Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  * * *

  HOURS LATER, FROM the depths of his sleep, Cord heard a noise. He roused, ready to check on Megan. But his elbow jabbed the arm of a couch and he came instantly awake. He wasn’t home and the sounds hadn’t come from his daughter’s room. Megan was safe with Nora McKay at Cord’s house. He was staying at the Webbs’.

  Moans, and desperately spoken words, were coming from Stacey’s bedroom. Bounding off the pulled-out sofa, he raced through the bathroom, swearing when he hit his hip on the edge of the vanity. Slowing down only minimally, he passed through the doorway and was at her bed in seconds. Her arms were flailing, her legs trying to kick their way out of the sheets. He bent his knee and braced one hand on the mattress, then shook her shoulder. “Stacey, wake up, it’s me, Cord.”

  “No, no, no...please, Mommy, please don’t leave me.” Her words were wrenched from her, and for a minute Cord thought he was eighteen again, on the outskirts of the cemetery, listening to a five-year-old child’s crying at her mother’s burial.

  “Stacey, wake up.” Still no response. Just the thrashing of arms and legs. He leaned over and subdued both of her arms. “Stacey, sweetheart, you’re okay.”

  No change so Cord covered her and pinned her body with his. Because of his weight, she was forced to still her motions, though she was strong and keeping her down strained his shoulder. In minutes, his full body contact seemed to calm her. Eyes closed, her mouth opened slightly, she gasped for breath. Her chest heaved and the bright pink nightshirt she’d worn to bed was soaked from exertion. Sweat dampened her hair. He stayed on top of her until her breathing evened out. When he eased back, her body jerked and she whimpered. At a loss, Cord lay down and pulled her close. Sound asleep, she plastered herself to him from her head to her waist, still kicking at the imprisoning sheets. He moved the lower part of his body nearer hers. Her arms went around his waist and she nuzzled into his chest. The sweet scent of talcum assaulted him. He could feel her breath on his bare skin. When her mouth brushed his chest, his erection surged against the soft cotton of his sweatpants. He swore softly, but Stacey had settled in and was finally quiet. Quietly repeating every curse he knew, he lay still as long as he could. Then he tried to pull away—and got the same jerky reaction. Two more times, with the same ending. At which point, he resigned himself to a sleepless night. But he found her nearness a comfort as well as a stimulation and sank into sleep before he could worry more about the circumstances.

  * * *

  CORD AWOKE AND glanced at the red numbers on the bedside clock. Six-eleven. Stacey was still wrapped around him like a pretzel. She felt soft and warm from sleep. But she was beginning to rouse, too.

  “Cord?” Her whole body stiffened but she didn’t look at him.

  “Shh, it’s okay,” he said, stroking her hair. It felt like heavy corn silk and smelled like lemon. “You had a bad dream.”

  She stiffened even more.

  “I swear I’m not putting the moves on you. You—”

  “It’s not that.” Her voice was early-morning husky. After-sex hoarse.

  “What?”

  Stacey looked up at him then, her expression a curious mixture of trust and gratitude. And suddenly, he wanted to kiss her. Real bad. But he knew that would be another step on the path to damnation, though the devil probably had rights over his soul by now, anyway.

  “The nightmares are back,” she whispered.

  “Back? You’ve had these before?”

  She nodded.

  “When did they start?”

  Again she went stiff. Her warm brown eyes narrowed. “When Helene left. I was five.”

  Cord had to consciously control his breathing. “Helene?”

  “My mother.” The phrase choking on your words came to his mind as she made the identification.

  Like a person with a sore tooth, he couldn’t stop himself from probing the injured area. “Why do you call her that?”

  “What?”

  “Helene.”

  Stacey’s face went blank. “I don’t know. I always have.”

  Not always.

  Cord shook his head, wondering if he’d lost his mind to be questioning her like this. “Tell me about the nightmares.”

  “The psychologists Daddy hired said they were induced by abandonment. My five-year-old psyche couldn’t cope with losing someone so important in my life. Though I don’t remember being close to her. Actually, I don’t remember her much at all. Thank God.”

  He wanted to object to the statement. Apparently, he knew more about her mother—and her relationship with Helene—than Stacey did herself. But, of course, he said nothing about that and only murmured, “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I had a wonderful childhood and adolescence. Daddy was the only parent I needed.”

  “Have you had the nightmares all along?’’

  “No, they stopped after I got used to Helene’s absence. They started again when I was ten and Daddy had a skiing accident. A textbook case of fear of losing him.”

  “Those were the last ones?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Lauren got pneumonia when we were seventeen and almost died. They came back for a while then, too.”

  Absently, Stacey moved closer. He inched back, trying to hide the state of arousal.

  Stacey talked on, thankfully unaware of his reaction. “They stopped when Lauren got better, just as they did once my father came home from the hospital. Seems the incident has to be solved for the nightmares to go away.”

  He couldn’t keep himself from asking, “But your mother...”

  “Died. No, that was never, ever solved. I must have outgrown it.” Both were silent. “Cord?”

  He stroked her hair again. “Hmm?”

  “I could have these bad dreams until this thing is over.” Her voice trembled and so he pulled her closer.

  “It’s okay, Stace, I’ll help you through them.”

  Saying nothing, she settled into him. After a few minutes, he felt her breathing even out again. Fully awake now, and sanity returning, he stared up through the skylights and absently continued to stroke her hair. He’d see her through these nightmares. He owed her that much. Since it was his fault they ever began.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  * * *

  STACEY AWAKENED LANGUOROUSLY a few hours later to the chirping of the sparrows outside her window and the delicate rays of the sun glinting through the uncovered glass behind and above her. She lay on her side, her hand gently grasping the pillow. When she nuzzled her nose in it, she inhaled a familiar, comforting, woodsy scent. Then she remembered the dream—and Cord.

  As if she’d conjured him, he appeared in her doorway with a steaming cup in his hand and an amused look on his face. He braced one arm against the frame, revealing a long line of bare torso, and muscles that bunched against his weight. Gray sweatpants rode low on his lean hips, revealing a white scar just above the drawstring. She looked up and saw his blue gaze focused on her. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  Propping up pillows, she lazed back on them. “I’ll be your slave forever if that’s coffee you’re holding, and it’s for me.”

  Something dark and sexy crossed his beard-shadowed face. Then he smiled, and the expression got even sexier. “Now I know why you have the coffeepot in there.” He inclined his head to the adjoining sitting room.

  “Don’t make me beg.”

  His Adam’s apple convulsed. “How do you like it?”

  “Like what?” she said, her gaze furtively darting to his chest again, then back to his face.

  “Coffee. This is black, but I’ll put something in it for you.”

  “No, I’ll take it any way I can get it.”

  He gaze narrowed on her now. Damn, was he reading things into her words? Worse, did she mean him to?

  Cord crossed the room and handed her the cup. She took it, sipped twice, then scooted over and patted the side of the bed. “Sit down. I think we’re a little past the formality stage.”

  His
thick eyebrows arched as he sank onto the mattress. “You remember?”

  She looked at his hair. It had always seemed a dark blond, but this morning the sun highlighted the golden strands that shot through it.

  “Stacey, do you remember the dream?”

  “Yes.” She gave herself a firm mental shake. “And that you stayed with me.”

  “You were inconsolable and every time I inched away, you whimpered.”

  “Whimpered? I’ve never whimpered in my life.”

  An odd intensity flashed through his eyes and turned them almost a navy blue. “Whatever,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “I had to stay with you, Stace.”

  That nickname again. No one ever called her that. When he said it, the word curled inside her like velvet. Feeling close to him, she reached out and squeezed the hand that had soothed her hair and rubbed her back all night. “Thank you. I get terrified when I have those dreams.”

  “You told me. We talked.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  He turned more fully toward her. “Do you remember anything about the dream?”

  A little girl in a knitted coat, crying, and holding on to a large hand.

  “No,” she lied. “I don’t remember anything.” She sipped the coffee. “I never do.” At least until today.

  A shrewd gaze examined her, as if it detected the falseness of her words. Then Cord stood. “All right. I’m going to take a shower. There are a lot of things we have to do today.”

  “Like?”

  “Go to my house and get my things.” His eyebrows knit deeply. “And I’ll have to talk to Meggie. I already called her this morning and smoothed over why I wasn’t there, but I need to explain all this in person.”

  Pushing the hair off her face, Stacey frowned. “I’m sorry you have to leave Megan.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” He sighed heavily then sank back to the bed, bracing his arms on either side of her. He seemed unaware of the intimacy of the position. “Stacey, there’s something else we have to do today.”

  “What?”

  “Go shopping.”

  “Shopping?”

  He wasn’t teasing; she recognized the no-nonsense set of his jaw.

  “I’ll be carrying my gun from now on and I’ll need some shirts and blazers to conceal it. Since I left New York, I haven’t needed those kinds of clothes.”

  “Oh.” The stark reminder was like diving into the backyard pool in early May.

  “I know it brings home the situation, but you need to keep in mind how serious all this is—how important it is for you to be careful. No more solo escapes like last night’s.”

  “All right.”

  “Promise? No matter what the provocation?”

  “I promise.”

  Two hours later, she sat in Nora McKay’s modest living room. The house on the north side of Canfield was in an old but well-kept neighborhood, with tree-and flower-covered lawns. Inside, the living room was warm and cozy. Two oversized stuffed couches, frayed around the edges, were flanked by a large screen TV. A doll dressed in psychedelic colors lay on the coffee table, and two trucks peeked out from under a big recliner. Alone, waiting for Cord to get Megan, Stacey ran her hand over the upholstery and wondered if Cord had ever necked with his girlfriend on this sofa. Chagrined at her line of thinking, she stood, wandered to the big bay window and looked out.

  She shouldn’t care who Cord had kissed—and where. She shouldn’t have had the kinds of thoughts about him she’d had this morning, when her defenses were down, either. In the cold light of day, Stacey was ashamed of the way she was feeling about him. Preston should be the only man on her mind.

  Okay, so she was attracted to Cord. She’d knew she’d been noticing him, but now it was more. Which had to be stopped. It didn’t help to indulge in how good he looked and what he would do…

  “We’re here.”

  Stacey pivoted. Behind her, Cord held a little girl in his arms. The first thing that struck Stacey was the resemblance between the two of them. Their hair was the same multicolored flaxen, and she’d bet if she touched Megan’s, it would be rich and thick, like his. The child’s, of course, was longer—much longer, falling in thick waves almost to her waist. Similar blue eyes inspected Stacey.

  “Megan, this is Stacey Webb.”

  The innocent eyes narrowed on her, making them even more like Cord’s. Megan looked Stacey up and down. “I like your skirt,” she said without preamble. Squirming out of Cord’s arms, she crossed the room. With tiny hands, she reached out and stroked the shiny navy blue wraparound skirt Stacey had donned with a matching tank top. “It’s soft.” Her gaze traveled up Stacey’s body. “Wow. Neat necklace.”

  Stacey smiled.

  “Can I touch it?”

  “Sure.” Stacey perched on the edge of the chair so Megan could reach the jewelry. She was a bit surprised—but pleased—when the child climbed up on her lap. Megan was a compact little bundle and her weight felt good. Once she settled in, Cord’s daughter ran her fingertips along the chunky stones adorning Stacey’s neck, the palm of her pudgy hand skimming Stacey’s bare skin. Then Megan looked up at her face. “You got earrings, too. Daddy won’t let me have any. He says I don’t need holes in my ears.”

  “Maybe when you’re bigger.” Stacey fingered one of the three holes in her ears and glanced at Cord. He was smiling at them, and something shifted inside her when she saw it.

  “Your hair’s pretty short,” Megan commented.

  Reaching out, Stacey smoothed down the child’s long blond locks. The scent of lemony baby shampoo clung to them. “My hair used to touch my waist, just like yours.” Now, where had that come from? Stacey hadn’t thought about that in years. Her hand remained in Megan’s hair for a few minutes, its coarse thickness wrapping around her fingers. “Maybe someday you’ll let me do your hair for you.”

  Megan cocked her head. “Am I gonna see you again?”

  Stacey looked to Cord for the answer.

  “Megan, this is the woman I’m helping out. The one I’ll be with, like I told you upstairs.”

  At the reminder, Megan climbed off Stacey’s lap and flew to Cord. After she catapulted into his arms, she buried her head in his neck again. “Don’t want you to go,” she said.

  Stacey’s heart plummeted. This man shouldn’t have to leave his child for her.

  Cord sank onto the couch with Megan, closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head. “I know, honey. But Daddy’s got to go away for a while.”

  Without warning, Stacey experienced the quick flash of an image before her eyes. It was almost like the glimpses one got when switching channels with a remote. She saw a woman, with long blond hair, bending over, tears shimmering in her eyes. Mommy ‘s got to go away—just for a little while.

  Suddenly, Stacey couldn’t breathe. Her hands got clammy and spots clouded the vision.

  Then it was gone.

  Unnerved, Stacey grabbed the edge of the high table near the chair and gulped for air. When she glanced at Cord, he was so intent on Megan, he hadn’t seen what had happened.

  What had happened?

  Before Stacey could figure it out, a door banged in the kitchen, and Nora McKay came to the archway wiping her hands on a blue-and-white flowered apron. “Hello.”

  Again, there was the family resemblance between Cord and his mother. Though streaked with gray, Nora McKay’s hair was blond like his and full around her face. Blue eyes stared at Stacey with almost as much wariness as when Cord looked at her.

  “Hello, Mrs. McKay.”

  “Nora, please.”

  Stacey nodded. “Nora. I’m sorry about all this.”

  “Not your fault someone’s after you.” She turned to Cord and Megan. “What do you think, peanut? Just you and old Nana for a while?”

  Megan looked at Stacey again. “Daddy says someone wants to hurt you, and he’s gonna ‘tect you.”

  Well, they certainly did believe in being honest with the child. Somehow, Stacey h
ad assumed they’d keep this whole situation from her.

  As if he’d read her mind, Cord said dryly, “We believe in telling the truth around here, as much as we can.”

  “I see.” Stacey looked at Megan. “Yes, your dad’s going to protect me.”

  “I can visit him some, not a lot.”

  “I’m glad you’ll visit some. Maybe you can see me, too.”

  Megan eyed her necklace. “You got lots of necklaces like that?”

  “Tons.” For the first time, Stacey noticed Megan’s outfit. She wore a black bodysuit, with a long white-and-black flowered skirt and black ballet slippers. Around her neck she had fashioned black-and-white ribbons into makeshift jewelry. “You know, I’ve got a black-and-white necklace that would go great with that outfit. You can borrow it sometime.’’

  Megan’s eyes sparkled. When Stacey sought Cord’s, she saw that his were watching her with unabashed approval.

  It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did.

  When they were ready to leave, Cord hugged Megan tightly and whispered into her ear before he set her down. Stacey had to beat back the tears forming in her eyes. Cord didn’t say anything all the way to the truck, but when they got in, she reached out and touched his arm. Still, he stared ahead.

  “I’m sorry. I’m responsible for this.”

  “You’re not.” His voice was hoarse. When he turned to her, and she saw the telltale moisture in his eyes, she felt a swift gush of panic sweep through her. How was she ever going to stay distanced from this man?

  * * *

  “COME ON, STACEY . A little harder.”

  “Harder? You’ve got to be kidding. I hurt already.”

  “Aren’t you woman enough to take this?”

  She sputtered. “All right, McKay. Harder. Whatever you dish out I can take.”

  As he reached to adjust the tension on her exercise bicycle, Cord looked down into her red face. By now, after twenty minutes, sweat was pouring off her. She grunted but pedaled steadily in reaction to his challenge.