HER BODYGUARD

by Michelle Jerott

  A chill stole over her, even as she was grateful for his honesty. "Do you have any ideas where? Or how?"

  "I assume every opportunity provided is one he'll take, and my job is to eliminate those opportunities as best I can. Or, when I can't eliminate them, to control the parameters."

  She sensed resistance, as if he wasn't telling her everything, but dropped the subject, uncertain she wanted to know, anyway. She wandered the room for a few minutes longer, watching him work, then stopped.

  "I should probably go over my notes again for tomorrow's lecture. To make sure everything's there."

  "What will you be talking about?" Matt looked up. "You're not going to stand on any more tables, are you?"

  He'd mentioned this a couple of times. For some reason, it had made quite an impression on him.

  "No, no standing on tables. I'm talking about my historical collection, with a special emphasis on Rose McIntyre's shoes."

  She pulled her briefcase from under the love seat, and sat next to Matt. "Do you mind sharing the table with me?"

  "It's your suite, not mine." He slid as far from her as possible, taking his piles of paper with him. She didn't miss the faint flush on his high cheekbones.

  A twinge of guilt pricked her for what she was doing. She could've easily sat elsewhere, but couldn't help pushing him a little. Feeling him out, seeing if she could rouse that spark of awareness between them – seeing if it was real, not just wishful thinking.

  For a few minutes she worked in silence beside him, trying to concentrate on her notes even as she soaked in the heat of his body, watching the play of his muscles beneath the shirt as he moved, and how the white cotton pulled against its seams. His scent surrounded her: the smoky scent from the bar clung to him faintly, and beneath it, his woodsy cologne and a hint of male sweat.

  A heady combination. She wanted to lean closer, and sniff at the skin of his throat, exposed where he'd unfastened the top button and loosened his tie.

  She swallowed, and peered down at her notes. Eventually, the words focused. "Did you know she was only seventeen when they met?"

  Matt looked up, puzzled. "What?"

  "Rose was only seventeen when she met Joey Mancuso." When he said nothing, she added, "I suppose a young girl like her would've been impressed by Joey. He was good-looking, in that smoldering Italian way, and he'd already been in prison twice, even though he was just twenty-one."

  "Too bad her mother wasn't smart enough to lock her away," Matt said.

  He returned his attention to the expense report he was filling out, but not before Lili noticed how his gaze snagged on her robe, which had fallen open to reveal the length of her leg and a glimpse of her blue satin nightshirt.

  As casually as possible, she pulled the ends of her robe back together. "Mama McIntyre ran a brothel for Mike Riley, Joey's onetime boss, so I don't think she cared one way or another about what happened to her daughter," she said, surprising herself with the calmness of her voice.

  At that, Matt looked up, his pupils dark and wide in the low light. For a moment his face softened, and then he dropped his gaze again.

  Intrigued by what she could've sworn was a flash of compassion, Lili added, "Poor Rose was probably looking for a way out. Joey must have seemed like the answer to her prayers."

  "Some answer. He got her killed."

  "I think he loved her." Lili sat back, glancing down at her scrawled notes. "He had a few redeeming qualities."

  "Joey Mancuso killed people. It wasn't like they were a couple of nice kids who got a little confused about the difference between right and wrong."

  The vehement tone of his voice surprised her – and also a bitterness she didn't understand. And while Lili recognized the truth in his words, she couldn't help feeling protective of Rose.

  "She was just a kid, so maybe you can understand the excitement part. At some point in our lives, we all look for a little excitement."

  "Not from guys like Joey. Not if you're smart."

  Lili sat back, brows drawn together in a thoughtful frown. "Maybe even killers and losers can fall in love."

  Matt grunted, and turned back to his paperwork.

  She tried another tack to get his attention. "Al Capone's vault and John Dillinger's missing millions are urban legends, but Joey really did make off with a small fortune in bootlegger profits. He was gunned down before he could tell anybody where he'd hidden that bag full of money, and nobody's ever found it."

  "Sounds like you've been studying up," he said, but his tone was flat, neutral – uninterested. And he'd eased another few inches away, slowly, as if to prevent her from noticing.

  That, combined with the suspicion he was only humoring her, kept her from pursuing the subject. She wanted to, though. Joey and Rose's story fascinated her.

  She'd read what books she could find on her gangster lovers, although Joey and Rose weren't as famous as other Depression-era desperadoes. Joey hadn't achieved the notoriety of John Dillinger or Clyde Barrow, and he'd died a year before J. Edgar Hoover declared war on gangsters and bank robbers. Had Joey the Joker gone down at the hands of lawmen and, more specifically, Mr. Hoover's bureau agents, he'd probably have earned a little more fame.

  Still, she'd found enough information for her needs, and a helpful woman at the Chicago Historical Society had filled her in on a few colorful anecdotes and facts that she'd use to spice up the lecture. Some of those anecdotes and facts were downright ironic.

  "What are you smiling about?"

  Matt's question cut across her thoughts, and Lili looked at him. God, he was sitting so close. She really should get up and move to a safer distance – but doing so would only draw attention to this tension between them. Better to stay put and pretend nothing was wrong.

  "I wouldn't want to bore you to death or anything," she said.

  One corner of his mouth tipped up in a smile. His gaze flicked down toward her robe, which had fallen open again, then back up to her face. This time, she didn't pull the robe closed.

  Let him look. It's what she wanted, really.

  "Okay," he said at length. "I'll bite. What's so funny?"

  "Not funny," she corrected with annoyance, thinking he was altogether too sure of himself. "Only kind of strange."

  He arched a brow, waiting.

  "Did you know Joey's partner is still alive?"

  "I didn't even know he had one."

  He was humoring her, but trying to be polite about it – and Lili found herself wondering if Matt Hawkins ever let go of that deliberate wariness.

  "Well, he did have one, so now you know. Willis Conroy is his name, and he must be nearly a hundred or something by now. He lives in a nursing home in northern Wisconsin."

  Matt's smile widened. "Even bad-ass gangsters gotta get old someday."

  She frowned at him, then continued, "Conroy's father and uncle spent a few years making a quick buck off tourists by showing off the murder site. People still drop by to check out the bullet holes in the walls. Anyway, some Conroy girl fell in love with a local boy and they built a resort next door to where Uncle Willis's pals went out in a blaze of glory. You have to wonder what Conroy thought about that."

  "Probably sorry he was in prison and not getting a cut from a bunch of gullible tourists. How many of those bullet holes were faked?"

  Lili crossed her legs and started jiggling her foot, which immediately drew his attention to her partially revealed legs.

  Yesiree, never underestimate the power of imagination.

  "A lot, I'm sure," Lili admitted when he looked back up. She smiled at the faint frown on his face. He wasn't so cool after all. "But stop ruining my fun. You know, you're much too serious."

  His frown dissolved into an almost comical expression of surprise.

  "Oh, don't give me that look. I'm sure you kick back and relax sometimes, so tell me, when Matt Hawkins goes out for a good time, what does he do?"

  Matt tossed his pen on the table and sat back, turned slightly toward her,
one arm resting along the love seat's back. His leg brushed hers and she went still, heat flooding her.

  All right. So she wasn't as cool as she pretended, either.

  "He grabs a beer from the fridge, sits in a chair, and turns on the TV."

  "Doesn't the poor man ever get out to have a little fun?"

  "He sometimes goes to the bar with friends, sails on the lake in his sailboat, plays softball, or takes in a movie. Basically, Matt Hawkins lives a pretty dull life when he's not out playing secret agent man."

  "I like a guy with a sense of humor, especially the self-deprecating variety."

  A smile tugged at his lips. "And I like a lady who can throw around big words."

  Lili grinned. Was he flirting back? Even a little? "I bet you're a lot of fun when you're not working."

  The half-formed smile froze. "I work most of the time. There's always enough business around to keep me busy."

  Then again, maybe it wasn't flirtation. Maybe he was just trying to be nice. Disappointment washed over her.

  He hadn't looked away, and in the low light of the room, his face seemed darker, harsher – and Pippa's warning suddenly came to mind, which in turn reminded her of something else.

  "The fund-raiser I'm going to Saturday night is a costume party."

  "I know." He looked a little startled by the change of subject. After a moment, he prompted, "And?"

  "And if you're going to be there with me, I want you to dress up."

  "All right."

  "I don't want you acting like a bodyguard. There'll be lots of important people there, people I want to impress. Could you just pretend to be my date?"

  He regarded her for a moment. "If that's what you want. You're the boss."

  Lili nearly rolled her eyes. Yeah, right.

  "That way I won't have to answer a bunch of awkward questions." When he nodded, she added, "I'll take care of getting you a costume. It shouldn't be a problem; I know exactly what I want."

  "I'm almost afraid to ask."

  She laughed at the sudden wariness in his eyes. "I'm wearing a twenties flapper dress, and Rose's shoes—"

  "Why?" he interrupted.

  She blinked. "Because wearing the shoes of a notorious gun moll will get me a lot of attention, and in my line of work, attention is very important."

  Not to mention they were gorgeous, and she was dying to wear them – even if they didn't fit very well and her feet would hurt by the end of the night.

  "Anyway, I think it would be funny if you go as yourself … as hired muscle, sweetheart," she said, in her best Humphrey Bogart voice, pronouncing every "S" as sh. "Pin-striped gangster suit, fedora, wing tip shoes … a carnation in your pocket. Whaddya say, pal?"

  Matt's smile faded, and he went very still. Dismayed, Lili realized she'd angered him, but didn't know why. The silence stretched on as she waited, certain he would refuse, but then he shrugged.

  "Whatever you want goes. It doesn't matter to me."

  Still uncertain of his mood, and hoping to recapture their previous warmth, she smiled and said, "And you know how to dance, right?"

  "I can waltz and foxtrot, and I know a few other ballroom dance steps." He leaned over the coffee table again, and picked up his pen. A dismissive gesture, a cue telling her he needed to get back to work. "In bodyguard school, ballroom dancing is an elective."

  Lili eyed him suspiciously, but his expression was impossible to read. "I don't believe you."

  "It's true." His lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile, but wouldn't let himself. "As a matter of fact, I'm pretty good at dancing."

  "So prove it."

  "Lili—"

  "Keep your client happy," she chanted. "The customer is always right. A satisfied customer is a—"

  "All right, all right," he interrupted in exasperation, and pushed to his feet. "I get the message."

  Matt moved to the middle of the room, his eyes dark, jaw shadowed by beard stubble, and his shirt unbuttoned to reveal curling black hair at the opening. He was still wearing the shoulder holster, gun in place.

  He crooked a finger at her. "Come here."

  At his quiet order, a little shiver overtook her – along with a sense of recklessness. Lili stood, meeting the challenge in his eyes, even as an inner voice warned: Be careful … think, think!

  "Okay," she said, chin raised, as she moved to within inches of him. "Impress me."

  "Closed position, or promenade?"

  Lili slowly smiled. "I've been had."

  "Never bluff with a bodyguard – you'll lose every time."

  She made a disagreeable noise, then said, "Closed position. Despite the way I carry on at times, I do appreciate the traditional."

  As he drew her close, he laughed, a low, easy sound that sent goose bumps rippling over her. He slid his right arm around her left arm, fingers resting just under her shoulder blade, and elbow at a crisp ninety-degree angle.

  Lili laid her arm against his, her hand holding on to the firm muscles of his shoulder. His warmth enveloped her, and when he took her right hand in his left, her breath caught briefly.

  His form was absolutely perfect. Of course, he was absolutely perfect.

  No more than six inches separated them, and Lili raised her lashes and met his gaze … watchful, intent. Unnerving.

  "We don't have any music," she said, a wistful note in her voice.

  "Who needs it?" Matt leaned forward slightly, and as she instinctively took a step back he murmured, "Boom-tick-tick … boom-tick-tick and lean."

  Lili laughed, moving gracefully with him through the basic box step, following the subtle, guiding pressure of his fingers against her back. "Boom-tick-tick?"

  "Hey, it's easy to remember."

  As he spoke, his breath stirred the hair over her ear, and it was all she could do not to shiver again. Against the soft satin of her nightshirt, her nipples tightened with an almost painful ache of need. She was suddenly very aware she wore next to nothing beneath her robe – the only thing keeping her decent was the knot in the belt-and that he was fully dressed.

  And packing. The shoulder holster – or "rig," as she'd heard him refer to it – bumped against her, and she was on eye-level with the strap. Well worn and dark brown, it smelled of oiled leather, and there was something decidedly unnerving about waltzing with a man wearing a gun.

  Under her fingers, she could feel the play of his muscles as he moved, and his hand was warm, strong. She loved the scent of him tonight, the lingering cologne, the faint tang of perspiration, even the smoky tobacco scent she'd hated on herself. It smelled so male and earthy, arousing, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly as she fought back an urge to press closer against him, run her fingers down his back, then up into his short dark hair, and drag his head down for a long, hot kiss.

  Oh, boy. Too bad she was sober now; she couldn't blame these crazy thoughts on martinis. Maybe Pippa was right, and this attraction was nothing more than the fact he was off-limits to her and she damn well knew it.

  Yet she didn't put a stop to it. Instead, she joined her voice with his in a singsong "boom-tick-tick" rhythm that carried them around the parlor, until she could no longer resist temptation and tightened her fingers over his arms. At once his muscles tensed, and his smooth steps faltered. She shifted, meeting his eyes.

  Hardly aware of what she was doing, Lili slowed, not looking away. Her mouth was a few inches from his, and a single thought pounded away inside her: Kiss me. Kiss me, kiss me…

  "Matt," she said softly.

  He stopped, but didn't release her. "What?" he asked, his voice low, a shade cautious.

  Her heart pounded, blood roaring in her ears. She opened her mouth, to ask him for what she wanted, but a sudden flatness closed his face to her, bringing her quickly back to her senses.

  "Nothing," she said, sighing. "I'm just having another one of those leap-before-thinking moments."

  As if nothing had happened, she moved toward him – intending to pick up on the
ir dancing – only to run against his hand.

  Slowly, gently, with just enough force to make his point, he pushed her away.

  "I think you'd better go to bed, Lili." As he spoke, he turned from her and walked stiffly to the nearest wing chair. He sat and leaned over, hands held loosely between his knees, still looking over at her.

  His face was unreadable, yet she sensed a sudden hostility, and tension … a tension shot through with desire, all achy and hot and demanding.

  She nodded, looking away, feeling a blush creep along her cheeks. As she walked toward the bedroom area, she realized her hands were shaking.

  At the divider, she hesitated, then turned, observing the rigid line of his back, the pull of his shirt against his shoulders, and how the fabric bunched beneath the X-shaped back piece of the holster.

  She read the anger in the deliberate posture of avoidance, but realized the anger wasn't directed at her as much as at himself.

  On a rush of guilt, understanding dawned: He was furious with himself because she'd broken through that oh-so-important professionalism of his. She hadn't thought what her flirting might mean to him, not this way.

  "Matt, I—"

  "Just go to bed," he interrupted, roughly.

  She let out her breath in a soft sigh. "I was only going to say good night."

  At that, he turned. Their eyes met – and that angry, edgy hunger stretched between them, taut and vibrating. His gaze moved lower, before locking on her face again. Beneath his piercing stare, physical as a touch, she fought the urge to pull together the lapels of her robe.

  "Good night, Lili," he said at length, his voice low. "Sweet dreams."

  Seven

  Another long, lousy night on the love seat, catching a total of maybe three hours of sleep. Another night of tossing and turning, thinking about the woman only a few feet away, sleeping alone, her sheets whispering and bed groaning as she shifted restlessly. And him thinking of all the ways he could help tire her out enough to sleep.

  Matt stood at the suite window, staring out at the lake, jingling the change in his pockets – and stopped abruptly, cursing under his breath, once he realized what he was doing.