by Brant, Kylie
She didn’t react until he spoke of the windows, and then she looked up, instantly wary. “I bought this place for the view, and I won’t have that spoiled. If you’re going to recommend bars over the windows, you can forget it.” Security bars were common in the larger cities of California, but Raine wouldn’t consider them. Their sight always left her uncertain whether they worked to keep others or made prisoners of those inside.
It wasn’t until she’d mentioned the bars that Mac realized he hadn’t planned to suggest them. He barely knew this woman, yet he’d instinctively known she’d refuse the idea. “You won’t notice much difference in the windows,” he assured her. “The glass will be thicker, but the wires will be almost invisible.”
She frowned slightly as she thought of her haven being turned into a welter of activity, with workers wielding hammers and power drills. Not for the first time, she cursed the weirdo who had targeted her for a special brand of harassment. It had taken her years to reach the point when she felt comfortable living alone. And until the calls and letters had started, her home had been her refuge. She was no longer able to feel completely safe here, and she resented that fiercely. Peace of mind was something most people took for granted, but reaching that state had been a milestone in her life. She only hoped that the measures Mac O’Neill implemented would be enough to restore it.
“All right.” She turned to face him resolutely. “I’d like you to go ahead with your suggestions, and as quickly as possible. How long do you think I’ll have to put up with your crew?”
Mac frowned slightly. He was getting a real bad feeling about this job. Or, considering what it had cost him so far, an even worse feeling. Something told him that Simon had left a great deal out in his last call to his daughter, and Mac mentally cursed the man. “You’ll be rid of my crew in a few days,” he said deliberately. “But I’ll be around a bit longer.”
Raine lost her breath at his next words.
“I’m going to be living with you.”
Chapter 2
Raine felt as though she’d had the wind knocked out of her. “Living with me?” she echoed faintly. “Here?”
For the first time since he’d left Simon Michaels’s office, Mac felt a glimmer of satisfaction. At least he wasn’t the only one unhappy with this situation. “You’re very astute,” he drawled. “Since you’re the one in need of protection, and you live here, this is where I’ll be. Until I’ve assured myself and your father of your safety, that is.”
“No!” Raine set the broiler in the sink with more force than necessary. Grasping the edge of the sink tightly with both hands, she closed her eyes and took a calming breath. What he was suggesting was impossible. In a quieter tone, she said, “I do not need to be protected. Not this way. And certainly not by . . .” A man . . . this man. “By one of my father’s hired flunkies,” she finished.
“I’m nobody’s flunky,” he replied sotto voce. She looked up and was surprised to find him close, very close. It was his unexpected nearness that had her taking an involuntary step back, not the underlying steel in his voice. But his eyes tracked her movement, and she knew he’d drawn his own conclusion about it.
Caught in the beam of those ice blue eyes, Raine was momentarily transfixed. They were really the most amazing color. The artist in her couldn’t help but be fascinated. And the woman in her . . . well, it had been so long since she’d listened to the woman inside that she wasn’t certain she’d recognize the voice. But something in her responded to him. She was too honest with herself to admit otherwise. The realization only complicated the situation.
He reached toward her, and her head jerked wildly, another unconscious action she damned immediately, another one seen and noted by that all-observant gaze. His arm continued its journey toward the sink, turned on the faucet and allowed the hot water to run over the dirty broiler she’d slammed down there.
Raine turned away, shaken by her reaction to the man. Belatedly she attempted to pick up their conversation. “I apologize if I offended you with my choice of words. But I live alone. Your staying here is out of the question.”
He misread her trepidation. “Concerned about appearances?” he mocked. “Somehow, in light of your troubles, I think that’s a little foolish, don’t you?” He watched her with a slight furrow still etched in his brow, wondering not for the first time, just exactly what Simon had told her. Not much, apparently. Not enough to encounter the total resistance Mac was getting from her now. The old bastard was shrewdly presenting her with a fait accompli, leaving the dirty details to Mac. Even though he’d spent his career dealing with the fine art of dirty details, he wished Simon was within punching range. He was getting the feeling that the depth of his daughter’s opposition was just one in a long list of items Simon had glossed over when filling Mac in on this job.
Heaving a disgusted sigh, he turned to face her, leaning against the counter. “Look,” he said flatly. “We’d better get this all out in the open, even though you’re probably not going to want to hear it. Hell,” he added under his breath, “I know you’re not going to want to hear it. But I won’t be leaving until I’ve thoroughly investigated these phone calls and letters you’ve been receiving. I was hired by your father to secure your house and to make sure that the wacko who’s been threatening you doesn’t get close enough to hurt you. Once I’m certain you’re in no danger, I’ll be out of your hair. You’ll be free to do whatever it is you like to be alone to do out here, and I’ll be on a beach in the South Pacific, working on an allover tan with someone much happier about having me around.”
He stopped then, his explanation complete, but Raine was looking at him in disbelief. The fact that he appeared no more pleased than she about this state of affairs didn’t make her feel any better. “I still can’t believe this. He hired you to be my bodyguard, didn’t he?”
He lifted one shoulder. “If you want to call it that.”
She shook her head incredulously. “What are you, a cop or something?”
“Or something,” he agreed. “My partner and I own a firm called Security Ops. Our jobs entail different things for different people, but our priority is to keep our clients safe. It’s obvious your father didn’t give you the whole story on the phone, but you did agree to have me come here, remember?”
Oh, she remembered, all right. And she could now see how easily her father had manipulated this arrangement. She’d already reached the conclusion that she needed to hire someone to assess her security needs. With all she’d had to do lately getting ready for her upcoming show, she had, in a rare moment of dependence, allowed her father to choose a reputable security company for her. He’d done that, and more. He’d used her acquiescence to set his own plans in motion.
But this . . . She found it difficult to comprehend how her father could be this callous about her feelings. To hire a stranger—a man—to stay here with her, to live with her, if only for a short time . . . whatever could he have been thinking?
The answer, of course, was that her father hadn’t been thinking, at least not about what had happened eleven years ago. He never thought about that, had never dealt with it. He reacted to the here and now. He’d determined what was needed, and he’d arranged it, leaving her, as usual, to deal with it as she would.
Panic set in, crowding aside her anger at her father’s machinations. Under no circumstances could she allow a stranger to move into her home, no matter what his motives were. The man was here, but that didn’t mean he had to stay.
“Mr. O’Neill,” she began resolutely.
“Mac,” he corrected. “Just Mac.”
“All right—Mac. You probably don’t know my father well, but this sort of . . . shall we say misunderstanding is common for him. I neither need nor want a bodyguard, and I will not pay for those services. I am in need of your security advice, however. I’m sure we can work something out in that area.” She watched him warily, hoping he’d agree. She couldn’t afford to take time away from her painting right now
to investigate another security company.
Mac turned his back on her then, already bored with the scene. He wasn’t a man who avoided confrontation, but arguing held no appeal for him. Her show of stubbornness would change nothing. He shut off the water in the sink, reached for a scraper beside the faucet and began scrubbing the broiler.
“I’ve already been paid for this job, Miss Michaels, by your father. That means we do this his way. It’ll be a hell of a lot easier on all of us if you’d just give in gracefully this time.”
He’d struck a nerve, although, with his back to her, he was unaware of it. Raine had stopped giving in a long time ago, and despite what he thought, it had been a difficult habit to break. It had been necessary in her long quest for independence, however, and she wasn’t going to backtrack now. She had tread many miles on the path of least resistance before discovering that it didn’t lead anywhere she was particularly interested in going.
“Whatever he’s paying you, I’ll double it,” she announced baldly. “Go ahead with the other security measures we discussed. Then you can get on that plane, and I’ll deal with my father.”
“No.” He rinsed the pan and dried it with a towel hanging above the counter. “Where do you want this?”
“What do you mean, no?” she demanded. “Darn it, turn around and look at me. What’s my father given you to make you this unreasonable?”
He did face her then, and impatience was written on his hard features. “It’s not what he’s given me, it’s what I gave him. My word. I won’t leave until I’m sure you’re safe, and that’s final. Drop it, Raine.”
She stared at him in frustration. He stared back implacably. She was the first to look away. “A bodyguard is an extreme measure, I can assure you. The police haven’t seemed all that concerned about a few notes and phone calls, since no actual physical threats have been made. If you’d just talk to them, you’d understand.”
“They probably won’t talk to me. I’ll call the detective in charge, of course, but I’m pretty sure it will be useless. Information on cases like these is shared on a need-to-know basis.” Experience had taught him that the police would pump him for any details he could give them on the case, but would be damn reluctant to share any of their own. “You’ll have to fill me in on what’s been going on since the threats began, and I’ll be talking to the people who spend a lot of time out here. I’ll draw my own conclusions.” He set the pan on the stove and turned to face her again. “If I decide that you’re in no real danger, that’s what I’ll tell your father.”
Raine considered his promise. A part of her, one she hadn’t wanted to listen to, had wondered just how secure a few more bells and alarms were going to make her feel. But this man’s word would be something else entirely. If he were able to stay long enough to see the work through, he’d have enough facts at his disposal to judge her situation accurately. And if, at that time, he were able to assure her she was safe, she’d believe him.
The mere thought of having him in such close proximity had all her nerves quivering. And she wasn’t totally sure that it was only her wariness of strangers, and of men in general, that caused such a response. There was something disturbing about Mac—no, Macauley—O’Neill.
She chewed her bottom lip. His sheer size and uncompromising stance were intimidating. There was no reason to trust him, and with her history, trust didn’t come easily. Could she really risk the resurgence of all her old fears by letting this man stay?
Could she risk sending him away?
“All right,” she said slowly, struck by the finality of her words. “You can stay.”
His face was impassive. He obviously hadn’t expected the outcome to be any different. “When we start working, I’ll need access to the entire house and everything in it.”
“My studio,” she informed him firmly, “is off-limits.”
“There may be wiring that needs to be done,” he warned. “And when we get to the windows . . .”
She winced a little, already dreading the day that the one haven left to her would be disturbed by workers and pounding hammers. “I’ll understand when work needs to be done there.”
He watched her intently for a moment more, but she seemed to be sincere. He gave an abrupt nod. “All right, then.” Obviously finished, he turned and headed for the door.
“You can move your things into the first bedroom on the right,” she called after him, a little surprised at the rustiness of her voice. He didn’t acknowledge her words, and a moment later the front door closed behind him.
Leaning weakly against the counter, she wiped her damp palms on her thighs. She felt as though she’d just been run over by a steamroller. Already she was having second thoughts about her decision. She didn’t imagine that they’d be her last during his time here. But it would only be for a while, she assured herself. Surely it would only be a couple of weeks before things would get back to normal and Macauley O’Neill would be out of her life. Whoever was harassing her was certain to be caught soon, and then she could finish her paintings for the upcoming show in peace.
The thought of a stranger, this man, living in her house seemed to affect her with temporary paralysis. His presence filled her with so many tumultuous emotions, it was impossible to sift through them all. But even in the midst of that turmoil, her thoughts were curiously distracted. Her mind insisted upon painting pictures of Macauley on the beach he’d mentioned.
Working on that all-over tan.
Two days later Raine was in the den with her accountant, and her patience was wearing thin. “I don’t know, Greg, do whatever you think is right. I trust your judgment. Whatever you recommend is fine with me.”
Mac stepped into the room in time to hear her words, and his mouth twisted. Apparently Raine’s accountant was given a much freer hand than her security expert, and he’d bet that Greg hadn’t had to drag those concessions from her the way Mac had.
“You’re not even listening to what I’m telling you, Raine. Just take some time and study this portfolio I’m putting together for you.”
“Why in heaven’s name do we have to do this now?”
Mac leaned against the doorjamb, eavesdropping unabashedly.
Raine tossed a file folder on the desk frustratedly. “I hired an accountant, Greg, so I wouldn’t have to be bothered constantly with these matters. You know how busy I am getting ready for this next show. Can’t we discuss this when you have it completed?” She got to her feet in barely restrained impatience and paced a few steps away.
Mac couldn’t help noticing that though her hips were narrow, her bottom had an unmistakably womanly curve. He pushed aside the unwelcome observation and spoke deliberately. “Raine.”
Both people turned at the sound of his voice. Mac noted Greg’s annoyance at the interruption. He’d spoken to the man yesterday, questioning him at length about his knowledge of the threats. From the amount of time Winters spent here, Mac was beginning to wonder if Raine was his only client. She was obviously his favorite one. The man was only a few inches taller than she was, with thinning, sandy-colored hair and earnest brown eyes that were fixed on her. Mac thought he read more than a professional interest in the man’s gaze. “I need to talk to you.”
“We’re right in the middle of—”
“That’s okay.” Raine interrupted Greg’s irritated statement with undisguised eagerness. She laid a hand on the man’s arm placatingly. “I really do have to talk to Mr. O’Neill, Greg. Just go ahead and finalize those plans. I’ll look at the file when you have things ready to be signed.”
Greg threw Mac a glance rife with frustration, but picked up the file folder and placed it in his briefcase. “I might as well get back to my office, if you’re going to be busy,” he said stiffly. “I’ll talk to you about this later. And I’m going to insist that you hear me out before you make any final decisions.”
Raine waved goodbye and, when he’d left, looked at Mac. Her uneasiness at having him in the house had ebbed a little.
She rarely saw him. Though she was an early riser, he was earlier. When she got up in the morning he was already in the family room, which he seemed to have taken over for his own uses. Without a word to her he’d moved in a large desk, chair and a computer, all of which must have come off one of the trucks loaded with materials that were arriving hourly.
Although some of the natural edginess she’d felt at having him here as a prolonged guest was wearing off, that didn’t mean he didn’t bother her. Even from a distance he’d still proven to be something of a distraction. Though she’d gotten back to her current painting, more than once she’d found herself wandering to a window overlooking the driveway, watching him supervise the unloading of supplies.
Nor could she keep her eyes from lingering on him now. He seemed to have a perpetual shadow of whiskers on that rock-hard jaw, and she wondered at it. Her knowledge of men’s beards was nonexistent, but it seemed to her that at some time he would have to appear either clean-shaven or with the start of a beard. The dark clothes he was wearing, combined with his perpetually slightly disheveled appearance, gave him a look that was lethally dangerous. She didn’t recognize the skitter of electricity that vibrated down her spine every time she got this close to him. It wasn’t fear, but it was an uncomfortable sensation, nonetheless. His presence was too overpowering. Her first instinct each time they were together was to put an additional three feet between them. She held her ground. She’d given up running years ago.
Giving him a wry smile of gratitude, she said, “My hero. You just saved my sanity. Greg is a dear, sweet man, but listening to him talk money makes me want to run screaming into the sunset.”
Closing the door behind him, Mac sauntered across the room and sank down into an easy chair. “He’s right, you know. You can’t sign things without reading them—that’s the height of stupidity.”
