would make any woman drool. He even had beautiful hands. She couldn’t help noticing them when he was spooning food off his plate onto hers. At one point her gaze had been practically fixed on them. When had calloused fingers become sexy?
She then thought of something she hadn’t asked him but wanted to know. “Are you married?”
He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup. “Where did that question come from?”
“Just answer, Striker.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute. “No. I’m not married and never have been.”
She nodded. “Do you have a steady girlfriend?”
“Why? Are you interested in applying for the position if there’s an opening?”
She rolled her eyes. “No.”
“Then why is it any concern of yours?”
Margo wondered what type of woman could handle all that alpha-ness. All that testosterone. “I just want to know.”
He put his cup down and stared at her for a minute. Then, as if he’d made his mind up about something, he said, “No, I don’t have a steady girlfriend. Just unsteady ones. And that’s the way I like it. No promises and no entanglements.”
“So you’re one of those men who specialize in bed partners only.” It wasn’t a question and she made sure he knew that.
“You shouldn’t be so nosy, Margo.”
She shrugged. “I can’t help it. You’re such an interesting character.”
Striker’s cell phone rang and he quickly pulled it out of his pocket. He recognized that ringtone. “Why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be resting?” From Striker’s earlier conversation with Stonewall, he knew Roland had been released from the hospital with instructions from his doctor to get some rest.
“How is she, Striker?” Roland asked.
Striker knew Margo was listening to every word he said. “Okay. And I told you I would handle things.”
“And I know that you can, but I heard about the recent hit. Do you think we need to move her to another location that might be safer?”
“Not yet. Stonewall is my backup and, thanks to those security measures Bruce put in place, Stonewall is keeping an eye on things from where he is.”
“It’s a good thing I called Bruce in,” Roland said. “According to him, the security system she was using was a joke. Anyone could have disarmed it with no problem.”
“So I heard.” Striker had been told the same thing from Bruce. “I’m ending this call now, Roland. Get some rest, will you?”
“I will. Carson wouldn’t let me go to my place to recuperate. I’m at Sutton Hills.”
Sutton Hills was the Grangers’ estate that encompassed over two hundred acres near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. “Talk to you later, Roland. And do like I said and get some rest.” He clicked off the phone and waited for the questions he knew were coming.
“Who’s Roland?”
If only you knew. “Roland Summers is my boss.”
“Sounds like he’s more than that. I can tell that he’s someone you care about.”
Striker lifted a brow. She’d deciphered that after eavesdropping on his conversation? “Yes, he’s more than my boss. He’s a friend. A good friend.”
“What’s wrong with him? Is he ill or something?”
Taking a sip of his coffee, Striker felt his neck get warm. She was asking too many damn questions. “What makes you think that?”
“You told him to get some rest. What’s wrong with him?”
There was no way he would tell her that Roland was recuperating from a gunshot wound. Instead he said, “He’s a little under the weather.”
“In that case, why would he take the time to call? He doesn’t think you can handle this assignment?”
Striker frowned. “Roland knows I can handle things. Once in a while he likes to be kept in the loop. My goal is to keep you alive.”
She leaned over the table. Something flashed in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. Fear. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked him quietly. Almost too quietly, to the point he had to strain to hear her. “You know for certain I’m on the assassin’s list.”
He sighed. “You were in the courtroom that day, so you’ve always been on his list, Margo.”
She slanted him an annoyed look. “You know what I mean. You think I might be next.”
Striker wondered where in the hell she had gotten that idea. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel frightened. A frightened person had a tendency to let fear control them and the first thing to go was their common sense. A lack of common sense could bring on mistakes. Costly ones. What he wanted was for her to be alert and cautious.
“Hold on, Margo. All I know is that two jurors have lost their lives, but I don’t know anything about you being next. All I’m doing is taking precautions. Don’t start freaking out on me.”
She stiffened. “I won’t.”
“Good.” He checked his watch, deciding to change the subject. Hopefully Claudine would be on time and keep Margo occupied while he talked to Stonewall. He’d gotten his friend’s text request that he call. Had it been of major importance, Stonewall would have called him instead of texting, but Striker couldn’t help wondering what Stonewall wanted.
He moved over to the coffeepot to pour another cup. “So, Margo, since you’ve asked a lot of questions of me, I have a few for you.”
What on earth did he want to ask her? Margo wondered. She twisted in her chair and studied him while he poured his coffee. Even from the back the man was very impressive. She’d never been a woman who enjoyed checking out a man’s backside until now. He was definitely a hottie by any woman’s standards. Her heart nearly skipped a beat when he shifted to reach for the container of sugar. Heat she’d tried keeping at bay was now flooding her. All she could do was sit there, totally mesmerized by him. No man should be as handsome as Striker or as ornery. Or was it that she had the ability to bring out the touchiness in him?
Moments later he rejoined her at the table.
“Why would you want to ask me any questions?” she asked him.
“Trust me, I have my reasons.”
She couldn’t help wondering what those reasons were. There was only one way to find out. “So what are your questions?”
Margo couldn’t help staring into his eyes while thinking how gorgeous they were. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his mouth. Not for the first time, she thought he had a pair of lips that were downright sensuous.
“It’s not that this isn’t a nice community, but you’re wealthy. Why not live in one of those pricey penthouses in Cumberland Landing? And why are you self-employed and not running one of your family’s foundations?”
Margo pushed her fingers through her hair while thinking it wouldn’t be the first time someone had asked her that. “I went to college to become a fashion designer and I enjoy what I do. I worked with a major designer in New York for a while, but all the politics it took to move ahead turned me off. I like being my own boss and answering to no one. I guess you can say I work better by myself.”
She took a sip of her coffee and continued, “And this house suits me just fine and is just what I need. It’s my belief that just because a person has money, there’s no reason to flaunt it or use it unnecessarily.” That was one of the reasons she’d canceled her memberships at several of the country clubs. She’d discovered that some people with money