Dear Lord, was that a blush she felt on her face? She didn’t embarrass easily—except that he’d nailed it perfectly. How many times had Scott remonstrated her for being too pushy?
“Sahara?” Brand prompted.
She wished she hadn’t worn her hair in her usual classic updo. With her nape exposed, the heat of his breath sent swirling sensations to riot in her belly.
Brazening her way through the awkward moment, she flapped a hand and admitted, “I might have been a little nosy.”
“And a little opinionated?”
“Maybe just a smidge.” His closeness made her edgy, so she again moved away, very casually in hopes that he wouldn’t know he had her on the run. “After that job, I was a lobby receptionist.”
“Fired from the elevator job, or was it a promotion?”
Damn him, did he really have such a low opinion of her? Maybe he didn’t like her. That was something she’d never considered. She got along great with the other bodyguards who were all friends with Brand.
Or...did they feel the same way, too? Did they humor her in person while resenting her the rest of the time?
Disliking that possibility, she paused near her desk and, doing her best to keep the frown off her face, said, “A lateral move, actually.”
“Uh-huh. Did Scott tell you that?”
Scott had told her to quit harassing the clients—but she didn’t feel like sharing that part. Although, seeing Brand’s expression, she’d bet he already assumed as much. He seemed to know her too well.
Better than anyone else, in fact.
“Scott told me he wanted me to experience every facet of the business.”
“But you were never a bodyguard.”
She took pleasure in saying, “Yes, I was.”
Now Brand frowned, and she loved how intimidating he looked. He’d make an ideal bodyguard if only he’d realize it.
“Bullshit.”
She tsked at the crude language, her idea of a reprimand. “Scott taught me to shoot. I’m actually pretty good at it.”
“I’ve never seen you practice.”
“Here, with my employees? Of course not.” She had to maintain some mystique. “Scott owned his own range elsewhere and now it’s mine.”
“Where?”
She smiled. “It’s private.”
He countered with “Protecting a client isn’t always about shooting.”
“No, it’s mostly about intelligent decisions, good planning and quick thinking.” She let her gaze dip over him. “It’s one reason I thought you would do so well at the job.”
“Me, yes. But you?” His long strong fingers circled her upper arm. “You’re brilliant, Sahara, so no problem there.”
The assurance that he didn’t consider her stupid would have been nice, except that the moment he’d touched her, her thinking faltered. So did her breathing. And her heartbeat.
“I’ve never known anyone with a quicker mind than you,” he went on. “But when it comes to strength?” He lightly caressed her arm. “Physical strength, I mean. Does a woman like you, a woman who’s always manicured and polished, have any?”
Just that simple touch, his warm fingers brushing over her bare skin, on her arm, and her priorities got all mixed-up.
At five-eight, she wasn’t exactly petite, but Brand still stood half a foot taller, and next to his chiseled bulk, she felt downright dainty.
Oh, this wouldn’t do. Sahara cleared her throat and made herself stare up into his eyes. “Brute strength? I’m definitely lacking.”
“Didn’t say you were lacking. In fact, I’d say you’re just about perfect, but not strong enough to tangle with someone intent on causing harm.”
“When someone is smart enough and quick enough, there is no tangling.” She gave him her best smug smile and pretended her knees weren’t weak. “I worked for three different clients. One job was glorified babysitting for a three-year-old while authorities tried to find a failed kidnapper.”
Brand’s expression softened to real concern. “The child—”
“She was okay. Her father, Mr. Drayden, chased off the masked man before he got away with her.”
“Thank God.”
Sahara agreed. “Drayden wouldn’t rest until he knew who the man was and why he’d tried to kidnap his daughter, and was assured he’d remain behind bars.”
“Did they ever get the guy?”
Sahara wanted to turn away, but that would be too revealing. “Yes. I shot him.”
After the briefest pause, Brand clasped her other arm, too. “Tell me what happened.”
“The sick bastard wouldn’t give up. In his second attempt, he crawled in her bedroom window. He...had a knife. So I killed him.” More brisk now, she explained, “He’d helped install the security system so he knew exactly how to shut it down. He claimed the girl was his, that he’d slept with Drayden’s wife. She denied it of course, and to his credit, Drayden believed her. That turned out to be a good thing because they found out the psycho had made the same claim about three other children. Apparently he fixated on kids and convinced himself they were his even though he’d never touched their mothers.”
“Damn.”
His hold was soothing, but the last thing she wanted from him, from anyone, was pity. “The little girl, Mari, screamed from the gunshot, but she never saw the body. Soon as the guy hit the ground I scooped her up and got her out of the room, telling her it was just a loud noise.” Sahara could still remember the thin arms clinging so tightly to her neck, the shaking of that small body and the soft sobs after the scream.
Until that day, she’d never thought about having children of her own. She missed Mari a lot.
“How long were you on assignment with the family?”
“Two months. But the time flew by since I mostly played with Mari.” She twisted her mouth. “Afternoon tea with a G.I. Joe, a stuffed bear and a Barbie. Oh, the scrapes Barbie and Joe got into. The bear and I would just watch in amazement.”
Brand grinned. “You know, I can almost picture it, you in a tiny little chair sipping out of an empty plastic teacup with an audience of toys.”
“Good times,” she said, then tipped her head. “Can you see me killing a man?”
After briefly locking on her eyes, his gaze moved over her face and settled on her mouth. “Yeah, I guess I can. If it came to protecting someone you cared about.”
Well, that was something anyway. “I had a shorter assignment with a twenty-three-year-old. I was only a year older than him and he had some serious misconceptions about the role of a bodyguard.”
“How so?”
“I spent more time fending him off than protecting him. He got impossibly grabby.”
Brand went back to scowling. “Your brother allowed that?”
“I didn’t tell him! That would have been like admitting I couldn’t handle the job, and it was an important one. He was a movie star’s son being hassled by a radical group that opposed the star’s last movie. Apparently, they didn’t understand fiction versus reality. They wanted to drive home their point by making his son miserable anytime he ventured into public.