Sweet Seduction Shield

Sweet Seduction
Shield

The Sweet
Seduction Series, Book Five

By Nicola
Claire

Copyright ©
2013, Nicola Claire

All Rights
Reserved

Smashwords
Edition

ISBN:
978-0-473-27036-0

nicolaclairebooks.blogspot.com

This book is a
work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously
and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons,
living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely
coincidental.

All rights are
reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any
manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Cover Art by
Nicola Claire

Image credit:
123RF Stock Photo

Image
#4894124

More books by
Nicola Claire:

Kindred
Series

Kindred

Blood Life
Seeker

Forbidden
Drink

Giver of
Light

Dancing
Dragon

Shadow's
Light

Entwined With
The Dark

Kiss Of The
Dragon

Mixed Blessing
Mystery Series

Mixed
Blessing

Sweet
Seduction Series

Sweet Seduction
Sacrifice

Sweet Seduction
Serenade

Sweet Seduction
Shadow

Sweet Seduction
Surrender

Sweet
Seduction Shield

Sweet
Seduction Sabotage (Early 2014)

Elemental
Awakening Series

The Tempting
Touch Of Fire

The Soothing
Scent Of Earth

The Chilling
Change Of Air (Early 2014)

For: Those
romantics that like a whole lot of suspense

wrapped around
their love story.

"Marie,
there's a cop here to see you."

My head
connected with the underside of my desk in a loud
thunk
.

Fuck! I
gritted my teeth and rubbed the lump I was so sure would be
forming, then dropped the tangle of electrical cords I'd been
holding and backed out on my knees to reach up for the intercom
button on my desk.

My hand shook.
I purposely ignored the movement.

"Just give me
a few minutes, Suze, then show them in," I instructed from my still
kneeling position on the floor. There was a crackle in reply,
followed first by static, then a loud piercing beep.

"Friggin'
wires," I muttered, crawling back under the desk and coughing
through the dust motes that my adventures were dislodging.

Whoever had
set up the computer, phone and intercom systems in my office was
surely a sadistic bastard. The tangle that met my fingers was
better than any sailor's knot. I started laboriously threading one
dust encrusted cable out after another. My back started to complain
from the angle I was at, but I was determined to get at least one
thing sorted today.

And I needed a
moment to settle my nerves.

A cop. To see
me. Definitely not words I wanted to hear.

I concentrated
on the task in front of me and not the fear that threatened to
choke my throat closed. There could be any number of reasons why a
cop was here to see me. It didn't necessarily mean anything bad. It
could just be a uniformed cop, hence Suzy mentioning his vocation,
looking for an accountant to file his tax return.

I growled at a
particularly gnarly twisted and tangled bunch of wires, knowing my
anger was being fuelled by more than just ridiculously poor
electronic safety measures at Whitcomb & Associates Ltd.

"Fuck it all
to hell!" I muttered, yanking on a particularly stubborn black cord
and hearing the computer monitor skid ominously and eagerly across
the desk above my head. I glanced up, expecting to see the base of
the monitor hanging precariously over the edge of the desk, but
when nothing looked like it was about to whack me on the noggin, I
breathed out a sigh of relief.

That was
quickly inhaled as a throat was cleared behind me, announcing
someone was in the room.

I froze,
realising I must have looked a sight. Bum in the air, head under
the desk, dust bunnies collecting on my - oh dear God - tight knee
length skirt.

I have for too
long now been the type of person who shuns fear. I've lived fear.
I've almost drowned in it. I will never succumb to it again. Harsh
lessons have made me shield my emotions from all but one person in
my life. I wasn't about to start showing discomfort of any sort
now.

My shield rose
to the fore. Confidence. An emotionally detached person's best
friend.

"I'll be right
out," I announced in my signature assured voice.

"Don't mind
me," a male voice said, hints of amusement in the gruff, deep
words. "Please, take all the time you need."

An incongruous
smile curved the corners of my lips. It took more effort than it
should have to banish the reaction to my visitor's obvious delight
at my current position. I wanted to glance over my shoulder and see
what the man looked like attached to that sexy and sinful voice. I
knew it had to be the cop. Either Suzy didn't hear my answer over
the intercom, or knowing her idea of a joke, she ignored it.

I forced myself to focus on the knot of cords in my hand. It
was going to be an impossibility to sort this out in a minute or
two. This would probably take a normal person the better part of
the morning to straighten and reconnect each plug, each lengthy
cable, into some semblance of order. But two excellent reasons made
me straighten my back and refuse to bow to convention by crawling
out and facing the owner of that sexy voice. One, I needed more
time to prepare for what was ahead. And two, I'm an obsessively
clean and organised person. Dropping the tangle of wires now would
set my teeth on edge. Not the best emotional state to face off
against what could be the end of my world as I knew it.

"Do you need a
hand?" the voice asked pleasantly. He still sounded like he was
over by the door, hadn't approached at all.

Maybe the view
was better over there?

"No, I've got
it. Just take a seat and I'll be right out," I advised, yanking on
stubborn cables and beginning to sweat.

I don't sweat.
I don't show reactions. But I was doing both of those things this
morning and I hadn't even faced the cop yet.

Why was he
here?
A cable came free and slammed into the
side of the desk with the momentum of my tug.
It could be
something routine.
A second cable released its
hold on the tangle, bouncing off my thigh and ricocheting against
my chest. I made a disgruntled sound.
It's probably
nothing. More than five years have passed since then.
Cable three slipped free of its prison and
rewarded me with a thwack against my elbow, right on the bone. I
gritted my teeth.
If he hasn't followed through with his
threats by now, he never will. We were safe. I'd been sure of
it.
Number four refused to budge, but with
shaking fingers, which were quickly becoming numb from the strain,
I pried the bastard free.
So, the cop was here for
something else. Something mundane. Nothing to do with my former
life.
The last few cables untangled all at
once, as though they finally realised the futility of fighting
back.

I could
sympathise.

I let a long
breath of air out in a mixture of dread and resignation. My back
was killing me. My knees felt bruised and over sensitive. And my
nose was twitching with the need to sneeze. Dust hung in the air,
swirling around my hands and up into my face as I methodically
reconnected each plug into the correct wall socket. Then reaching
for the plastic cable ties at my side, I made quick work of lashing
the cords all together, neatly arranging them by colour and
location, so they all lined up perfectly under the desk.

I'd need to
vacuum later. If later actually came.

I stared at
the neatly arranged cables and swallowed past a dry throat. There
was no further reason for me to be kneeling under my desk when a
person was waiting to talk to me in my office.

One last
longing glance at my distraction and I started to shuffle backwards
from out beneath my short lived haven. Oh, I was sure the cop was
getting a nice view, especially when he cleared his throat again,
as though in some sort of discomfort.

I stood
upright, dusted what I could of the 'bunnies' off my skirt and
blouse, and stretched my back, getting the kinks out of my
muscles.

Then
I turned to face my visitor.

Holy fuck he
was cute in a bad-boy kind of way. Tall, extremely fit looking,
what with the stretch of his jacket and shirt across his chest, and
the snug fit of his jeans over impressive thighs. In his
mid-thirties I'd guess, with curly brown hair and a fashionable
goatee beard. But it was his eyes that told me I was in deep
trouble. I'd always been a sucker for guys with intense brown eyes.
These ones seemed bottomless. Even as I watched them caress over
every inch of my body, from my slightly flushed face, to my carpet
tattooed red knees, to the long length of my naked legs.

He'd undressed
me with that look. As though he'd been desperate to do so from the
moment he entered the room and saw me on my knees. Oh, did that
realisation cause an internal reaction I had to work hard to not
show.

His gaze
slowly rose back to my face. It wasn't exactly reluctant, but he
was definitely enjoying the view.

"How can I
help you?" I asked in my usual Marie Cox fashion. Before he could
answer, I started toward my side of the desk. Better to put space
and an object between us. The hand sanitiser I keep in my desk
drawer was out and permeating the air with its acrid bite before he
even opened his mouth.

"Mrs Costello.
I'm Detective Sergeant Ryan Pierce of the Auckland CIB."

Well, I'd
guessed he wasn't a beat cop, seeing as he was in plain clothes.
But the Criminal Investigations Bureau meant this impromptu meeting
was not going to be mundane. I held his gaze, refusing to show
anything other than mild curiosity, and indicated the seat across
from me for him to take. Sitting before he'd even taken a step
toward me, I began shuffling papers on my desk, tidying what was
already tidy, in an effort to marshal my thoughts.

This could
not be happening
.

The Criminal
Investigations Bureau was exactly the division of the Police Force
I wanted to avoid the most. Those detectives who prided themselves
on cleaning up New Zealand's criminal elite. A group I was
unfortunately once familiar with.

But what was
worse, in this nightmare unravelling before me, was the name he had
used. A name I hadn't called myself for over five years. A name, no
one here at Whitcomb & Associates Ltd even knew of.

My eyes
skipped across the desk's surface and landed on the small framed
photo off to the side. The need to reach out and grasp it
reassuringly, and then follow that up with hiding it in my top desk
drawer, was too great to deny. I cleared my throat, started to
snake my hand out towards the picture frame and then at the last
second realised what a monumental mistake that would be. The
detective couldn't see the subject of the photo from where he sat,
drawing his attention to it was just plain stupid.

I lifted my
gaze back to his face, noting the keen and undoubtedly observant
eyes, in a façade that gave nothing away. I was sure he hadn't
missed a thing, but like me, he shielded his reactions from those
before him. A genial and attentive man sat in front of me.

He may have
been attentive, but I was guessing right now, friendly and cheerful
were not emotions he felt.

"My name is
Marie Cox," I said, eyes steady, face relaxed, blood and adrenaline
thundering through my veins.

The detective
stared at me unmoved. An unusual stand off existed across my work
desk. One that if shattered could ruin more than just me.

Finally he
broke first.

"I expended a
lot of police hours hunting you down, Ms Cox," he said.

I didn't show
a reaction at all.

"I'm part of a
taskforce," he added, neither of us shifting uncomfortably in our
seats, even though I knew we both were feeling it, "which
successfully brought the drug lord Roan McLaren down three months
ago."

Oh Christ.

"You've heard
of him," he said, watching for a reaction he was not going to get.
"Head of a mob syndicate in Wellington."