The Specialist (Norcross #3) - Anna Hackett Page 0,4

running. He returned and held out a glass.

“Here.”

She sipped the water. As he sat beside her, the couch dipped.

She felt the weight of his gaze on her. Then she looked down and her muscles froze.

The asshole had ripped her dress. The neckline gaped open, and she was currently giving her boss a perfect view of her favorite red bra. It was made of gossamer-like lace, so her nipple was front and center.

Before she could move, he reached out and flicked her coat over her chest.

“Thanks.” She drained the water and set the glass on the coffee table. Her hands were shaking.

“You know that guy?”

“What?” She looked up. “No. I figure he was just a garden-variety, asshole mugger, right?”

But tension snuck in like a thief. Daddy’s fucked, and so are you.

She shivered. She had no idea what that meant. It had to be just some criminal’s ramblings. It had to. She really wanted it to be that.

Easton’s far-too-perceptive gaze zeroed in on her face. “You sure?”

She tossed her tumbled hair back. “Yes. I’m okay.”

He reached out and nudged her coat aside a little. “The bastard hurt you. You’ve got bruises forming on your shoulder already.”

“I bruise easily.” She touched her cheekbone where he’d elbowed her and knew she’d probably get another one there.

As Easton’s fingers brushed her skin, she sucked in a breath. Her skin tingled.

“I really am okay,” she said quietly. “Thanks to you.”

He touched her chin.

“This is your chance to say I told you so,” she added.

“I told you so.” There was no heat in his words. “You should report this to the police.”

“What are they going to do? He didn’t take anything, and I didn’t really get a good look at his face.”

Easton’s jaw worked. “I know you’re not telling me the entire truth.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t. I will find out what’s going on with you.”

She rose. Her knees were wobbly, but she locked them. “I’ll be fine. You should go now. Go home and do more work, or sip expensive cognac, whatever it is you rich men do.”

He shook his head, his lips quirking. The man had yummy lips—the bottom one full, sensual.

“This isn’t over.”

Crap. Harlow hurried to the door. “Thanks again, Easton.”

“You sure you’re okay alone?” He stopped in the doorway.

“Yes. As soon as you’re out of here, I’m triple locking this door.”

He eyed her. She made herself meet that strong gaze.

His fingers brushed her jaw line. “Tough. Sleep well, Harlow.”

He sauntered out and she forced herself not to watch him go. The man had this way of walking that captured every female gaze in the vicinity. She closed the door and locked it, then leaned her back against the wood and squeezed her eyes closed.

Then she pushed away, her anxiety ratcheting back up. She snatched up her phone. It was later than she’d normally call her parents, but she had to check if her dad was okay. And find out what the hell was going on.

The call went straight to her dad’s voicemail.

Harlow sighed. “Dad, call me as soon as you get this.” She dropped onto a stool at her high kitchen counter. “A man tried to snatch me off the street tonight. I’m okay… But he said something. Dad, I think it has something to do with you. Call me.”

She ended the call and worry nipped her like little bugs all over her skin.

Harlow decided she needed a hot shower, maybe a glass of wine, or a day at the spa, or a vacation in Tahiti. She could still feel Easton’s touch on her jaw.

Easton Norcross wasn’t a man who gave up easily. He’d keep pushing her to find out what was wrong.

She just wished she knew.

After a scalding-hot shower, Harlow pulled on her favorite, oversized T-shirt and fluffy, gray socks. One had a hole in the toe, but they were so soft and comfy.

She climbed into bed, thinking that worry for her dad would keep her awake.

Instead, it was thoughts of Easton’s sexy tattoos that danced in her brain.

How many did he have? And how much of that hard body did they cover? She groaned.

Boss. Boss. Boss.

“He’s your boss, Harlow Maree Carlson. Totally one-hundred-percent off-limits.” She pulled her pillow over her head and willed herself to get to sleep.

Sun blared into her face.

With a groan, Harlow rolled over in bed. She’d forgotten to close the curtains last night. She flopped onto her back.

She’d had a rough night. Not because of her attack, no, she was blaming it solely on Easton Norcross.

Her demanding boss was