by Lisa Childs
Whoa. He’d been standing there staring at her like a total moron. The playacting had allowed him to study her face. He rarely looked at her for long because he didn’t want to come across as creepy because really? He knew he could stare at her for hours and wouldn’t that scare her away.
“Raht here, ma’am.” He nodded and tipped an imaginary top hat. “Okay, let’s go.”
They walked back slowly, because Isabel wasn’t a fast walker and because he wanted to stretch out their time together. And it was no hardship walking slowly. Not with Isabel by his side.
She was watching the ground. Yeah, he recognized that. He’d spent two months walking carefully, watching every step. But he knew exactly why he had to watch his feet for months after being able to finally get out of bed.
He’d been blown up. He’d died and come back. He’d been really messed up there.
Why was she watching the ground so assiduously? Why was her balance so off? Why did she have to walk so slowly?
What the hell happened to you?
The words were there, on the tip of his tongue. She’d been wounded, hurt in some way. That was clear. But how? He’d caught that one glimpse of a scar on her forearm and that was it. It was a nasty one but not life threatening. She always wore long-sleeved sweats in the house and outdoors she was dressed for cold weather so basically he had her face and hands to judge by and they were…perfect.
Maybe her bad wounds were covered up. He’d have to see her naked to know.
And bam, just like that, the image of a naked Isabel rose up before him and his dick stirred in his pants. His very first hard-on since almost dying.
Oh…shit. His dick had been dead meat between his legs since the IED. Nothing had stirred it to life. When he’d discreetly asked Metal, he’d gotten a hard stare. Dude, you nearly died. As a matter of fact you did die and they shocked you back to life. That’s major trauma and you’re lucky to be alive, you ungrateful fuck, Metal had said. And then Joe got a long lecture about how penile erection was one of the last functions to return and that he was an ungrateful shithead who by the merest chance wasn’t bones in the ground and…
Metal started getting heated up and Joe had held his hands up and never asked again. And truth was, there was no time for women in his life after the IED, there was just long, painful rehab.
And then Isabel showed up and she fascinated him and intrigued him and he was vastly attracted but his dick basically stayed down. There was the added factor that she was clearly a traumatized woman and he wasn’t going to come on to a woman who looked so vulnerable.
So it was like this balance they’d achieved. She didn’t flirt and he didn’t push because neither of them was in a position to do something about it.
Except now…
Shit. It was just his luck that his dick surged to life at the wrongest possible moment. Before being blown up and dying, Joe would have said that an active dick was never a bad thing, but right now it was.
True, his parka reached midthigh and he had on heavy cold-weather camo pants from his navy days, but still. He had to work not to walk funny.
He couldn’t even think of something else, something to make it go down, not with Isabel right there, holding his arm. That was boner material, just her touching his arm through about a billion layers of clothing.
Christ, a dead man would get a boner with her around. The fact was that he hadn’t died that day. He’d lived and now his entire body was on the same page.
The top of her head reached his shoulder and, looking down, he saw absurdly long lashes, high cheekbones and an impossibly lush mouth. She was wearing a knit cap rimmed with pale mink fur, shiny mink-colored locks escaping from it.
Silvery gray eyes moved to look up at him and he shifted his gaze just in time. He didn’t want her to catch him staring at her.
“Are you having a poker night tonight?” she asked with a slight smile.
“Not tonight.” Shit. “Do we make too much noise? Sorry.”
She shook her head. “Oh no! Not at all. I don’t hear much, just the occasional shout or groan. I imagine they correspond to a win or a loss. Do you do much losing?”
“Nah.” He’d always earned extra money with poker. He could beat the pants off Satan himself. “But I’m sorry if we bother you.”
“It’s actually kind of…nice hearing you guys.” She bit her lips as if she’d already said too much. Her voice sounded wistful.
Was she lonely? Wow, that was a thought. And yet—she had to be. To Joe’s knowledge, he was the only person she saw. It seemed so outrageous to him that a woman as beautiful and as nice as Isabel could be lonely, but there it was.
Joe was really lucky. His company, Alpha Security International, was like a big, extended family. He’d been blown up at the end of his deployment in the military and ASI had carried him on its payroll since then, even when he’d been in a coma and had begun the series of operations that put him back together. ASI was mainly made up of his BUD/S buds who had shown their support in every way.
He had his teammates and soon would join them full-time in the job. They were like a family, tight and strong. Anything he needed, he got. And as soon as he was fully functioning, he’d be there for them, too—no question. He knew he was soaking up help, but that was the way families worked, wasn’t it? When you reached out for a helping hand, it was there.
His family hadn’t been like that, his old man would have been more liable to knock Joe down than extend a helping hand but Joe was no dummy. He’d seen how good families worked and it was like a little miracle.
Where was her family? Who cared for her? Why was she so isolated?
He burned with questions he wanted to ask her. Who are you? What happened to you? Where are your people?
“You can come over anytime you want,” he blurted. “Poker game or not. You play?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’d lose every cent I had if I played poker. I don’t have much of a poker face and I can’t keep the cards straight in my head. Clearly, you can.”
Oh, yeah. After a day or two, he’d be kicked out of any casino in the country for card counting.
“You can sit beside me and be my good luck charm,” he said and she closed up. Bam. Just like that. Face as blank as that of a doll.
“I don’t bring anyone good luck,” she said softly.
Well, fuck. If a beautiful classy woman considered herself a jinx, what could he say?
They were back home. He walked her up to her front door. He opened his mouth to say something, anything—Do you want to come over for the lunch you cooked for me? Do you want to go for a drive? Do you want to go to bed with me?—but before he could put his foot in it, she smiled at him, thanked him again and disappeared into her house.
Joe was left staring at the wooden door that was exactly like his until he snapped out of it and entered his own house. He had some paperwork to get through—he had to read through a contract ASI had signed with a local bank and which would be his first job for them at the first of the month—and he had some laundry to do.
What he did was head for the shower. He needed a long, cold one after his walk with the most beautiful woman in the world, Isabel Lawton.
But first, he had to check his email. There might be another contract for him to look at.
He shucked off his parka and sweater and boots and socks, standing barefoot in front of the keyboard.
There was an email from Jacko—We’re on for tomorrow! Metal’s bringing beer.
So—poker night tomorrow was confirmed.
And another email from an address he didn’t recognize. In the subject line: READ ME. It smelled of spam but if it had passed his spam filter, it was worth a look.
He clicked it open and felt his face tighten as he stared at the message.
PROTECT ISABEL
available now wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold.
www.CarinaPress.com
Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Marie Rice
ISBN-13: 9781488004872
Bodyguard Daddy
Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Childs
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
