Read the book: «A Dangerously Sexy Christmas»

1

PERSONAL SECURITY DETAIL was a lot like babysitting. All Max Ridgeway had to determine was whether the person under his protection would be the model child or the toddler from hell.

“Do you always disregard your personal safety, Miss Lawson?” he asked.

Two catlike eyes glowered at him. But if he was going to protect her, he needed to know if she would throw herself into harm’s way. Or run. Or walk down a dark alley in the middle of the night.

“You say you don’t want my protection. Tell me if I’ve misunderstood you.” He leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head.

She squared her shoulders against his visitor’s chair and displayed what he imagined was her most dazzling smile. Rose Lawson’s eyes were almond-shaped and a most unusual shade of yellow-green. She had thick curling lashes, a heart-shaped face and glossy pouted lips made for sin. The whole sexy package probably turned other men to goo. But her appearance—while thoroughly enjoyable—would not distract him.

“You’ll have to excuse the mix-up,” she said in a smooth voice that sent a shot of heat through him. Her accent was strange. Definitely American, but the gentle lilt of her words suggested extensive time overseas. London, according to his research. “My father hired you, but he can be a little...overprotective. I won’t be needing your services.”

Her insistence on refusing his protection meant she would be a royal pain in the butt to have as a client. Only she wasn’t the client; her father was. She stood up and raked a hand through her chin-length brown hair, the artfully curled lengths falling back into place as she released them. Her eyes flicked over him, lingering on his face before she checked her phone.

“Sorry to waste your time,” she said in a tone that didn’t sound sorry at all.

The wall clock of his office ticked loudly in the silence. Each second was another he couldn’t have back.

Rose walked toward the door, her heels clicking against the office floor. Skin-tight black jeans accentuated her legs, and a loose top in black silk acted as a canvas to the ornate red, gold and yellow necklace that hung down to her navel. Her file indicated she was a jewelry designer. Perhaps she’d made the necklace herself.

He let her get to the door of his office before stopping her. “I didn’t say you could leave.”

Her shoulders stiffened and she spun to face him. The charming smile slipped and she regarded him coolly. “I wasn’t aware I required your permission.”

She pulled on a heavy black coat. Jewel-studded gold bracelets clinked, making her movements seem musical.

“As of now you’re in my charge.” Max stood, walked over to her and leaned his back against the wall. “Your father hired me to look after you until we can figure out who broke into your store.”

At the mention of her father Rose became wary, distant. “Probably a bunch of kids. I work in a jewelry store. It’s not hard to believe it was a crime of opportunity. Besides, it’s not even my store. The owner doesn’t seem to think she needs protection, so why should I?”

“Your father obviously thinks you need it.” Max tossed the comment out to see what reaction he’d get.

“He doesn’t know what’s best for me.” She gritted her teeth. “Besides, this happened two whole days ago. If someone was after me, wouldn’t they have done something about it by now?”

“Not necessarily. And as for your ‘kids’ theory, the store was broken into, but the perp didn’t take anything.” He cocked his brow. “That doesn’t sound much like a crime of opportunity to me.”

“All the jewelry is locked in a safe, as are the stones in the workshop.” She tilted up her face to his, exasperation clear in her eyes. “They’re high-grade safes, not something that can be pried open with a crowbar. And I lock the safes whenever I close up. We also have a security system, cameras and a duress button.”

Max couldn’t help but notice the way the colored beads around her neck sparkled like fire...the same fire that lit up her eyes. She was feisty, all right. He’d have his hands full keeping her safe, especially if her father’s suspicions turned out to be true.

“The security system was disarmed and the cameras turned off. And yet they left without touching the safe or stealing anything. You don’t find that strange?”

“No, I don’t. Perhaps they were interrupted, or it was just a random act of vandalism.” She stepped toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me...”

If it had been the act of a bunch of kids trying to vandalize the neighborhood, then why had they stopped at her store in particular? A store with a high degree of security. Why not bust up a few windows of the shops next door? Rose Lawson was definitely in danger. Max pressed a palm to the door frame next to her head, blocking her exit.

“We haven’t finished.”

Her cheeks flushed deep pink, making her fair skin seem even lighter and her yellow-green eyes even more vivid. “Who do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy who’s going to protect you, Rose.” For some reason his heart was beating a little too fast, his blood pumping a little too hard. “And I take that seriously.”

“Look,” she said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “I don’t need anyone to protect me, least of all some beefed-up GI Joe wannabe.”

Ouch. The lady had an acid tongue. That shouldn’t have surprised him. Women as beautiful as she was often had the world at their feet and they didn’t appreciate it one bit. He resisted the urge to tell her just how wrong her assessment of him was, how totally off base and ignorant and narrow-minded—

“Hit a nerve, did I?” She smirked, the pale pink shine of her lip gloss catching the light.

“Sticks and stones.” Max leaned forward, bringing his face closer to hers. “I’ve endured a lot worse in my life. So you can throw those petty little insults around as much as you like, because they won’t change the fact that from now on I’m going to be your shadow.”

In the silence that followed, the raggedness of her breath amplified. Her fingers danced at the edge of her necklace, tracing the beads and counting them as if it were a rosary.

“Now,” he said, stepping back and dropping his arm. “I’m taking you home.”

“The hell you are.” Rose glared up at him. “I don’t want a bodyguard, or whatever you’re called.”

“Security consultant,” Max corrected, inwardly laughing as she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t need one of those, either. I’m fine. It was just a one-off incident.” She pushed a stray tendril of hair from her face.

“I’ll see you home anyway, just to be sure.”

He’d been hired to protect Rose, and he’d do just that. Max’s gig with Cobalt & Dane Security might not be the career he’d dreamed of as a young lad in Australia, but the job had come when he’d needed it most. It was all he had. His old career was in tatters, his fiancée was a distant memory and his best friend...

Max swallowed. He would succeed at this, and if that meant following Rose home against her wishes, then so be it.

“Whatever.” Rose fished around in her bag and pulled out her car keys. “If you want to waste your time, go right ahead.”

She marched out of his office and headed straight past the reception desk to the elevators without waiting to see if he would follow. Jabbing a finger at the button, she tapped one high-heeled foot while she waited.

Max stood behind her, close enough to keep an eye on her but not so close as to encourage her to hurl any more insults at him.

The elevator arrived and Rose stepped inside, head bowed as she tapped at her phone, ignoring him. In the confined space, he could smell her perfume, something floral and expensive. It was probably some exclusive crap made of unicorn tears. She leaned against the elevator wall and crossed one slim, shapely leg over the other.

You’re being paid to look after her, remember? Ogling her legs is not in the job description.

Swallowing, he studied the illuminated numbers at the top of the elevator door as they descended. A soft ping signaled their arrival and Rose strode past him, her heels clicking against the concrete floor. Max could have picked her car out even without the telltale flashing lights when she hit the remote button.

The shiny, lipstick-red vehicle stood out among the sensible fleet of black and gray ex-NYPD sedans that belonged to the security company and its employees. Condensation billowed as their breath connected with the cold December air.

He got into his own car, a perfectly forgettable gunmetal gray Ford Crown Victoria. As she peeled out of her parking space, he cranked up the heat and followed.

The traffic was as thick as soup, but Rose’s bright car was easy to track even as she weaved from lane to lane, no doubt to irritate him. New York driving was something else. If it wasn’t for the fact that his job often required him to travel all over the state, he wouldn’t have bothered with a car. Driving in New York was kind of like trying to befriend a criminal...pointless and risky. The incessant honking of the taxis—or cabs as they liked to call them here—sounded over the top of his music, causing his shoulders to bunch around his neck.

Some days he really missed Australia, but he tamped down the useless sentimentality and the inevitable torment that followed when he thought of home.

Eventually they crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and shortly after she pulled up outside a string of town houses. His car rolled to a stop behind hers. The street was lined with trees, their bare branches decorated with colored fairy lights. The area wasn’t in the least bit flashy or what he’d expected from a princess. The buildings looked clean, yet modest. Several had Christmas wreaths on the front doors.

Snow crunched beneath his boots as he stepped out of his car and followed her up the path to the front door. He folded his arms across his chest, bracing himself against the chill.

As Rose fished in her bag for her house keys, a warning tingled his senses. A deep intuition that had been honed over years of being a cop. The crisp air blew around him, but there was something else. A distant noise that caught his attention for a fleeting moment and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“Wait.” He put a hand over hers as she was about to push her key into the lock.

He turned, assessing the area in front of the house. At first nothing seemed out of place, but then he noticed it—a cigarette butt by her door.

Max stepped in front of her and tested the front door. Locked. He leaned out and checked the window next to the door. Also locked.

“What are you doing?” she asked and he silenced her with a look.

“Do you smoke?”

She shook her head, brows raised. “It’s terrible for your skin. Why?”

Someone who was smoking on the street would not have purposefully flicked it all the way up to her front door. No, the smoker had been standing right there.

Rose huffed at his lack of response and shoved her key into the lock, holding her coat tight around her neck with her other hand. “You’re all wound up for nothing.”

But Max’s senses remained on high alert. Years on the force had taught him never to ignore his gut. In fact, he’d earned the nickname Spider-Man for how reliable his “Spidey senses” were in the line of duty.

And the one time he had ignored those senses, he’d paid. Dearly.

She opened the door and stepped into the entrance of the apartment, her heels sharp against the dark polished boards. She tapped a number into her alarm pin pad and dropped her keys into a crystal bowl, the sound echoing through the empty apartment.

“I told you nothing was wrong,” Rose continued, shrugging out of her coat and stepping out of her heels. “I don’t need pro—”

The last word died on her lips as she glanced around. Cushions were scattered across the living room. The drawers of her coffee table had been opened, their contents spilled like blood across the floorboards. A floor lamp lay on its side, surrounded by glinting glass from a smashed photo frame.

“Oh, my God.” Rose’s breath hitched as she surveyed the damage, her hands fluttering uselessly at her sides.

She bent down and picked up the silver frame. The photo had a scratch on it from where the glass had broken, marring the face of the young girl standing with an older woman. She traced the jagged line with her fingertip.

Paper filled with jewelry sketches littered the floor like oversize snow. A bookcase had been overturned, its contents scattered. He tested the weight of the bookcase. Someone strong had done this.

Red shards glinted on the floor—an ornament had been knocked off her Christmas tree and shattered beyond repair. Two more baubles sat on the floor, unbroken, and the angel on top of the tree hovered at a precarious angle.

“Stay close while I check the rest of the house,” Max said, his voice level.

He knew the drill. Clear the area. Don’t leave the victim alone in case the intruder was still in the house. Since it was just the two of them, there was no one to stay behind and watch Rose while he did the clearing.

He reached into his leather jacket and drew the pistol from his holster. “We need to make sure whoever did this is gone.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded, drawing nearer to him without argument. They moved together through the dining area and into the kitchen. More cupboards were open there, more glass smashed. A door leading out to a tiny courtyard remained closed.

It was unlocked.

“Did you check this today before you left the house?”

She sucked on her lower lip. “I honestly can’t remember.”

Max was careful to move slowly so Rose could follow. But his blood pumped fiercely through his veins, his senses tuned to notice the slightest noise or change in atmosphere. A near-silent footstep. A breath.

He felt her presence at every step, her body close to his as they checked every nook, every corner. Her bedroom was by the front door. It, too, had been ransacked.

The drawers of her bureau were open, colorful scraps of lace flung everywhere. A purple bra hung from the handle of the drawer and a pile of panties had been dumped nearby like a crumpled rainbow. The head-spinning scent of flowers filled the room. Max spied an overturned perfume bottle, its contents dripping down the drawers to form a puddle on the ground.

Rose picked up the bottle, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She touched her fingertip to the chipped neck. “This was my mother’s. She brought it with her when we left America.”

The ink on the label had run, the leaked perfume smearing the words together. Her hand shook and Max reached out, taking the bottle from her so she wouldn’t cut herself. He placed it back on the bureau.

“We’ll find out who did this, Rose. But you have to believe me when I say this doesn’t feel like an isolated incident.”

She nodded mutely, her face set into a hard mask. Unemotional. Contained.

They walked to the living room. “Can you get upstairs from inside the building?”

Rose shook her head. “It’s a totally separate apartment. The guy who lives there uses the stairs out front.”

“He might have seen something.”

“I’m pretty sure he does shift work. He’s hardly ever home in the evenings.” She shrugged, her eyes unfocused. “But you could try.”

They hovered by the front door, Rose huddled close to him. Her hands were shoved into the pockets of her black jeans as though she didn’t want to risk touching anything. But her eyes revealed what the nonchalant pose was trying to hide. Fear.

The robbers had struck the jewelry store first, but hadn’t taken anything. And now they’d targeted Rose’s home. They were looking for something specific.

“Is anything missing?” Max asked as softly as he could. It was hard not to sound like a cop when it was all he’d ever known.

“Not that I can tell.” Her yellow-green eyes clouded over, dark brows pinched together above her pert nose. It was cruel that a women could look so beautiful with a face full of storm clouds.

He listened intently, but only Rose’s quickening breath broke the silence. He holstered his pistol and watched her for a moment.

Max turned to inspect the closet by the entrance. It wasn’t built into the wall, but it appeared to be bolted against it for stability. The door was ajar.

Inside, a black coat hung beside its gray twin. A pair of snow boots and two pairs of black high heels sat on the floor. He bent down to inspect a storage box that had been opened.

“Do you keep anything valuable in here?” He turned, expecting to see her behind him. But she wasn’t there. “Rose?”

A crash in the kitchen sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. He sprang up and raced through the apartment, his boots heavy and loud on the wooden floor. Each sense was focused, his eyes capturing and assessing every detail.

“Rose!” He drew his pistol.

Something hard connected with his shoulder as the intruder sprinted toward the front door in a blur of black. Max quickly regained his footing, but the person was gone in an instant. Max burst out onto the street only to find the intruder had vanished into thin air.

A lady walking her dog peered at him curiously, her eyes zeroing in on his gun. She hurried along, her head down. Max slammed his hand down on the brick letterbox as he stalked back into the house, holstering his weapon.

“Are you okay?” he called out as he jogged through the doorway.

Rose sat on the ground, her eyes wide and her breathing erratic. Chest heaving, she stared up at him. Unblinking. He dropped to the ground in front of her and inspected her face for cuts and bruises. Thankfully, she appeared to be shocked but not seriously hurt.

“I came back into the kitchen and he grabbed me from behind.” She touched her fingertips to a bright red spot under one eye and winced.

“Did you see his face?”

“It all happened so quickly. He was tall and had dark hair... That’s all I saw after he pushed me over.” She swallowed. “Oh, he had a tattoo on his neck.”

“Of what?”

She bit her lip. “Something black...a spade, I think.”

“Did he say anything?”

She took a deep breath, her eyes finally focusing on Max. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘Where is it?’” She shook her head. “I don’t know what he was talking about.”

He’d been prepared for her to cry next, but Rose Lawson held firm. Shell-shocked, but firm. Her bubble of denial had well and truly been shattered today, but she’d taken it like a champ and he respected her for that.

He had to fight the sudden urge to bundle her up and kiss her until she forgot everything—the trauma, the stress, the reality—but the pressure of his lips. He shoved the thought aside. It wasn’t like him at all to think about anything other than the facts. How had Rose gotten under his skin so quickly?

Max cleared his throat. “Do you hurt anywhere?”

“In my brain.” She managed a wan smile. “He clipped my face when he grabbed me, but otherwise I’m fine.”

“I’m going to check out the front.” He stood and held a hand out to her. “I need you to come with me so I can keep an eye on you this time. And no walking off unless I say so.”

“Okay.” She brushed aside his hand and stood on her own, dusting her palms down the front of her jeans.

“I mean it. Don’t go wandering off.”

“I said okay.” She followed him, but a scowl narrowed her eyes. The mark on her face had started to bloom. She’d have a nasty bruise there tomorrow.

They wove through the debris of her belongings and Max walked back out onto the sidewalk to take stock of the area. Rose hovered at the entrance and he glanced at her every few seconds. Everything appeared the same as it had been before with the exception of a missing black car. It could have been the getaway vehicle, or it could belong to a neighbor who’d gone out. He hadn’t heard an engine start, but noise from a renovation a few buildings down drowned out everything else.

Rubbing a hand along his jaw, he scanned his memory for the model. Nothing. The car had been nondescript, a sedan. Not old, but not brand-new, either.

His breath puffed out in front of him. The sun had dipped along with the temperature and the light from Rose’s apartment filtered out around her, highlighting her silhouette.

“What happens now?” she asked as he walked up the path.

“We should find you a relative to stay with,” he said, motioning for her to go inside. He closed the door behind him, willing the warmth from the apartment to seep into his limbs.

Silence.

“What if I don’t have anyone?” she asked, her voice icier than the snow-covered ground outside.

“What about your father?”

“It’s complicated. We’re not...” She attempted a smile but it came out more like a grimace. “No, I can’t.”

“He hired me to look after you. Obviously he’s concerned for your safety.”

She put up a hand to stop him arguing with her. “I’m not staying with him. End of story. Besides, lightning doesn’t strike twice, right?”

She wanted him to reassure her. But he couldn’t, not after what had just happened. He wouldn’t jeopardize her safety, not for anything.

“Don’t you have anyone else to stay with? A friend, another relative?” He knew her mother was deceased, but surely she had someone else in her life.

“I’ve only been back in New York a month. The closest thing I have to a friend is the barista at the coffee shop I go to every day,” she said, her eyes meeting his, her chin tilted.

She didn’t want his pity. He could see that as plain as day.

“You shouldn’t be alone.” Max shook his head again and raked a hand through his hair.

Everything about this scenario rankled. His gut had told him this was more than a simple robbery. The intruder’s question only solidified his suspicions. The jewels in Rose’s bedroom appeared untouched apart from them being dumped onto her bed, though she’d have to confirm it. He wasn’t a jewelry expert, but he was sure her pieces would be worth something.

No, this wasn’t just a robbery. A dangerous person wanted something from Rose Lawson, and he was going to find out exactly what it was.