The Boss And His Cowgirl. Silver James

buried her face against his shoulder, hiding from the cameras and shouted questions. His anger surged again but cooler heads prevailed as Boone and Hunter guided him through the lobby and onto a waiting elevator, ignoring the reporters yelling for a statement.

      The express ride took them straight to the penthouse level where Clay occupied the Sonoma Suite, the hotel’s equivalent of presidential lodging. He met Boone’s surprised expression with quiet directions. “Go to her room and get her bags. She’ll stay up here in the empty guest room.”

      Comprised of a living room, formal dining room, study, kitchen facilities and four bedrooms with attached baths, there was room for Clay, Boone, Hunter and now Georgie. He didn’t want her alone in some random hotel room, even though every room in his family’s resort was five-star. He wanted her safe and he wasn’t convinced she would be out of his sight—irrational as that sounded. Without breaking stride, Clay continued into the master bedroom and straight to the massive bath. He set her on the marble vanity top without regard to the gray smudges smeared across his white Western-cut shirt. He almost smiled at the impression his turquoise bolo tie had left on Georgie’s cheek. Keeping a hand on her shoulder to hold her steady, he grabbed a washcloth and wet it, squeezing out the excess water with one hand.

      She remained bug-eyed, her pupils dilated, and he could almost feel her shock. Her hair, normally in a neat bun at the back of her head, was tousled and framing her pale face—and was far longer than he’d realized. With gentleness he didn’t know he possessed, Clay removed her glasses and set them in the sink to be washed. He wiped her face first, rinsing the cloth before moving to her skinned knees. Her hands, clenched into tight balls on her lap, slowly relaxed.

      He’d never been this...intimate with her before. They worked closely together but touching her like this? She was...Georgie. Always there when he needed a press release, a statement or a sounding board. She was efficient. Professional. And he was surprised at the curves he’d discovered when he picked her up. He realized, belatedly, that there was a very feminine woman lurking beneath her rather dowdy exterior.

      Then he remembered why she was sitting on the counter in his bathroom. Anger flashed through him as hot as a grease fire. “Dammit, Georgie. This shouldn’t have happened. Especially not to you.”

      She blinked, squinted, did her best to focus her eyes on his face. “Yeah, well.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

      “Boone’s gone to your room to get your things. Stay in here and get cleaned up. Then I want you to move into the other guest room.” He tilted his head toward the door. “There’s a robe on the back of the door. Okay?”

      She fumbled for her glasses. He snatched them first, washed and dried them before handing them to her. Once they were back on her face, she looked more like herself, and her green eyes lost some of that shell-shocked glaze. Her nose wrinkled as she sniffed her shoulder. “Yeah, I definitely want out of these clothes. They stink like smoke.”

      Clay backed away. “I’ll get out of here so you have some privacy.”

      She nodded but didn’t speak so he gave her arm a little pat and steadied her as she slipped off the counter to stand on the marble floor. Once she had her balance, he backed out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He almost ran over Hunter, who’d been hovering just outside.

      “Dammit, Hunt. How did this happen? How did the protesters get inside?” Clay was as angry at himself as he was his security chief. Security should have watched out for her. Hell, he should have watched out for her. She was, ultimately, his responsibility.

      Hunt made a noise that resembled a growl. “A group came through a secondary entrance in the basement and got to the main control board. Building security thinks it might have been an inside job. They’re investigating.”

      Lightning flashed beyond the sheer curtains covering the bedroom window, followed shortly by thunder. Frowning, Hunt pulled out his cell phone, swiped the screen then punched an app icon. “I didn’t know we had weather moving in tonight.” He checked the forecast and radar then shrugged. “Nothing but boomers and some rain. Now, about Georgie. It won’t happen again, Clay. I promise. I’ll put a man on her personally.”

      Clay tunneled his fingers through his hair. “As soon as she’s—” A massive boom rattled the window glass and seconds later, all the lights in the suite went out. A scream from inside the bathroom had both men scrambling—Hunt for light, Clay for the door handle.

      Jerking the door open, Clay found Georgie kneeling on the floor, her head down, shoulders hunched. Was she gagging? Jeez, but he hated that sound. Had ever since college and drunken frat parties. He kicked the door shut in Hunter’s face and bent down. Using the flashlight app on his cell, he checked her over. Clay lifted her long brown hair back from her face, though she tried to turn away. Georgie’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, coughing with the effort.

      To combat his very visceral reaction to what was happening, Clay recited the Gettysburg Address. Then the Preamble to the US Constitution. He figured he’d have to start on the Declaration of Independence next but Georgie finally inhaled and turned an apologetic gaze on him. He stood to retrieve another washcloth.

      “I’m sorry,” she murmured, not looking at him as he crouched beside her.

      He wondered if her heightened color was a result of exertion or embarrassment. “It’s okay—” He bit off the next word, an endearment that slipped too easily into his head. To cover, he brushed her hair back over her shoulders. Pet names didn’t come as easy to him as they did Boone. The fact that one had formed on his tongue should have concerned him, but he couldn’t work up the energy to worry about it at the moment. He handed her the washcloth and she wiped her mouth and face but still wouldn’t look at him. It was then he realized she’d stripped down to a bra and panties—red ones. He refused to process that visual, focusing instead on the situation. “What happened? You seemed okay when I walked out.”

      Georgie swallowed a dry heave and wrapped her arms around her chest. “I...panicked. The dark. And the storm. I’m a tad...claustrophobic. Or something.”

      Clay swallowed the insane urge to laugh as his adrenaline rush faded. He bit the insides of his cheeks and when that didn’t help, he bit his tongue in an aborted effort to stop the sputtering laugh that finally escaped. He immediately apologized. “It’s not funny. I know. I’m sorry.”

      A choking sound spurted from her. She’d hidden her face in her hands so he snagged the robe from the back of the door and draped it across her shoulders and back. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and twisted her body so she could see him. Clay was surprised to see her biting her lips as if she, too, was trying to hold back her laughter. Then the robe gapped and he glimpsed the bruise on her ribs. He curled his hands into fists to keep from ripping the robe off to examine her. Those bastards had marked her with their idiotic stunt. That quelled his urge to laugh.

      “You’re bruised, Georgie. And you have that bump on your head. I’d like a doctor to look at you, okay?”

      Her forehead furrowed in confusion before she glanced down and saw what he was talking about. “Oh. I am. Huh.” Her gaze caught on his. “I was too busy being scared witless to notice, and it was dark so I couldn’t see...”

      She rubbed absently at her pale skin, and Clay reminded himself Georgie was in his employ and traumatized. He was not as big a jerk as his father or brothers when it came to women. He refused to be, but damn if he wasn’t suddenly aware that Georgie had been hiding some very interesting attributes behind her boxy suits and thick glasses—said attributes all but staring him in the face, despite the modest cut of that red lingerie and the robe.

      “I’ll have the house doctor check you once the electricity—” The lights flickered, steadied and remained on. “Speaking of. Ready to get into the shower now?”

      Clay stood and extended his hand to help her up. Just as she clasped his fingers, another clap of thunder shook the building and the lights extinguished. He felt her tremble and hunkered down beside her once more. “It’s okay, Georgie.”

      He