Page 30 of Power Play

Movement draws my attention from the beautiful fall display. I take in the perfectly tailored pants lingering on the outline of thick thighs before scanning up a narrow waist, broad shoulders, tan neck—wait a second. Why in the hell am I focusing on his neck? Yes, it’s kissable. Purely edible, actually.

No.

Stop it, Randi.

You will not lust after this asshole.

But I can’t seem to stop myself no matter what asshole thing he does or says. Which is odd, and considering everyone else’s odd is my normal, this is the oddest of oddities. Normally once I get a glimpse past the sexy exterior into the arrogant asshole that the man is at the core, I'm uninterested. Not simply turned off but revolted. But not with this agent. Oh no, that would bewaytoo convenient.

The fact that I can’t stop gravitating to him any time he’s close should make me question his true self. Is he truly an asshat at heart or just bitter but has a good heart and soul beneath it all? Right now, with everything else going on around me, I can't dive into that theory. Later. Someday I'll work it out.

Plus, I'm his boss, right? Pretty sure an interoffice relationship is listed somewhere in the top things to avoid. Even though the mental image of us alone in a dark office, me sprawled on top of a disheveled desk with him between—

“Ma'am?”

Trouble's honey brown eyes brighten with humor, crinkling at the edges with a sunburst of lines. Whoops, I'm blatantly staring as I fantasize about an inappropriate work hookup. And I mean hookup, not relationship. Those things are way too touchy-feely for this emotionally unavailable, overworked, ‘too stressed to even remember to eat’ girl.

“Sorry, still a little fuzzy, I guess.” Clearing my throat, I distract myself by bending forward to rifle through my laptop bag in search of my iPad. “But that's not unusual for me.” Fuck, I sound like an idiot.

I swear I'm smart and can rock the VP role if I’m elected. It might be wise to have that printed on a small business card to hand out after I've said something that displays my crazy.

A curse almost slips past my lips when the sexy Secret Service guy settles into the light leather seat across the tiny table that separates us. Not sure why he chose to sit close by, considering this morning he and the rest of the guys, minus Terminator, are acting frigid toward me. Why the mood from last night—tense but casual—shifted to all business, I have no idea. Maybe I said something strange in my sleep or to an agent when he woke me up per the doctor’s instructions.

I part my lips and suck in a breath, ready to ask why the cold shoulder, but seal them shut when the captain's voice comes over the speakers, informing us we're cleared for takeoff.

The row shakes, jostling me in my chair, as the massive boulder of a man settles into the seat beside me. Instinct kicks in, pulling me away from Terminator until my right shoulder hits the thick plastic window. A flash of uncertainty crosses his face. Not wanting to hurt the big guy’s feelings, I stretch my lips into a tight smile. It's not him I don't want touching me, it’s most people. Casual or intimate, it doesn't matter; all of it sets off an internal timer, counting down how long I must endure the contact until I can pull way.

“How's the head?” he asks. His assessing gaze sweeps along my face like he can see through to my injured brain. Sweet man.

“Still hurts, but it’s not pounding toward the edge of pulverizing my brain, so that's an improvement.”

A corner of his lips tugs up. “That's good. We caught the driver of the truck that caused the accident last night.”

That has my full attention. Brows raised, I lean back against the plane and rest my head on the window. “Oh yeah? Has he said anything?”

“Nothing, unfortunately. We've run his name though the various databases, but we can't connect him to any watch list groups.”

The building hope deflates in my chest. Blowing out through tight lips, I roll my shoulders and shift my focus from Terminator to the table. Dammit, I can’t stop the disappointment from dampening my mood.

“Hey, we'll figure it out.” I nod, not glancing up. “I looked over the driver’s background. No way was he working alone. Until then, you're safe with us.”

A large hand rests on my forearm. As I return my attention back to him, I start my internal countdown till I can move out of his grasp without it offending him. Thankfully he pulls away before the ten-second timer buzzes.

“We're your primary or alpha team. Last night was a shi—” Terminator clears his throat. “Apologies, ma'am—”

I hold up a hand to halt his apology. “Stop. I want to be myself when you and the other agents are around, and I want the same from you. All of you. I'm not some sensitive, stuck-up Washington socialite. You don't have to pussyfoot around me unless we're in public.”

The entire plane tenses, the air turning stiff and heavy.

“What?” I ask, letting a hint of annoyance seep into my tone. Terminator doesn't speak up, looking everywhere other than me. I scan the cabin, looking for someone who will explain. “Okay, what is going on?”

“We believe considering your relationship with Birmingham, it's best to keep everything professional, keep the lines clear.” There’s no mistaking the disdain in Trouble's voice.

What the hell?

I meet his flaring gaze. “My relationship.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Are you just his fuck toy?”

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