Page 8 of Silk Shadow

She descended the steps outside her apartment block and came to a stop beside him on the sidewalk. He towered over her, his hulking frame blocking out the early morning sun that had just poked its golden head over the D.C. skyline that counted as the horizon around here. Feeling awkward, she managed a tight smile.

"Morning, ma'am. Let me get that for you." He took the case from her, his hand brushing hers, but his gaze remained on his surroundings. A waft of manly aftershave floated her way, fresh and enticing, mingling with her own brand. The perfumer she'd worked with on Silk, her own fragrance, had taught her how to distinguish between different notes. Then there was that chiseled jaw, freshly shaven but somehow still hinting of a five o’clock shadow.

"Thank you."

Lewis placed the two heavy cases on the sidewalk beside the car. Viper lifted them up like they weighed no more than a child’s school case. He was going to be useful in more ways than one.

"Ready, ma'am?" Viper asked.

She nodded. "Yes, but please call me Izzy, or if we're around people, Miss Beaumont. I'm not a politician or royalty."

"Yes, Miss Beaumont."

She climbed into the back. He got into the driver's seat, checked she was buckled in, then started the engine. Signaling, he pulled out into the traffic. Izzy settled back and concentrated on her phone. The drive to the airport would take half an hour—time to catch up on her emails.

They stopped at a traffic light. She looked up and accidentally met his gaze in the rearview mirror—an intense blue laser that cut through the air between them. Unnerved, she glanced away.

Something about him made her nervous, something she couldn't put her finger on. Sure, he was the strong silent type, but he seemed distant, like he carried a heavy burden behind those slanting sea-blue eyes. Behind the granite façade was a repressed strength that made her both fear and admire him. He was a killer—a sniper, Pat had said—but also her protector. A confusing contradiction.

Letting out a slow breath, she contemplated the trip ahead. Warm Californian sunshine, laid-back glamor, cocktails by the beach. It was just what she needed. These last few weeks had left her shaken and anxious, more highly strung than usual, and she needed to decompress.

Ignoring the tension inside the vehicle, she concentrated on replying to queries, ordering samples, and a host of other requests. Her inbox was overflowing. There was never enough time to get through all of them. Thank goodness her assistant took care of the majority, flagging the important or urgent ones that needed her attention.

Half an hour later, they pulled into the VIP parking area at the airport. Viper had made excellent time, but then the roads weren’t busy at this hour.

He hauled her two enormous cases out of the trunk, including a beat-up leather duffel bag for himself. Distressed leather would be the correct term, which ironically was trending right now, but she had a sneaky feeling his bag had gotten that way through overuse, not a process in a factory.

Compared to her, he traveled light, but then he wasn’t the one hauling and entire range of clothing around.

"I'm going to grab a coffee," she told him after she'd checked her luggage. "Do you want one?"

"I'm good, thanks."

“Okay, suit yourself." Who didn't want coffee at 6 AM? She walked ahead of him to the Starbucks counter. He stuck to her like glue. So much so, she could almost feel his body heat, or was that her overactive imagination? In her head, she pictured him on a beach, surfboard in hand, dripping wet...

Okay, enough of that!

"Is it necessary to stand so close," she muttered.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's getting busy in here. It would be better if you sat somewhere less crowded."

He did have a point. Anyone in this crowd could be holding a knife or some other weapon. She bought her coffee moved to the executive lounge. Viper's massive shoulders relaxed once they were out of the fray, making her realize he’d been as on edge as she was.

Scanning the room, he said, "This is much better."

“Take a seat.” She gestured to the row of chairs next to her and checked her phone again. In the last ten minutes she’d received messages from her assistant, Emily; as well as the ad executive who was meeting her in San Diego with the models and crew; her stylist; and Robert. She sighed and read Robert's message first.

Have a good trip, darling. I'll try to get out there next week.

He ended it with a kiss.

She sighed. He was persistent, if nothing else. They'd only been on a few dates and weren't by any means exclusive, but he always treated her like gold, and she knew it had been her father's wish that they marry. "Robert is a good man, Izzy," he'd told her once. "And he's good for the company. You two would make a formidable team."

Except, that was the problem.

Her father was thinking about the company, not her. It wasn't unusual; he'd been doing that for as long as she could remember. During her formative years, he’d spent more time in Mexico than he had at home. Apart from school vacations at exotic beach resorts, most of her childhood memories were made at boarding school.

Emily messaged again. "I'm here! WTH are you?"

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