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of his ear, but she couldn’t go there. This was business. He was a client. She couldn’t like this guy.
    “Do you give up now or shall we continue to waste time with your games?”
    He laughed huskily. “You are so turning me on right now.” She didn’t doubt his words given the fact that his voice was so deadly deep that he could kill a woman’s reserve with just one word.
    She gracefully pulled herself up, and he followed, effortlessly doing a push up to get himself off the floor. He straightened his suit jacket. “This is an Armani,” he admonished. “It doesn’t belong on the floor.”
    “If you hadn’t tried to attack me it wouldn’t have been on the floor.”
    He laughed. “You smell good. It’s like a natural scent,” he stated as he looked her over once more. “You don’t wear a lot of perfume do you?”
    “I don’t wear any,” she confirmed. “I don’t feel a need to let my enemy smell me coming from a mile away.”
    He laughed. “Be forewarned,” he stated. “Latricia doesn’t share your opinion. She always smells as if she’s dumped the entire bottle on her body.”
    “Great,” Valencia muttered.
    “The last time I met with her I asked for an outdoor table at the place where we were having lunch. That was a mistake. I was downwind from her and of course it just had to be a fairly breezy day. We’ll have an indoor table tonight. I don’t think my head can take a repeat…” he shook his head. “I should make sure I get some aspirin just in case.”
    Valencia tapped the decorative handle on her handbag. “I have four in here.”
    “You carry aspirin in your purse?”
    “No,” she smiled before hitting a clasp. Part of the rounded top of the handle popped open, revealing a hidden compartment with the small pills inside.
    “That is some purse,” he whistled. “What else you got in there?”
    “That’s for me to know, and for you to, with hopes, not have to find out.” She closed the compartment on her purse. “Now, let’s go before you’re late for your meeting.”
    “Right,” he acknowledged the need to leave, yet he still hadn’t made an effort to move. “I’ve never seen a dress like that. Who’s the designer? Dakarti?”
    “Me,” she said.
    “You find time to sew?”
    “My mother made me learn when I was young,” she said. In between training to be a lethal killer, an expert with the martial arts, and a moderately accomplished cook, her mother told her that knowing how to make her own attire could be the difference between life and death. She hadn’t understood her mother’s words at the time, but she never questioned her parents. So she learned how to sew, how to design. And as she got older she understood what her mother had been trying to prepare her for. Having the ability to make her own clothes meant she had the ability to make hidden compartments for weapons that she could take anywhere undetected while still having clothing that fit every occasion and her body. “I work on new clothes in between clients.” This basically meant she spent two or three weeks focusing on training and sewing. She didn’t need much by way of clothing, but finding new ways to hide the new weapons she acquired was a good excuse for spending several hours making a new outfit. She was an assassin turned bodyguard, but that didn’t mean she didn’t like to dress with class and style—her style.
    “Are we leaving now?”
    “Oh, right…yeah, sure,” he picked his keys up off the coffee table. “Let’s go.”

 
    Chapter Three
     
     
     
    “ H ello, Latricia.” Harrison smiled at the dressed in black woman. She was tall and elegant, but somehow she didn’t compare to the petite woman next to him. Latricia was always at the top of her societal game when it came to looks. She had the perfect shade of blond hair—straight from the salon, but no less perfect. Her nails were always groomed perfectly in a French manicure with crisp even tips. Her makeup was never