not be prudent at this time.” He nodded toward the cops.
Fiona flipped her hair back over her shoulder. “Fine.” Then she turned to Wyatt and whispered for his ears only, “I will be checking on your references and I have my concealed carry license, so I will be packing should you think you can take advantage of me when we’re alone.”
Wyatt wanted to laugh out loud and would have if he didn’t think she was serious. Fiona Allen carrying a gun scared him almost as much as the radical and dangerous Somali militants. But he wouldn’t let her know that. He’d just have to show her how trustworthy he could be.
Following her up to their shared room, he began to wonder if he could keep his hands to himself. The sway of her hips and the ramrod straight back on her petite frame practically begged to be loosened. And he knew just how to massage the stiffness out her. If she’d let him close enough, and if she didn’t shoot him first.
