Avenging Angel Read Free Page B

but in a place where she’d felt much safer than was possible now, with her actually lying beneath him. His look implied, though, both then and now, that she was exactly where he wanted her, where he needed her, where he’d dreamed of having her.
    A frisson of fear coursed down her body as she acknowledged the unhidden message reflected in his eyes. She panicked and started to struggle.
    “ No . Don’t.” She gasped for a breath, pushing against him. “Stop.”
    With a lightninglike movement, he captured her hands in one of his and held her still. Dark lashes shadowed his eyes. His mouth tightened into a grim line, and his voice grew angry and soft. “I’m not trying to get in your pants, Miss Lane. I’m trying to save your life.”
    “No,” she whispered.
    Dylan swore and released her. He was the best damn liar he knew. His whole life was a lie. But he hadn’t fooled her.
    He swore again and looked out the window, but he didn’t really see what he’d been trained to see. The woman beneath him scrambled his brain. She always had.
    Six months earlier he’d culminated four years of undercover work by slipping into Austin Bridgeman’s underground empire as a bodyguard, a “security agent” for men who needed protecting. He had been highly recommended by his former employer, a man currently doing twenty years in a federal penitentiary compliments of Dylan. Dylan had been working toward taking Austin Bridgeman down the same way, with insider information and damning evidence compiled firsthand.
    It had taken him a while to work himself up into the front office. When he’d gotten there, the first thing he’d noticed was Johanna Lane, a bombshell package of brains, legs, virtue, and sophistication. He’d spent the next eight weeks noticing everything about her and driving himself crazy by wanting something he couldn’t have. He’d been almost relieved when she’d left the organization . . . almost.
    He glanced back down at her. She was watching him with a wariness he respected. She was smart. He’d known that from the beginning. She was also clean, squeaky clean, the kind of clean a man like him craved after years of two-timing and double-dealing. In the course of his investigation, he’d found out a lot about her: She’d worked her way up from the bottom of Bridgeman, Inc.; she wasn’t intimidated by Austin; she was damn good at her job. She also liked expensive perfume, the kind that warmed on a woman’s skin and left her scent, subtle and evocative, lingering in the place where she’d been. She usually crossed her legs left over right, with a fluid, easy grace that had never failed to demand his attention.
    His gaze slipped to her mouth. He knew how she put her lipstick on, the soft “O” her lips made, and the wild ideas it had given him. He knew she looked drop-dead serious and beautiful when she wore black.
    He knew Austin had wanted her. Now Austin wanted her dead.
    Dylan had been good at his job, too, and his job had been to fade into backgrounds and to be at Austin’s beck and call. His job had been not to be noticed, but more than once he’d made sure Johanna noticed him. He’d made a point of being at meetings she had with Austin, especially toward the end of her tenure, when Austin had started coming on to her. He had always kept to his place, the farthest reaches of Austin’s palatial office, ready to serve his employer—or to hang himself and his operation by coming to her rescue if Austin ever stepped over the line.
    Dylan had never had to go that far. Johanna had handled Austin with the same blend of cool charm and studiousness she used with all of her business associates. Yet she had a vulnerability that had compelled Dylan to let her know he was on her side. He’d meet her eyes when Austin turned his back. He’d change his position, however slightly, whenever Austin got too friendly, subtly rearranging the dynamics of the room, deliberately shifting the focus of the tension.