by Desiree Holt
He wanted to run his hands over that tempting body, cradle the breasts whose fullness the T-shirt hinted at. Stroke the silky-looking skin. Feel those legs wrapped around him while he buried himself in—
Fuck!
Aron looked at him, a smile teasing his lips. “Let me introduce you to Jasmine Grey. Jas, meet Caleb Branam.”
Her smile was pleasant but reserved. When she held out her hand, he knew it would be rude to ignore it. But when he touched it, he felt more than the smooth skin of her palm or the callouses on her fingers. A bolt of electricity hot enough to fry his nerve endings shot up his arm and spread its heat through his body. A slight widening of her eyes offered the sole indication she felt something, too. If he had half a brain—which he was pretty sure was all he had left by this time—he’d turn around and walk out. Leave it to Aron to kill that idea.
“Why don’t we all go outside and sit down.” Aron gestured toward the patio.
Caleb realized there wasn’t any furniture in the big family room except two bar stools.
“I apologize for the empty house. I haven’t had a chance to go furniture shopping yet.”
Her voice was soft, with a slight lilt. Of course. She was a singer, right?
“But she’s going to buy more tomorrow,” Aron put in. “Libby’s going with her, so I say, look out stores.”
Caleb cleared his throat and tried to roll his tongue back into his mouth. “That’s no problem. Outside is fine.”
“I can offer you coffee or sweet tea,” she told him. “Whichever you prefer.”
She kicked his expected stereotype all to hell.
“Coffee, if you don’t mind.” He cleared his throat again. “Please. And just black.”
With his jeans, he had worn a short-sleeved shirt so the burns on his arm would be visible. Not much he could do about the slight scarring on his face, but he usually kept his arms covered. Perversely, he wanted to see her reaction to the twisted flesh left by the burn. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t what he got. She flicked a glance at his arm, skated a look over his face, and went right on with the conversation.
“No problem. Why don’t you and Aron go on outside, and I’ll bring the tray.”
“I’ll do it,” Aron interjected. “You go sit down with Caleb.”
She shot him a look like flinted steel. “I’ll do it.”
“Okay, okay.” Aron threw up his hands. “Just trying to be helpful. Come on, Caleb. Let’s grab some seats.”
They were barely seated before Aron gave him a hard look. “Well?”
“Well, what? I just met her. I don’t know what this job requires or even if she could stand to have me around.”
“Don’t throw those scars in here,” Aron warned. “She glanced at them. I want your gut reaction.”
Caleb folded his arms. “She seems okay. At least for all of the ninety seconds I’ve been with her so far.”
Aron threw back his head and laughed. “So I should forget you practically had your tongue hanging out of your mouth?”
“Okay, okay,” he grumbled. “She’s attractive. I’ll give you that. But you’re not hiring me to be her stud.”
Aron’s face sobered. “No, I’m not. But I also don’t want you to stand around with a stick up your ass. She’s not what you expected, is she?”
“Exactly what did you expect, Mr. Branam?”
Both men startled. Neither of them had heard the screen door open and close or her footsteps on the concrete. Caleb felt a hot flush rise on his cheeks. He stood up, trying not to favor his leg, took the tray with mugs on it from her hands, and placed it on the table. Again, he noticed her glance skate over his arm but with curiosity not disgust.
“You’ll have to forgive my friend,” Aron began. “He’s—”
“I can speak for myself, Aron.” He sat down, picked up one of the mugs, and took a swallow, more to gather his thoughts than anything else. “I’ll confess, Miss Grey, my experience with music stars, or stars of any kind, has been limited. But in my experience, they are usually arrogant, discourteous, and stuck-up. At least to the people they pay.”
“Well.” Jasmine took the seat across from him, a tiny smile playing at her lips. “I hope I was suitably humble in the ninety seconds you had to form your opinion.”
Shit, shit, shit!
“I am sorry. Look, can we start again? I’ll try to be less of an ass.”
She laughed, a sound as musical as her voice, and his nerve endings did a happy dance.
“I think we can manage that.” She held out her hand. “Jasmine Grey, country/rock music performer.”
“Caleb Branam, bodyguard and protector with more skills than manners.” He took her hand again. “Pleased to meet you.”
Again that bolt of electricity shot through him, and he blinked at its effect on him. It was going to take some mighty long cold showers to keep his wits about him and his pants on with Miss Jasmine Grey. And this from a man who’d lost interest in sex a year ago.
“I understand you’ve been briefed on the situation.”
He dipped his head. “By both Aron and your manager.”
“Then you know what’s required.”
Another swallow of coffee. “You want me to be a bodyguard twenty-four seven to make sure this asshole doesn’t get anywhere near you.”
She nodded. “That’s about it. You should know while I still have nightmares about what happened, I’m not letting it ruin my life. I’m pretty sure my band and my road manager can keep this lowlife away from me, but I’m not going to argue about it anymore.”
“Good idea. Guys like this are unstable and, therefore, unpredictable. ”
“I’ve seen your pedigree, and you’ve seen the calendar for my upcoming activities. What are your feelings?”
It felt good to get down to brass tacks. He’d been out of the field for so long, he wasn’t sure if he’d remember how to do this. But, like falling off a horse, it came right back to him. He told her what his rules were as a bodyguard, to ensure her safety. Insisted, in a questionable situation, he took charge, no argument. He went through the litany he used to recite to Omega Team clients.
“So that’s it, basically,” he told her. “It’s the same thing I laid out for Aron and your manager when we had our conference call. You want to give me your thoughts?”
She chewed on her lips for a moment, frowning. Then her forehead smoothed out. “I can live with all that, but I have a couple of caveats of my own.”
Of course she did. “Let’s hear them.”
“I won’t stand for being ordered around. I’m not stupid, and if you tell me what to do, I can follow orders. Unless, of course, the jackass shows up, and then if you say jump, I’ll ask how high.”
“What else?” Caleb asked.
“I expect to be treated with respect and I’ll return the favor.”
She hadn’t said a word about his leg or his scars. He was sure Aron had briefed everyone about them. He wasn’t sure if he was glad or mad.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Jasmine dipped her head, and Caleb did the same.
Aron blew out a breath. “Thank the lord. Let’s finish our coffee, and you two can wrap up the details.”
As they talked, the tension in his body eased. Probably because his expectations had been wrong, and he’d been all tied up in knots for no reason. And maybe because it felt good to be doing something again. With a job like this, he could keep to the background. Oh, sure, he wanted everyone to know Jasmine had protection, but he had experience keeping a low profile in an active situation.
He’d dealt with punks like this Cobra before. He’d be able to take care of him in short order.
“Let me get some more coffee,” Jasmine said, “and we’ll talk about how this is going to work.”
*****
Jasmine stood in the center of the great room, directing the deliverymen from the furniture store. She and Liberty had put a nice dent in her cash, but she was happy with
everything she’d gotten. She’d even thought to ask Aron what kind of mattress she should get for Caleb. He’d be staying with her for only a short while, but Aron had told her about his leg, and she wanted him to be comfortable.
She’d had them set up the room Caleb would be using first thing, so she could make it up with the new linens she bought and washed in fresh-smelling detergent. She even had a television in there. She’d hooked it up to the satellite system and tested it to make sure it worked. She wanted him to be as comfortable as possible. After all, it would be just the two of them alone out here while she finished the songs for the album.
The two of them alone!
A little shiver danced along her spine at the thought of Caleb Branam living in her house with her, just the two of them. Just his presence had made all her girl parts quiver with need and desire. She’d asked Aron out of curiosity if he was involved with anyone, and the answer was no. He explained how Caleb’s injuries had caused him to retreat from society. In her eyes, his injuries didn’t take away at all from his sex appeal.
But oh god, she wanted it to be more. She also wanted to smack herself in the head for lusting after a man who was supposed to be her bodyguard and nothing more.
Cool it, woman. This isn’t a romance, it’s a business arrangement.
Any minute now he’d be walking in the door. Would he like the furniture she’d bought? Think the house pleasant and welcoming?
Ohmigod! This guy is my bodyguard, not my lover.
But the little devil on her shoulder whispered, “Oh, no?”
She thought about him so hard, even as she continued to tell the delivery guys where to place everything, that when he appeared in the open doorway, she wondered if he was real or a mirage. Then he walked in, his limp barely noticeable, and she felt as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air in one swoop.
“They’re just about through bringing everything in.” She twisted her hands together in an attempt to still their trembling. Trembling? Good lord, was she a teenager? “But your bedroom is all set up and ready for you.”
“Don’t turn yourself inside out for me.” His voice sounded like gravel. “A sleeping bag and a pillow would do just fine.”
“I want you to be comfortable,” she insisted. “It makes me feel better for imposing on you like this.”
His lips curved in a sardonic grin. “It’s no problem. I’m getting paid to be imposed on.”
Of course, and a nice sum to boot. This was a business arrangement, and she should remember that.
She flapped a hand in the air. “Then just think of it this way. I needed furniture for that room and I figured it might as well be good stuff. Let me show you which one is yours.”
The huge central family room divided the house, with the master suite on one side and two guest rooms and a bath on the other. On her shopping expedition with Libby, she had also bought stuff for the bathrooms and fleshed out her kitchen equipment. She’d dropped a bundle at the grocery store, too. She had no idea what Caleb liked to eat, and Aron had just laughed when she asked him. She hoped her choices would appeal to him, because cooking was one of the things she did to relax.
“This is fine.” Caleb followed her into the bedroom she’d set up for him and dropped his large duffel bag on the floor.
“The salesman assured me the mattress is very firm and comfortable.”
Now, why the hell did she say that? The last thing she should be thinking about with Caleb Branam was mattresses. Okay, one of the last things.
He turned toward her, and she got her first real good look at him. The other day, she’d been too busy wondering if she was doing the right thing and trying to ignore the electric current lighting up the air between them. She knew he was over six feet because he topped Caleb by a couple of inches. His dark-brown hair was worn thick and work shaggy. Well, maybe worn that way was a misnomer. More like he didn’t bother much with haircuts.
The word that came to her describing his face was masculine—lean, square-jaw, high cheekbones, rich chocolate eyes that looked at her now with a penetrating gaze. Eyes framed by lashes so thick they’d make every woman jealous. The other day he’d been clean-shaven, but today, his jaw had a shadow of scruff she found way too appealing. Not even the burn scar on one cheek could detract from his utter sexiness. She had to clench her hands into fists to keep from stroking his chin to see if that scruff was slightly rough or silky to the touch.
His body was lean and, even covered by jeans and the plaid shirt he wore open over a black T-shirt, she could see the outline of hard muscles. In a moment of insanity, she wondered how those arms would feel around her, how that body would feel next to her. Then she turned a virtual hose on her hot brain. What was the matter with her? She had a crazy musician after her, songs to write, and a tour to plan for. She had no time for any man, hot or otherwise, especially one hired to protect her.
“There should be plenty of room for your stuff in here,” she told him. “The bathroom is right across from you, and it’s all yours.” Another stupid remark.
He cracked what she could only call a reluctant smile. “I’m real glad to hear that.”
Jasmine shoved her clenched hands in her pockets to keep from reaching out to him.
“Miss Grey?” The voice of one of the delivery guys from the family room snapped her brain back into function mode.
“Excuse me, Mr. Branam. I think the guys are finished and need my signature. Let me take care of them. Then I’m going to fix some lunch, if you’d like something? Anything. I mean, whatever you want.”
Oh, for crap’s sake. What the hell was wrong with her?
“I’ll be fine.”
If he said anything else, she missed it as she fled the room.
Holy mother. She was thirty years old, hadn’t been born yesterday or found under a pumpkin, wasn’t a novice in the dating game, and she’d just acted like a shy virgin trying to please the sexiest man she’d ever seen.
Well, okay, Caleb Branam did fit the bill there. But holy shit!
She signed the delivery receipt and ushered the men out, closing the door after them. Coffee, that’s what she needed. Something to shock her bedraggled senses. She was just fixing a cup for herself from the single-serving coffeemaker and thinking about lunch when her new bodyguard walked into the kitchen and leaned on the edge of the counter.
“Caleb,” he said.
Jasmine blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“My name. It’s Caleb. Mr. Branam only in extreme circumstances.”
“Oh!” She pursed her lips. “Good. Caleb. Well, Caleb, would you like a sandwich and some chips?” She pointed at the cutting board where she was working. “I have no idea what you like to eat. I tried to prepare for just about anything.”
He stood close enough she could smell whatever soap he used, some combination of pine trees and earth. God! If she had to inhale that all the time, there’d be no controlling her hormones.
“Stop.” His fingers closed gently over her wrist. “A sandwich and chips is fine. I eat anything.” He gave a short, rough laugh. “I’ve been doing for myself for more than a year, so anything you’ve got will probably taste like it came from a four-star restaurant.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” She blew out a breath, wishing her wrist didn’t tingle so much from the press of his fingers. “Have a seat at the table. It’s almost all fixed.”
“I can carry my own,” he told her. “You don’t have to wait on me.”
“Okay. I, um, let’s eat.”
She wouldn’t be surprised if the minute he was alone he called Aron and said his wife was related to a ninny. Nevertheless, she somehow managed to get them and their lunch to the table without making more of an ass of herself. If she could just figure out what to do with this snap and crackle of sexual energy buzzing around them. Did he notice it, too? Or was she just losing her mind, imagining this.
“We didn’t get to talk a lot the other day,” Caleb told her as he washed down a bite
of sandwich.
Jasmine shrugged, glad for a neutral topic. “It was more important for you and Carson to be talking. He has all the details and information and knows exactly what he needs from you.”
“I got that.” He stared at her as he chewed thoughtfully, his gaze so penetrating it pierced right through her. “But why don’t you tell me how you got into this business.”
She frowned. “You want to know how I got where I am?”
He nodded. “And why you want it.” He chewed, swallowed, and shrugged. “My social skills are a little rusty right now, so I’m sorry if anything I say offends you.”
“No, no, no. Not at all.” She took a swallow of her coffee, hoping it would steady her nerves and cool off her flaming hormones. They just seemed to ignite when she came within ten feet of this man. Great. Just great.
“So let’s have it. Was this your goal in life?”
Jasmine shrugged. “I think so.”
She told him about singing at parties with her cousins, getting her parents to drag her to every country music and country/rock concert and appearance within fifty miles. How she’d bought her first guitar from a secondhand store and taught herself to play. How, at the insistence of her parents, she’d enrolled in the University of Texas at Austin but spent every spare minute looking for gigs at every little hole-in-the wall club in Austin.
She told him about the nights she sat outside by herself, writing music and practicing it. She’d finished college, just as she’d promised she would, then moved to Austin full-time. And after five years of working all these clubs, either fronting for a band or with just her and her guitar, she’d gotten her break the night Carson Wagner walked into The Wagon Wheel.
At least when talking she could shove that attraction into neutral. Maybe she could just talk the entire time they were together.
