Page 34 of Some Like It Deadly
“Easier to ask for forgiveness than seek permission?” She floated, a misty fine curtain draped over her. A half pill was way too much, but she was too relaxed to care.
“Something like that.” He tipped his head. “You’re slurring a little, you okay?”
“Sh-tupid pills.” It sounded funny and she grinned. “Why don’t you like his security?”
Richard’s expression softened. He set his coffee cup aside then stood to open the large umbrella. Cooling shade spread over her. “I took a summer and traveled with him, got a real taste for his life. I couldn’t take a piss without one of them being somewhere nearby and it brought up a lot of bad memories.” Crouching next to her, he moved the coffee cup from her lax fingers. She watched him. It was a hell of a fight to keep her eyes open, but at least her shoulder didn’t hurt. “I used to play cards with the guys and they lost a lot, but I made them a bet. If I could get away from them, they would have to pay up on what they owed. Otherwise, they wouldn’t owe me a dime.”
“Hmm, you got away didn’t you?” She shook her head. Her Richard liked to win and when they’d been watching him, he’d watched them.
“Yes I did.” His mouth curved. “Really pissed them off.”
“Promise me you won’t slip away this time?” She yawned and her eyes kept shutting no matter how hard she forced them back up. Some bodyguard she was—but then Richard hadn’t broughther home to protect him. He didn’t know it was her job. “Don’t want you hurt.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” He stroked her cheek. “Go to sleep, honey. I’ll make sure you don’t burn and we can talk more when you wake up.” He might have said something else, but she floated away to the soft, masculine sound of his voice.
Chapter 9
Richard
Watching her sleep fascinated him in a way that bordered on obsessive. Richard had to drag his attention away. Checking the umbrella to make sure she stayed in the shade, he carried the food tray back inside and put up their breakfast. Morning papers tucked under his arm, he was about to head back out to the pool when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket.
The number was one of the security detail. “Yes?” he answered and walked to the front door to check the gate via the window.
“Mr. Prentiss, we have a Benedict Prentiss at the gate. According to the notes from your assistant, you have a restraining order in place. He insists it’s important, however. How do you wish us to proceed?”
“Keep him there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard tossed the papers down on a table and walked back to the pool. Kate lay on her side, face pillowed against her good hand, sound asleep.
Did he want to see his father?
Not particularly.
His gut clenched the moment he’d recognized his father’s voice in the outer office. It had been nearly ten years since Benedict’s last attempted contact and Richard had had to bodily throw him out of Barbara’s apartment.
His sister had moved to London shortly thereafter and Richard filed for the restraining orders to keep the man away from the rest of his family. It had broken his mother’s heart, but he’d convinced her in the same ruthless fashion he’d tackled every business deal before or since. Benedict Prentiss cared about one person—himself. The government never recovered the money he’d stashed away and Richard had endured more than one tax audit over the last few years as a result.
Even understandingwhythe government kept a stern eye on him didn’t ease the fuming resentment in his soul. The front desk at his building had mentioned his father had tried to access his office floor several times since the scene in Kate’s office, but they’d declined him admittance. Richard knew why.
Kate’d handled it for him so he didn’t have to. She’d never breathed a word about it, never asked him for any explanations and, until his overindulgence with the wine, they hadn’t broached the topic. The woman had rapidly found a foothold in his heart and he was hard-pressed to see any reason why he should keep holding back purely for professional reasons.
Wanting her was the sweetest torture he’d ever suffered.
Sliding his phone back into his pocket, he walked back to the door and headed for the gate. His father’s car sat, engine off, on the other side. Two of the security guards flanked him. Benedict walked up to the wrought iron as Richard approached from the opposite side.
Stopping a good foot away, he slid his hands into his pockets and nodded to the men. They backed off a discreet distance, then Richard focused on his father. “What do you want?”
“Richie, is that any way to speak to your father?” The bravado in his voice said one thing, but the sad, defeated look in his father’s eyes told a different story.
“No one calls me that anymore. You have…” He pulled his hand out of his pocket and checked the time on his watch. “Five minutes.”
“You’re not going to let me in?” His father had always been a big man and, in his childhood, Richard imagined his father was secretly one of those lumberjacks with his booming voice and broad shoulders. It seemed possible that his father carried the weight of the world up there. His charm, even at the height of his trials for fraud and embezzlement, could never be denied. It was how he’d parted many of his victims from their hard-earned cash.
People wanted to trust him.
Hell, Richard had worshipped him.
