Protecting His Assets by J.K. Coi Page A

through his hair, obviously frustrated. She sympathized; it had been a long night, but he couldn’t keep hobbling her investigation by keeping things from her. She put a hand on his arm. “Nolan, please…”
    He jerked his head up, his gaze shuttered and dark with emotion. “I retained the surveillance company because I’d received information suggesting that the man who’d stolen from my father’s business was still alive.”
    “Justin Fielding,” she said.
    He nodded. “I needed to know for sure.”
    “What did they find out?”
    “Nothing. Go ahead, read it for yourself.” He picked up the folder and offered it to her, revealing the handgun that had been in the drawer, beneath the paperwork.
    Her heart pounded. “Jesus, don’t tell me that’s loaded.”
    “It’s not. And it’s registered and completely legal,” he reassured her.
    She still didn’t like the idea of him having a gun, but he shoved another handful of papers into her chest and shut the drawer. “The threatening letters.”
    She reluctantly tucked the surveillance report under her arm and took the notes gingerly by the corners. “Let me get these into some evidence bags to preserve any fingerprints that might have been left behind.”
    “There should be something in the kitchen you can use,” he said. His arm brushed hers as he slipped between her and the desk toward the door, and both of them froze.
    Every one of the earlier feelings that had sent her reeling returned in a rush. His body was still in contact with hers, his arm solid and bulky through his cotton shirtsleeve. He shifted closer and turned his head. His mouth hovered just an inch away. Her breathing hitched.
    Then suddenly, her stomach grumbled, interrupting the charged moment.
    His eyes crinkled with amusement. “You sat in your car outside the restaurant the entire time I was in there, didn’t you?” he asked.
    “Of course.” She nodded.
    He frowned. “I apologize.”
    “For what?” she asked, surprised.
    “For being an insensitive ass,” he admitted. “I could have at least sent something out to you.”
    “It’s the job. I’m used to it.” Nobody had ever wasted a second thought about her diet when she was on a job, not even the little old lady who’d been her last client.
    “So when was the last time you ate?”
    She’d managed to snag a muffin from Starbucks on the way to his building that morning, but other than that…
    “A while,” she admitted with a shrug.
    He swore and shook his head. “Come with me to the kitchen, and I’ll get you something.”
    Her cheeks heated. “I’m fine. You don’t have to—”
    He grabbed her hand, pulling her with him. “Don’t bother arguing. What good are you going to be to me as a bodyguard if you pass out from malnutrition?”
    “I doubt it will come to that.” But she was pretty hungry now that she thought about it. In fact, she was getting hungrier by the minute. He still hadn’t let go of her hand, so she didn’t bother to fight him.
    The kitchen was open to a large, informal sitting area with a comfortable-looking sofa and a big-screen television opposite a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the city. Although the more formal main living room at the front of the apartment was nice, it hadn’t quite felt like Nolan’s style. This was exactly where she pictured him spending his personal time. Laid-back, comfortable, and confidently male. It was currently in slightly better shape than the rest of the apartment, but the cushions had still been slashed, and there was a spiderweb crack in the middle of the television, presumably from the stone sculpture lying on the floor in pieces directly beneath it.
    He kicked his way to the island in the middle of the kitchen and shuffled through a drawer.
    Her throat worked as she stood in place and took it all in. When she’d walked through all the rooms the first time, she’d been focused on making sure whoever had done this wasn’t lying in