One Night At A Time

by Christa Conan

  A nagging inner voice told him that if any woman could tear down his defenses, it was her. That was more dangerous than a knife to the heart.

  He shoved aside thoughts of Arielle and reached for the phone. He had work to do. Work always kept his mind off females.

  At least it used to.

  “She’s getting to you,” Rhone observed a couple of minutes later, when Doug’s mind had wandered yet again.

  “Who?” Doug asked.

  “Tall, long hair, thin, with curves in all the right places, that’s who.”

  “Try sleeping next to her,” Doug said. “Without touching.”

  “The things a man has to do when he’s on the job.”

  “It’s like being in a candy store and being on a diet.”

  “Wouldn’t let her hear you say that.”

  Problem was, with the sensual kiss she offered, Doug had already had a taste. It was temptation and forbidden-ness, all rolled into an irresistible confection and topped off with a dusting of powdered sugar.

  “You’re gone again,” Rhone said.

  “Plotting revenge on my ex-partner. If you’ll recall, you sent her my way.”

  “It’s hard to exact revenge when you’re in the Bahamas.”

  “Try me.”

  Rhone whistled. “You’re in deep.”

  “Throw me a rope, friend.” Doug became aware of the sudden absence of sound, which meant Arielle had turned off the shower faucets. Now maybe he could concentrate. The thought of her naked beneath the pulsing spray had caused more than one lapse in concentration. “How many men do you have at the Hales’ house?”

  “Three. Twenty-four-by-seven.”

  Three men, on a twenty-four hour detail, seven days a week. Rational thinking told him it was enough. Instinct—and he didn’t dare think it was anything more emotional than that—told him it wasn’t enough. “Add another.”

  Rhone didn’t say a word.

  “Send me your bill,” Doug said.

  “Like hell. If you want another man, consider it done.”

  Doug dropped his feet to the floor. “If you see anything suspicious, move her parents underground.”

  “Got it.”

  After another thirty seconds, Doug signed off. He leaned forward, staring at the phone and drumming his fingers on the yellow legal pad where he’d made notations.

  He didn’t have any feelings for Arielle, he told himself. At least none beyond those between client and protector. She was just another job, a name in his files.

  Picking up a pen, Doug wondered if he’d always been this good at lying to himself.

  Absently he moved the pen across paper, sorting through the things Rhone had said. The ink formed lines and shadows. Slowly a picture emerged, Arielle’s likeness, each stroke a creation he wasn’t aware of forming.

  A few minutes later, he glanced down. He’d shaped her in softness and strength, with grace and grit. An odd paradox, as intriguing as the woman herself.

  In the picture, her hair flirted with her shoulders...the way it had last night, when he went to bed.

  Doug turned over the pad, slamming it on the desk.

  His sketches always revealed what resided in his heart, even when his mind refused to acknowledge facts. He saw her many facets. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to them. Sure as hell didn’t mean he needed them.

  “Doug?”

  He looked up. Her approach took him by surprise, meaning he wasn’t as sharp as he should be. That could get a man killed. Or, worse, captured.

  “I’m ready to go.”

  He clenched his jaw. Shannen’s clothes were marginally too big for Arielle. She had cinched a belt around the jeans, and the blouse she wore was pulled up at the elbows and fastened close to the throat.

  Doug barely resisted the urge to flick open the button.

  Instead of wearing her hair wild and free, she’d pulled it into a braid. Except for a sheen of nude gloss, her mouth was bare and...kissable.

  He stood. “Come here.”

  She hesitated, folding her hands in front of her. “Doug, I...”

  “Arielle, I showed you how to use the equipment on Destiny. You need to know the code to this room and how to get hold of Rhone in an emergency.”

  “Oh.” She dropped her hands to her sides.

  He knew what she was thinking. And he had to admit, the same thing had crossed his mind when he saw her there. Her gloss had one purpose—for him to kiss away.

  He wondered how she’d react if he shared that little piece of information.

  Shoving the legal pad beneath the computer monitor, he indicated the chair to Arielle. She took the seat, and he moved behind her, reminding him of the way he’d rubbed her shoulders earlier. The shape of her nape, the gentle arch of her back, the feel of her, had seemed natural. He’d offered comfort and, strangely enough, he’d found some of his own.

  “This phone, as you already know, is a direct line to Rhone’s place in D.C. It also rings at his office. If there’s no answer, it forwards to his cell phone.”

  “More toys?”

  “Rhone’s offices are a veritable playground of gadgetry.”

  She looked over her shoulder. “You’re smiling again.”

  “I like to play.”

  She nodded, and he caught a whiff of flowers. It sure as sunshine didn’t smell like his extrastrength brand, and it beat the hell out of the eau de trash can they’d both worn yesterday. She’d probably experimented with one of the half-dozen or so bottles of shower gel that Shannen kept on the bathroom windowsill.

  Doug wondered if Arielle would have a chance to use every one of them. He decided he might not mind critiquing each scent. If this was danger, it had never smelled so sweet.

  She glanced away, and he pointed out the phone next to the one he’d already indicated. “This line is unsecured. If you’re using it, I’m assuming I won’t be around to stop you.”

  “You mean...”

  “No telling who might be listening in. If you use this phone, you won’t care who’s listening. And the only way that’ll happen is over my dead body.”

  A shiver traced up her spine, shaking her shoulders. Good—a touch of fear went a long way.

  “I’ve seen enough,” she said, pushing back her chair and standing. “I’m ready to go.”

  She turned to face him, and Doug immediately regretted his harshness. She wasn’t Kerry, he reminded himself. Arielle was intelligent and, more, was blessed with common sense.

  “One more thing,” he said. “The alarm to Rhone’s office.”

  “Doug, do I really need to know this?”

  He folded his arms across his chest.

  From deep inside, she sighed. “Are you sure I won’t wake up from all this?”

  If she did, he hoped to be there beside her. He gave her the code, saw her mentally file the numbers in memory, just the way she had when they were chased in New York City. Even though he knew he didn’t need to, he asked her to repeat the alphanumeric sequence. She got it right on the first try. Bingo. “And you reverse the code to set the alarm. Try it.”

  She closed the door and punched in the code, smiling when the digital readout announced that the system was engaged. “I think I could grow to like toys.”

  “The value of play is underrated.”

  “Like cribbage, I suppose.”

  “Like cribbage,” he agreed. Along with a few other things that came immediately to mind. Nice thing about them, they didn’t require a board, a deck of cards or rules. And with the way she recalled numbers, she’d have a distinct advantage in any card game. Doug disliked being at a disadvantage in anything, especially his own games.

  Following his instructions, she set the house’s main alarm. A disembodied voice announced that the system was set. She’d done good, every step of the way.

  Their drive into town was accomplished in a shroud of silence, and he saw her anxiously looking in the sideview mirror every few seconds. Fear again. He was startin
g to loathe the feeling.

  The parking lot was nearly full, the huge variety store not only drawing the locals, but also those from the surrounding communities. Inside, Arielle headed straight for the jeans section, walking past a circular rack filled with denim skirts. When she grabbed the fifth pair, he went in search of a buggy.

  By the time he returned, she’d added several sweaters, sweatshirts and blouses to the pile.

  Retail therapy.

  He shrugged. At least the fear had been temporarily banished.

  Doug dutifully trailed her to the lingerie department. When he saw the potent combination of a lacy red teddy slipping from a padded hanger, his long-neglected libido reminded him he was a man.

  A picture of Arielle in that oh-so-tantalizing scrap of fabric punctuated his thoughts. Whistling, he turned away. He hazarded another glance when she tossed a couple of packages in the buggy. Panties. Serviceable cotton, in stark white.

  Sensible Arielle. Even the pajamas she chose were conservative. Surely someone had uncovered the passion he knew existed. Yesterday she’d kissed him. And he hadn’t had to work at coaxing a response from her, she’d given it naturally. She was a study in contrasts, temptation buried beneath practicality.

  Doug wanted a shovel.

  She tossed socks on top of the heap, then said, “I need toiletries.”

  He nodded, not mentioning the fact she hadn’t purchased any bras. Wasn’t any of his business.

  He’d taken a couple of steps before he realized she’d stopped in front of a rack of bras. She snagged red, black and purple from the rack.

  Doug swallowed. Toiletries. Right. They needed toiletries.

  Still, while she shopped, his gaze was drawn again and again to the array of colors splashed across that serviceable white. Sleeping in the same bed with her tonight would be far more difficult than last night.

  They headed for the shoe department, passing hardware. A shovel. Yeah. A shovel. He’d thought he’d need it to dig away her secrets. Turned out he’d need it to dig himself out of the hole he’d fallen in.

  Ten minutes later, she’d selected shoes. He grabbed a few things for himself, and they headed toward the checkout. They both started to unload the cart at the same time, their fingers glancing off each other’s over the lingerie. She stopped, meeting his gaze.

  An embarrassed flush crept up her face, and she lowered her eyelashes. “Thanks,” she said, her voice hardly audible.

  Doug wasn’t a liar. He couldn’t say it was no problem. He placed the kaleidoscope of color on the conveyer belt, satin slipping through his fingers.

  While he unloaded the rest of her purchases, she grabbed her purse and pulled out a credit cared.

  “Put it away,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I’ll pay cash.”

  She drew her shoulders back a couple of inches. Trouble. He saw the storm brewing in her eyes, and barely resisted the temptation to turn away from it. He’d rather duel at dawn than face a woman with a purpose. And in a duel, you had ten paces between you and your opponent. Barely a dozen inches separated him from Arielle.

  “Cash or charge?” the cashier asked.

  “Charge.”

  “Cash.”

  The woman looked helplessly toward Doug.

  “Cash,” he repeated. The cashier nodded and started scanning the price tags. “Credit cards can be traced,” he told Arielle quietly. “The colder the trail we leave, the better.” The only happy trails he knew of were ones he followed.

  Her eyebrows drew together. “But—”

  “You’re paying me to keep you alive.” He captured her shoulders and added, “Let me do my job.”

  “I can’t allow you to pay my expenses.”

  “I’ll invoice you.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colorfully arrayed bras drop into the bottom of a brown paper bag.

  The fire in Arielle’s eyes died, and her resistance went with it.

  The cashier announced the price, and he reached for his wallet. After giving him the change, she tore off the receipt.

  “I’ll take that,” Arielle said.

  The cashier shrugged apologetically at Doug.

  Arielle grabbed a couple of the bags, leaving Doug with the most dangerous one. A lady’s lingerie had never mattered before. It shouldn’t now. So why in a Colorado winter did it?

  He opened the car door for her, handing the bag to her.

  He wouldn’t have wanted to get rid of a grenade any faster than he wanted to dispose of the images her clothing conjured.

  At the grocery store, they crisscrossed each aisle, tossing items of personal taste or necessity into the basket, pausing twice to argue over brand-name preferences.

  He’d always considered grocery shopping a have-to chore, performed only when his cabinets and fridge were empty. Shopping with Arielle gave him a different and unexpected perspective, one, he decided, that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. The humor he could handle. It was the none-too-subtle hint of...intimacy, he decided, for lack of a better word, that bothered him.

  His thoughts took a detour, and for a few seconds he entertained the images. After Kerry, he’d roadblocked Domestic Avenue, from both his mind and his future plans, never expecting, never wanting, to travel that direction again.

  Did he want to now, with Arielle?

  The question hung suspended, and for once, he found he was content not knowing an answer.

  The drive back to the house was silent, punctuated only by the sound of rubber on pavement.

  Braking to a stop in the driveway, he glanced over at Arielle, seeing her staring sightlessly out the windshield. The tender area beneath her eyes was still bruised. Sleepless nights, turbulent days and talking to Mona had all exacted a toll on Arielle’s emotions.

  His dictatorial ways hadn’t helped, either.

  He’d pushed and pushed, and she’d responded, rising to his every challenge, picking up and carrying on. But for most there came a point when nothing remained, when the adrenaline rush crashed to a stop. He’d seen it happen. Seen it happen? Hell, he’d gotten a T-shirt, he’d made the trip so many times.

  He knew how to handle the inevitable letdown. Arielle did not.

  And now, for her sake, Doug had to draw on his shallow reserve of patience, hoping against hope that the reserve didn’t dry up. She deserved more than she’d been getting from him.

  Doug shut off the engine and pulled out the key.

  “Since graduating from college, I’ve never had anyone tell me what to do,” she admitted. “I’m not good at it.”

  “Don’t need to be for much longer.” He shrugged. “I live a structured life, a by-product of my training, not my upbringing. I know I’m demanding as hell. I won’t apologize for being accustomed to giving orders and fully expecting them to be followed. The lives of others, yours and mine included, depend on it.”

  Expectancy pulsed in the vehicle’s cab. The scent of flowers mingled with leather and the coolness of a mountain v morning, seeped into the car. He turned in his seat, his knee brushing hers.

  Wide-eyed recognition took him by surprise, and it was an unpleasant one. His attraction to Kerry had led to disaster and devastation. A single serving of that combo plate was more than enough for his palate.

  “I’ll try to be better at taking orders,” she said, her voice low but powerful, affecting him like the slap of a wave against a moonlit bow.

  “And I’ll try to remember to discuss what I can with you ahead of time.”

  “Thank you.” She closed one hand around a paper bag and reached for the door handle with the other.

  He held a caveat among his cards, and had no choice but to lay it on the table. “But there may be times, Arielle, when you have to trust me.”

  She let go of the door handle. And when she looked at him, it was with that same steely determination that had led her to him in the first place. “Trust is a two-way street, Doug. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way, standing in
front of three dozen students. Trust isn’t given, it’s earned.”

  Her voice dropped an octave, demanding—and, more, holding—his attention as she finished. “Don’t ask anything from me that you’re not willing to give yourself.”

  He clenched his jaw. Trust? He could name, on two fingers, the people he trusted. All the others had let him down, betrayed the commodity he’d so reluctantly given. Trust again? Not in this lifetime.

  Without another word, she climbed from the vehicle, closing the door behind her, leaving him to carry the last bag. The one representing temptation.

  She offered temptation and demanded trust. How much worse could this assignment get? Looking heavenward, he offered a quick prayer that he wouldn’t find out.

  “Doug?”

  The quiet urgency in Arielle’s voice slammed into him. Instantly he dropped the bag and unholstered his pistol. Face pale, she pointed toward the alarm box.

  “When we left, wasn’t this little light blinking?”

  Chapter 9

  Arielle’s hands went moist. Doug motioned her to one side, and she moved willingly. His eyes met hers.

  “And to think I was ready for a cold one.”

  She gulped.

  “We talked about trust.”

  Her answer emerged without hesitation. “I do trust you.”

  He gave a quick smile that didn’t animate his face. Motions cool and controlled, he braced his legs apart, his nine-millimeter in his hand.

  When she indicated the light on the alarm, he’d dropped the bag and drawn his gun with smooth efficiency, a forceful reminder, again, of the differences between them. Her lingerie had spilled across the front walkway, an obscene spike of color against dull white concrete.

  Arielle looked around, not sure what she was searching for and hoping, hoping, that she didn’t see anything.

  Doug checked the alarm. “Back door has been opened. We’ll go in here.”

  “I could wait outside,” she said, fighting not to betray her cowardice.

  “My clients don’t get to play sitting duck. Chin up, An ielle.”

  She nodded, hoping her small measure of courage could compete with her unrestrained fear.