17. Knight
Chapter Seventeen
KNIGHT
Iwas dating the dragon. Not just in my dreams, but real, live blind dates.
Well, one blind date, but watching the sun set over Hoover Dam had to be a date, because otherwise, why would she tell Nix I was her baby’s daddy afterwards?
She could have thrown over the table and dragged me out of the apartment the second she saw me on our blind date, but instead she’d shared her precious proximity with me and hadn’t threatened to castrate me once.
And then the conversation in the hallway while I held her in my arms. I relived that nonstop for days, much to Jerome’s chagrin.
She liked the way I cut my food. It was toddler-safe.
No one had ever said anything nice about the way I cut up food, at least not in this world.
She saw the practicality of it, not the years of meticulous training by my OCD nanny.
Trixie was getting back into a regular schedule since the nausea had eased up. That made me so happy. Her feeling better meant fifty thousand fewer worries for me.
“The gossip says that the dragon’s pregnant and you’re the father,” Vicky, my European bodyguard said, leaning on the doorway of my office, a frown of concern on her pursed mouth.
I was doing business, these were business hours, but my head bodyguard had bothered to come in here and chat, so I could make time for her. I gestured toward the chair. “That’s what the gossips say. Where’s the best place in Vegas to go maternity shopping?”
She blinked at me and then slunk in, dropping into the chair and leaning back, stretching out like she didn’t care.
That meant that she cared. “You’re keeping bodyguards on retainer, but not using them.
Maybe you can give us something else to do.
Like protect her.” Her heavy accent was Swedish or something.
She looked like a model but could take out a linebacker.
She also had a collection of PEZ dispensers and tended to date men with multiple cats.
It didn’t last long because she was allergic to cats and easily bored, which is why I’d put her in charge.
She should be busy training the other guards.
I sat up straight. “She can’t know that I have bodyguards.”
She raised a brow. Vicky’s brows were quite impressively immaculate considering how good she was at taking down opposition. “We could be her friends. Commiserating about how men are so cruel.”
I scowled at her. “I don’t want her thinking about me being with you like that, particularly me being cruel to you.” She also didn’t need any more beautiful female friends that she might like better than me.
She sighed heavily. “Then I tell her that we’re bodyguards because of that time you were assaulted by twenty women, that you still have nightmares about.
Make her have sympathy for you. Or I can tell her that you only pretend to be with women to protect them from abusive lovers.
” She smiled brightly. Someone had been watching telenovelas. Did Sweden have soap operas?
I glanced at my computer screen where I had laid out the tentative plan for taking down Richard Carmichael, Trix’s baby’s genetic donor.
Not daddy. That was me. I couldn’t in good conscience seduce Trixie, but I would absolutely be her baby’s daddy if she let me.
I’d be whatever she needed. Absolutely and irrevocably.
But I wouldn’t be her stalker. No woman needed that.
I frowned at the screen and hit the call button with a blue five on it. My call buttons were out of numerical order, but the colors were in the right order.
“Charles, if you’d be so good as to find out who accepted the two hundred thousand sent in supposedly unmarked funds from the Carmichael estate, I would be deeply grateful.” I pushed the button again before he had a chance to respond.
“That accent’s killer. When are you going to use it on your wife?” Vicky said.
My head jerked up on its own accord to stare at my bodyguard. “My what?”
“You’ve been married to her for years. Why not make it official now that there’s a baby in the picture, yes?”
Trixie was my wife? I absolutely couldn’t think about that.
I couldn’t hear that thrown out casually like it was practically a given.
Because then I’d start fixating. Spiraling.
Hyper-focusing on the one thing in the universe that I knew I couldn’t ever have.
“Then what would my bodyguard crew do for fun? Don’t call her my wife again. ”
She straightened up, frowning at me, offended. “Really? You sound serious.”
“You’ll have to find a new job. Last warning.” I let the cold, hard, lord of the business shine through.
She gave me a brisk nod and stood. “Of course. Sorry for the lapse in professionalism, sir. I’ll go do a circuit in the casinos.” She marched out, hurt hidden by a mask of politeness.
My wife…For a second, or fifty, I was lost in the fantasy, Trixie Dragon O’Hara meeting me in the lobby like I belonged to her, hugging me with all her strength until my bones creaked, and then I’d pick her up and carry her to Vanity, the boutique at the other end of the hotel, where I dictated what the special section was.
Right now it had a growing maternity section, but the back room always had an assortment of tactical gear, bulletproof vests, and big and tall everything.
Also coveralls, because nothing said Las Vegas glam like a big and baggy mechanic’s coverall.
Trixie would pick out a new coverall and then tell me which color shirt I should get.
And we’d get matching bulletproof vests.
I’d talked Jordan into making one that came out like a weighted leather jacket, so she’d have a slight edge of safety while staying stylish. He was almost as fixated on her as I was.
My phone beeped, and then Charles’s voice was clear and crisp. “He sent it to ‘Security Enterprises’, run by one Felix ‘The Bone’ Donahue. Odd. There’s no history of any other monetary exchanges in their past.”
I knew that name. I’d overheard it once at a mingle of some kind, well, of stupidly wealthy people who wanted to become more stupidly wealthy, and he was someone you called if you wanted problems to go away.
The Bone helped persuade in personal situations where bribery might not be enough to smooth the way, and for those who were difficult to buy.
No one was more difficult to buy than Trixie. She was impossible to buy and slightly notorious for it.
I checked the security feed of my hotel, heart beating faster than I should let it.
Everything was fine. I checked the feed until I found Trixie in the lobby, walking with purpose towards the elevator.
There she was, safe, untamed curls bouncing with every step.
And then in the grainy black and white feed, the rhythm of her curls went off, jarred as she bumped into a man.
It was nothing. The man in a suit turned, offered an apology, and then continued towards the exit while Trixie, after a moment’s pause, headed towards the elevator.
Nothing was wrong. I was overreacting, like I had a million times before, rushing into the lobby to save my wife when she didn’t need saving.
Back up. Not my wife. My competition. My opponent.
It wasn’t team Nathan and Trixie, fighting their demons together.
It was Horse fighting the Dragon. I needed to stop this now, or it would be too late.
I couldn’t be her baby’s pretend daddy. I’d have to end it some public and unforgivable way.
I’d have to hurt her, imply that I didn’t want her, or my wife would…
I growled and ran a hand through my hair, pulling painfully on the strands.
The pain didn’t matter. I started for the door, holding my phone, pulling up the feed in the elevator.
Wrong one. Trixie wasn’t making out with some guy with abandon at four in the afternoon.
Now, if it was four in the morning… No. My…
Not wife. Trixie wasn’t ever going to let me kiss her again.
And I wasn’t going to try. And she’d never let me scoop her into my arms when she felt faint, or hold her hair while she was vomiting in a public bathroom, or snuggle on my bike.
Unless I could somehow pretend to be something she’d want indefinitely.
I was good at pretending. But that was lying.
She hated lies. And that’s why I was so good as her baby’s fake daddy.
I could lie where she couldn’t. We were perfect for each other.
And that was the biggest lie I’d ever tried to tell myself.
She was perfect for me. I was not perfect for her.
I’d only be pretending to be anything she wanted.
But I was so good at pretending.
I started moving, still checking the elevators.
There she was, caught by the cam, leaning against one wall while another occupant, a large man with a baseball cap and sneakers, stood on the other side.
Was it The Bone? I was overreacting. The odds of The Bone hopping on a plane to Vegas to take care of one Richard Carmichael’s illegitimate child three days after a payment went through from the Carmichael estate was nothing close to evidence.
But it was suspicious. They were still on the elevator.
Why? My elevators were top of the line Omni 1200’s.
It didn’t take days to get somewhere. Was she leaning more heavily against the wall?
Her head was back, so I could see her face.
She was so beautiful with her eyes closed, face relaxing, and then she slid down, and the man leapt to catch her.
I was standing at the elevator bank, heart thudding while I watched the feed on my phone, showing my wife in the arms of another man. I needed to get a grip before I started crushing things.