Free Climbing High by Madelon Smid Page A

here at this ridiculous hour?”
    She went on the defensive. “Working for you,” she snapped.
    “I’ve never asked anyone to work this hard for me.”
    “You didn’t have to ask,” she said, her bottom lip sticking out just enough to draw his attention. His eyes gleamed with secret thoughts before he banked the glow.
    Siree watched, fascinated by his control. Like water over flame, he dowsed the gold flecks firing his eyes, cooling them to an azure blue. He spoke with a firm authority tinged with affection.
    “While I appreciate your devotion to the cause, you need to put a little balance in your life. You haven’t taken a moment of personal time since you got here, and you’re stretching your hours at work way past any of my expectations. I’m sure Tyrus wouldn’t be happy to know I have you slaving away in the wee hours.” While he had her distracted by the words, he gently turned her and massaged the cord along the side of her neck.
    Her knees went soft. She bowed her shoulders and stood acquiescent while his warm hands pressed in all the right places to bring relief. She moaned. His hands stilled then dropped away.
    “Better?” He moved to the door. “Grab your stuff. I’m taking you with me.” He pulled a two-way radio off a clip on his belt and spoke. “Gribbs, we’re coming down. Is it clear?”
    “It’s about as clear as fog,” Gribbs snarled, “but come down anyway. Ben’s guarding your rear. What’s the use of me assigning Siree security if she orders them to take a break in the lunchroom?” he growled. “You better talk to her.”
    “Gee, thanks, over and out.” Jake glared at the radio before thrusting it back on his belt. “Sometimes I wonder who works for whom,” he muttered as he turned to her. He took in her ramrod posture and blazing eyes and forestalled her refusal to accompany him. “Time to report, lady. It’s been a long day so don’t give me any grief. That job belongs to Gribbs and Finchley.”
    Her lips twitched. “They sound like a law firm. Okay, boss, and what broom closet in what corner of Vancouver do I report in this time?”
    His eyes brightened, sharing the joke. His smile could have supplied the energy to light the building. “Now don’t freak out when I tell you it’s my place. I don’t think even the most committed journalist will be lurking about at this time of night. And, regardless, I have all sorts of ploys in place to protect you.”
    Too light-headed to battle against the part of her that wanted to be with him, she walked beside him in silence. He offered up an effervescent flow of silliness to amuse her.
    “So, my paparazzi anathema, the security guards have been sent to other parts of the building, the security cameras on the route we’re taking are being jammed, and you have the privilege of going to the parking garage in my personal elevator. No one knows you are here and no one knows we’re moving. The same precautions will be taken at my building until you are safe inside my lair.” He gave her a good evil villain impression then lost it when his leer turned to a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t you think I’m clever to figure all these precautions out?”
    She laughed despite herself. “You poor man, do you really need a pat on the back that badly? Here then.” She reached up to pat him several times between the shoulder blades. He rubbed against her hand like a sinuous panther. She became too aware of the rippling muscle beneath her fingers, of the heat coming through his suit jacket, of the stillness that took both of them from playful to sexually aware. She patted him one more time, just so he wouldn’t think she ran scared.
    “I knew it was just a matter of time before you came to appreciate me.” He kept his tone light, yet a husky note underplayed the words. “Ah, here is the stalwart Gribbs.” He ushered her from the elevator into the echoing depths of the underground garage.
    A dark limo with tinted windows idled a few