by Cindy Dees
Paige reached for the bag of cookies. “Oh, yeah. I’m a born-again chocoholic.”
“Duly noted,” he murmured. Note to self: add feeding her outrageously expensive chocolate to that bottle of wine. “Any other vices I should know about?”
She grinned. “Like I’d arm you with that kind of am munition? I think not.”
“I’ll tell you one of my secret vices if you’ll tell me one of yours.”
She considered him thoughtfully. “Deal. You go first.”
“I like to read comic books. I have since I was a kid, and I still do. I have Gretchen buy them for me and put them in my briefcase. When I’m bored at a meeting, I’ll slip one into the papers on my desk and read it.”
Paige laughed. “I bet you’re a Batman guy, aren’t you?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Reclusive billionaire who fights crime and thinks he can save the world. It’s a no-brainer.”
“I don’t think I can save the world.”
“Ha. But that won’t keep you from trying.”
He quirked a brow at her and reached for the tuna and crackers. “Like you’re one to talk. Why did you become a Medusa anyway? That seems like a strange choice for someone as…high profile…as you.”
“You mean why would I do something that gets no public recognition like work with the Medusas when I’m such a glory-hound reporter the rest of the time?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite so baldly, but I guess that’s the gist of what I’m asking.”
He wished there was more light to see the play of emotions across her face. As it was, he thought he caught a glimpse of wistfulness. Regret, even. But then her shadowed features hardened.
“I got sick of standing on the sidelines. I watched tragedies and injustice and indignities taking place, and I never did anything about them. A person can only stand that for so long.”
“I thought reporters believe their role in life is to expose these things.”
She was silent a long time, her gaze turbulent as she stared at nothing. Then she turned to him and said simply, “Sometimes they get personal.”
Now, that was revealing. What on Earth could’ve driven a woman like her to do something as extreme as become a Medusa? He almost didn’t want to know, except that burning curiosity to know everything about her was apparently still at work. He asked, “What happened, kiddo? What made you join the Medusa Project?”
A shrug was all he got from her. Okay, then. He’d take that as confirmation that a hell of a trauma had pushed her to it. He cast back in his memory a few years. He didn’t remember anything hitting the news about something happening to World News’s star reporter. He prodded gently, “You know that whatever you tell me stays between us, right?”
Another long pause. Then, she said, “It’s no big secret. I lost my cameraman. His name was Jerry. Jerry Sprague. He was…my friend.”
And from that loaded pause, Tom inferred that the guy had also been her lover. When she didn’t continue, he prompted, “And?”
“And he was trying to land me an interview I wanted when he was kidnapped. You know the drill. Extremist group tortured him, put grisly footage of him on the Internet and then killed him.”
And she’d been overcome by guilt and grief. Felt responsible for his death. And decided to become a Medusa. Wow. She’d either really loved the guy, or she was really committed to standing up for what she believed in. He asked as casually as he could manage it, which wasn’t a whole lot, “Did you love him?”
She didn’t hesitate. “We were friends mostly. Don’t get me wrong. I loved him in my own way, but not like that. He and I traveled together into every life-threatening hellhole we could find. And…he was there. It probably sounds awful to say that he was convenient. But we were two Americans, alone, facing death on a daily basis. I really did care for him.” She showed none of the telltale signs of a lie. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or perplexed. “Why the Medusas?”
“Why not? Don’t you ever get a hankering to fix the things you see on the news? You see an obvious and simple solution and can’t understand why everyone else doesn’t see it?”
“Yeah, I still get that feeling sometimes. I’ve been to a few war zones myself, remember?”
“It wasn’t an entirely selfish thing for me with Jerry. I really did like him. We just didn’t have magic.”
The same kind of magic the two of them had just made? He frowned. He didn’t know how to answer that one himself, and he definitely wasn’t ready to hear how she would answer it. He spoke hastily to distract her. “I have to admit that if there would have been a woman on my Spec Ops team, I’d have slept with her now and then just to remind us both that we were alive.”
Paige looked at him directly for the first time since this conversation began. “That’s it, exactly. It’s about knowing you’re alive.”
They shared a look of mutual understanding. And then it dawned on him what had just happened. He’d found a woman who understood that part of his life. The most important part of him. The hidden part that most of the world never saw and didn’t even know existed. Other people saw a spoiled rich boy who’d gotten lucky in the financial markets. But Paige, she saw the soldier within him.
And damned if he didn’t see the soldier in her. It was a weird combination to be sure—a beautiful woman and a special operator inhabiting the same body. But it was probably no weirder than him. Batman, indeed.
“Come here.” He held out his arm to her.
She looked startled. “I’m not looking for a pity party.”
“And I’m not offering one. Come here,” he ordered gently.
He held his breath. Would she accept the gesture in the light it was offered, or would she reject it? Reject him?
Chapter 11
Paige studied him intently, his open arms, his unreadable expression. Was he offering her more than post-mission sex, here? Something genuine between them? Something deeper? She sincerely hoped their lovemaking had been more than simple adrenaline sex for him. It had been a life-altering experience for her.
She didn’t sense any ulterior motive in him, just an offer for simple comfort. A hug in the small hours of the night, some human warmth shared.
She stepped forward.
And yet, it seemed like so much more than a hug as he wrapped his strong arms around her and her head drifted to his shoulder. It was as if they shared a tacit agreement that they had passed beyond client and bodyguard, past friendship, past casual sex partners.
She hadn’t known exactly what to expect on this mission, but this sure as shootin’ was not it.
Tom murmured, “I’ll take the watch if you want to get a little shut-eye.”
“I’m supposed to be watching you!”
“Look, Paige, I was a special operator for a long time. I’m perfectly capable of standing watch, and you’ve got to get a little sleep sometime. If you want to play bodyguard while I’m out in public, that’s fine with me. I can use the extra set of eyes looking out for my back. But let me at least pull my weight here.”
She sighed. He had a point. She’d used go pills before and they were capable of keeping an operator alert and functional for up to sixty hours, but the crash afterward was horrendous.
He led her into the living room, where he pulled the sofa cushions down onto the floor and presented them to her with a flourish. “Your bed, mademoiselle.”
Thankfully, she didn’t have to explain to him the danger of using the bed in the actual bedroom. It was the first place an intruder would look for them. She stretched out, the night’s activities catching up with her all at once.
“You want my pistol?” she asked sleepily.
His grin flashed in the dark. “Ah, now there’s a line I never expected to hear a beautiful woman use on me. Sure. I’ll take it. Got a spare clip while you’re at it?”
“They’re in the top drawer of the bureau just inside the bedroom door and to the left.”
“Let me gu
ess. Under your lingerie.”
She cracked one eye open to glare up at him. “You’d be surprised how many bad guys stop searching for guns and ammo when they hit black lace.”
“Black lace, eh? This I’ve got to see. Model it for me?”
She was sinking fast. “Tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams, pip-squeak.”
She sighed, “’Night, Tom.”
And that was the last thing she remembered before sunlight streaming into the room woke her up the next morning. That and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. She frowned. There wasn’t anything in the house to cook that would smell like that. What had he gone and done?
Paige surged to her feet. She’d been asleep for nearly six hours! He was supposed to let her catch a power nap while he stood guard and then trade off with her.
“Tom—” she started. She stopped cold as she crossed the kitchen threshold. He was just laying out an enormous breakfast, complete with fried eggs and bacon, orange juice, steaming coffee and stacks of pancakes.
“Haven’t lost my touch in the kitchen, have I?” he announced cheerfully. “Not bad for pushing five years since I cooked anything.”
“Yeah? And where did this anything come from?”
He shrugged. “I ran down to that little market on the main road and picked up a few things.”
She didn’t say anything to him. She just glared. And waited.
It didn’t take long for him to look away, squirming. “Okay, so I probably should have woken you up and taken you along. But we consumed everything edible in the house last night and I was hungry. I figured you’d be hungry, too, after all of our, um, exertions.”
That put a quick flush of heat in her cheeks. Enough to distract her momentarily from her disbelief that Tom would do something as stupid as venturing out alone.
“Look,” he said cajolingly. “Our sniper was out running around for most of the night, too. What are the odds that he stuck around after sunrise this morning? You and I both know he called it a night and went home to get some sleep and figure out how to get me the next time.”
“Maybe,” she retorted. “But maybe he’s professional enough to stick with the job until he finishes it. I would be. And maybe there’s more than one sniper out there. Which means they could work in shifts and have you in their sights around the clock.”
“You’re a Medusa,” he retorted. “You’re trained to be paranoid.”
Okay, so that warmed the cockles of her heart a little bit. How cool was it that he thought she rose to the level of a real, live Medusa? Which was a hell of a compliment at the end of the day. And not too shabby a distraction tactic from him. She forced her mind back to the problem at hand: controlling her protectee without inciting open rebellion from him. “Just don’t go anywhere without me again, Tom. Okay?”
He sighed. “Oh, all right.” A short pause. “Syrup with those pancakes?”
“Duh.”
He grinned and passed her the maple syrup.
She dug in, as hungry as he’d guessed she’d be. “So. What’s on your agenda for today?”
He grinned. “No idea. That’s what Gretchen’s for. I know there’s a session this afternoon with all of the summit attendees that should run until nearly supper. I think I have a meeting with the American delegation some time this morning. First order of business will be to get back to the hotel and get some clothes, though.”
“Speaking of which…” She got up, went to her bedroom and returned carrying something dark blue. “This is my biggest T-shirt. It’ll be snug on you, but you’ve got the pecs to pull it off. And it’ll be better than strolling back into the hotel in just your shorts.”
He grinned widely and pulled the navy blue T-shirt over his head.
Oh my. He did tight cotton very nicely, indeed.
“I’ll do the dishes while you get dressed,” he murmured.
Okay, he was officially a perfect man. He made her scream with pleasure and fed her and did the dishes the morning after.
Her car was still at the hotel so Tom called for a taxi. They met it out at the main road, several driveways down from her own.
The drive was not long, and they made it back to the hotel with no problems. She ordered Tom to wait for her to come around to the passenger side of the cab to let him out and thought he might mutiny at that. Fortunately, by the time he unfolded himself from the backseat, she’d already made it around to the passenger side of the car.
“You’re really carrying this bodyguard thing too far,” he muttered as he levered himself awkwardly out of the tuna-can-size vehicle. “I don’t need you opening doors for me.”
“Get over it,” she replied cheerfully. “I’m the big, bad bodyguard and you’re the lowly principal.”
“At least walk next to me like you’re my girlfriend or something,” he groused.
She laughed as he looped his arm over her shoulder and strode past the pair of doormen who swept the doors open for them.
Without warning, an explosion of shouts and flashing lights assaulted them.
She lurched and barely stopped herself from flinging Tom to the ground with her on top of him. Jeez-o-peet. The entire press corps was arrayed before them, pointing video and still cameras at them. Which meant that at any second…yep, here came the attack of the microphones.
“Where were you last night, Mr. Rowe? Were you kidnapped? Rumor had it you were shot. Are you hurt?”
The questions flew at them one on top of another, so thick and fast she could barely make out words, let alone meaning. Good Lord. Is that what the press looked like from the other side of the lens? No wonder Tom hated reporters.
She squinted into the blinding glare of the camera lights unable to make out a darned thing beyond them. She cursed under her breath. “Let us through!” she called out as she pushed forward.
No dice. The press wanted a statement and they weren’t budging until they got it.
Tom tried shouting, “I’ll have my people issue a statement if you’ll let me through so I can brief them!”
Nada. The bristling phalanx of microphone-armed reporters only pressed in closer. And then someone got the bright idea to change tactics. A reporter shouted out, “Are you two an item? Has America’s most eligible bachelor been landed at last?”
In the time it took Paige to flinch, all the other journalists took up the line of questioning. Tom’s jaw went rock hard, rippling with intense irritation.
“C’mon, guys,” she tried. “Let us through. It has been a long night and he said he’ll make a statement to you in a little while.”
“How’d you do it, Paige? How’d you catch the uncatchable man?” A cluster of microphones blossomed under her nose.
A breeze hit her from behind as the lobby’s double doors swung open, and she turned quickly to assess the threat. Shock rendered her still for a moment, and then she grinned widely. Vanessa Blake must have pulled every string in the book to get the Medusas here so fast. God bless that woman.
She leaned close to Tom and called loud enough for him to hear over the din, “The cavalry’s come to rescue us.”
Aleesha Gautier, aka Mamba and one of the original Medusas, led a team of a half-dozen women forward, bodily throwing aside the journalists unfortunate enough to be standing between them and their goal.
Affecting a rich Jamaican accent, Aleesha spoke loudly enough for her voice to roll out across the entire crowd. “’Ey now, boys ’n’ girls. Don’t get your knickers all in a twist, ’ere. Back off and den meybee you gets to talk wit’ de mon.”
The other Medusas closed ranks around Paige and Tom, unceremoniously elbowing aside anyone and everyone in their way.
“Man, am I glad to see you!” Paige exclaimed to her teammates.
One of the pushiest reporters, a woman Paige recognized from a news show that was more about gossip than actual hard news, shouted shrilly, “If you don’t give me a statement, Mr. Rowe, I’m going to report that you and Paige Ellis are in
volved and flaunting your relationship, and that her objectivity is hopelessly compromised as a journalist.”
That jerked Tom’s head to the side to find the source of it. Paige reached out to touch his elbow, to tell him not to rise to the bait, that she would have a quiet word with the obnoxious woman later, upon whom she happened to have blackmail material that would nix the report. But Paige was too late.
Tom’s back went rigid. “You report that and I’ll sue you for slander. I’ll not only bury you, but I’ll take your entire show off the air, lady.”
Oh, God. Now he’d gone and done it. The first rule of dealing with the media was never, ever, pick a fight with them.
Sure enough, the sharks pounced. “Oh ho! So now you’re defending Ms. Ellis’s honor, are you? How long have you two been going out? Does your network know about this liaison, Paige? Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your job by not revealing this personal bias?”
Paige pressed her lips together. She was so not getting into a pissing contest with this crowd.
Tom growled, “Paige Ellis and I are not dating. We are not an item, and I resent your insinuations.”
Paige stared. What was he doing? They’d agreed that she would pose as his girlfriend to explain her hanging around him while she looked out for his safety.
Tom continued forcefully, “Unfortunate circumstances threw us together last night. Nothing more.”
Paige staggered like he’d just kicked her feet out from under her. Nothing more? Was that all last night had been to him? Unfortunate circumstances?
He leaned into the nearest mike and stared frankly into the cameras. “Paige Ellis and I happened to be at the same dinner and happened to end up hiding together after a gunman fired shots. For you people to make something more out of that is just plain ridiculous. I mean, come on. You all know how I feel about reporters. Can you seriously see me dating one?”
That got a snicker out of the crowd. And it was a dagger straight to her heart. Who was she kidding? She of all people knew how he felt about reporters. He hated them with a purple passion. Of course last night had been a onetime thing. He’d even said so. And she’d acknowledged it. For her to have some giant crush on Tom was beyond stupid.
