Bodyguards Boxed Set

by Julianne MacLean

  After another five minutes, Cord checked his watch. “All right, that’s enough bicycling.”

  As she slowed the pace, her breathing evened out. “You’re a hard taskmaster,” she groused.

  “You said you wanted to learn some self-defense moves. You have to be in shape to do it.”

  “I thought I was in shape. I use this equipment three times a week.”

  Without his consent, his eyes scanned her body. When he realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat and said, “You need more wind.”

  “Yeah, well, I want to be able to defend myself, not compete in the Olympics.’’

  “Quiet or I won’t teach you.”

  She got off the bike and stood before him. Her skintight, two-piece red bodysuit was damp under the arms and between her breasts. Standing close, he could smell the sweat she’d worked up. It should have been offensive, but it wasn’t.

  “I see right through that gruff exterior, McKay. This tough-guy act is just a front. You’re going to do everything you can for me, whether you like it or not.’’ She reached out and touched his arm. “I appreciate it.”

  Her nails were clipped and unpolished. Supple fingers squeezed him gently.

  “Don’t give me credit for things I haven’t done.”

  She rolled her eyes and plopped her hands on her hips. “You don’t fool me.”

  “All right.” He shook his head. “Let’s get back to work. The first thing I’m going to teach you is stunning techniques.”

  Her face lost its impish quality, and he felt bad. But he ignored her reaction and proceeded to outline the rudiments of common self-defense.

  “Always aim for the vital areas,” he finished. “Ears, eyes, bridge of the mouth and throat.” Her face scrunched in concentration. “Pretend you’re the attacker. Lunge for me.”

  When she did, he raised his arm at a right angle. “This is called a side block,” he explained, effectively stopping her. “Then you maneuver your body out of the way, like this.” He sidestepped her, lifted his other arm and faked a punch, which, if he’d delivered, would have clipped her in the mouth. Swiftly, he brought his left foot around and caught her behind the leg. She went down easily, though he grasped her arm to break her fall.

  Staring up at him, she said, “I want to know how to do that as well as you do.”

  She was a tough cookie, all right. Every day for the six days he’d been staying here Cord admired her grit and determination in handling the situation. “Fine. But you have to practice this daily, so it becomes second nature. And you have to stay in top shape.”

  “I will.” She reached out her hand. He tugged her up and they went at it.

  Twenty minutes later, he could have wrung her hair out like a wet rag. She was breathing hard and her face was flushed. But she smiled. “I got it,” she proclaimed, bouncing her chin and fisting her hands on her hips after she’d effectively taken him down.

  “Good girl.”

  Bonelessly, she fell to the floor beside him. “I’m whipped.”

  “You should be. Stretch now, like I showed you when we started.” He tilted his head to indicate the mat they’d laid out on the carpet.

  Stacey sprawled out on the vinyl, raised her arms over her head and pointed her toes. He swallowed hard, trying to remember how long it was since he’d made love with a woman.

  Since he couldn’t answer his own question, he knew it had been too long.

  Just as he’d been thrown together with Stacey for too long. Watching her with Megan had been a trip. A twenty-three-year-old unmarried woman should know nothing about kids, but she’d found common ground with his daughter right away. Cord was surprised he hadn’t noticed how similar their taste in fashion was. Bright colors and crazy combinations appealed to both of them.

  Overseeing her with her boyfriend had been a lot less pleasant. She and Matthews had been together two nights this week and at Cord’s suggestion, they stayed home. Stacey had cooked dinner for the two of them on Tuesday. On Thursday, they’d watched movies in the den. Both times Cord had sat in the next room, trying to read, willing his mind not to conjure images of Preston opening her blouse, putting his manicured hand inside...

  “I’m going to shower,” Stacey said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “All right, I’ll be up in a few minutes.” She turned and headed up the back staircase. Waiting until she was out of sight, he jumped on the bike. He set the tension at 7.0 and pedaled as if his life depended on it. He worked out for fifteen minutes, like a man crazed, then got off to do his own stretching.

  To distract himself, he studied the workout room. About thirty-by-thirty, it had state-of-the-art weight-lifting equipment, a bike, a rower and a Nordic-Track. Nothing but the best for Gifford Webb. Too bad he hadn’t been home often enough to use it eighteen years ago.

  There were storage closets along a whole wall and Cord made a mental note to ask Webb why only one was kept locked. On the far wall was a row of glass doors opening up to the pool. For a brief moment, he recalled Helene out there in a modest one-piece black swimsuit teaching Stacey to kick her feet in the water. It bothered him that Stacey remembered none of this, only the bad things that came after Helene’s death. Maybe he’d question Webb about that, too.

  Finally, Cord trudged up the stairs. He was hoping Stacey had finished her shower. They’d done pretty well giving each other the privacy they’d needed, but the physical contact with her tonight strained his self-discipline.

  Since he heard no running water as he entered the sitting room, he figured she was done in the bathroom. He’d just whipped off his T-shirt, when she knocked on his door. Groaning inwardly, he told her to come in.

  When he caught sight of her, Cord moaned. Freshly scrubbed, her skin glowed. Her hair was wet and slicked back off her face, emphasizing those chocolate eyes. She wore a bright orange Syracuse football jersey and red silk boxer shorts. “That felt wonderful,” she said, smiling a little shyly.

  “Good.” He sniffed. “You smell like baby powder.”

  “I know. I love to use it after I bathe.”

  Scanning him as he’d done her, Stacey’s eyes riveted on his sweaty chest. “Um, Cord?” she said at last

  “Yeah.” He walked over to the dresser and pulled out clean pants, hoping to distract his libido.

  “I, ah, I...”

  He turned and focused on her when she hesitated. His jaw tightened as his gaze flicked over her bare legs. She was too short for them to be so long. “What is it, Stacey?” The question was curt.

  Slashes of scarlet appeared on her cheeks. Then she lifted that chin. “Just so you know, I washed out my underwear and it’s hanging to dry in the bathroom.”

  His hand fisted in the soft fleece. “Oh, yeah?” He tried to sound nonchalant.

  She dug her toes into the carpet. “Our housekeeper does the laundry, but my underwear has to be hand-washed. I’ve avoided doing it for six days, because you’re sharing the bathroom, but I was running out.” Her face got so red he forgot his own discomfort and only wanted to ease hers. God, she was so innocent sometimes. She finished with, “So I washed it, and hung it in the bathroom to dry. I didn’t want to surprise you.”

  Briefly he closed his eyes, blocking out the unwanted image. “Okay.”

  She turned away from him and crossed to the connecting doors.

  “Stacey?”

  “Hmm?” She didn’t face him.

  “There are bound to be things like this while I’m staying here. Try not to be embarrassed. I’ve seen women’s underwear before.”

  “Fine,” she muttered and walked out.

  He waited as long as he could to take his shower, but eventually he had to face the music. He went into the bathroom and switched on the light. The air was still misty, and clouded the mirror. He rubbed it with a towel, trying not to look around. But he was engulfed in her scents: soap, lemon and baby powder. Glancing in the minor, his gaze was drawn to the bars directly behind him. Through the glass, he
saw, hanging to dry, a menagerie of string bikinis that made a man wonder why a woman would bother with them at all. Cord closed his eyes, but the images of zebra stripes, hot-pink with black lace, kelly green and orange polka dots and satiny red panties were branded on his mind.

  Finally he turned around. There were bras to match. Before he let his mind play out a fantasy where his mouth caressed everything her underwear did, Cord sighed heavily as he opened the glass door and yanked on the faucet.

  * * *

  AS GIFFORD WEBB waited for McKay in the den, he stared out over the swimming pool, softly lit so the surface of the water sparkled like tiny gold sequins. Helene had loved the pool, had spent many lazy days in there with Stacey. He remembered coming home one night from a four-day business trip to find them frolicking in the water, both naked as the day they were born. He could still see the moon casting them in half shadow, half light. He’d stripped down himself, jumped into the water, played a bit, ordered Helene to stay where she was, then led Stacey to her room and put her to bed.

  When he’d returned, he’d made love to Helene right there in the pool. All she’d said was Oh, Gif, please, be here more to do this. I love you...

  “You wanted to see me?”

  Abruptly, Gifford turned to find McKay standing in the doorway. “Yes.” Moving away from the windows, Gifford strode to the bar. As he poured a drink, he asked, “Want one?”

  “No thanks.”

  The younger man had folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorframe. Still cocky as ever.

  No, that wasn’t fair. To make up for his unkind thoughts, Gifford gentled his voice. “I wanted to thank you for signing on until the man stalking Stacey can be caught.”

  “Well, as you said, I owe you.”

  Gifford felt the hollow jab of guilt. “I was out of line when I said that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say my attitude’s changed in eighteen years. I don’t think...that is, I know I was away a lot. I know...Helene was lonely...”

  “That’s not what you told me when you ran me out of town.”

  “No, it’s not. I lost my mind that night.”

  Running a hand through his hair, Cord sighed. “With reason. Look, Webb, I don’t see what good rehashing this will do either of us. I’ve lived with Helene’s death on my conscience for almost two decades. Nothing can change that.”

  “So have I,” Gifford said quietly.

  “Besides, I don’t want to risk Stacey’s finding out about my connection with all of you.”

  Gifford stared past him, seeing all the wrong turns he’d taken. “I’ve made mistakes with Stacey, too.”

  Slowly, McKay came farther into the room. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he faced Gifford directly. “Do you realize she’s done everything possible to be just the opposite of the way Helene was—her clothes, her career, even what she does with her spare time? I’ll bet she hasn’t picked up a paintbrush in eighteen years.”

  “I know,” Webb said softly.

  “Why did you make her hate her mother? If nothing else, you had to know how much Helene loved Stacey.”

  “Actually, I didn’t do it all. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t my fault.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Stacey’s grandmother had a big hand in it. At first, after Helene...died, I couldn’t bear to be in this house, I was so guilty and grief-stricken. I traveled constantly and left Stacey with Ana.” His mother. “I never knew how myopic she was about Helene until it was too late. Much of the damage had been done. Stacey’s attitude changed completely toward her mother. I’m at fault for not contradicting all the subtle and not so subtle messages Ana gave her.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “It hurt too much at first to remember the good things. It was easier just to remember Helene as a slut.”

  He saw McKay wince. “God, man. You can’t believe that about her. It was only—”

  Gifford held up his hand. “I know what it was. Now. I just couldn’t deal with it then. When Stacey got older, I also couldn’t bear to have her think badly of me, so I never tried to rectify her misconceptions about her mother.”

  McKay’s eyes flared blue fire. “Pretty selfish thing to do to your daughter.”

  Gifford’s own temper ignited. “Would you let Megan think badly of you if you could help it?”

  Cord stared at him. “Listen, this isn’t what you wanted to see me about, is it?”

  Gifford studied the man before him for long moments, then answered, “No, I want your opinion on what’s happening with the stalking. The guy hasn’t made a move in five days.”

  “Because I’m here.”

  “You think the stalker knows?”

  “Everybody in Canfield knows.”

  “Any guesses on who’s doing this to us?”

  “As we said before, it could be someone with a grudge against you. In that case, I don’t have any idea. But...”

  Gifford raised an eyebrow in question.

  McKay shifted on his feet. “I think it might be someone Stacey knows.”

  Gifford gripped his glass. “My God, no.”

  “It’s just a hunch. The stalker could have simply followed her, but a lot of people knew she was going to be on College Hill last Friday night.’’

  “I knew. And Judith. Preston. And Lauren.” Gifford frowned. “And Ferron.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You think it’s one of them?”

  “Could be. What’s more, except for Judith, their relationships with Stacey all seem a little odd.” McKay told him about his observations of Lauren, Preston and Ferron.

  “I think you’re wrong. They might have their eccentricities, but they love Stacey. Even Ferron had a thing for her in high school.”

  “Well,’’ McKay said, an ironic twist to his mouth, “sometimes love destroys. We both know that, don’t we, Webb?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  * * *

  AS THE MAN leaned against one of the trees in the Webbs’ backyard and looked up at Stacey’s window, he drew a knife out of his boot. He took off his black glove and brought the blade to his palm. A little pressure and his skin began to ooze. Simultaneously, he felt the sting and the euphoria that came every time he saw blood. His breath sped up and he felt half-aroused. Lifting his palm to his mouth, he closed his eyes and sucked.

  The knife was sharp enough. He’d honed it to a fine lethal edge.

  He couldn’t wait till he could test it on the bitch.

  But he would wait. He was very good at waiting. As a little boy, he remembered waiting for the strap. He’d figured if he stayed perfectly still, it wouldn’t hurt so much. He was wrong, but each time, he’d waited, motionless.

  It had been good practice for the waiting now. Sometimes, he was so close and she never even knew it because he could stay so still. Sometimes, he was near enough so he could see the fear in her eyes.

  He wanted to make her afraid. It was good for women to be afraid. Kept them in line. His old man said so. It was one of the few things they’d agreed on.

  Yeah, he liked the bitch being afraid. But he’d have to be patient. One of the reasons he’d done nothing in a week was because he wanted them to get comfortable, to get lulled into believing he’d given up because she had some big-time bodyguard watching over her. Fat chance! No, let them get careless, then he’d strike.

  Only this time, maybe he’d miss on purpose. It would make trapping her eventually even more fun. He’d scare her once then nab her the next time.

  Raising the blade to his mouth, he ran his tongue across the cool metal. Where would he start on her, when the time finally came?

  He glanced back up at the window. The light was out.

  He closed his eyes for a minute and savored the thought of Stacey Webb’s blood.

  It was better than sex.

  * * *

  DAMN, STACEY THOUGHT as she inched away from Preston’s mouth. He had
her pinned to the back of the couch, so she gained little ground. Sighing futilely, she linked her arms around his neck and tried again to participate in the kiss he’d initiated minutes ago. His lips were smooth and flat and dry when they came back to hers. After a moment, she felt his tongue probing and she opened up to him. He invaded her mouth, shoving his tongue in and out. But she felt... nothing.

  It should be Cord.

  No, oh, please, God, don’t let me have these thoughts.

  But no deity—not even a female one—could erase the idea once it came to consciousness.

  Finally, Preston released her mouth to bury his in her neck. She got a whiff of the expensive cologne that he’d doused himself with—Calvin Klein—and remembered how Cord smelled like the woods and the rain. His scent had lingered on her pillow for days after the nightmare.

  Preston’s breathing picked up as he slid his hand inside the open vee of her tangerine shirt, releasing a few buttons. His fingertips were smooth, his nails buffed. Stacey couldn’t help recalling the feel of Cord’s calluses on her wrist.

  This is blasphemous . Letting one man touch you, and thinking about another.

  You’re more like your mother than you think.

  “No!”

  She hadn’t realized she’d spoken the word aloud until Preston drew back and stared at her. “No?”

  With self-disgust, her jaw dropped and she closed her eyes. “Um, I’m just too tense for this, Preston.”

  “Well, if you’d let me do this right, I could make you really relax.”

  She removed his hand from her chest, and pushed a little. Freed, she scrambled off the couch. “Let’s not get into that again.”

  “Maybe I want to get into that again.”

  She rounded on him. He was so smug sitting there in his righteous indignation. “Preston, this has been a bad time for me. I can’t seem to let down.”

  Standing, he slid his hands into his dress pants. “You can never let down, Stacey.”

  Anger shot through her. “I have never defended my choices to any man I’ve ever dated, Preston. I’m not going to start now.”