Protected By The Enemy (Hacienda Heights Book 2) Read online

  Phoebe wasn’t the most objectionable of Katherine’s friends. Compared to my sister’s usual standard, Phoebe was downright classy. But the relationship we’d begun wasn’t of my own choosing. I didn’t love her. I doubted I’d even grow to like her, given her mission to decorate my house with white swags and poufs for our upcoming nuptials.

  She sat up and squinted at me with her frosty blue eyes, her tight, ringlet curls trembling anxiously as their owner stared me down. Bow lips twisted down into a pout that I might have once considered cute. My sister had done it often enough in the intervening years that puppy dog eyes had lost their potency on me.

  “You’re angry with me, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice a low, wheedling murmur.

  “I’m not angry at you,” I said, hoping I could leave it at that. I should have known better.

  Phoebe sat up straighter and crossed her arms over her chest. “You’ve been angry with me since you returned. Just admit it, Logan. This has something to do with that woman you brought home.”

  I flinched at the mention of Mina Blakely. Her long absence from my life hadn’t been my idea. After the release of our sex tape years ago, we’d only had contact once before the Morocco trip. She blamed me for the public embarrassment and destruction of her career. After our breakup, I hadn’t wanted anyone else quite the same way. Army life had provided enough of a distraction to allow me to move on, but I’d never forgotten her.

  Even knowing she’d pegged me as an easy mark in order to raise six million, I still wanted her. I wanted Mina and her fire, not Phoebe with her coy glances and the stifling constraint of her infatuation. I wanted the sense of freedom and exhilaration that came with dating a woman I couldn’t predict.

  I’d only grudgingly gone along with Owen’s demand to marry his daughter to get close to him and acquire the blackmail material he had against my father. I couldn’t continue to string Phoebe along. It was wrong, no matter how useful she was. If I had a snowball’s chance in hell of getting Mina back, she had to know the truth, and Phoebe had to be out of my life for good.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “She’s Mina Blakely,” Phoebe insisted, crossing the room to seize my hand.

  I let her guide me to the couch, leaving the brandy on the end table. I didn’t need the second glass anyway.

  Phoebe settled in beside me, pressing her petite frame against mine. I had to admit the softness of her skin was distracting, even if she wasn’t the woman I wanted.

  “And?”

  “And I know her reputation,” Phoebe said pointedly. “She’s a deviant, you know. And the fact you didn’t mind being seen with her at all made me consider some things. I haven’t been very...giving to you, have I?”

  Phoebe chewed her lip and fiddled with the hem of her tank top. The swell of her breasts popped above the hem, and this close, it was difficult not to notice just how hard her nipples were through the fabric.

  She took my hand and guided it to one breast. Understanding clicked in my brain just as Phoebe swung a leg over my lap and clambered on top of me. She was surprisingly strong, for a woman of her petite size. Her thighs clamped down around my legs as she wound her arms around my neck and pulled herself flush against me. She pressed her lips to mine in a hot, eager little kiss.

  Despite my reservations, my cock twitched once in interest. It was a simple creature, not concerned with complications or morality. All it considered was just how easy it would be to press into Phoebe’s tight body and find release.

  My stomach turned and I pushed Phoebe away with as much gentleness as I could muster. This wasn’t fair. To her, to me, to Mina. No part of this clusterfuck of misery was fair to anyone.

  “Phoebe—”

  She didn’t let me finish, using the reprieve to whip the cotton tank top over her head. I stared for just a moment, protest forgotten as she bared herself to me. She was completely naked from the waist up, and her pert little breasts were very near eye-level.

  It was still easier than I could have imagined to turn away from her offering.

  “Don’t look away,” she begged. “I want this. I want you. Please just fuck me, Logan. I’m sorry we haven’t up to this point. But you don’t have to get your kicks with a slutty redhead. I’m right here and I’m ready now.”

  Seizing her by the waist, I pried her off and set her onto the couch next to me before she could do anything more inflammatory. “Phoebe, we’re not doing this tonight.”

  “Why not tonight? You want me, don’t you?”

  Giving her an honest answer would be complicated. No, I didn’t want her for the long-term. The only woman I’d ever considered tying myself to for life had waltzed out the door in a sway of long legs and flame-bright hair. The only thing I could give Phoebe was a good fuck. Even the daughter of my most hated enemy deserved more than the damage that could do her psyche. And taking her here and now felt too much like cheating, though I had no ties left to Mina.

  “Not tonight,” I repeated. Not ever, if I could help it. I was close to uncovering her father’s secrets. When that was through, I’d be paying Mina a visit. We needed to straighten things out and fast.

  Remorse tightened my chest as tears beaded in her eyes. She retrieved her shirt from the floor and pulled it on, sniffling once.

  “I thought you loved me,” she whispered.

  “I care about you, Phoebe.”

  The words were the only thing I could give her that wasn’t strictly a lie.

  Phoebe leaned down and surprised me with another kiss. She dragged my bottom lip between her teeth and sent another fierce wave of arousal straight to my traitorous cock. That fucker was getting way too excited about this.

  “You will love me someday, Logan,” she promised as she stepped away, wiping hastily at the tears that streaked down her cheeks.

  I didn’t release the breath I’d been holding until she disappeared into the other room. Then I seized the scotch from the end table and downed it in one go, cradling my head in my hands as it burned its way down my throat. I was halfway to blitzed and it wasn’t even seven in the evening. This was definitely a bad sign.

  I hated losing, and right now I was losing on every front. I needed to sleep off the booze before the gala tonight. Phoebe would insist on dragging me there, even if I hadn’t agreed to fuck her. If all went well, I could squeeze Owen like an overripe pimple until he spilled the secret.

  Then I would be paying Mina a visit and taking back what was mine.

  Chapter Three

  Mina

  Talk of bridesmaid dresses and color pallets dominated the conversation during a mid-afternoon lunch with Gideon and his family. The subject carried over into the evening art gala that Gideon’s mother had arranged at the J. Paul Getty Museum.

  “What a beauty,” Adele Harvey, Gideon’s grandmother, muttered, sidling up next to me to admire a monochrome piece rendered in watercolor. The artist was local but well-received. It seemed that Gideon’s adoptive mother, Helen, was a bit of a star-maker in these parts.

  “It’s very lovely,” I agreed.

  “Well, I suppose the painting is nice too,” she murmured.

  I finally caught her meaning and blushed. Adele and I had hit things off at the luncheon and she’d stuck to me like a fly on honey since. She was a shrewd woman, and I wasn’t entirely sure she bought my act. Still, she had enough decorum to keep her doubts to herself.

  Humming thoughtfully to hide my embarrassment, I didn’t respond to the praise. I’d been on edge since donning the choker that matched my turquoise gown. The wide choker hid my remaining bruises, but the reminder was all too raw. This contract was supposed to be a return to business as usual, but it didn’t feel that way. Despite the genial atmosphere at the gala, a creeping sense of unease had settled over me like a heavy fur coat. Stifling and uncomfortable and altogether inappropriate for the situation, I still couldn’t shake it.

  I knew why I was feeling this way, and it only serve
d to piss me off. The last time I’d been on a contract, Logan had hired me to act as his fiancée. I’d come away from the encounter with bruises, post-traumatic stress from a murder attempt, and an irrevocably broken heart. I was a bit gun-shy, and it was entirely his fault. I doubted Gideon with his shy smile and easygoing manner could possibly hurt me, physically or otherwise, but I was still tense and ready for the blow.

  Adele grinned at me, the lines around her eyes and mouth deepening as she elbowed me in the ribs. “Cheer up, Hannah. This is a party. Why don’t you get this older woman a drink, hmm?”

  It took me a moment to respond to the assumed name. “Are you sure? Your medication—”

  “I’m going to die, either way, dear,” she said. “I’d rather do it with a glass in hand and vodka in my stomach.”

  Finding the dark pronouncement hard to argue with, I headed for the bar, navigating my way through the maze-like setup of the gallery.

  My pace stuttered as I rounded the last corner and my gaze landed on a tall, imposing figure leaning against the far wall, staring at a punch glass as though examining it for poison. Attached to his wrist like a fetter was a dainty hand, which belonged to the most poodle-like woman I’d ever met.

  Phoebe had arranged her bouncy curls into an elaborate updo. She appeared more subdued than when I’d last seen her and kept glancing anxiously up at Logan.

  I half expected her to stiffen in anger when her she spotted me, forgetting momentarily that I’d been expertly styled by Heather even before the luncheon. The dark wig had been pulled into a French braid and my face had been artfully altered. The brief glimpse I’d gotten of myself in the mirror was of a dark goddess, features sharp, eyes done in a smoky cat-eye, and with cherry red lipstick to complete the look. Phoebe’s eyes swept right past me.

  Logan’s didn’t. His dark, aquamarine eyes lit with recognition, despite the makeup. Damn it, this was the second time. How the hell did he keep spotting me?

  I backpedaled, turning back the way I’d come in a vain attempt to escape that penetrating gaze. He’d called me every day for the last week. I didn’t put it past him to ruin my entire ruse and call me out right here and now.

  Navigating my way through the rows of paintings was difficult, and I found myself getting turned around. Ducking to avoid a passing waiter, I launched myself into the next aisle and ran smack into a chiseled chest. My nose smarting, I looked up to find the heart-stopping visage of Logan Farraday glowering down at me.

  Before I could back up and bolt in the opposite direction, strong arms encircled my waist, holding me close.

  “Got you now,” he murmured. “Come with me. We need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” I hissed, trying in vain to escape the prison of his arms. “Go back to your fiancée.”

  “Not until you give me a chance to explain myself. You ran like a fucking gazelle the last time I tried to.”

  My eyebrow ratcheted up an inch, daring him to try and explain away the fiercely possessive fiancée, not to mention all the wedding regalia she’d been busy sorting.

  “I’m working, Logan. Let go.”

  His expression darkened and I caught a flicker of jealousy in his eyes as they swept the room, finally landing on the flower pinned to Gideon’s lapel that matched the carnation in my corsage. As he sized Gideon up, the look of disquiet on his face made me smile, just a bit. At least I wasn’t the only one seething with envy. That was good to know.

  “Harvey, huh? I didn’t peg him as the type.”

  “You know him?” Surprise colored my tone. Gideon hadn’t actually discussed his work, despite our conversation leading up to the luncheon. It was an oversight I’d have to correct.

  Logan nodded tightly, not taking his eyes off Gideon. I used the distraction to wriggle free. Logan caught my wrist and pulled me to a stop in front of an abstract piece made up of angry reds and eye-catching yellows.

  “Five minutes.”

  “Tell me how you know Gideon and I’ll give you three.”

  Logan’s free hand balled into a fist at his side. “Fine. Harvey is a big-shot player in Isadora Anwick’s organization. The rumor is he’s her most trusted advisor. Now, will you let me explain?”

  I tore my gaze from his impossibly handsome features and fixed my focus firmly on the painting. It paled in comparison to the artistry of Logan’s face.

  “Fine,” I ground out. “But, are you okay? You look like shit.”

  He looked a little rumpled, which Logan never was, but if anything his tousled hair just added to the mystique. His dark blue eyes were only a smidge duller than usual and I longed to run my fingers over the five o’clock shadow beginning to shadow his jaw.

  “Yes, being blackmailed will do that to you,” he muttered. “You weren’t in stellar condition yourself when we met at the Ritz-Carlton a few weeks ago.”

  I wrapped my twitching fingers around the end of my wrap. I couldn’t touch him. Not here, not anywhere. He wasn’t mine any longer. He never would be again.

  He’d told me in Morocco that he was being blackmailed, but I hadn’t been sure he was telling the truth once I’d come home and met his fiancée.

  “Why should I believe you?” I murmured, so that the couple pressing in beside us didn’t have a hope of hearing.

  “Because I’m telling the truth. I’m being blackmailed by Owen Mason.”

  “He’s going to be your father-in-law. He has no reason to blackmail you. Are you even sure this blackmail is real? He could just be trying to give his baby girl the toy she wants for Christmas.” The words dripped like acid from my tongue. I could feel the bitchiness exuding from me in waves but didn’t know how to stop it. I wasn’t even sure I should. He had a lot to answer for. But I couldn’t afford to draw attention to our cozy little corner.

  “Of course I’m sure. And would you let me fucking finish?” he hissed back. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’ve seen enough to know the blackmail concerns my father’s financial affairs. He was sending money to someone. I’m not sure who yet, and if it’s something illegal, I’m sunk. Farraday Industries will tank. The marriage is part of the blackmail. I’m only going along with this because it gives me a reason to be close. The moment I know the full contents of the dossier he has on my father, I’m breaking things off.”

  The callousness of his plan stole my breath and had me reevaluating him. I’d thought what he’d been doing to me was harsh. The level of cold focus he would need to do something like this was Arctic. I shivered in spite of myself and squinted suspiciously at him, cursing myself for feeling even the barest tingle of hope at the news.

  He’d lied to me before. He could be stringing both me and his fake fiancée along now, trying to have his cake and eat it too. I’d long ago determined I’d never be one of those women who chased married men, trying to prove something to themselves. If Logan thought he could marry her and still fuck me on the side, he had another thing coming.

  “So you’re telling me that you’ve never…been with her?” I glanced behind me, to where Phoebe hovered anxiously by the table, awaiting Logan’s return. If she hadn’t been so obnoxious and territorial upon our first meeting, I might have actually felt sorry for her. I knew what it was like to have Logan Farraday toy with your emotions. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

  Logan’s fingers curled beneath my chin and tipped my head up so I was forced to stare into his face. The earnestness in his deep blue eyes made me pause.

  “Phoebe is a friend of the family. I have never looked at her that way. I never touched her, even when she asked. I only want you, Mina.”

  Anger fizzled in my veins, threatening to explode like a shaken soda can. When had she offered? How far had she pushed? The thought of the overeager little trollop trying to seduce Logan made me want to yank her hair out in clumps.

  Satisfaction flashed in Logan’s eyes when he read the jealousy plain on my face. “I knew you still cared.”

  “Damn you,” I muttere
d, though there was no bite to the words. I’d ask Tucker to investigate the authenticity of his claims, but I didn’t see any reason why Logan would turn down sex unless he really didn’t care for Phoebe.

  “What are you doing here anyway?” Logan asked, lowering his voice as a pair of blonde women sauntered by, discussing the different techniques used the paintings. “I thought you’d be recuperating after Morocco.”

  “I would be,” I bit out sourly. “But Dennison wasn’t the blackmailer. He was just your run of the mill crazy. I’m still under threat and the deadline was moved up during our trip to Morocco. I have less than a month to deliver the money.”

  Logan stiffened, eyes going cold. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I tell you?” I shot back. “You lied to me. You used me.”

  “I never—”

  I held up a hand to cut him off and spoke over his protest. “Save it, Logan. I’m not in the mood.”

  His hand locked around my bicep. “Don’t go. We can talk about this. My house is probably the safest place in LA. Come stay with me.”

  “I’m pretty sure that would upset your fiancée.” I nodded to Phoebe, who had begun to amble in our direction, tired of waiting for her escaped beau. “I have to go.”

  Logan let his hand fall away, and I felt suddenly cold without his skin pressed to mine. I hiked the silk wrap around my shoulders and walked away, wishing I were home, curled up in a pair of ratty sweats.

  I didn’t slow until I reached Gideon’s side. Leaning my head into his shoulder, guilt lanced through me for manipulating him. He’d paid for the best and I was underperforming tonight. “I don’t feel well. Can we please go home?”

  Gideon stared down at me, all guileless charm and compassion. “Anything for you, honey,” he murmured and led me toward the front doors.

  Chapter Four

  Logan

  I pulled my Escalade to a stop just before the drive of the rather innocuous-looking Hustler Headquarters.

  The tracker I’d placed in the rose des vents necklace I’d bought Mina in Morocco had led me to this place. I hoped she hadn’t sold the necklace and run me on a wild goose chase.