by Jami Alden
Her bodyguard, she said. But he knew different. The gorilla wanted her. But Gabe would never know what a woman like Reggie needed. Not like he did.
Once he found her, he’d convince her of that. And soon he’d pay her a personal visit, to show his darling Reggie how very devoted he was.
“What do you mean there’s no new reservation?” Reggie leaned over the check-in counter, hoping the woman would suddenly realize her mistake.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you missed your earlier flight to Memphis and I have no updated reservation for you.”
Reggie put her head down on the counter. It was already nine o’clock, she’d been up since six, and after wrangling Miss Biddy Lee all day, she was so tired she wanted to cry. “Dammit, I knew I should have done this myself, or at least checked in with Natalie.” But her cell phone had gone dead, and in the rush to pack up and get to the airport Reggie had decided to put her faith in her sister and for once give her the benefit of the doubt.
More fool she.
“What’s the next possible flight to Memphis we can get on?” Gabe asked, his Southern accent thickening like honey as he laid on the charm. “Reggie here has an important meeting tomorrow morning and it’s real important that she get a good night’s sleep.” He smiled beseechingly at Wanda, who looked momentarily shell-shocked at the surprising sweetness of his smile.
She frowned at the screen. “I have seats available on a flight at eleven tonight…” She looked up from her screen and studied Reggie for a moment. “I know you, you’re on TV! My granddaughter loves your show! She comes over and plays Reggie Caldwell in my kitchen. Leaves a heck of a mess, but sometimes her concoctions are actually edible.”
Reggie immediately perked up, returning the woman’s delighted smile. “I started cooking when I was a kid too. How old is your granddaughter?”
Gabe’s foot began to tap. Reggie grabbed his hand and gave it a warning squeeze.
“She’s twelve. And it’s so nice to see her watching your program rather than all that other trash that’s on TV. I know this is an imposition, but would you mind signing something for me?”
Reggie reached for the pen and paper, then thought better of it. “I have a better idea.” She grabbed her wallet and handed Gabe a couple of bills. “Gabe, can you go over to that bookstore and see if they have a copy of my book?”
“I can’t leave you alone.”
The eager light faded in Wanda’s eyes. “Don’t worry about—”
Reggie turned to Gabe and dropped her voice to a low whisper. “If we’re nice to Wanda I bet we’ll get on an earlier flight.”
Gabe dutifully headed for the bookstore, which was only about ten feet away, grumbling under his breath. Sure enough, by the time he got back with the book, Wanda had booked them two first-class seats on a flight leaving in a half hour.
Reggie wrote a quick inscription and autographed the book, and they took off for the security checkpoint.
They settled into their seats, and Reggie eagerly accepted her complimentary glass of champagne and hot towel. “I’ve never ridden first class before,” she confided, luxuriating in the leg room in front of her seat. “It really is different up here. Is this your first time too?”
“No.”
Frustrated by his lack of communication, Reggie continued to prod, “With another client?”
He grunted something that sounded like “yeah” and settled back against the headrest with a yawn. “Mind if I sleep? That foldout couch about killed me last night.”
“Of course not.” Reggie looked around the plane. “I doubt anything can happen to me here. Why didn’t you say anything about the bed?”
He peered at her through one eye. “What would you have done about it?”
“We could trade off sometimes so you can have the real bed once in a while.” Or you could have shared that great big lonely king size with me, she thought naughtily.
“Reggie, you’re paying me. I’m your employee. You’re not obligated to give up your bed.”
She grimaced at the harsh reminder that while she might entertain fantasies about slathering him with dark chocolate and licking him clean, to him, she was just another client, one he wanted to have as little personal interaction with as possible.
Tired but unable to fall asleep, Reggie accepted another free drink—this time a very nice glass of merlot—and a light snack. She fired up her laptop and set to work transcribing another pile of scribbles to send to her editor.
Every so often she snuck a glance at Gabe. His hard features softened in sleep, his soft, sensual lips slightly parted. He looked almost cute, if a guy who was six-foot three and probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds of solid muscle could be described as such.
She unbuckled her seatbelt and stood, back to the seat in front of her, as she tried to squeeze past him into the aisle. But Gabe’s legs were sprawled out in front of him, blocking her way. She carefully lifted one leg up, stepped over his outstretched thigh, and was about to lift the other when Gabe’s hand shot out and locked around her forearm. Yanked off balance, Reggie fell forward, bracing her other hand against the muscled wall of his chest so she didn’t collapse on top of him.
Blinking sleepily, he sat up straight, eyes going from unfocused to acutely aware in a matter of seconds. “Where are you going?”
“The bathroom?”
His grip on her arm gentled, but he didn’t let go. Heat washed through her as she became excruciatingly aware of the intimacy of their position. She stood in front of him, one leg between his. If she sat, she’d be straddling his left thigh. Seated, he would only have to pull her forward a few inches to press his lips to hers.
She wondered if he really was completely awake, as his calloused thumb traced tiny circles on the tender skin of her inner arm, sending liquid pulses from her forearm straight to the tips of her breasts. Sneaking a quick glance down, she confirmed that sure enough, her nipples were peaked like diamonds against the thin blue knit of her sweater.
Reggie licked her lips nervously and tugged at his grip. “I have to go…”
As though suddenly becoming aware that he held her, he quickly jerked his hand away. He scooted his legs back, clearing her path so she could get into the aisle.
It took a few minutes in the bathroom and a couple of cold wet paper towels to her face for Reggie to regain a tentative hold on her composure.
She didn’t look at him for the rest of the flight and tried to focus on her work. Hopefully, this next round of recipes and notes, which she planned to e-mail off tonight from the hotel, would keep her editor busy for at least a few days.
But when they got to the hotel, e-mailing was the least of their problems.
Not only had Natalie not rescheduled their flight, she had also forgotten to call the hotel to confirm a late check-in. Reggie and Gabe’s adjoining rooms had been given up to two gentlemen in town for a footwear conference. Attendees of the same conference had filled up all the rooms of the hotel but one, a smoking room on the first floor with one queen-size bed.
“Ma’am, I’m very sorry,” the desk manager, who looked like he was about eighteen, said. “But we have nothing. I’d be happy to call around to other hotels to see…”
Embarrassingly, Reggie felt the unmistakable sting of tears burning at the back of her eyes. She looked at Gabe, standing stoically a few feet behind her, his face void of any expression.
She looked at the clock behind the manager’s head, releasing a shaky sigh. It was already after eleven. At this rate she’d never get to sleep, and, as Natalie so kindly reminded her, she desperately needed to squeeze in a workout tomorrow morning.
“Do you have a cot or something I could sleep on?”
Ten minutes later, Reggie and Gabe dragged their suitcases into the room, followed by a bellboy who wheeled in a cot folded up like a big bed taco.
As the bellboy unfolded the cot, it became evident that there was no way in hell Gabe could possibly fit his massive frame on it. “I’ll take the cot
,” Reggie said.
Gabe’s expression was grim. “You shouldn’t have to sleep in the cot. I’m your—”
“Employee. I know,” she snapped. God she was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and the last thing she wanted to do right then was argue with a stubborn male. Hefting her briefcase onto the miniscule desk provided, she said, “Gabe, the way I see it, you have two choices. You can sleep in the bed alone, or you can share it with me. But it was my assistant’s fault the reservation got screwed up, and if anyone’s sleeping on the cot, it’s me.”
He looked skeptically at the double bed.
Foolishly, she was a little miffed that he didn’t even seem to consider the possibility.
She pressed the power button of her laptop so hard she nearly jammed her finger. Gabe was thankfully quiet for a few moments, and she heard rustling sounds behind her as he sorted through his suitcase.
“Why don’t you hire a real assistant?” he asked after several minutes. His voice was truly inquisitive, with none of the irritation she would have expected from a man forced to suffer along with her for Natalie’s mistake.
Sighing, Reggie turned in the uncomfortable wooden desk chair. Gabe had removed his sport coat and laid it neatly across the bed. He’d also unbuttoned a few more buttons of his shirt, offering a teasing glimpse of tanned chest and soft brown curls. The already tiny room reduced in size by several square feet.
She forced her gaze to his face, which wasn’t much better for her concentration. His short hair was rumpled, as though he’d run his fingers through it. Exhaustion made his already deep-set eyes even heavier lidded, and the way he stared at her made her feel like she was melting into a pool of hot fudge.
Embarrassed, she realized she’d forgotten his question. “What?”
Thankfully, Gabe didn’t seem to notice the party happening in her pants. “Why don’t you hire a real assistant, someone who can really help you?”
Compelled to defend her sister, Reggie muttered, “Natalie helps me. Sometimes she just forgets details, isn’t as careful as she should be.”
“I think your life would be easier if you got someone who was a professional. I know I wouldn’t survive without my assistant, Marjorie.”
Reggie could just imagine Marjorie. Probably blonde, stacked, and loved taking dictation. No, scratch that. “I bet with your policy of no on-the-job nooky, Marjorie’s a real battle-ax.”
Gabe chuckled and sat down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes. “She looks very good for a woman of fifty-odd years.”
She didn’t bother to examine her feelings of relief that his assistant was an older, maternal type. “Natalie’s had a hard time getting work lately, and I thought this would be a good way of helping her out without giving her handouts.” When he shook his head, she said, “You said you have sisters. Wouldn’t you help them out if they needed it?”
“Of course I’d help them. But I would never involve a family member in my professional life. It’s like getting involved with clients. It doesn’t make good business sense.”
“Why can’t business and personal mix?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she realized she wasn’t talking about hiring her sister.
Several emotions flashed across his face. Frustration, maybe even a little regret, among them. And finally, resolve, which took its form in the cool, impersonal mask Reggie was beginning to despise. “Some people don’t have a problem blurring the lines. Me, I need nice, tidy borders. Black and white, and nothing in between. It’s the way I work.”
He gathered up a pile of clothes and closed himself in the bathroom. Seconds later, she heard the water running and turned her attention back to her computer screen.
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, a scented, steamy cloud in his wake, Reggie was ready to forward all her notes to her editor.
She unplugged the cord from the phone and into her modem, and clicked on her ISP icon. An ominous gray box appeared, naming an error of some sort. In short, her modem didn’t work. She unplugged and replugged the cord, growing more frustrated by the second.
Muttering and swearing, she dug around her computer bag for a floppy disk, shoving it into the drive with more force than necessary. Could nothing about this trip be easy?
As though to make up for yesterday, the next two days of shooting were a breeze, even though they started out a little rocky when Reggie tried to sneak off for a workout. Ignoring her protests that she could make it to the gym and back by herself, Gabe insisted on going with her.
Great. As if Gabe needed another reason to stay away from her, now he had the added bonus of watching her huff and puff her way through the treadmill workout Natalie had designed. The one that ended with her beet red and sucking air like an emphysema patient.
Gabe, the jerk, set his treadmill at a sprightly seven-minute-mile pace and barely broke a sweat. He then proceeded to bench more than her body weight with no apparent effort, while she struggled through a set of bicep curls.
“You’ll get better results if you lower the weight slowly,” he observed.
“It’s a miracle I’m doing this at all,” she snarled. “I don’t need commentary from the peanut gallery.”
“Ooh, someone’s grumpy in the morning,” he teased. “Not much of an exerciser?” He commenced on a set of shoulder presses that made the veins pop out in sharp relief against his biceps.
Funny, she’d never paid much heed to other guy’s muscles, but with Gabe she had an almost overwhelming urge to sink her teeth into that firm, rippling swell. She did another set, grunting in an oh-so-feminine fashion as she lowered the weight slowly this time. “It’s not that I don’t like exercise,” she said, taking several gulps from her water bottle. “I hate exercising like this. Running on a hamster wheel, lifting and lowering weights in some barren, airless room. I’d rather run outside.”
Gabe nodded. “Good to know. Maybe today while you’re shooting I can call the hotels in the other cities and have them map out some safe running routes.”
Reggie was taken aback. When was the last time someone had actually listened to a personal desire of hers and done something about it? That Gabe, who tried so hard to keep himself at a distance, would even bother touched her more than she wanted to admit. “Thank you,” she said earnestly, “that would be really great.”
He laid back down on the bench with a massive-looking dumbbell in each hand. “Not a problem,” he said, blowing out a breath as he brought his hands together above his chest, “I hate running inside too. It’ll make my life easier.”
Of course. He wasn’t doing it just for her. It served his purposes too. Typical.
After they showered and packed up, Reggie made a quick stop to the hotel business center to e-mail her notes to her editor. Then they were off to the shoot at a hole in the wall barbecue joint where Reggie learned how to make the best ribs she’d ever tasted in her life.
Gabe seemed to have eased up a bit on his stoic, keep-his-distance attitude. He wasn’t exactly easygoing, but he talked, or rather listened while she talked, amiably on their hour-long flight from Memphis to New Orleans. At least it was less like talking to a brick wall and more like talking to the Gabe she had met what seemed a lifetime ago.
To make up for her colossal fumble the day before, Natalie had booked them in a hotel room that could have served as a permanent residence. Not only did the suite boast two decently appointed bedrooms, it also had a kitchenette complete with a mini-fridge, microwave, and two-burner stove.
Not that Reggie planned to do any cooking, but at least she’d be able to make her own coffee.
Even the shoot was a breeze. The local crew was professional and polished, and her guest, himself a veteran of numerous TV appearances, was an absolute dream to work with. After the shoot, Gabe devoured his share of the leftovers without a word of protest.
Afterward they all went to Beaudine’s on Bourbon, a famous restaurant owned by Georgia Beaudine. Georgia, with her Southern charm and down-home ma
nner, was host of one of the most successful Cuisine Network shows in the history of the network. Along with her restaurant and best-selling cookbooks, she’d just signed a deal to develop a signature brand of cookware for a major retailer. Reggie felt like she was about to meet the Queen of England.
As she and Gabe rode in the cab to meet the rest of the group, she fidgeted with her purse, ridiculously nervous at the thought of meeting one of her idols.
“I don’t see what there is to be worried about,” Gabe said, as she checked her lipstick for the five hundredth time.
“Don’t you know who this woman is?”
“Reggie, until you hired me, I’d never even heard of the Cuisine Network.”
Reggie shook her head in irritation. “Hasn’t there ever been someone you really wanted to meet, where making an impression was important?”
“Of course,” Gabe replied, shocking her by leaning over and giving her a reassuring squeeze on her knee. “But just be yourself, and I’m sure she’ll like you fine. And if she doesn’t, well, fuck her.”
A surprised laugh burst from her chest, but surprisingly, Gabe’s coarse advice went a long way in calming her nerves.
Unfortunately, when they got to Beaudine’s, Sentinel Gabe was back in full effect. “I’ll be over there.” He indicated a corner across from their table. “I can see the entrance from there.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, it’s not appropriate for me to eat with you when I should be watching the place.”
“Is there a problem?” Reggie turned to face Georgia Beaudine, who wore the sunny smile that made Georgia’s Southern Kitchen so popular.
She’d deal with Gabe’s obstinacy later.
Reggie introduced herself and Georgia gave her a low, hearty laugh. “Of course I know who you are, darlin’. I can hardly get away from your face.”
Georgia signaled a waiter over and ordered bourbon on the rocks while Reggie ordered a dirty vodka martini for herself. “I know this sounds corny,” Reggie said, “but I’m such a big fan.” She found herself basking in Georgia’s wide smile and bright blue eyes. Even though physically they couldn’t have been more different, something about Georgia with her warm, friendly manner and easygoing style reminded her of Mrs. Detaglia.
