"What the fuck happened?" A man burst forward, casting a dismissive glance at Tessa as if she was a floozy. It made her chuckle. Married for twenty years, her days of flooziness were long behind her. Though, one look at the man, and she would consider dusting off those forgotten skills.

"Three men with knives. Watch the security feed." Bart released her hand to drop onto the three-seater couch. "But do that later. This hurts like hell!"

"Fine. Who's the woman?" He grabbed a box from a cupboard.

"Marc, this is Tessa. Honey, say hello, tell him where you're from, and how long I've known you."

"Hello, Marc. I'm from South Africa, and I've known Bart for oh-say ten minutes."

"Your accent is sex-on-a-stick," Marc said, blinking at her.

"So I've heard. Could you take care of Bart, please? His wound is seeping blood."

Marc nodded and flicked the box open. Tessa peered through the glass, watching the dancing and wishing she was down there. The beat thumped up through her heels, tempting her to throw caution to the wind, her hands in the air and her hips from side-to-side.

"Go downstairs and dance, love. You know you want to," Bart said, then hissed, glaring at Marc.

She flashed him a smile. "I'm tempted, but I think this is as close as I'll get."

"Do you realize your dress is torn, and there's blood streaking the back of your thigh?" Marc gestured with a bloodied gauze.

Tessa groaned as heat flushed her face. Holy cow! She had flashed these poor bastards. Wait! What? She twisted and scowled, only now acknowledging the stinging pain.

"He must have cut me when I kicked him," she said, replaying the fight in her mind, one strike at a time.

"Here, painkillers." Marc wiped his blood-stained hands on a cloth. He bounded forward, gathered her palm in his, and shook two capsules onto it. Tessa nodded her thanks and studied Bart with his shirt off. Muscles carved in chocolate skin had her smiling, tattoos marring their dark landscape, as intricate. No doubt, each with their own stories.

A tatt peeked out from under Marc's shirt collar, leaving Tess wondering what it was. Something Celtic, a naked woman, his mother's name. She would never find out.

The patch over Bart's wound looked professional. He grunted as he rose off the couch to pull a shirt out of the wall of cupboards opposite the glass. Judging by the stack inside, they kept stock for a reason.

When she focused on Marc again, he sat behind the desk, drying his hands on another towel. This had her searching the office for a basin. There was one tucked into a narrow alcove. Bart paused beside her, pulling on his jacket, while Marc watched something on a monitor. She did up his buttons before smoothing his lapels, standing on her tippy-toesto reach.

"Tessa, your heel sunk into his chest!" Marc applauded as if seeing her do so pleased him. Bouncing in his chair, he resembled a little boy watching wrestling.

She chuckled. "That wasn't my intention. I had to create distance between the oriental stab and Bart."

"Oriental?" Marc arched a brow. "Bart, I'll send Doc to find you when he gets in."

Bart swallowed his painkillers sans water. "Come see me before you leave tonight, Tess."

She smiled. "I promise."

"I'll tend to her wound and call a taxi for her," Marc said, to which Bart nodded, opened the door releasing the dampened electronic music before closing it behind him. "On the couch with you."

"What?" Heat engulfed her throat, and she struggled to swallow, not trusting her thoughts. Like a man such as Marc would show interest in her. "On my stomach?" She marched forward, hoping to portray a level of confidence she was far from feeling. Sprawling on the cold leather, she kept her heels up so they wouldn't scratch the couch, then rested her chin on the armrest, throwing her arms over it, as well.

"Your dress is ruined. Stockings too."

"One hell of a party." Tessa chuckled. Silence met her response, but she didn't look at him, preferring to mire in her embarrassment. Dancing was all she had wanted, not whatever this was.

"Fuck, your accent is sexy."

As if she hadn't heard that before. "Take a recording, it will last longer." She was joking, but his gentle touch stilled, and a moment later, he thrust his phone in her face. "Okay," she said, grabbing it. "Wake up call?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"Good morning, sleepyhead, rise, and shine. So many things to see, too many women to do. Up you get, sweetheart. Time waits for no man, not even your sexy ass." She hit the end button and held the phone to him. Once again, his fingers stilled. With her hands free, she returned them to the armrest. "Is it deep? Do I need stitches?"

The thought of a trip to Emergency made her grumble. Twelve hours in a plane wouldn't help her wound, and how the hell would she explain this when she got home? Her sensei would love to hear about it though, giggling at her and asking her to re-enact it. If anyone had a naughty face, it was the man who taught her how to maim.

"If you do, we'll ask Doc to do it," Marc said.

"If?" The wound must be bleeding so much that he couldn't see how deep it was.

"I haven't had a look at it yet, what with tearing your stockings and wiping up the blood."

"What the fuck is going on? I have the clean-up crew downstairs, and the rookie's working with Bart. Up here, you have a tart on the couch."

She jerked at the booming voice, then again when he slammed the door shut.

"Chill, boss, watch the feed first," Marc said, but there was humor in his voice, not taking the man's fury seriously.

"Do you bring tarts here often?" She kept her voice low. The back of the couch was too high to see over, but the owner of that raspy voice sounded lethal.

"You're not a tart, Tessa." Marc patted her shoulder and probably smearing blood onto her satin dress. She frowned, acknowledging the total failure of her nightclub adventure.

The stranger strode past her head, and she watched him slip around his desk to drop into the chair. Her breath caught, and she looked away, hoping he hadn't heard her reaction. Wheat-colored hair cascaded over his Adonis features. His hair looked tousled and too long, where it brushed the collar of his steel-blue suit jacket. Broad shoulders and solid biceps threatened to split the seams. Just like Bart's. His angular jaw was squarish, drawing attention to his pointy chin and pursed lips. Tessa decided not to catalog his features further. Her old heart wouldn't survive it.

"The timing's too perfect." Boss leveled his blue gaze on her. Distrust came off him in waves, mingling with the burn and intensity of power? Was it his sex appeal? She couldn't say, not without staring. His words settled in her dazed mind, and she laughed, not caring if she offended him. He thought she had choreographed everything. A mother of two teenagers mistaken for a spy?

"Lie still," Marc said, gripping her knee.

"Listen, boss." She shook her head at the absurdity of this situation. "I don't know who you are, and I don't give a rat's ass about whatever you have going on that requires spying. I'm going to take a taxi, drink Marc's painkillers and forget this entire evening ever happened."

"You're not from here." Boss's statement had her rolling her eyes. He was next-level genius.

"Bingo." She rested her forehead on the armrest as exhaustion beat at her. "If I don't need stitches, I'd like to go now."

"Does she?" Boss's voice was closer, and she tilted her head to look at him. With him looming over her, his proximity had her heart fluttering in her chest like trapped flying ants. Their falling wings pooled in the pit of her stomach drawing forth a different kind of heat. She didn't find him devastating, attractive, intimidating, or sexy. She didn't, but her pinging hormones screamed otherwise. Shit.

"I'll call Doc. He can take a look at Bart too." Marc leaned back on his haunches and pressed his phone to his ear.

"Then return to your post. I'll take care of our angel," Boss said.

"Angel?" Tessa snorted. "Whatever, dude."

"Dude?" He sounded a little stunned, but Tess wasn't going to stare at him again, not when it had her heart doing the rumba. At least, a part of her got to dance tonight.

"Yes, it's that or Boss." She gave him a pointed look as if to say, "pick one".

"The name's Camden Mathews."

She cursed the fates for his lovely name.

Marc held out his hand to her, and she gripped it for a shake. "Tessa, sweetheart, it's been a pleasure from my side," he said, flashing her a charming smile. He jogged out of the office and left her alone with Cam.

Panic struck, and she pushed herself off the couch, balancing on her knees. She would rather scramble off the couch, bleed in the taxi, and make her escape. Anything but be alone with him. Sanity returned, and despite the urge to bolt gripping her, she doubted she could escape before this man stopped her. She didn't want him touching her. Just the thought of his hands on her spiked her temperature, flushed her cheeks, and snatched her breath. Trembling, Tessa sunk back onto the couch. Maybe the knife tip held poison? That was a preferable explanation for her feverish longing.

"Your dress is ruined," he said, having removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves on sculpted caramel arms entwined with tattoos. The crisp white shirt gaped at the base of his throat and clung to a chest screaming for a good licking. More tatts peeked out. He knelt alongside the couch, bringing his heat and spicy cologne closer. "Your red-lace boy shorts are showing."

Renewed heat burst across her face, rushing down her throat, and she groaned, turning away from him. Yes, she had worn her best lingerie, hoping to boost her confidence; red-lace boy shorts with a black bustier. That they didn't match didn't matter to her since no one was supposed to see her in them. At least she had worn panties since she usually went commando, but this dress was inches shorter than her normal style. Tess was so grateful that she was decently covered. He stroked something cool along her wound shooting shards of heated agony up her thigh, and she settled in for the wait, her lips pinched to stifle her gasp.

"So, where are you from?"

"Africa," she said. "I wanted to dance tonight, to lose a piece of myself in London." She drew in a shuddering breath, fighting the sting of tears behind her eyes. Ruined dress and evening, she wasn't about to add a ruined face to the list.

"You still can." His voice rubbed along her senses, and she shook her head. No to the evening, to the dancing, to losing herself, to the effect of this man on her body. Just ... no.

"Every man here thinks I'm a woman of loose morals. I'm tempted to search the cushions of your couch for random bits of underwear."

"You do look like a cougar." He chuckled, husky, deep, and evocative.

Tessa squeezed her eyes shut. She was unable to cover her ears or calm her erratic heartbeat. "Huh. I'm not showing cleavage, and the only reason you're seeing a bit of my thigh is that I tore my dress doing a side kick."

His fingers stroked said thigh, and she shivered. Tessa didn't think he had done it on purpose, especially when something cold dabbed at her wound again.

"I'm here, boss." A man walked into the office accompanied by a woman's wailing cry and the thump of a new beat.

"Good, Doc. Does she need stitches?"

Tessa forced herself to relax when she sensed movement. She assumed Cam had risen to his feet to allow the doctor access.

"Who's the bimbo?"

"Fuck," she whispered. The doctor had proven her point.

"She's my guest, Doc, and I'd appreciate a little respect." Cam's voice had hardened with steel, but he had forgotten he had called her a tart not ten minutes ago. Tess decided against pointing that out. The quicker the doctor looked at her leg, the sooner she could leave.

"Sorry, ma'am," the doctor said.

Ma'am? Tessa smothered a giggle, sensing she was on the verge of tears again. She was made of sterner stuff, dammit. Two caesareans, for pity's sake.

"I'll inject you then stitch you up. I'll just use a little anesthetic. I don't want you to lose the use of your leg for the next twelve hours."

"Appreciate it." Tessa didn't like the sound of that. Inject her with what? Panic gripped her, coiling tendrils of fear in her stomach as she imagined all sorts of horror, ending with her lying in a tub of ice minus a few organs. "Listen, this is all unnecessary. I'll just have Owen look at it."

Cam dropped to his haunches in front of her and clasped her face between his long-fingered hands. His fragrance with a hint of antiseptic engulfed her. "Tessa, please, trust me to help you." His touch burned her, sending shards of electricity sliding down her throat towards her nipples. Holy shit, this man was intense. His blue gaze pierced hers, and she couldn't doubt his sincerity. Forced to face him meant she had to admit he was the perfect example of manhood she had seen in a while.

"Okay, I place my life in your hands, Cam."

The dimpled smile he blessed her with had her grumbling again. She had to survive tonight, then she need never endure this level of sex appeal again.

"Scared of needles?" He laced his fingers through hers, his palm rougher than expected. She shook her head and lay still, letting the doctor do his thing. The injection pinched, the liquid burned, then the back of her thigh went numb. Cam continued to hold her hand, with his thumb stroking her skin distracting her. She was grateful for it since she had nothing else to focus on but his handsome features. Gray brushed his temples, so he wasn't as young as she had thought. He vibrated with life—an energy that was as seductive as the music's drumbeat. A glance at his eyes found him watching her. For the life of her, she couldn't prevent the heat from staining her cheeks. She parted her mouth to breathe.

"Done, twelve stitches, and I've dressed it. The bandage will need daily replacement.

"Thanks, Doc." Tessa squeezed Cam's hand before releasing it and him from his promise to help her.

Cam rose to his feet to discuss something with Doc in hushed tones, and a minute later, the doctor left. She reverse-sprawled herself, uncaring that she shoved her backside in the air. This way, she wouldn't pull on her stitches. Standing, testing her weight on her leg, Tessa released a deep breath when it held firm. "Thank you for taking care of me. I should head back to the hotel. Tomorrow's the last day of the conference."

"You don't know who I am?" Cam leaned his backside on his desk and crossed his long legs at his ankles. His dark jeans coated his muscled legs, and she bit her bottom lip. Wow, just...wow. He cupped the desk's wooden edge, wrapping his fingers around it.

A second later, fresh heat stained her cheeks, and she hurried to answer him. "I do." He stiffened. "You're Boss, Camden Mathews. As to who you are in London or Europe or wherever, sorry, no idea. Africa's a little disjointed from the rest of the world."

Her words must have calmed him since his shoulders relaxed a little, and a smile teased his lush lips.

"Can I get you anything before you go?" He gestured to the rolls of bandages the doctor had left her and a bottle of what she suspected were painkillers. She had slid Marc's pills inside her pocket since he hadn't offered her water.

"A copy of tonight's music if it's possible. I've liked every mix I've heard so far."

Her request surprised him, arching his brow. His smile revealed a dimple in his left cheek. That was mean of him. She wasn't at her best nor strongest if a dimple could disarm her with such ease.

"Done, and I'll have my driver take you. It's the least I can do."

She nodded and walked with care to the door. He followed her down, not pressurizing her to hurry. She didn't want to tumble down the stairs since it was known to happen to her often. With his hand at the base of her spine, he escorted her to the front entrance.

"Wait, I promised Bart I'd say goodbye." Tessa had to spin into him to yell in his ear. He slipped his arms around her, pulling her against him until she could feel the heat and granite hardness of his body. She ceased to breathe, peering up at his face waiting for his response. With her body registering his strength, sending darts of need siphoning her ability to resist him, she almost sank into his embrace. His expression was a blurred mixture of surprise, appreciation, and confusion. The reasons behind them were unfathomable under the circumstances.

He dug his fingers into the flesh of her hips before nodding, spinning her away from him as if she weighed nothing. He steered her to Marc instead, spoke to him then escorted her towards the entrance.

Tessa waved farewell to Marc, and as they burst out into the crisp air, Bart waited for her. He pulled her into his arms for a crushing hug, engulfing her in muscle and cologne, smashing her nose into his chest. She chuckled, and he released her, setting her back on her feet.

"Farewell, Tess-love, and thanks for saving me."

She patted him on a bicep and smiled. This bulky bouncer was a big old teddy bear. "Have a good life, Bart, for me." Tessa approached Cam holding a door open to a fancy black Merc.

"Terrence will take you to your hotel, and I...apologize for my 'tart' comment." His hesitation implied that he didn't often apologize.

"I should take it as a compliment." Tessa shrugged at the strangeness of the evening.

"Good night, Miss. Tessa."

"Good night and farewell, Master Cam." She slid into the car, careful to lift her thigh when doing so. Buckling herself in, Tessa waved goodbye to him. Only then did he close the door and thump the roof of the car. Holy crap, that was not what she had planned when she left her colleagues at the pub.

Tess stared out the window unseeingly, too dazed by the night's events to take note of the passing scenery despite a fleeting glimpse of the Gherkin. The ride was swift, and Terrence, the driver, dropped her outside her hotel.

It was late; few guests hovered in the foyer, but she drew the eyes of those still present. Hobbling into the elevator, she pressed her floor number and slumped against the mirror. Tessa didn't glance at her reflection, not wanting to know how awful she looked. Sometimes ignorance was preferable. She paused outside Owen's room, considering waking him, then decided against it.

In her room, her phone had missed calls from Owen and her husband. She messaged Owen that she was fine and back in her room but chose not to respond to Forest. After what he had done for the past six months, she wanted nothing to do with him. Choosing not to shower, Tessa researched the name on Marc's pills before popping them. She removed her makeup, brushed her teeth then slipped into her baggy T-shirt and between the bed's crisp sheets.

She would look back on tonight with humor, but for now, the image of Cam's blue eyes haunted her. Within moments, sleep dragged her down, a side effect, and her usual reaction to painkillers. Thesluggishness would grant her peace, from reliving the night's events and every expression that had crossed Cam's handsome face.