She saw a flash of surprise light his eyes. Wariness accompanied it. “I’m not asking for defense. I want a little affection. Is that so bad?”
“You want sex.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that? I’m a normal, red-blooded thirty-year-old man. Yes, I want sex from you. Anyone in my place would feel the same. Just because you have some hang-up about your mother...”
Stacey stepped back as if he’d slapped her. One night, in order to soothe his ego, she’d told him how her decision to wait to have sex was based on her mother’s infidelity. She’d never expected her confession to be thrown in her face.
“Look, I’m sorry I said that, but give me a break, Stacey.” He gestured to the door. “You can bet a guy like Cord McKay wouldn’t be so patient.”
As if a videotape played in her mind, Stacey saw him holding her in the rain as he stroked her hair. She watched herself lying in his arms in the middle of the night...I’m not putting the moves on you. She pictured how he’d held her hand in his all the way down College Hill.
Preston was wrong. Cord McKay could be as patient as Job.
Unfortunately, Stacey wasn’t quite so sure about her own self-control around him. Would she give him any need to be patient if the circumstances were different?
Frightened by the thought, she looked at her fiancé. “Preston, this is old ground. Let’s—”
He rolled his eyes, then swore. “I’m sick of this,” he said as he grabbed his sport coat. “Grow up, Stacey.” Storming away, he closed the den door with a bang. A few seconds later she heard him slam the outer one.
Oh, great, just what she needed right now. She sank into the big recliner, knees bent, head resting on her arms. His anger, at a time when she needed understanding, annoyed her. But her thoughts, her feelings about Cord McKay, terrified her.
She had to stop this.
Or break up with Preston.
The insidious thought wound into her mind and could not be banished.
No, I love Preston.
Do you?
“Stacey?”
She uncurled in the seat and looked up to find Cord McKay, as handsome as sin, and just as tempting, in the archway. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look upset. And I heard doors slamming.”
She shook her head, not wanting to speak for fear her words would betray her feelings.
He edged farther into the room. Stacey watched as his policeman’s eyes took in minute details: when he looked at the couch, he’d see the pillows were askew; when he looked at her, he’d see her lips were swollen. Would he think she and Preston had been making love? Oh, God, the irony was too great.
“Have a fight?” Cord asked.
“He’s an ass sometimes.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.”
She gave him a half-smile, then she laid her head back on the chair.
“Why are men such jerks?” she asked finally.
Cord was silent for a moment. “I’ll explain that, Anastasia, if you button up that blouse.”
Her eyes flew open and she looked down. Three of the tiny buttons on her shirt were undone, exposing a slice of hot pink satin against her breast. A red flush crept up her chest, looking like a sunburn, as she closed the gap. She gave him an embarrassed grin. “Thanks, Francis.”
Taking a seat on the couch opposite her, he linked his hands between his knees. “Want to talk about it?”
She stared at him for a minute then shook her head. “It’s too personal.”
“Maybe I can help. A man of my vast experience and age might be able to put things in perspective.”
“You’re only thirteen years older than I am.”
“Older enough.”
Her eyes traveled to the doorway. “Preston is asking for things in this relationship I don’t want to give.”
“You’re engaged. What more could he want?”
She smiled at the implied compliment. “Thank you for that. It salves my ego.”
“Your ego shouldn’t need salving.”
She frowned at his reaction. Her feelings for this man had grown over the last few days, right along with the attraction. And watching him now, she sensed he was experiencing some of the same things. It scared the hell out of her. Drawn to his concentrated stare, she fought the bond deepening between them.
“Well, it’s really none of my business, I guess,” he finally murmured, shrugging his shoulders.
“I wish that were true.”
“I don’t understand. Is Matthews giving you some grief about me?”
“If it were only that simple.”
“Stacey, tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.” When she hesitated, he said, “Hey, I told you my real name. I told you about Megan’s mother. I deserve some confidences in return.”
Exasperated, she crossed her arms over her chest and hugged herself tightly. What the hell, maybe getting the problem out in the open would diffuse it. “All right. Preston and I are engaged, and now I find—” she hesitated “—I find I’m...I’m attracted to you. It bothers me.” He said nothing, his expression blank. But there was a trace of color on his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. “And now I’ve embarrassed you.”
His grin was boyish and uninhibited, and Stacey wondered what a younger, less world-weary Cord had been like. “Embarrassed me? When zebra-striped panties didn’t?”
She laughed.
“Seriously. I’m not embarrassed. You’ve seen the bodyguard movies—read the books. It happens all the time—the young ingénue begins to feel something for the handsome, hard-edged bodyguard.”
She laughed again. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better.” Then she sobered. “But there’s something you don’t understand.”
“I don’t?”
“No. I’ve got a history here that you know nothing about.”
“Something with other men?”
“No, something with Helene.”
His shoulders tensed, almost imperceptibly. “Your mother.”
“I’ve always prized fidelity because my mother didn’t.”
“She didn’t?”
“No. She was unfaithful to my father, and I’ve always hated her for it. I vowed never to be like her.”
Cord sat against the cushions and stretched his arm out on the back of the couch. “How do you know all this?”
“When I was thirteen, I heard my father and grandmother arguing.” She looked around. “Right here in this den, as a matter of fact. He said she was poisoning my mind against Helene and it had to stop. She said Helene was a slut. She said he’d even caught her in the act once. He was a fool to try to pretend she’d been a good person.”
“Oh, Stacey, I’m sorry.” His look was stricken.
“From then on, it affected my behavior with boys and men.” Unable to remain still with the painful memories, Stacey stood and crossed to the windows facing the pool. “Now, to have these feelings...about another man, about you, while I’m engaged, is horrible. It says horrible things about me.”
“No! It doesn’t.”
She turned to face him. “What do you mean?”
“Feelings like this are understandable. Particularly under these circumstances.”
“All I can see is that it says I’m like her.”
“Maybe. Or maybe it tells you you’ve been looking at this wrong.”
“Wrong?”
He leaned forward again in his seat. “Yeah. Instead of this saying something bad about you, maybe it can help you understand your mother.”
“How?”
“By realizing that people—even good, decent people—can’t always help how they feel.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Stacey, take us as an example. It’s not unusual for a client to be attracted to her bodyguard. It’s part of the human condition. Maybe what your mother did was only human, too. Have you... have you ever heard her side of the whole thing?”
“Well, no.”
“Then take this as a lesson in life. Your mother was human. She wasn’t perfect and she went a step further than what you find acceptable. Maybe she even had reasons you don’t know about. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re a good person. Maybe she was, too.”
Stacey sank to the chair by the window, gripping the edges until her knuckles were white. “I...I never thought about it that way.”
“Maybe it’s time you did.”
She looked up at him, disbelief, gratitude and something else welling inside her.
Standing, Cord shifted uneasily. “I guess I’ll go check to see everything’s set for the night.”
She nodded, still staring at him.
“You okay?”
“Yes.” He crossed to the door. “Cord?”
He glanced back. “Hmm?”
“You said it’s common in these situations for a woman to feel this way about her bodyguard?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it go the other way? Do bodyguards develop feelings for the women they protect?”
Before he could answer, there was a loud crash in the front of the house. It sounded like glass breaking.
Cord slammed the door shut and dived for the light switch. The room went black. He grabbed Stacey, hurled her to the floor and pulled her behind the couch. “Stay down. And stay quiet.”
She could see only a vague outline of his wide shoulders and feel the strength of his hands on her. He drew one away, and she realized he was going for his gun.
Stay down. Stay quiet. She bit her lip and laid her face against Cord’s back.
She heard the squeak of the den door and sensed every muscle in Cord tense. He turned his body so she was completely behind him. When Stacey realized he’d be the target instead of her, she froze. Somehow, she never thought that protecting her meant he’d sacrifice his own life.
The door squeaked more, and opened fully. She saw light pouring in from the foyer. Odd. Why would the stalker turn on a light?
Cord must have come to the same conclusion because he peeked around the end of the couch.
“Stacey? Are you in here? It’s so dark in the house, I broke a vase.” It was the familiar voice of her father.
She heard Cord expel a long breath. He fell to his knees. She collapsed on top of him, drained from the adrenaline rush.
It was a long time, and too late, before she realized he’d never answered her question.
* * *
THE HOT JUNE sun beat down on the Webbs’ pool. The smell of chlorine rose from the water, reminding Cord of summers spent swimming at the public pool with his buddies.
“How do you spell happy?” Megan asked Cord, her forehead creased.
“H-A-P-P-Y,” he spelled out, fighting a grin. “This wouldn’t be for me, would it?”
“I found them, Megan.” He heard Stacey’s voice from the other side of the pool.
Cord didn’t want to look up. But soon she blocked his vision. She was wearing a hot pink, one-piece bathing suit that left nothing to the imagination. “What are you doing here?” Stacey said, pretending exasperation. “Get out, this is a surprise.”
He tried to scowl. “I’m helping my daughter with her artwork.”
“You don’t help make your own Father’s Day card, silly.” She waved at him with her hand. “Go sit with Daddy, Lauren and your mother until we’re done.”
He was about to protest, but changed his mind. He stood and sauntered toward the other table.
“She kick you out?” Webb asked, sipping a glass of lemonade.
Cord nodded. “Something about not helping with my own card.” Sinking onto a plush lounge chair, he bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else. This whole scene was absurd. How the hell had he ended up at the Webbs’ swimming pool making small talk with a man who hated him?
From behind mirrored sunglasses, he studied Gifford Webb. Decked out in the Ralph Lauren polo shirt and khaki shorts that Stacey had given him for Father’s Day, Webb looked considerably younger than his forty-six years. Right now, he was staring at his daughter, and Cord’s daughter, with a look so sad that it added another dent to the wall of resentment Cord had erected against this man many years ago. When Cord glanced at Stacey and Megan under the other umbrella, he saw why.
Heads bent, they were carefully working at their task. Even Cord was reminded of Helene and Stacey and the hours those two had spent at this very pool creating masterpieces.
“It was nice of you to invite us, Gifford,” Cord’s mother, Nora, said, adjusting her white slacks and green blouse.
“And me,” Lauren put in self-effacingly. “You’re so wonderful to include me. I’m really an outsider.”
Webb looked grateful to be drawn away from the tableau he’d been watching. “Nonsense, Nora. Cord couldn’t miss Father’s Day with Megan because of us. This seemed the most expedient, and the safest, solution.” Then he addressed Stacey’s friend. “And you’re always welcome here, Lauren, no matter what the day.”
Cord tore his gaze away from Stacey and Megan and surveyed the backyard. An eight-foot wooden fence enclosed it. Behind that were several maple and a few oak trees. He’d adjusted the gates so they could now be locked from within, making them impenetrable from the outside. Scaling something that high would also be difficult. They were relatively safe. Still, he wore his gun.
Stacey and Megan rose. Stacey reached into a bag and drew out two visors. Cord chuckled as she placed a black sequined one on Megan. It matched the black-and-white-checked bathing suit his daughter had donned early this morning, Nora had told him. Stacey plopped one with purple sequins on her own head and said something to Megan, which earned Stacey a vigorous hug. Cord’s insides tightened. Then they trekked hand in hand across the flagstone patio.
“Happy Father’s Day, Daddy,” Megan said, toppling into his lap and bestowing a card and package on him.
“Thanks, pumpkin.” He nuzzled his face in her hair, which was frizzy and wild all around her head.
“Stacey helped me with the card.”
Glancing down at the artwork, he saw the understatement of Megan’s words. The background was indeed filled in by Megan, but silhouetted against her childish scrawls was an outline of his face, unmistakable with its bumpy nose and strong jaw. Next to it was a smaller profile of Megan’s pug nose and fluffy bangs.
“She draws good,” Megan remarked.
“Yeah. Real good.” Just like her mother.
“Open the gift.” Cord cocked his head at the husky tone from Stacey. Her face was animated, and lit from within. He could see she was enjoying this.
Without commenting, he tore at the haphazardly wrapped package. Inside was a wild-print oversize shirt. It was the last thing Cord would have purchased for himself, but it suited Megan’s taste perfectly. And Stacey’s.
“Put it on, Daddy.”
Cord hesitated. His eyes flew to Gifford, who frowned.
“Come on, McKay. We’ve seen bare chests,” Stacey teased.
“It’s okay for Daddy to go without a shirt,” Megan put in. “But not us girls.”
Stacey chuckled. “Yes, I know. Well, Cord?”
He stood abruptly. “I was going to change into my suit, anyway. I’ll put on both.”
Stacey glanced at his chest, clothed with a loose sport shirt, then back to his eyes. He could tell she’d suddenly remembered that he wore a gun. And this wasn’t just a simple get-together. He was here for a reason.
He had an overwhelming urge to hold her to him and tell her everything was going to be all right. Again. Instead of succumbing, he opted for distracting her. “While I do that, why don’t you show Megan that fancy braid I don’t know how to do. Especially if we’re going swimming.”
When he returned five minutes later, Stacey had brushed out Megan’s hair, separated it into strands and was deftly weaving it into that French thing he couldn’t master. Gifford was hunched over in his chair, speaking to Megan. His mothe
r and Lauren sipped lemonade quietly, and Lauren’s gaze was fastened on Gifford as he spoke to the little girl.
“And then she said that she was too old for lullabies and made me sing a Beatles song to her,” Gifford said.
All five people laughed at what was obviously a story about Stacey’s youth.
Cord was about ten feet away when Stacey looked over at her father. Suddenly, her jaw gaped and her face went ashen. She dropped the thick strands of Megan’s hair and fell back in her seat. It looked almost as if she’d had some kind of physical attack. Or something had hit her from behind.
Cord fumbled for the gun he’d stuck in his duffel bag and leaped across the short distance that separated them. Gifford glanced up as Cord came crashing into a lawn chair. By the time he reached them, Cord had already scanned the area and was convinced that no one was in sight, but that didn’t preclude the possibility of the stalker being out there with a long-range weapon.
Grabbing Megan and yanking her behind him, Cord said, “Stacey? Are you hurt anywhere?”
She shook her head. She seemed dazed...but not hurt. Close examination revealed she was breathing fast and sweat beaded on her lip.
Gifford slid off the chair, sank to his knees and grabbed his daughter’s hands. “Honey, what is it?”
She blinked, stared at her father, then at Megan huddling behind Cord’s legs. “I had a memory.”
“A memory?”
“I guess like a flashback.”
Breathing normally now that he knew Stacey wasn’t injured, Cord sank to a chair and pulled Megan onto his lap. Reaching around, he tucked the gun into his waistband. Megan jammed two fingers into her mouth and sucked vigorously.
“I don’t understand.” Gifford kept Stacey’s hands in a death grip.
Stacey closed her eyes as if to deal with a deep searing pain. When she opened them again, they were bleak. “It was about Helene, Daddy.”
Gifford slumped over but didn’t let go of his daughter.
“It was so real. When you were talking to Megan, I had this...vision of you leaning over me, teasing me about something while...she braided my hair. Right here on this patio.”
Gifford blanched.
“Did that ever happen?” she asked.
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