Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(71)
Author: Ilona Andrews

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought you tried to avoid dealing with Adam?”

Augustine sighed. “Like you said, I am a Prime of a Houston House. The welfare of the city is my responsibility.”

I looked at Rogan.

“If Adam burns an office building or two, it’s somewhat annoying,” Rogan said. “If he burns downtown or any of the financial centers, the economic impact on the Houses will be enormous. Every major local House and many families from out of state own property in the city. Aside from the immediate financial hit, the blow to the reputation of affected Houses would be catastrophic. Our people, our retainers, would die in huge numbers.”

“Nobody would do business with a House that can’t protect its own employees,” Augustine said.

“If this happens,” Rogan said, “the Houses will look for a scapegoat, and Augustine here was charged with apprehending Adam Pierce.”

“But so is the Houston PD,” Bern said.

“We expect Houston PD to fail,” Augustine said, his voice dry.

“Your record as a top-notch investigative outfit might fool House Pierce, but it wouldn’t stand up to an enraged National Assembly,” Mad Rogan added. “They’ll figure out exactly what Augustine tried to pull, and they’ll tear House Montgomery to pieces.”

Augustine’s face rippled slightly, as if his illusion tried to slide off his features. He bared his teeth. “They’ll try. I’m going after Emmens. We’ll know where the third piece is in twenty-four hours.”

“Have fun.” Rogan rose.

“You too.” Augustine looked at me. “Are you going with him to see Lenora Jordan?”

“Yes,” Rogan and I said at the same time.

“Don’t joke with Lenora, don’t volunteer information, and keep your answers short,” Augustine said. “If you get locked up, you’re responsible for your own bail.”

We exited the building together, Bern, Rogan, and I. Bern and I turned left, Rogan turned right.

“Nevada,” Rogan said. “My car is this way.”

“We’ll follow you.”

“Do you want to meet Lenora?” he asked. “If so, you ride with me.”

I wanted to meet Lenora Jordan. Half of my high school time was spent idolizing her.

“You should go,” Bern said. “I’ll follow you and post bail if I have to.”

Mad Rogan winked at me. Somehow that bastard figured me out and was now dangling Lenora like a carrot on a stick. Must’ve been the way my voice spiked when I said her name.

Control, control . . . I gave Rogan my best business smile and started walking toward him. “Thank you so much for your generous offer.”

Mad Rogan chuckled. A tantalizing, feather-light heat washed over me, dancing on my shoulders, and an exhilarating mixture of warmth and pressure rolled down my neck. I almost jumped. Breath caught in my throat. I quashed the urge to stretch against that phantom touch like a cat.

“Do it again, and I will hurt you.”

The phantom touch slowly melted away and part of me wanted to follow, wherever it was going.

Mad Rogan was walking next to me with that same confident stride that had made me notice him back in the arboretum, and I knew precisely where he was and how much distance separated us. My whole body was focused on him. I wanted him to touch me. I didn’t want him touching me. I was waiting for him to touch me. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted.

“Did you like the carnations?”

I reached into my pocket and handed him a small red card. “Texas Children’s Hospital is grateful to you for your generous donation. Thanks to you, every one of their rooms has beautiful flowers this morning. They think it might be at least partially tax deductible, and if your people talk to their people, the hospital will provide the necessary paperwork.”

Mad Rogan took the card, brushing my hand with his warm, dry fingers. The card shot out of his hand and landed in the nearby trash bin.

My skin tingled where he’d touched me. This was some kind of torture.

A black Audi sat in a parking spot about twenty feet away. A wide, elegant car, it seemed to imply power and quiet aggression. It was the kind of car a rich man would buy when he decided his adolescent-dream Maserati was too flashy.

“Is that an A8 L Security series?” His Range Rover was armored. I seriously doubted the Audi wouldn’t be. Most Houses owned several armored cars. That’s what kept Grandma Frida in business.

“It’s an A8 customized.” Mad Rogan touched the car door and the engine purred in response. “I’ve made some modifications.”

Of course he had. I slid into the leather passenger seat. The cabin was surprisingly roomy, all sophisticated lines and sleek design, clean, elegant, and efficient. Nice.

Rogan pulled out of the parking lot. The car practically glided. The luxury aspect of the car didn’t do that much for me, but the quality was really nice. Grandma once told me that it took almost five hundred man-hours to assemble one of these, and it showed. He drove it well too. No matter what they tell you, a high-performance luxury car didn’t handle like a typical sedan, and an armored luxury car didn’t handle like one either.

“Did you want something more maneuverable for the city?” I asked. Not that there was anything wrong with the Range Rover.

“Yes. You never know, we might encounter squirrels.”

The Audi slid into traffic.

“We should have sex.”

I must’ve misheard. “I’m sorry, what?”

He glanced at me. His blue eyes were warm, as if heated from within. Wow.

“I said, we should have sex. You and me.”

“No.” Alarm made me sit up straighter.

“What do you mean, no?”

“I mean no. Has it been so long since you heard the word that you might have forgotten what it meant?” Okay, that was probably rude. I had to keep this as professional as possible. Calm, just very calm and firm.

“I’m attracted to you.” His voice was confident and assured, as if this whole conversation was simply a formality and he knew he would win in the end. “I know you’re attracted to me.”

Just had to rub it in, did he?

“We’re both consenting adults. Why wouldn’t we have sex?”

Because you’re dangerous as hell, you scare me, and because it would be mind-blowingly good. Which would mean I would want more and more and I really, really can’t afford to fall in love with you. “Because we don’t have that kind of relationship.”