“No. They know I’m trying to make sense of the chaos.”
“Have you been able to?”
“Gosh, no. I wish.”
“I didn’t peg you for such a deep thinker.”
“What does that mean?” She turned in her seat to get a better look at him.
“Nothing really.” A nervous twitch of one eyebrow told her he was worried he might have overstepped. His mother must have instilled good manners, which surprised her, given his hotness. Most gorgeous men didn’t need to be polite. They assumed they could get away with whatever they wanted and usually did. Everyone knew handsome guys didn’t need to be funny or smart to get more than their share of the pie.
“Do I seem stupid?” she asked.
He shifted in his seat, like a kid in shorts stuck to a plastic bench. “What I meant was, the way you look, a guy could get the impression you didn’t need to do much of anything but look pretty. Some women would rely on that and not develop much else.”
“Pretty girls aren’t necessarily stupid,” she said, louder than she meant to. But seriously?
A muscle in his cheek flexed. “I’m quite aware of that. I didn’t mean to sound insulting. I meant you’re pretty and smart and not afraid to show it. I’ve known a lot of women who were both. Some acted dumb when they were the smartest person in the room just because they thought men would like them better that way.”
“Were you alive in 1950? Because I don’t know any women who would do that.”
His loud, staccato laugh surprised her. “Settle down, feisty.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
“Good. I like feisty.” His mouth twitched into his half smile.
“Well, good then.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.
His gaze darted to her, then back to the road. “I also did not know you were so scary.”
“I’m not scary.”
“You’re a little scary,” he said.
“So, you’ve been with a lot of smart, pretty women?” She said this in a teasing tone, hoping to bait him into telling her more.
“I don’t know what a lot means to you,” he said.
“Like ‘player’ numbers.”
He shook his head. “Not even close.”
“First time I saw you, I figured you’d be an entitled jerk.” This was a lie. She’d thought he was the best-looking man she’d ever seen. In addition, she’d been drawn to his quiet reserve, suspecting there was a complex man under his disciplined appearance.
“Why did you think that?” Rafael darted another look at her.
“Hot guys always assume they should have whatever they want simply because they had the good fortune to inherit beauty.”
“I’m a lot of things, but entitled isn’t one of them.” He slowed for a hairpin turn. She peeked out the window and took in a quick breath. It was a deep plunge off a sandstone cliff, and this was a narrow road. She gripped the handle above the door.
“For the record, I’m not entitled either. You may have the wrong impression of me. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. No one helped me, least of all my parents.”
“You made your own way. Good for you.”
“Hell yes, I did,” she said.
They drove in silence for a few minutes. She crossed her arms over her chest and gazed out the window. The hills were yellow and brown with splashes of orange poppies. The California state flower, she’d learned since coming here. Rafael irritated her, made her feel the need to defend herself. Well, screw him. He didn’t know anything about her and never would, given his inability to converse.
“Um, Lisa?”
She turned to him. “What?”
“About the other day…when you asked me to dinner, I handled it badly. You surprised me, and I’m not good with surprises. I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”
“It’s fine. I’m an actress. Rejection comes with the job.” She turned back to the window, pretending to be interested in the scenery. How dare he. It was bad enough he rejected her, but now he brought it up again. Jackson must have misunderstood. He obviously did not like her. This was a job to him—an annoying one with a woman he found vapid and unintelligent. When we get to LA, I’ll send him packing. I’m better off without him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked after a few more minutes of silence. “We can stop if you are.”
“No. I’m an actress about to go into three weeks of interviews and parties. I can’t eat until next month.”
“For real?”
“Not for real exactly. But kind of.”
“Your job takes a lot of discipline.”
“Not as much as becoming a Navy SEAL.”
“Debatable,” he said. “Would you like music? I put together a road trip playlist.”
Her throat tightened. “No music.” The images of Wyatt Black on the stage played before her eyes.
“I should’ve thought of that. I’m an idiot.”
She turned to look at him. He was slightly hunched over the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “How would you know?”
“Because I have triggers, too—from the war and my time in the LAPD. Certain sounds or smells.” He glanced at her with a smirk. “Or doughnuts.”
“Doughnuts? Not really?” She smiled, despite her resolve to remain cool toward him.
“Not really. The number of doughnuts that cops eat is highly exaggerated,” he said.
“You can’t believe everything you see on television.”
“I’m glad I made you smile.”
He had made her smile. Damn him. “I haven’t had a doughnut in forever. All the actresses out here are so thin. And gorgeous. I look like a drooping daisy among newly budded roses.”
“Daisies are my favorite flower.”
She laughed. “They are not. They’re no one’s favorite.”
“Come on though, you’ve been told you’re beautiful your whole life.”
“You may not believe it, but I was a late bloomer.”
“No way. You were the girl in school all the boys had the hots for but were too afraid to talk to.”
Lisa grabbed her wallet from her purse at her feet. “I have a picture to prove it.” She pulled out her school photograph from seventh grade. The girl she once was stared back at her. Acne covered her forehead and cheeks. A double chin hinted at the extra twenty pounds she’d carried back then. Her hair stuck out in all directions from a bad home perm. A lazy eye behind thick glasses combined with braces over buckteeth sealed the look. “See here.”
Rafael snatched it from her hand. “Let me be the judge of this.” He looked down at the photo, then back to the road. “Okay, now. Maybe I was wrong.” He buried the photo against his chest as a deep laugh bubbled up from his chest. “What was up with your eye?”
She nudged him. “It’s not funny. I had a lazy eye. Which was fixed, as you can see.” She opened her eyes wide and fluttered her lashes.
He glanced at the photo again. “I stand corrected. This is actually quite sad.”
“Give it to me,” she said, laughing. “You’re going to give me a complex.”
“No. This photo should never again see the light of day.”
She poked his biceps. It was like pushing against a sexy piece of hardwood. “Give it to me, now.”
“No, I’m burning this the minute we get to the hotel. You’re about to get famous. We don’t want it out in the press or in the hands of your enemies.”
“I need it.” She tugged on his arm, still laughing. “Seriously, give it back. It’s a reminder of why I have to watch what I eat.”
“And practice your eye exercises?” Another deep tummy laugh rolled out of him.
“Now you’re just being mean. I had a legitimate medical issue.”
He handed her the photograph. She put it back in her wallet. “I’m not showing you anything from my past ever again.”
“I’m sorry. Truly.” He pressed his sexy lips together as if to keep from laughing, but another fit of
it overtook him.
“You’re a very bad man.” She tapped him on the biceps again.
His mouth twitched as he rubbed his arm, obviously trying to sober up. “You have a sharp fist for such a small hand.”
She sighed and sat back in the seat. It felt good to laugh. “Now that you’ve had a giggle at my expense, I get to ask you nosy questions.”
“Is that how this works?”
“Yes. Have you ever been married?”
He chuckled. “Jumping right in? Okay, then. Yes. I was married before. We dated in high school. When I joined the military, she said she’d go with me, if she went as my wife. Looking back, I can see she wanted to escape her parents’ home. We got married at eighteen, before either of us had a clue who we were. Long story short, about three years into the marriage, I was sent to Iraq. While I was away, she started up with someone else.”
“Someone you knew?”
“No, her boss. She was a hostess at a restaurant owned by a guy in his forties with a wife and family. I got a letter from the wife one day—detailing her husband’s affair with my wife. She’d found emails between them and some dirty photos. I filed for divorce and never looked back.”
“Did it hurt?”
He scratched behind his ear. “Yeah, it stung. No one likes to be rejected or cheated on. But we were too young to be married. Most likely, I would’ve wrecked things when I got home. Being over there and seeing the things I saw changed me.”
“How so?”
He hesitated. “Nothing prepares you for…for seeing a mother and child blow themselves up in front of you in the name of jihad.”
Her stomach hollowed, leaving a terrible emptiness. She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t sound trite.
He glanced over at her. “It’s okay. That’s why I don’t talk about it much. People don’t need to know the things I saw.”
“I can’t imagine how hard that was.”
“Long time ago now,” he said.
She didn’t believe that for a second. Memories like that dwarfed time.
“Has there been anyone special in your life since your divorce?” she asked.
“A few here or there. Nothing that stuck.”
“Why is that?” She stretched her legs out and looked at the road. The curves made her queasy.
“Cops work long hours. When you’re off duty, the job follows you. The women I got involved with didn’t like my hours or my headspace. Then I moved to Cliffside to work for the Mullens. There’s not a lot of women there under seventy.”
“That’s true.” She rested her cheek against the cool leather of the seat and watched him. His lashes were thick and long for a man. “I’m sorry they made you come with me. I feel ridiculous.”
“About what?”
She waved her hand between them. “This. After hearing what you’ve been through, I must seem like such a child. I mean, how embarrassing that I have a babysitter.”
“First, you don’t seem like a child. Second, I’m not your babysitter. You’ve had a traumatic experience and no time to recover. And you have to go in front of a bunch of strangers and crowds for weeks on end, which would be hard at any point in time, but especially this one. Given the direction of your life, you’ll need a full-time bodyguard sooner than later. Kara was right to suggest I accompany you.”
She thought about that for a moment. When he laid it out like that, she didn’t feel quite so high-maintenance.
“You just witnessed a heinous crime—horrors no civilian should ever have to see. I get it, more than anyone, because of what I’ve seen. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”
They drove in silence as they started to descend toward sea level. The curves in the road became less frequent and sharp. Houses peeked out from behind eucalyptus trees. They reached the end of the highway and merged onto the freeway. She touched the glass. If only they could have stayed on that drive forever.
“Tell me about the events,” he said. “With Kara I follow a few feet behind her.”
She jolted in surprise. “Well, you can’t do that at these events. Unless I want to look like a complete pretentious diva, I can’t have a bodyguard. Those are for Beyoncé and people like that.”
“I think if you explain what you’ve been through the last few days, people won’t hold it against you,” he said.
She shook her head. “No one can know I was there.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s not fair to the victims or their families. It’ll become about me instead of them. You know how salacious the news cycle is.”
“True.”
She played with her blue topaz ring, sliding it round and round her finger. How was she going to explain Rafael? He would be everywhere she went for the next few weeks. The producers might think she was a diva and assume fame had gone to her head. Would that keep her from getting work? Lisa put her hands flat against the dash. “We need a good story about why you’re with me.”
“Is that necessary?”
“Unless I want to look like a diva, yes.” He could pretend to be her boyfriend. No one would think that odd. She hesitated, wondering how to broach the subject. “How are your acting skills?”
“I was a tree once in third grade.”
“A tree?”
“Mama said I was awesome.”
She spoke slowly. “What if you pretended to be my boyfriend?”
“Your boyfriend? Like be your date to places?”
“Yes. That way it would seem normal to have you by my side.”
“My job is to keep you safe. I have to stay focused on that, not acting like an adoring boyfriend.”
“To make me feel safe,” she said. “I am safe.”
“You are safe. I’ll make sure of that. Let’s face it, though. It’s a stretch that you’d be with a guy like me.”
“Are you kidding?” she asked.
“I’m just an ordinary guy from the wrong side of town. I’m not even supposed to be in the orbit of someone like you. I’m a soldier, not an actor.” He wriggled his fingers at her. “You’re all sparkly, like stardust. We’re a picture of ‘what two things don’t go together.’”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” Was that what he truly thought?
He passed a slow truck. When he was back in the right-hand lane, he ran a hand over the top of his head. “My focus can’t be compromised.”
Making excuses seemed to be one of Rafael’s specialties. Was she really that repulsive to him? “You’ve already made it abundantly clear you’re not interested. All you have to do is hold my hand at a couple of parties. Is that really so torturous?”
“Is that what you think this is about?”
“I’m obviously not your type,” she said.
His gaze swept her body before turning back to the road. “Holding anything of yours would be the opposite of torture. That’s the problem.”
She swallowed. “Why is that a problem?”
He ran his hand over the top of his head again. “Let’s get something straight. I should’ve said yes when you asked me to dinner. I wanted to, but I’m not good with women. I get tongue-tied. You’re stunning, smart, and adorable. If I weren’t such a chicken, I would have asked you out after I met you last summer.”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming,” she said.
“But now I’m supposed to keep you safe, which means you’re off-limits.”
Stunning, smart, adorable. He did like her. She smiled, more pleased than she should be. “Pretending to be my boyfriend isn’t the same thing as being one. Surely you can see that?”
“Yes, I can see that.” His brow wrinkled. “What do I wear to a Hollywood party? I don’t know if I have the right clothes. I brought suits, but they scream bodyguard.”
“You look fine the way you are right now.” He wore a pair of light blue jeans and a black T-shirt. More than fine.
“I don’t think so.”
“A stylist is meeting me at the hotel this afternoon to go over my ou
tfits for the next three weeks. I’ll tell her to grab a few things for you.”
“Is that how this works? People just bring stuff to your hotel room?”
“Apparently. I have no idea, to be honest. A year ago, I didn’t have enough money to shop at a thrift store. This is all new to me.” She folded her hands together on her lap. “I’m actually scared out of my mind. There’ll be tons of people everywhere we go. And it’ll be loud.”
His features softened. “I’ll do whatever you need. Even if it means dressing up.”
“It might be fun,” she said grimly.
The muscles of his jaw clenched. “I’ll keep my mouth shut so I don’t blow our cover.”
“Why would you say that?”
He looked over at her, smiling, but his eyes were somber. “There are two kinds of people in this world. And you and I are not the same kind.”
She met his gaze. “You’re wrong. We’re exactly the same kind.”
Rafael looked back at the road. “How do you figure?”
“I’m shy, too, and I get tongue-tied around men, especially if I like them.”
“You’ve been talking to me with no trouble. Does that mean you don’t like me?” he asked.
“I did, but now I’m not so sure. You’re actually kind of annoying, even though you’ll fit in with all the other hotties in LA.” She poked his shoulder.
He grabbed her hand and pinned it against the hard muscle of his thigh. “Hey now, stop abusing the bodyguard.”
A surge of heat tore through her as the muscle in his thigh pulsed against her hand. She moved her gaze from his jawline down the length of his neck where his pulse beat. If she leaned in just a little, she could lick his skin. Or bite his neck. Or nibble on his ear.
He glanced over at her, his eyes hooded. “Be careful,” he said, his voice gruff.
“Of what?”
“You keep looking at me that way and I’ll think you like me again.” He let go of her hand.
“Maybe I do.” She removed her hand from this thigh but stayed close. No reason he shouldn’t get a nice look down her dress if he wanted.
“I work for you.” His gaze didn’t stray from the road.
“You don’t work for me. You’re doing me a favor. As a friend.”
“The last thing I’m thinking about right now is being your friend,” he said.
Missed Page 9
