Entrapment. Kylie Brant

about me. I can take care of myself, I assure you. It would appear that you have enough to concern yourself about with…” She raised a brow in Sam’s direction.

      He filled in the pause smoothly. “Sam Tremaine, ma’am.”

      “Your name doesn’t interest me as much as who you represent.”

      As Juliette opened her mouth to answer, he said, “Let’s just agree that I’m Juliette’s partner for the time being, and leave it at that.” He leaned forward to pick up the bottle of wine the waiter had left for them and tipped some more into the older woman’s glass.

      Next he picked up the flute before Juliette and filled it as he continued to address Pauline. “Your granddaughter was worried about you. I promised her this meeting to assure her of your well-being. After this there will be no contact between the two of you until our association has come to an end.”

      Juliette raised the glass before her and noted wryly, “Given our separation I’m beginning to believe you’ve gotten the better end of the deal, Grandmama. Mr. Tremaine has an annoying habit of issuing orders and expecting immediate obedience.” She was surprised to see a tiny smile curve her grandmother’s mouth.

      “Oh dear, how trying for you, darling.”

      “She doesn’t appear too experienced at taking direction,” Sam observed, sipping some water. “But I think we’ll be able to work out a mutually beneficial arrangement.” With a deliberate shift of topic he inquired about the other woman’s accommodations. Were they to her liking? Was there anything she needed? Was she being treated courteously?

      Juliette flicked a glance at him as he made the inquiries. Were they really supposed to believe he cared one way or another about the answers? But there was a note of sincerity in his voice, and he gave every impression of being interested in her grandmother’s replies. His head was inclined toward the older woman, and he was listening intently.

      The umbrella over their table shielded them from the worst of the afternoon’s brightness, but his position as he leaned forward placed him in a direct ray of sunlight, turning his hair a blinding shade of gold. It highlighted his hard profile, with its slash of cheekbones, hard lean jaw and straight blade of a nose.

      Her gaze lingered for a moment longer. There was a slight bump on this side of his nose, below the bridge, hinting at an old break. Abruptly she remembered the jagged, barely healed wound on his leg, and knew both injuries were only two on a long list. There had been an assortment of faded scars patterning his muscled body, and she’d been treated to a fine view of them before she’d left him to soak. Separately, each of the injuries would tell a fascinating story. Together they hinted at a life of violence she didn’t want to consider. There was too much she didn’t know about Sam Tremaine. But it was rapidly becoming clear that he was more—much more—than he claimed to be.

      She did know he worked fast. They hadn’t been in her apartment an hour that morning before his luggage had arrived, implying a sense of permanence that even now stung. She guessed he was smart, mercenary and more than a little fierce when provoked. And she knew that despite his injury, he was in prime physical condition.

      Her throat suddenly dry, Juliette tipped her glass to her lips, and forced her attention back to the couple at the table. Sam was writing something on a card and handing it to her grandmother. “If you need anything at all you can contact me at this number, day or night. One of my associates will dial it for you.”

      Pauline slowly took the card. “So I’m to enjoy my gilded cage for the duration, hmm?”

      “As much as possible, ma’am.”

      The older woman tucked the card in the small bag she carried. “Perhaps a few of your grandmother’s lessons were not in vain, after all.”

      Sam’s hard mouth curved. “Mostly the ones she accentuated with willow switches, ma’am, but she’d be proud to hear you say so.”

      “Willow switches?” Juliette sipped at her wine, her interest piqued despite herself. “I think she should have tried something longer and stouter if she wanted to make more of an impression.”

      “Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?” His gaze met hers over the top of his glass, a glimmer of amusement evident.

      “Not at all. I’ve just noted a certain single-mindedness that may be the result of lack of discipline as a child.”

      He touched his glass to hers, surprising her. “Something we have in common, then.”

      Deliberately, she placed her wineglass back on the table. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of drinking to that remark. He couldn’t possibly realize the experiences that had shaped her, and she was beginning to resent his insinuations. From the little he’d said, he’d been on Oppenheimer’s trail for a long time, as well. They had that in common, and regardless of his motivation, she doubted her goals were any less noble than his.

      A capricious breeze sent a strand of hair dancing, and her hand rose to smooth it back from her face. Her fingers met Sam’s as he reached out at that moment to do the same. She froze, her gaze jerking to his. The act was curiously intimate, and from the expression on his face, he was as surprised by the impulse as she was.