She’d made it her private mission to keep an eye on him during that event. She knew what it was to hunger for what one might never have. It gnawed, it ached. At a key moment, that hunger could break loose and result in very, very bad behavior.
Coming back to the present, she studied her surroundings with narrowed eyes. Finding what she sought, she nodded to herself and pivoted toward the street, for the first time registering the limo and the man leaning against it, patiently waiting for her.
She wondered if Max had been standing there when she and Ben had her exchange at the door. Even if he’d still been sitting in the driver’s seat, he would have known from their body language things weren’t peachy. Max didn’t miss much.
The K&A women joked about how much he looked like Peter, since he was Dana’s regular driver. Blond, gray-eyed, with lots of muscles that had been used in his previous work as a Navy Seal. Why he’d spent the past few years working for the company motor pool was a mystery, but they’d speculated about it. As well as a lot more inappropriate things about the handsome, quiet male.
He wore a pair of belted tan khakis and white shirt open at the throat, a jacket over that. She had no doubt he had a weapon underneath it. Always prepared, after all. He nodded to her as she approached. “Miss Marcie. Good to see you.”
“You too.” It was a reflex answer as she handed him her bag and her shoes. The large fingers closing around the dainty straps would have amused her under normal circumstances, but right now, she had a different mission. Her hands now free, she turned around, headed back toward the front door.
She stepped off the path, smoothing her skirt modestly up under her thighs as she squatted. Selecting a handful of the smooth rocks that formed the mulch around the well-tended shrubs, she found they had a good weight and size in a woman’s palm. Aware of Max’s regard, she nevertheless ignored it.
Moving back onto the walkway, she backed up a sufficient number of steps, gauging her distance and studying her potential targets. Ben would have gone back upstairs. There was an office there, right off the bedroom. He preferred work when anything was aggravating him, and he’d made it clear she was an aggravation. His desk was close to that window. Perfect.
“Ben.” Her throat had resigned itself to being abused, so it was settling into a kind of sexy, intense Lauren Bacall sound. She’d been able to hear the muted rush of passing cars in the bedroom, so the window insulation wasn’t soundproof. She was loud enough to be heard. “Here’s how reasonable adults react when they have feelings.”
The first rock hit the upper office window dead on, breaking through with a satisfying shattering noise. The lower panel went next. She hoped she’d winged him, bounced the damn thing off his stubborn head. It would probably break the rock. Then she adjusted her stance and aimed for the bedroom window, where that amazing moment of connection had happened. When he’d lain upon her, looking down at her, her legs coiled over his hips, his hands on her face. She’d leave an explosion of broken glass so he’d have to strip the bed, get the linens washed or get splinters in his ass.
She hesitated when she lowered her gaze to the first level. Yeah, she could send a rock zinging through the wrought iron bars and take out door panels, but they were beautiful old stained glass. Some things were sacred. She targeted the living area windows instead, and used the last couple rocks for the other side, his dining room. Though she was standing about twenty feet away, she didn’t miss a single target. Before Jeremy had changed from her brother into an addict, he’d shown her how to throw a rock pretty damn well.
She was breathing a little erratically, but any desire to cry was gone. She was flat- out pissed, her blood on full boil. If he walked out that door, she wasn’t entirely sure another rock wouldn’t be aimed at his forehead as though a bull’s-eye was drawn there. But of course he wasn’t coming out. Stubborn bastard. No, worse than stubborn.
“If you’re too chickenshit to take me to a club,” she snarled up at the now fully aerated window treatments, “I will go by myself. Fuck you. How’s that for reasonable?”
Yeah, she knew better than to bluff Ben O’Callahan, but this time, she wasn’t sure it was a bluff. She was so mad, she was going to throw it out there. To thine own self be true.
It was time to fall back, regroup, or she was going to prove herself an obsessed stalker after all. She’d climb through one of those windows and beat him to death. Nothing said love like a two-by-four applied to soft tissue areas.
She marched toward the limo. Max was still leaning against the car, arms crossed over his broad chest. There was some sympathy in his gaze, some sardonic amusement. Apparently his scope of responsibility hadn’t included stopping her. She would have liked to see him try. She was more than ready to kick someone’s ass. Instead, she was going to have him take her home. She was doing exactly what she’d intended today. Mostly.
She’d call Research and tell them she’d report Monday, because she was in no mood to be at K&A today. She’d take care of that Pickard job in the early evening hours, but then she was going to a club, damn it. Not Progeny. She’d go back to Surreal, because she wouldn’t run into someone she knew, and she was already familiar with their layout. She’d tell Cass she
