by Debra Webb
The task done, she searched for another distraction. Anything to keep from staring at the perfectly good bed in the room. She’d done love scenes, on the soap and in movies. Giving viewers the gasps, grasps, and glimpses they wanted meant leaving modesty in the dust. Despite sheets and modesty panels, exposure was part of the process on a set.
When hunky men were slated for love scenes, it seemed like every woman involved with a studio created a reason to slip into the closed set. It made her unreasonably jealous thinking of Mike being ogled—especially considering he wasn’t an actor and they weren’t a couple.
What was wrong with her brain tonight? “I’m being ridiculous,” she muttered, pushing to her feet. On instinct she moved to the window and caught herself just before she opened the curtains. They couldn’t take a chance that someone had followed them and might be watching.
“Restless?” Mike asked, his deep voice drifting across her senses.
“You have no idea,” she replied, refusing to turn around.
“You might be surprised,” he said. “Come sit down, Lauren.”
She closed her eyes. There wasn’t much choice. It was either stare at the curtains, counting the swoops and flowers in the fabric, or be a grown up and deal with the situation. She was an accomplished actress surely she could pull off being indifferent rather than insanely attracted to the man hired to protect her.
With a polite smile, she turned and her mouth went dry as she enjoyed the view. He lounged in the upholstered chair on the far side of the room, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle. Dressed in faded jeans and a black t-shirt, his feet still bare, and his damp hair pushed back from his face, he mesmerized her.
“I won’t deny there’s something between us,” he said. “Under different circumstances, I might make a move.” His brow lined in concern. “You should sit down.”
On automatic pilot, she obeyed the softly uttered order, sinking into the desk chair, clasping her hands in her lap. Where had she left the menu fan when she needed it all over again? She should be mad as hell at his blatant comments.
“What you’re feeling is common.”
She bristled, annoyed with what felt like another loop through the cycle that started with her father-knows-everything upbringing. “What do you think I’m feeling?”
“You told me you did the research for your role as Dr. Loveless.”
She nodded, more curious than she should be about where he was headed with this conversation.
“Did you get to the psych chapter on sex being a primal response to adrenaline, death, and loss?”
“Are you suggesting we sleep together so I’ll feel better?” She was remarkably okay with the idea.
“No.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his widespread knees, a wicked gleam in his deep blue eyes. “I’m suggesting the urge to jump me is natural.”
“That’s some academy-award winning arrogance, Mike.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t dwell on it or stress about it,” he continued. “I’m convenient and—”
She tipped her head back and laughed. “You’re nothing close to convenient. I can’t argue the attraction is there. Good Lord, you’re gorgeous and built like Adonis. You’ve got the preserve and protect routine down to a science. I’m sure it would be a memorable experience.” She aimed a glance toward the bed. “But you’re right, I can’t dwell on that. More importantly, I won’t use you as a distraction from my bigger problems.” This conversation had just made saying those words a whole lot easier.
He leaned back, studying her with a deep frown. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Did I hurt your feelings?” She’d called him Adonis for heaven’s sake. That kind of compliment should soothe any man’s ego. He had a mirror, and she was well aware how much effort went into maintaining that kind of physique.
He rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”
“But there’s something else you wanted to say.”
“No.” His gaze skated over her body. “How long until the food gets here?”
She prayed one day a man would look at her with that quiet intensity and stick around long enough to convince her to take the leap. And it would take convincing because she just didn’t trust her ability to make smart decisions when it came to men anymore. Desmond, may he rest in peace, had ruined that for her. Checking the clock near the bed, she shrugged. “Soon I hope.”
Her stomach growled and they both smiled a little. A change of subject was in order and quickly. She wanted to talk about Vanya, but their visit to the club was too charged with that chemistry and attraction he spoke so clinically about. She’d never go clubbing again, not even out for drinks, without thinking of him. “Have you ever thought of stunt work?”
“No.” He sat up a little. “That’s not exactly true. When I first came home a friend got me a gig consulting on an action movie with a military plot.”
That raised a tide of questions, but she clamped her mouth shut and waited for him to tell it his way.
“The pay was good and the hours weren’t bad, but it just wasn’t my thing.”
Her curiosity piqued, she endured another delay hiding in the bathroom while he paid for the food. For a few minutes they dug into fried rice, noodles, and spicy chicken.
While she loaded his paper plate with a second helping, she prompted, “Tell me the rest about when you first came home to Cali.”
“You’ll be offended.”
She called him on the evasion. “Lame excuse. Keep going.”
“Leaving the Navy abruptly, unexpectedly, I wasn’t good at trusting people. The schedule on the set was fine, the work itself was fine, but the social aspect was too much.”
She knew what he was trying not to say. “The actresses fell all over you, didn’t they?”
“Maybe.”
She circled her plastic fork in the air. “The face and eyes are enough, but with the body and being the new guy in town, that’s an irresistible combination in Hollywood.”
“Voice of experience?”
She bobbed her chin. “There are days this place feels like little more than a civilized freak show for beautiful people. You do know that guys have work done to look like you.”
“Is that another compliment?”
“Probably.” Definitely. She didn’t plan on giving him anymore. For all she knew giving him three compliments in a row would erode the remnants of her self-control. Silly yes, but she wasn’t ruling it out. “Tell your story.”
“I wasn’t a fool,” he declared, setting his plate down and taking a long drink from his bottled water. “This kind of talk should come with a beer.”
“Then you should’ve shared last night,” she said. “Quit stalling and just tell me who you slept with.”
“None of them.” His voice flat, he scowled at a point on the wall behind her. “I couldn’t tell who was real and who was fake.”
It wouldn’t have been a concern for most men. Wasn’t, she corrected herself. Men or women, most wouldn’t care about real or fake if it meant spending private time with a man like Mike. The admission only confirmed her opinion about his integrity and good character, though it seemed to drag him into a pit full of bad memories. She wanted to touch, and soothe, to tell him whatever happened didn’t matter. She wanted to make them both forget for just a little while, but that felt cheap and false. She wouldn’t do that to either of them.
“In the Navy, I trusted other men with my life. Men who’d step in front of a bullet to save a friend or the operation without a second thought. Men who never left a man behind.” He picked up a wrapped fortune cookie and just turned it around and around in his hands. “Knowing real from fake was part of the job. We learned when people were lying, knew how to distinguish the truth with or without supporting intel.”
She held her breath, afraid any sound or movement would interrupt him.
“My team had bad intel on my last operation. I can’t go into all the details, bu
t we handled it. Rescued fifteen young girls and their teacher from their abductors. But someone had to be the scapegoat when things went crazy and all too political.”
“You volunteered.” It was so clear to her, the resignation and grief stamped on his face. He’d stepped in front of a problem as lethal as a bullet to cover a friend.
He nodded absently. “None of us did anything wrong but by the time we got there, a few victims had been, well, turned is the best word. We encountered unexpected resistance. Like I said, we handled it,” he repeated, his gaze haunted. “As a team. But after the fact, our actions got the wrong attention. When the team comes back without a scratch, but the hostages have injuries not sustained from the bad guys, someone has to take the blame for the perceived mistakes made in the heat of the rescue. I was single with no one else counting on my paycheck or benefits so I stepped up. Deep down I didn’t really expect to be booted from the SEAL program.” When he lifted his head and met her gaze his eyes were clear again. “When my tour was up, I came home and started over, but I didn’t like not knowing who to trust. It bothered me that I’d lost that skill.”
“You didn’t lose that skill,” she stated firmly. “You were a successful bounty hunter.”
“I caught the killer, but I damn well misjudged the sheriff and his need to pretend it was a one-man operation—his. Even that wasn’t enough for him. He tried his level best to make anything that had gone wrong look as if it were my fault.” He picked up his plate and carried it to the trashcan.
She didn’t know what to say, didn’t have the expertise to offer him comfort he wouldn’t brush off. “How’d you find the Guardian Agency?”
“They found me right after the Angeles Forest press conference.”
The same press conference she recalled so vividly. “You trust them.” It made her sad that he’d done good things, noble things, and still carried around these burdens from his past.
“It’s good work. The money always comes through. Claudia always answers the call for assistance.” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Besides, I didn’t have anything more to lose. It felt like I was too far gone down the wrong path.”
“That’s a scary place.” She thought she’d hit that low with her father until she became a person of interest in a murder case with the real killers after her in addition to the police. The nonsense she’d gone through with her father might have been equally hurtful, but it hadn’t posed the same risk to her entire existence. Sitting here at an all time new low, she abruptly understood there was far more to lose.
Her steady work, sure, but that felt trivial in comparison to what the women who might be trapped at that school had to lose. What in the world did you do, Desmond?
And Mike... she needed his help without a doubt. If her situation spilled over and hurt him, she’d never shake that burden. A good friend or psychologist would probably tell her she was taking on too much, too much that wasn’t her responsibility. Too bad. She wouldn’t stop until those women were safe.
“I bummed you out,” Mike said, watching her closely.
“No.” She managed to force her lips into a smile. “How could your story do anything but inspire me?” Rising from the desk chair, she crossed the room. Keeping her eyes on his, she reached up and laid her hands on his cheeks, the stubble of his trim whiskers rasping against her palms. He didn’t resist when she drew his face close, but he didn’t touch her.
She pressed her lips to his and the first contact was soft, sweet, and warm. Her eyes still open, she watched something spark in those midnight-blue depths. Her body responded, fanning that spark to a hot blaze and she felt a soul-deep recognition of someone who would either complete her or shatter her. She stepped back, uncertain of the next step.
“That’s some academy-award winning tenderness,” he whispered, echoing her earlier words. “No need to keep up the act now.”
She almost snapped at him, angry that he’d try to ruin the moment, before she realized the classic defensive maneuver. Instead of words, she’d give him the truth in a more visceral way. She kissed him again, this time letting loose a small taste of the desire pounding through her blood. If she had a magic wand, she’d erase his lingering doubt and frustration. He hadn’t failed anyone, no matter what the official documents or the media said to the contrary.
His hands landed on her waist and she lost the ability to think clearly. His fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, he changed the angle of the kiss. She sighed and his tongue, laced with hot spices, swept into her mouth, tipping her world upside down.
She clutched his shoulders for balance. He was her anchor in a sudden storm of longing that slammed her from every side. It was too much of the unexpected, more intense as one sensation after another crackled through her.
With her last shred of self-preservation, she pulled back and the strong arms that had banded around her fell away.
They stared at each other for a long moment. She wouldn’t call it a mistake, though it must have been. She should probably apologize, but she wasn’t the least bit sorry and wouldn’t ruin the encounter with a lie. Not after everything he’d just told her.
Which left... what? Her mind couldn’t come up with another option, her thoughts caught in a whirlwind of happy, girlish endorphins. Finally, she forced herself to move, to break the invisible tether holding her in place, and retreated to the privacy of the bathroom. She might just stay in here until morning, except that felt cowardly.
Behind the safety of the closed door, she pressed her fingers to her tingling lips. Yes, if something happened to Mike in the process of saving her or clearing her name, that would be an entirely new lifelong torture.
She splashed cool water on her face and then gave in and ran a cool shower. He’d probably decided she was a tease and he might be right. Chemistry, adrenaline, or outright attraction, she couldn’t risk acting on any of it now. It would be more than unfair—to both of them. It would be irresponsible to create a potential distraction. She might not have his experience with criminals or investigations, but it was common sense if two people relying on each other suffered a breach of communication, things would go from bad to worse in a hurry.
She’d been a fool once already.
On the set, the director just ordered another take. But in their very real situation the slightest problem could mean failure for the missing women, Mike, or an innocent bystander. She didn’t want that kind of disaster on her conscience.
She didn’t want what she felt happening between them to be a mistake.
Chapter Seven
Malibu, Friday, December 12, 5:20 a.m.
Mike was up before the sun and longing for an hour with his surfboard. He needed the constancy of the ocean, the surge of the tide. There’d been no nightmare despite talking about his last mission and the subsequent fallout. He needed space to think about what that meant, although after that mind-blowing kiss he wasn’t sure thinking was possible.
He’d given her a wide berth when she’d come out of the bathroom and he’d refused to hear any argument when he’d told her to take the bed while he slept on the floor. Amazingly, he’d even succeeded in keeping his eyes on his laptop when he heard her sliding under the covers. His prayers that she’d fall asleep quickly weren’t answered, but that was no surprise. At least she hadn’t wanted to talk about the kiss or anything else.
Turning to the bed, he watched her sleep and marveled at the view. She was lovely and so much deeper than he’d expected of a woman in her line of work. He rubbed his eyes. When a man stared at a sleeping woman without thinking about sex, he was in big trouble. Now he sounded like his old man—never a good thing. What a jacked up mess he was making of the situation. His job here—his only job—was to keep her safe until the bad guys were in custody. End of story. The problem with that neat ending was the glaring fact that the bad guys would never be in custody unless the two of them made it happen. Making it happen was where things got tricky.
Reclaiming a small b
it of focus, he set up the coffee machine for her. Sliding into his shoes he grabbed his wallet and room key before heading to the vending machine for his morning cola. He’d accused her of acting just to keep her at arm’s length. What a dumb move that had been. She’d taken it well, but she deserved his apology for that petty attack. He would do that, he vowed, just as soon as she brought up the subject of the kiss. He popped the top on the can of cola and drained half of it. Why was he afraid of a simple conversation? Of a heartfelt kiss?
The answer would take far more time than he had at the moment.
She was awake when he came back in and cradling her cup of coffee between her hands. “Thanks for this,” she said, raising the cup. “Did you sleep okay?”
The gratitude shining in her pale eyes made him feel as if he’d slayed a dragon. “I did.” He drained the rest of his cola, eager for the infusion of sugar and caffeine. He held up his phone. “Email from Claudia. She went back over the travel routines of a few groups who deal...” He hesitated.
“In women,” Lauren filled the gap.
He nodded. “Seems several of them are in the area. She did some backtracking and California is an annual stop this time of year.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t pick up on this.” She closed her eyes for a second. “I keep telling myself I’m not going to dwell on my ignorance and yet here I am beating that dead horse again,” she griped, striding across the room to her bag. “If we’re reading Vanya’s coded message correctly, there are five women waiting at Desmond’s so-called finishing school for pick-up. Maybe the school is one of the annual stops.”
He agreed, but they needed to approach their next step with extreme caution. “Let’s go be naturalists then. No wig, but wear your hair up with a hat or something.”
“Yes, sir.” She tossed him a mock salute, grabbed her clothes and headed for the bathroom.
He used the time to prepare and order room service for breakfast. An hour later they were geared up and following the navigation prompts toward the address in a canyon outside Malibu.
