was absurdly neat, had expensive taste in everything from clothes to art, and planned on marinated steak for dinner. He hoped he could change her opinion of him before she cooked it and refused to share.
As light bathed the room and she stood, he took his first long look at the newscaster.
The picture had not done her justice. It hadn’t captured her…energy. There was something so alive about her, she seemed to glisten with vitality. Her eyes were like polished platinum, sparking at him. Her slanted cheekbones flushed as much from anger as a graze with the carpet. He’d smeared her lipstick with his palm, leaving her full lips stained and parted as she stared back at him, a dangerous combination of threatened and pissed off.
She placed her hands on her hips in a classic confrontational pose that accentuated the feminine, defined shape of her arms, and the rise and fall of her chest.
His gaze dropped over her tight ribbed top just long enough to confirm Lucy’s assertion. They were real; he could tell by the softness of the flesh and the natural shape of her cleavage. He was, after all, an expert.
But something didn’t fit. He’d just searched her closets and drawers, and nowhere had he seen evidence that she’d slide into a cotton undershirt and camos. Where had she been, dressed like that? Certainly not in front of the cameras, trilling about a bank robbery in Liberty City.
More likely committing one.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded.
“Alex Romero. Mr. Parrish hired me.”
She opened her mouth, and then closed it again.
“You did meet with Kimball Parrish today?” he prompted.
She shrugged and nodded, a mixture of such non-commitment that he almost laughed. “Briefly,” she added.
It seemed a little silly after they’d had full horizontal body contact, but he extended his hand.
She took a step backward, her expression still dubious, refusing his handshake. “Alex Romero,” she said slowly, as though flipping through a memory bank.
“Your bodyguard.”
“My what?”
Son of a bitch. Parrish hadn’t told her. He dropped his hand. “Mr. Parrish has arranged for personal security for you. Evidently he believes there is validity to the threats you’ve been receiving.”
“Threats?”
Jesus, was she so immersed in her job that she didn’t even consider the letters threatening? Doubtful, after that near pounding he just took. “Obviously you’ve bothered to learn a thing or two about self-defense already.”
“Who hired you again?”
“Mr. Parrish.”
She didn’t react to the name. No light of recognition, no response to the mention of her new boss—one of the most powerful men in her business.
“Which threats are you referring to, exactly?” she asked, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her pants. A move that did nothing to lessen the impact of the skintight tank top. Still she didn’t venture one step farther into the room.
“I’m referring to the letters you’ve received from a fan. Six, as far as I know. And several untraceable e-mails.”
Her frown deepened. “How do I know you’re not some kind of a stalker? And that’s why you know all this? Not to mention your rather bizarre idea of a welcome.”
“You don’t,” he conceded. “But Mr. Parrish was supposed to have told you his decision to hire security today.”
Still she didn’t move. He waited for her to take control of her environment, to waltz past him and wrap herself in the familiarity of her home. She remained…cautious.
“As a matter of fact, he didn’t tell me,” she said. “And until I have that conversation with him, you’ll have to leave.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
She managed a tight smile. “Yes, you can. And it will be much simpler than all the trouble you took merely to scare the shit out of me and make a point.”
She stepped to the door, but he stopped her with a look. “I’m not leaving, Miss Adams.”
“Excuse me?”
“Would you prefer I call you Jessica?”
She pointed to the door. “I’d prefer you get the hell out of here. Then I can call Kendall Parrish and discuss this with him.”
Kendall? Her error set off a loud warning bell in his head. He took a step closer and her shoulders tensed visibly.
“Why don’t you call him while I wait?” he suggested.
“No, I’ll call him later. Then we can discuss this tomorrow.”
“Please call him now, Miss Adams. This could be a matter of life and death.”
“Can the drama. I’m perfectly safe here…. “Her voice faded into uncertainty. “Okay. I’ll call him.” She bent to retrieve her purse, but as she lifted the shoulder strap, the top opened,