Protector

by Catherine Mann

  The lounge singer hooked arms with the Texas stranger and waved to Jolynn. “This is the new man in my life. His name is Rex. Isn’t he yummy?”

  The tips of Rex’s ears turned red.

  Livia hugged his arm closer to her side as she leaned into him even as she talked to Jolynn. “Come catch the show tonight. Keep him company while I sing and make the other women stay away. Ciao!”

  As quick as she’d arrived, the woman sashayed off in a swirl of perfume and body-hugging turquoise silk.

  Jolynn turned back to Charles, only to find his eyes lingering on the singer as she swished away. Jealousy surged through her. Unmistakable. Strong. And nothing a mere “friend” should be feeling.

  Maybe the time had come to take a risk and follow up on her attraction to this man. She would show Charles Tomas that friends made the best lovers with no risk to the heart.

  * * *

  Jolynn strolled down the narrow side street in the seaside village. No matter how many times she came here, the view still took her breath away.

  As did the man beside her.

  Excitement tingled along her arms at the prospect of a whole afternoon with him. The world around her seemed brighter, more optimistic. She soaked in the differences in the locale around her as opposed to her flatlands Texas home with its high-tech steel city and wide-open ranches. Here everything was bordered by mountains or the sea. The shops and homes were packed together and crammed with history.

  Arm swinging at her side, Jolynn kept the bag of pastries tight in her grip. Her other hand was tucked in the crook of Chuck’s arm. She’d been surprised when he put it there, but he’d just shrugged and said something about not wanting to lose her in the crowd. He’d been distracted since they left the Fortuna.

  Still, she wasn’t arguing. Instead, she decided to just enjoy the day, her food, and the warm play of muscles under her fingertips. “History says that cannolo—that would be the singular of cannoli in case you didn’t know— originated in medieval times when the Arabs brought sugarcane to Sicily. Prior to that, they only had honey as a sweetener.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I do say,” she bantered back. “They rolled the dough around a piece of sugarcane and voilà. They were most popular in the spring.”

  “When sheep produced more milk for the ricotta filling.” He angled past college students with ID packs dangling from around their necks.

  “You do know about them then.”

  “A little bit. But I enjoy hearing you talk.” Charles kept walking, staring ahead with his ear tilted toward her as if waiting to hear what she would say next.

  He wasn’t particularly chatty, she’d noticed. Her first friendship with a man was turning out to be about as successful as her romances, or lack thereof. Why was she so determined to try with this guy? Hadn’t she been shoved away by him enough?

  Then she remembered him sitting on her hall floor, worried because he’d kissed her.

  Jolynn dangled the bagged treats under his nose as they passed a vendor selling Marsala wine. “There’s nothing better than a good old-fashioned sugar high. You only had one at the café.”

  His mouth dimpled into a smile, a wicked glint shimmering in his eyes. “Nothing?”

  The burn of her flush rivaled the fire smoldering low in the pit of her stomach. “Okay, there’s almost nothing better.” She cleared her throat. “So I hear.”

  Charles chuckled, dissolving the tension. “Come on, Red. Let’s take that walk along the shore by the catacomb openings you wanted to see.”

  Touched that he remembered her request, Jolynn sprinted down the street, weaving between tourists until the crowd thinned. His gaze locked on her legs, and a rush of power shot through her.

  He rubbed his neck as if he had a kink.

  “You do that a lot.” She slowed for him to catch up, arms extended for balance as she made her way down the rocky incline.

  “Do what?” He held out a hand.

  “Massage your neck, roll your shoulder as if you’ve got a kink.” She jumped the last foot or so to the sandy shore, their cruise ship a mere speck docked down the coastline. A tunnel gaped in the cliff, water trickling out from the catacomb entrance.

  “Only when you’re around.”

  Jolynn halted, just in front of him, their gazes almost level. “I think maybe you might have paid me a compliment in there somewhere.”

  “Hey, Red, quit hogging the cannoli.” He reached for the bag.

  “If you think you can handle it.” She grinned wickedly and opened the sack. She dug through and pulled out two, passing one to Charles.

  The jolt sparking up her arm at the brush of his hand felt anything but friendlike.

  Jolynn slid her hand slowly away, seductively so before charging ahead. “Food lesson for you.” She held up the bag. “A bit more on cannoli, plural. In most of Italy, the singular is cannolo, but here in Sicily, it’s cannolu. And how appropriate that there’s a difference, because to me, these are second to none.”

  He finished a bite and smiled. “You weren’t lying. These are beyond better than the rest.”

  She eyed a family packing up in the distance nostalgically. “When I was a kid, my mom and dad used to bring me here… This was her favorite place to vacation.” She stared ahead, keeping her eyes homed in on the water trickling from the tunnel into a little tide pool. “Dad would buy me two even though Mom said it was too much sugar for me. I would eat one, really slowly, then save the other for the next day so I could relive the outing all over again.”

  “How many times did you come here with your parents?” He followed her as she trekked farther and farther from civilization.

  “Every summer until my mother died when I was seven. For a while, Dad wanted nothing to do with anything that reminded him of her.” Even his child. “Then he threw himself into work.”

  “That had to be a difficult time for you to be alone.” His low voice caressed the air.

  His strides kept an even pace— slow, methodical, dependable. Like the man?

  She kicked aside a small piece of driftwood as if striking back at an unfair world. “I barely remember my mother’s voice, but cannoli remind me of her. She feels closer, more familiar.” Uncomfortable with the sympathy she saw on his face, she stepped ahead. A gust of wind whipped a strand of hair across her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Reminiscing invariably brought pain. She dug into the bag and pulled out a pastry for herself. She took two bites fast and lost herself in the memory of her mother.

  “Okay.” He brushed aside the curling lock and took the pastry from her hand. “Do you always do that?”

  “Do what?” She walked backward, chewing off another taste.

  “Eat both ends and save the middle for that final bite.”

  Pausing, she stared at the pastry oozing filling out of both ends now. “Always. I love to save the best for last.” She popped the rest into her mouth and licked her fingers. A breeze swirled around them, between them, linking them. “What about your family?”

  He stared at her for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer, then finally said, “I’m from Hawaii, my dad’s relatives have lived there for as far back as we can trace. My parents are both dead now, though.”

  Her smile faded. “I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  “My dad died when I was eight months old. My mom died when I was in second grade. There weren’t any other relatives left alive so I grew up in an orphanage in Hawaii.”

  She backed against the rocky cliff, searching his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a good place.” He toyed with a lock of her hair, the crisp air and his aftershave riding the wind. “I don’t have any Oliver Twist horror stories to share about growing up there. The nuns treated us like the children they would never have.”

  Regardless of the rosy picture he tried to paint, she wasn’t fooled. What child wouldn’t grieve over having no parents? How could she have been so
selfish as to forget the rest of the world had problems, too?

  “I probably sound like a real whiner. At least I had my father. I know I should be thankful, but I just don’t know how to…”

  “What?”

  “Be close to him. It’s no secret he has, uh, questionable contacts.” She tried to laugh. It didn’t work. Her throat simply closed up, choking on the sound.

  Charles wouldn’t look her in the eye. Old feelings of frustration roared to the surface. Intellectually, she knew she wasn’t like her father, but they bore the same blood, even the same name. How could she not be smeared with some of his guilt?

  When Charles didn’t say anything, the words just started falling from her mouth, “For the first twelve years of my life I really thought he gave simple boat tours for a living.” Images of being Daddy’s Punkin’ teased her with thoughts of the early days, before her uncle had been murdered, before her world fell apart.

  “You were just a kid.”

  “Old enough to understand the things I saw.”

  Charles’s gaze snapped to her face.

  She wanted to shock him, to let him know what kind of family she came from. Then he would run away, and she wouldn’t be tempted to risk her already scarred heart. “Aren’t you going to ask me?”

  Sighing, Charles pressed his thumb and finger to his eyes. “What did you see?”

  She shrugged. “Lots of questionable things, some more clear-cut than others…”

  Memories of her father always left her hurting. So why couldn’t she tell him everything? Share that unprovable secret? She ached to bury herself against Charles’s chest for longer than some seaside moment-of-madness kiss.

  But she didn’t know how to ask. Her only dealings with men had involved distancing them with a sultry smile, a sensual facade to keep them on edge. When in doubt, go with what you know.

  Her inner wild child flamed to life. Jolynn scooped the cream out of her other cannolo with her finger and slipped it in his mouth. His lips opened as if by instinct to receive her offering. She gently scored her nail over his tongue as she left the treat behind. His exhales grew heavier, warm whispers over her palm as erotic as any kiss.

  He chewed while she traced the damp pad of her finger around his lips. Heat smoldered low in her stomach, flames radiating, higher, then lower, burning to the core of her.

  “Jolynn… Lynnie….” Charles’s husky voice rasped against her ears, along her every simmering nerve. His eyes seared hers as he clasped her hand and kissed her finger before releasing it. “What am I going to do with you?”

  Tears stung behind her eyes but she refused to let them loose. As if the sky cried for her, she heard the splatter of a single raindrop tap the muddy ground. Then another. The sporadic rhythm echoed the pounding of her heart.

  He reached for her, and she sighed in expectation, her body hungry for comfort. He clasped her by the shoulders, his strong hands gripping her with a strength she wel comed.

  But rather than the sexy, sleepy-eyed look and a softening of the mouth, she saw his lip tense into a tight line, his eyes razor sharp. She only had a second to wonder before…

  He shoved her behind him.

  Charles tugged the back of his loose shirt free. Smoothly, he pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans.

  Joy melted to confusion.

  She realized the splattering sounds were gunshots from a silencer. Bullets pocked the ground around them, the cliff behind them.

  Confusion shifted to horror.

  Charles dropped to one knee and aimed with trained ease. His body transformed into a fluid, lethal line.

  Horror became disillusionment.

  He wasn’t the man she knew, but she recognized him all too well. She’d spent her childhood surrounded by men like him.

  Fearing for her life, not to mention her heart, Jolynn turned her back on Charles and ran.

  EIGHT

  Jolynn sprinted along the rocky cliff wall, farther and farther, the shoreline reaching closer. She splashed through the receding waves, frantic, desperately looking back over her shoulder, but her hair streaked in front of her eyes.

  The stitch in her side, sob in her throat, stole her breath. Her frantic eyes searched for the safest path to run— a way to escape from the man shooting at them and the man she’d foolishly trusted. A simple blackjack dealer who just happened to carry a hefty gun tucked in his pants. She squelched the stab of pain that could well distract her. Get her killed.

  She needed to get away from him, to find a police station. A few more steps. Ignore the pain. An impossible task.

  Jumbled shouts and shots reminded her of the men behind her. She felt along the cliff wall, steadying herself. She hurt so much she wanted to run forever.

  An arm locked around her waist. A body tackled her.

  Jolynn screamed, her cry cut short by the steely forearm. She didn’t have time to brace her fall before her stomach hit the damp sand. Her arms slapped down, hard.

  The bag slipped from her grasp. In her panic, she hadn’t realized she still held it. Cannoli scattered across the foaming wave, rolling toward a bent casino ID.

  Charles’s ID.

  His solid body pressed against hers, flattening her. Sand bit into her cheek, her clothes plastering to her body. A half-buried shell sliced into the vulnerable flesh between her ribs. She tried to shift free, but he pinned her arms. She stared at his beautiful hands— vise-gripped around her wrists.

  “Jolynn,” he growled in her ear, “I don’t have time to argue with you. We need to get out of here— now. Do you hear me?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Words of recrimination clustered inside her. She burned to yell, screech, rage at him, but knew she couldn’t afford the luxury. Had he come to work for her father or against her father? Regardless, she had no intention of doing anything he said.

  “Okay, Red, when I get up, we’ll run for it. On three. One— two— three.” He rolled off and yanked her up by the arm.

  Loading her anger into her fist, Jolynn punched him in the stomach. His grunt echoed in her ears as she took off running.

  She clambered up a narrow path, not much but with a few footholds creating a ladder up alongside the opening to the catacomb. She would run all the way to Dallas if necessary to put miles between herself and the liar with an angel face.

  His arm banded around her again. Charles hauled her up the embankment. His hard, impersonal touch bore no traces of the passionate man of the days prior, the tender friend of mere moments before. She searched behind them but saw no signs of the distant gunman who’d been shooting earlier.

  The beach looked strangely peaceful, as if no one even noticed how close death had lurked.

  Her arm wrenched in the socket as Charles tugged her along. Climbing relentlessly until civilization took hold again. People appeared here and there, a car driving past, a tourist snapping photos. Two teens with skimboards pointed at their soggy clothes and laughed.

  Charles ignored them. His hand held firmly to her as he charged past cars and a van parked on a narrow side street. His gun was nowhere in sight, but she knew he had it within easy reach.

  Was he going to steal a ride?

  He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and thumbed the button. Lights lit up on a little Fiat behind the van. Hell. He had a car here. A car conveniently stashed on the off chance someone shot at him?

  Her stomach lurched. A police station sounded so much better, especially since they were back on a public street now. What was he going to do? Kidnap her?

  A pop whizzed by her ear. A back front tire on the van deflated. Oh God. The two or three bystanders scattered fast, ducking back into the safety of their homes. No help forthcoming from them.

  Charles grabbed her arm and hauled her to his side. Gun raised, he squeezed off a shot. A man at the end of the back street clutched his knee and fell to the cobblestones— his gun skittering away. The reverberation of Charles’s gunshot still vibrated into her, binding th
em with a nauseating link of violence.

  He yanked open the Fiat’s door and shoved her into the driver’s side. Pushing her the rest of the way inside, he slid in after. She angled over the gear shift and into her seat.

  Charles untangled his legs from hers and jammed the key into the ignition. With a glance over his shoulder, he slammed into gear. They peeled away from the curb as a single bullet embedded itself in the rear window.

  Bulletproof glass? On a Fiat?

  Who was this man?

  “Put on your seat belt— now.” Charles’s cold voice bore no resemblance to the speaker of heartfelt confidences.

  Automatically, Jolynn obeyed, snapping the shoulder harness. He turned a sharp left onto the twisting main road.

  He removed one of his hands from the wheel and sifted through the contents of the glove compartment. The car’s weaving response launched Jolynn against the passenger door.

  She grabbed for the steering wheel. “I don’t know what’s going on, but stop playing around and drive.”

  Charles abandoned his search in the glove compartment and shoved her aside. “For crying out loud, would you quit trying to kill us. I wear contacts and they fell out when we got tangled up back there.”

  His bare eyes glinted. He narrowly missed driving up a telephone pole.

  Jolynn frantically inventoried the contents of the glove compartment. Tossing papers on the floor, she finally uncovered the small plastic case.

  “Open it,” he ordered, his strong square jaw tense.

  She fumbled with the container, almost dropping it on the floor. Charles pulled his hands away and grasped for the lens case.

  They swerved right. She screamed, clutching the steering wheel. “I would have appreciated a little warning.”

  A few muffled curses later, he slipped the contacts in place. Charles blinked fast. He pushed her hands aside and resumed control.

  He cast a quick glance in her direction. “Thanks.”

  The nearly opaque brown of his unshielded eyes pierced her.