Captured at Nightfall (Capture My Heart Love Story) (6 page)

Lainie
’s head shook but there was laughter shining in her eyes. “You’re right. You’re sick. I can’t believe I’m living with someone as perverted as you. You’re a Google-abusing nightmare!” Her hands flew to her mouth in mock-horror.

Okay, well, put like that, maybe
Allie
was
being a little ridiculous. “Fine; I’m a gentle stalker. What if I make him mad, though? What if he doesn’t want anything to do with me?” She stopped herself, knowing that she’d just plummeted into winey-girl territory. “I’m being silly, aren’t I?”

“Kind of.”
Lainie smirked.

Allie
dragged in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I can do this. I am an adult. It’s completely natural to want to thank him. And he’s attractive. Why shouldn’t I ask him out?” At that, Allie felt her stomach lurch with rising nerves.
Oh, man. I’ve got to get out of this house.
She stuck both hands out and started to back away from Lainie’s door. “I’m off to meet the executioner before I wimp out.”

“Good luck! Try not to pee your pants when you see him. Call me later to let me know how it goes!”

Allie’s stomach clenched again and she muttered, “I am
such
a stalker.”

***

Allie was looking up at the acid washed, stainless steel sign that melted into a high-rise, glass building, trying desperately to hold her giggling in check. Her anxiety was choosing to express itself though some rather bizarre channels.

The sign read P.P.M.S.

She giggled again.
Seriously
? Maybe there was a reason Matthew was so grumpy after all. . .

As she drew closer, she noticed a small plaque that was set into the building beside the entrance that expounded on the letters above her head.

Personal Protective and Monitoring Services.

Oh, boy
.

Body guard-type stuff.

What a shocker
, Allie’s thoughts were a snarky hiss in her head. Her teeth pulled at her bottom lip and she felt her belly turning yellow. This was a business; as in a place where he worked in order to earn his living and pay the bills. It’d be inappropriate to bother him at work. Her fingers tapped out a nervous tattoo over her hip.

“I’m such a chicken.”

She stepped forward and the
zoom!
of a small video camera followed her movements. Her feet froze. “Come on, Allie,” she muttered. “You can do this!” Shoulders back, chest raised, she clomped into the building with as much dignity as her booted foot would allow.

The foyer inside was all vast, marble tiling, clean lines, and sharp concrete edges.
Very modern. Minimalistic. With a sleek, black reception desk centered in the middle of the room. Testosterone practically oozed from the walls. Allie cringed as her booted-foot’s clomping rhythm echoed around the entryway.

The goon behind the desk watched her make the long walk across the foyer with impassive, but attentive eyes. Stacks of brochures advertising personal ser
vices, home security systems, gadgetry, and “about us” information were piled all around him.

“Can I help you?” The goon’s eyes locked on
Allie’s foot.
Cripes
, she hoped her concealer was still in full force.

“Hi
” –
so lame!
She cleared her throat to start again—“I was hoping to speak to Matthew Lynch?”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Allie squirmed.
Appointment
? “
Errm
. . . no.” She fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

His eyebrows rose. “Do you have an account with us?”

“No, sorry.” Her teeth sank back into her lip.

When t
he goon didn’t automatically put her out on her butt Allie sighed in relief. His fingers scattered over the keyboard of his laptop and a fresh screen pulled up. “Did you need information on our personal protection services?”

“It’s
. . . ah . . . kind of a private matter. I need to see Matthew directly.”

He clicked some more on the keyboard. “Mr.
Lynch is due back within the next twenty minutes. He’s had a cancellation. If you would like, you can wait for him.”

“Sure.” She knew she’d never have the guts to come back if she left now. “I’ll wait.”

“Your name?”

“
Allison Young.”

His fingers pressed a button on
an ear piece. “Morgan? There is a Ms. Young here to see Lynch. Can you see her up?” He pressed the button again and his eyes cut back to Allie’s face. “I’ll have an escort assist you up to Mr. Lynch’s office.”

Mr. Lynch?
“Thanks.” The elevator light dinged across the foyer and the doors opened. Another goon, this one more like a chocolate-covered stegosaurus, crossed to the desk until he was standing next to her. “Ms. Young?”

She gulped down some courage and followed
steggy to the elevator, surprised at how lithely he could move for being so packed down by muscle. The doors opened and they went inside. Steggy pressed the fourth floor button and slid a key card into a slot next to the silver button plate. The key card and the whole
Mr. Lynch
shtick had Allie guessing her merc was probably in management, or possibly held ownership in PPMS.

The
elevator whizzed upward and her stomach lurched into her throat. There was no soothing background music to break up the static silence. What she wouldn’t kill to hear Kenny Loggins singing about Pooh Bear or Kenny G saxophone. To distract herself from the reality that she’d be standing face-to-face with Matthew within the half-hour, her eyes wandered over the sterile grey enclosure and then up to steggy. She felt like she’d been thrown into some kind of CIA movie. Lainie was going to have a fit when she heard about this!

Steggy’s
head tipped to her and Allie dropped her eyes self-consciously. Her mouth fell open when she noticed the gigantic gun holstered at his hip.

Oh, boy
.

The light dinged before she could pee her
pants and the doors slid open. She couldn’t decide if she should be grateful to be free of the shared confines with scary steggy, or nervous at having been dropped off deeper—higher?—into the rabbit hole. Good idea or not, Allie allowed herself to be ushered down a hallway and into a spacious office dripping with
man
.

More hard angles and concrete table tops in here.
Instead of flowers or pictures, there were plaques mounted on the walls to display the company’s achievements. Very minimalistic, the only frivolous decoration was a five-foot-tall glass sculpture of four stacked spheres tucked between two sleek, black leather couches by the doorway. On the other end of the room was a floor-to-ceiling window behind a wall of book shelves and a black mahogany desk that was empty of any papers or clutter, aside from a port where you could plug in a lap top.

“Mr.
Lynch will be with you shortly.” With that, steggy left.

Okay
, she thought as she looked around the room. Nearly empty, just like his locker.

What is the deal with this guy?

Matthew
was a ghost. He didn’t seem to really exist anywhere. Not at the UMMA, where he seemed to stop by to beat the shit out of people; and not here, either. This was just some place to meet clients. Allie felt an uncomfortable twinge in her gut that had her wondering if there was something wrong with Matthew. No one lived this Spartan. Not if they came here day in and day out.

She migrated to the couch, n
ot bothering to snoop around the bookshelf, which only contained more reading material for PPMS—
giggle
—and took a seat. There just wasn’t anything to snoop
through
. No wonder steggy didn’t feel the need to stick around.

She wondered if it made cli
ents uncomfortable. Probably not. Probably, they thought he was very professional—like the goon squad on the first floor. Well, Allie quirked her lips up, assuming he didn’t go ape-shit and break a limb. With a sigh, she scrolled through her new iPhone and attempted a game of Solitaire while she waited. After losing three in a row, she gave up. Her nerves were shot, her thoughts scattered all over the place.

Fingernails tapped over her thigh while her foot bobbed up and down.

Who
was
this guy?

She closed the App and dropped her phone into her purse. When she looked up
Matthew was standing in the doorway.

She jumped from her seat, knocking her purse to the ground.

A strip of light from the towering windows glinted off his messy, bronze hair. Long legs, narrow hips, and crossed arms coiled with latent power beneath a pair of dark grey fatigues that also stretched over the bulk of his chest and shoulders. He was lean and tall in a zero-percent-body-fat kind of way, not at all like the goon-squad on the first floor. Those same sharp features and chiseled jaw that Allie had seen carve hard as marble when he was facing an opponent squared off at her now.

Deadl
y calm and scary as hell. The merc in a nutshell.

Just looking at
Matthew had Allie’s blood sprinting through her veins, making her head all muddled and pulling the moisture from her mouth down to pool in other areas that had roared to life ever since she’d first met him.

His expression was unreadable as he met her gaze, his eyes black beneath a shadow that caressed his face
and sharpened it even further.

“
Matthew,” his name slid from her lips on a sigh.

He shucked his jacket, walked to his desk, and draped it across the back of
his chair. When he pulled out a big ass, semi-automatic hand gun and placed it on the corner of the desk, Allie’s mouth dried even more—somewhere around the Sahara Desert range. His hair was shorter than she remembered. He’d cut it. It was texturized with gel or wax or something, still allowing it to fall around his brow in a sexy tousle.

While
he slid around the desk, those tight hips resting at its side, arms folding across his chest, Allie noticed how completely closed off he was. This was
not
going at all how her fantasies had hoped. She hadn’t expected to confront Rambo.

“
Allison.” His mouth was a tight line.

Sandpaper tongue sticking to the ro
of of her mouth, anything she’d planned to say dispersed like smoke between her ears.

And
crap!
she was fidgeting, gawking at the muscles in his chest and biceps.

Snap out of it, Stupid!
she begged her brain.

“What are yo
u doing here?” His voice was caramel and velvet, caressing each word in the same way it did over her skin, raising her pulse even higher.

“I wanted to see you . . . to say thank you . . . for the other day, I mean.”

“Is that all?”

His words cut her. She didn’t know how to start a conversation
with someone like him. Forced to get down to the gist of her visit, she gulped. “I guess I thought maybe we could get together sometime.”
Oh
, she felt like an ass. What had she been thinking, coming here!

He sighed; his composure cracking a bit
when long fingers dove through his hair. “I told you before I don’t do that.”

“I know.” Her eyes dropped to her twitching hands
while her cheeks flamed.

Silence.

“This was a mistake,” she was finally forced to mumble. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She bent to gather her purse, begging her tears to wait until she could get outside. She’d never been so embarrassed before.
This was horrid!
Her things kept slipping between trembling fingers.

And then
Matthew's hands closed around hers: cold, and strong. “Allie?”

She looked up and the air squeezed from her lungs.

His beautiful, hard face was
right there
; forehead creased, eyes troubled, lips growing softer as he looked down into her eyes. He quickly gathered her things back into her purse, handed it to her, and pulled her to her feet. She stood there like an idiot, caught within the clutch of his mesmerizing gaze. Now only inches from her, she saw that his eyes were a truly pure green, encircled by a rim of deepest blue—without a hint of hazel flecking to be found.

Crap
, she was staring again.

Helpless.

A puddle of foolish female.

His thumb traced over her cheek, sent a lick of heat down into her belly. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt lust consume her. “You look better,” his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Your face is healing.”

Her eyes opened and she felt suddenly shy. “Thank you.”

“Allie?” The pad of his thumb settled over her bottom lip and she felt his pulse, a steady tick against her flesh. “What are you doing here? Really?”