HER BODYGUARD

by Michelle Jerott

  "Crazy," he repeated.

  Sheriff Fitch glared at Matt. "Maybe none of this would've happened if you'd had the good sense to contact me."

  "Would you have believed me?" Matt asked. "A story like that?"

  God, he was tired. And he'd begun to shake … whether from loss of blood, or from the realization that he'd killed a man, he didn't know. He wanted to slide down the wall and sit on the ground, and above all else, he wanted to kick himself for underestimating Joey Mancuso.

  Damn, how could he have been so stupid?

  Fitch grunted a noncommittal response to Matt's question – answer enough – and turned as another two cars arrived, both state patrol cars. "Well, well … here comes the big man. I wonder what Mr. Graziano will have to say about this sudden reduction in his labor force."

  "I want to see him," Lili said quietly.

  As everyone turned to stare at her, Fitch said, "I don't think that'd be a good idea. You're a little emotional—"

  "Let her," Matt cut in, his gaze meeting Lili's. "We all need to face the monsters sometime."

  Understanding flashed between them before she looked away again.

  The sheriff sighed, then walked to the last car and opened its back door to reveal a handcuffed, elegant older man in a black overcoat, his silver hair carefully styled, his nose classically Roman. He stared straight ahead, his head at a regal angle, even as Lili walked forward.

  "Is this what you were looking for, Mr. Graziano?" she asked, dangling one of Rose's shoes from her finger.

  Anthony Graziano didn't respond. A man like him knew the game too well to show any emotion – yet Matt could've sworn the man twitched, as if he wanted to look.

  "The diamonds from your mother's necklace. That's what Joey Mancuso stole, wasn't it?" Lili asked, moving closer.

  Fitch followed, looking uneasy. "Don't get too close, ma'am."

  Instinctively, Matt tensed … though he didn't think he'd be much use in a crisis right now.

  "Did it ever occur to you, Mr. Graziano, to just give me a call," she said, her voice tight with anger. "And make me an offer I couldn't refuse? That's what people like you do, right?"

  At last, Graziano turned to Lili, his face expressionless – but his gaze shifted to the shoe only inches from him. Mere inches.

  "You bastard," she spat, and hurled the shoe at him before the sheriff could stop her. The heel hit Graziano on the cheek, drawing blood.

  "Whoa, hold on," Fitch snapped, and dragged Lili away.

  For an instant nobody stood between Matt and Graziano, and their eyes clashed and locked across the short distance. Then Tony Graziano looked forward again, chin raised, ignoring the blood trickling down his cheek, and one of the troopers shut the door.

  Nausea hit again, and the ground heaved.

  "I'd like to sit down on the porch steps," Matt said abruptly.

  Fitch looked at him sharply, then nodded.

  Matt turned away from Monica, from the gathered lawmen and lodge guests, away from the disturbing scene behind him. Again, he caught Lili's gaze, and considered veering toward her and taking her in his arms – until he remembered how she'd recoiled from him, with that look of revulsion on her face.

  He made his way to the steps and sat carefully. The gauze beneath his hand felt wet and warm.

  Exhaustion rolled over him, a dark, suffocating wave. He lowered his head to his knees, eyes closed, struggling to block out the images flashing across his mind: Lili's horror, the big gunman's final gasp for air, and Joey Mancuso, dying in almost the exact spot where he'd been gunned down seventy years before.

  Oh, God, he'd killed a man. He hadn't had time to even think about it; he'd just rolled and started firing, as he'd been trained to do – but targets didn't have eyes that lost light as life faded away, or fight for every last breath.

  Joey Mancuso's angry words echoed in his mind: You rose above what? Look at yourself with your gun, breaking the law, hiding out…

  Add killing to that.

  No wonder Lili had turned away from him. He couldn't blame her, and maybe it was for the best. He'd known it would be like this in the end; that she'd see he wasn't the kind of man she should love. He'd tried to tell her, but she hadn't listened to his words.

  This she couldn't reason away.

  In the distance, he heard the airy wail of another siren. The ambulance, he hoped. He didn't look up, but he was aware of the exact moment Lili sat beside him on the step. Her scent, the vital feel of her charging the air around him … his body knew, without having to see.

  "Matt, are you all right?" She sat close enough that he could feel the heat of her body – but she didn't touch him.

  "Yes," he said automatically. Then, squeezing his eyes tighter against the pain, he whispered, "No … no, I'm not."

  Twenty-Three

  Sometimes silence could be louder than a city teeming with people – and what lay between her and Matt, as she followed him up the steps of his Lincoln Park townhouse, was one of those heavy, troubled silences that drowned out everything else but inner thoughts.

  Spending the night at his townhouse, rather than going to a hotel, had seemed like a good idea at the time. Her flight out of O'Hare tomorrow was early, and she'd agreed to his suggestion because she didn't want to face crowds of people with her split lip and bruised cheek, and this new, embarrassing tendency to go weepy without warning.

  Though she understood that her hyper-emotional state was a normal reaction to trauma, it didn't ease her embarrassment when she suddenly found tears streaming down her face in a restaurant, at a gas station, or in a supermarket. Facing a room of students right now might've been less stressful than spending her last night with this man.

  "Come on in," he said quietly as he turned on the light and stood aside.

  Wordlessly she walked past him, careful of his wounded arm in its sling, and into the foyer. He followed, and punched in the security code that deactivated the alarm.

  The house had high ceilings, wood floors polished to a high gloss, lots of airy white wall space, vintage detailing in the plaster cornices, and carved window frames and doorjambs.

  "It's lovely," she murmured.

  "I hired someone to decorate it for me. It's not something I'm real interested in, but I wanted the place to look good."

  "Well, I'd say you got your money's worth."

  It looked "good," but where were the messes? The dirty socks and discarded clothing lying about, the piles of newspapers or junk mail catalogs, or any of the usual clutter of life? The place looked like something out of a decorating magazine, a showplace, but strangely … sterile.

  "Monica said your luggage from the Drake is coming over later by taxi." He stood as if he didn't know quite what to do, as if having a guest in his home was something new and unusual for him.

  Maybe it was. Bodyguards likely didn't have a lot of spare time to throw barbecues or Monday night football parties.

  "It was nice of her to take care of that for me," she said, because she had to say something.

  How incredibly awkward. Considering the physical and emotional intimacies they had shared in the past few weeks, and what they'd been through, the simple act of communicating shouldn't be so difficult.

  Had they nothing to say to each other anymore? She could almost hear the walls coming down with a solid finality.

  Matt cleared his throat. "Come on. I'll show you to the bedrooms. You can pick which one you want."

  Bedrooms – plural. For the one man who lived here maybe a couple of weeks a month, when business was slow.

  Pushing away her pervasive sense of sadness, Lili forced herself to smile and said, "Lead on."

  He showed her two bedrooms, both of them perfectly decorated, but it was the one he didn't show her – his own – that intrigued her most. She left him in mid-speech about an attached bathroom and wandered down the hall to his room.

  After a moment, he came after her. As she'd expected.

  This room, at least, h
ad a personality. Still light and airy, it felt lived in; and carried his scent. Books and magazines lay stacked on the end table, a pair of shoes sat on the floor by the bed, a jelly jar full of pocket change was on the dresser along with a bottle of cologne, and a leather bomber jacket was draped over a side chair.

  He had framed Art Deco prints on his walls, one of a sleek bullet-nosed train above the bed – she tried not to look at the bed. She saw a framed photo of a sailboat with a smiling man on deck: Matt, in swim trunks and sunglasses, his dark hair wind-ruffled.

  "Is this your boat?" she asked, walking to the picture. He looked so happy and carefree – much as he had in those precious few days they'd had together at the honeymoon cabin.

  Since the shooting at Big Moccasin Lake Lodge, though, the shadows had returned to his eyes.

  "Yes," he said, coming up behind her. So close … she could feel the heat of his body and she fought the need to lean back, to be enveloped once more in his warm, comfortable strength.

  Lili nodded and turned, briefly catching his gaze – dark, shuttered, the lids half-lowered. A number of other framed photos were arranged on his dresser, and she walked past him to examine them, still very aware of Matt watching her.

  She recognized Manny, and a couple of photos showed Matt with Monica Espinosa in obviously more cozy days. Amazingly, the jealousy stirred, and she didn't know if that made her happy or sad.

  She headed again for the bed – plain Mission-style slatted foot- and headboards, covered with a masculine-looking navy duvet with burgundy corded edges. He must've reined in the designer a bit here. No frills, just simplicity in tones of blue, with an understated male elegance.

  Sitting on the bed, she said, "I like this room. It's comfortable. Very you."

  Matt rubbed the back of his neck. "You can stay in here if you want. I can sleep in one of the guestrooms."

  "Matt. Look at me." When he did with obvious reluctance, she added, "Why can't we both stay here? I don't want to be alone tonight."

  He let out his breath, and leaned back against the wall. He wore jeans and a red T-shirt, and looked vivid and vital against the white paint. "It'd be a bad idea."

  "Why?" she asked bluntly. "Because I'm leaving tomorrow, and sleeping with me one last time would compromise your morals?"

  "Assuming I have any morals left to compromise." Something in his voice raised the hair on her arms.

  "Joey had his own agenda, and a skewed outlook on what was right and wrong," Lili said softly. "You're not like him."

  He dropped his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes. "All I ever wanted was to be one of the good guys, Lili," he said in a low voice. "And to keep people safe from the kind of shit I grew up with."

  For a long moment she didn't answer, not trusting herself to do so without betraying the tears just below the surface of her calm. She wanted to go to him, and hold him – just hold him – but she didn't move from the bed.

  A sudden tightness came over his face, and he opened his eyes, meeting hers with piercing intensity. "In some ways, Mancuso was right. Maybe my clients don't kill cops or rob banks, but a lot of them didn't get to the top of a major corporation by being nice guys. I know what they do sometimes skirts the fine edge of the law."

  "What are you trying to say, Matt?"

  "I don't know," he admitted. "All I know is that I'm feeling like I shouldn't be around anybody right now. Not even you."

  A chill stole over her. "It's a lot easier to feel sorry for yourself that way, isn't it? Being alone and pushing people away?"

  A muscle in his jaw flexed. "I fucked up, Lili."

  "So excuse you for being human. Even a master gets checkmated from time to time. How could you know he'd set us up?" When he didn't answer, she said, "He did set us up, right?"

  "Maybe he did; maybe he took a gun because he had a bad feeling. Unless Tony Graziano talks, we'll never know for sure." He paused. "But Mancuso died trying to protect you. While I just stood there, not doing a damn thing to save our asses."

  "He shot that man in the back." She looked away, trying to hold back the memory. "I still don't know how I feel about what he did."

  Matt said nothing, but there wasn't much to say. Not a born sociopath, molded by a series of poor choices and a hardscrabble existence, Joey Mancuso defied comfortable, tidy labels.

  "Why didn't you want to tell anybody who he really was?" Surrounded by other people until just a few hours ago, she hadn't had a chance to ask before now.

  "What good would it do? It wouldn't change anything, only hurt some people who don't deserve more hurting. Conroy's family doesn't need to know they were conned, and Mancuso's stepdaughters don't need grief like this coming out of the blue."

  "I suppose that's true. And part of me is glad Joey and Rose will be together again." Lili looked up and saw the blank look on his face. "I know … me and my romantic streak."

  "I wasn't—" He cut himself off with a sigh. "I'm glad you didn't lose that part of you, is all. Even after what I put you through."

  Lili pushed herself up from the bed, and as she walked toward him, a look of unease crossed his face.

  "I don't have any regrets, Matt." She looked him in the eye. "Except one, and it's nothing I can change, it seems."

  Again, a muscle in his jaw clenched. "Don't stand so close to me, Lili."

  "Why?" she asked softly, aware of a sudden, burning anger. "Am I turning you on, and you don't like it? Or do you think you're not good enough for me, tainted or dirty, and trying to be all noble about it?"

  Irritation, mixed with indecision, sparked in his eyes, and she noted it with a dark satisfaction.

  "You know, I thought we already went down that road, about you saving me from myself." She moved even closer, brushing against him – and close enough to feel his arousal.

  "Lili, stop. This isn't going to do either of us any good."

  He started to move away, but she grabbed his shirt in her fists and pushed him back against the wall, making his eyes widen in surprise before narrowing.

  "Maybe," she murmured. "But I'm not getting on that plane tomorrow without first making damn sure you know what you're walking away from."

  "A good fuck?"

  If she hadn't expected something like this from him – and understood why – she might've been shocked, angered, or hurt. Instead, she smiled.

  "Yeah, I am a pretty good fuck," she said, watching his mouth thin and his nostrils flare slightly. "Nice try, Matt, but you're forgetting I've been inside your skin, your head … I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work."

  She released one hand from his shirt and slid it leisurely down his chest, feeling his belly clench, then down to his groin. His erection was hard beneath her stroking fingers.

  "Mmmm," she purred. "I think the laddie doth protest too much."

  He stood stone still, staring down at her from below lowered lids, his dark, thick lashes curled against flushed cheeks that were a dead giveaway.

  She released his shirt with her other hand and yanked it from the waistband of his jeans.

  "Dammit, Lili," he muttered, his voice thick.

  Their gazes clashed – and Lili leaned into his tensed body and kissed him. Hard, aggressive; her anger and grief and love for him in every stroke of her tongue along his, as if she could will him to feel it. He made a sound at the back of his throat, raising the hand of his uninjured arm. Out of the corner of her eye she saw his hand hover for a split second, and then he cupped her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.

  He kissed her back, his breathing rough, releasing his pent-up emotions in that kiss, in his press of his hips against hers. Moving his hand downward to the small of her back, he pulled her hard against him.

  It was all she needed. With one hand up his T-shirt, stroking his chest, she worked at his belt buckle, his zipper.

  Matt suddenly pushed her away, his chest heaving, jaw set. With a low curse, he ripped off his sling, then grabbed her by the front of her shirt and
yanked her back against him, roughly fumbling with the buttons until he had the shirt off and his hands inside her bra, squeezing her breasts.

  "Yes," she whispered, and their eyes met for a moment before Matt pulled her leggings and underwear down.

  A moment later he had her against the wall, his jeans down, her legs around his waist, and he thrust hard into her, holding her between the smooth wall and his heated body. She could feel the tremors in his muscles under her clutching hands, from the force of his holding back – and need tore through her, making her gasp.

  The feel of his hands on her, his breath on her neck, the eroticism of being against a wall with Matt deep inside her, moving with a merciless intensity, overwhelmed her in a haze of pleasure and she came almost at once. The aching impact of release stretched and elongated, swelling outward, and then dissolved on a shiver as she cried out sharply, curling against him.

  Matt followed within seconds, head back, tendons straining, a low groan squeezed from his throat, his fingers digging into her bottom. Spent, he slumped against her, the heated dampness of his perspiration-sheened skin filling her senses.

  Slowly, Lili dragged in a breath, and only then realized that in her anger and muddled feelings, she'd given him no time to put on a condom. She felt a moment of panic until she remembered she was due to start her period in a couple days. She was in the clear, but that had still been an incredibly stupid, risky thing to forget.

  Had he even noticed?

  At that moment, Matt raised his head. His eyes were scant inches away; his face so close she could see the striations of color in his pupils – the sudden regret and remorse that filled them.

  Yet he didn't pull out of her.

  "Stay with me, Matt," she murmured. "No one will ever love you like I do. That wasn't just fucking, and you know it."

  She saw the answer in his eyes, but she tried one last time.

  "Find another job. If you won't take the chance, then you're not the man I thought you were."

  "That's the trouble, Lili," he said, his voice raw. "I never was that man to begin with. I tried to tell you all along, but you wouldn't listen."