Cavanaugh's Bodyguard

by Marie Ferrarella

  Finally, desperate to bring an end to the silence and the sound of her own irregular breathing, Bridget muttered something, in hindsight, that she considered incredibly inane.

  “I didn’t turn on the lights.”

  “Yeah, you did,” she heard Josh say. Even without looking at him, she could “hear” the grin on his lips.

  What the hell was he talking about? They’d all but fallen into the apartment, never once bothering to turn on any of the lights. At this point, she considered it lucky that they’d closed the door. Passion had completely knocked out any common sense that might have been lying around.

  Confused, she lifted her wrist and opened her eyes to glance at him.

  “You turned on a whole spectrum of lights,” he told her, then lightly tapped the center of his chest with his fisted hand. “Right in here. There were starbursts and even a mesmerizing light show.”

  Was this actually Josh talking to her like this? Admitting to being moved? Or was he setting her up for some big payoff? Or maybe some big joke?

  For as long as she’d known him, Josh had never bragged about his conquests, only about having stellar evenings—or entire weekends—and he’d always end his quick summation with a sensuous, amused grin.

  But he never gave her any details—not that she’d ever asked.

  She had to admit that she liked that about him, that he kept things like that and what went on behind closed doors between him and his myriad lady friends to himself. It told her that somewhere along the line, someone had made an effort to see that Josh grew up to be a gentleman.

  A gentleman who could make the earth move.

  Turning her head to look at Josh, and getting an extremely queasy feeling in her stomach as she did so—a good queasy feeling, she thought with an inward smile—Bridget asked, “Should I be checking your garage for a pod?”

  “Don’t have a garage,” he told her, almost drawling. “Have a carport.” Like her, he lived in a garden apartment complex.

  “Any pod left there would have been moved by the rental office,” she speculated, giddy and still far too tired to attempt to move.

  And then she became aware that Josh had raised himself up on his elbow and was looking at her. Suddenly, she wasn’t so tired anymore. Feeling around on the floor, she searched for an article of clothing, any article of clothing larger than a handkerchief so that she could cover herself.

  But there was nothing there except for the rug. Frustrated, she reached over her head and pulled down the seat cushion from the sofa and placed that on her body. It balanced precariously.

  “Looking for a floatation device?” Josh asked, amused. “I don’t think the weather bureau predicted any flash flooding for the area.” He found her modesty almost sweet. And rather futile. Very gently, he tugged away the cushion. “You realize that’s like locking the barn door after the proverbial horses have run off.”

  He was right, of course, but that didn’t keep her from being stubborn. “It’s my barn door,” Bridget argued. “I can do with it whatever I want.”

  “That it is,” he agreed. “And you can.” And then his smile turned from amused to sensual. “All I ask for is squatter’s rights.”

  Bridget could feel warmth spreading throughout her entire body. The kind of warmth that promised to turn her a bright, bright shade of pink from her head to her toes. And he noticed the progression starting.

  “Hey, Cavanaugh,” he said, calling attention to the color her skin was turning. “You’re blushing.”

  “No, I’m not,” she bit off.

  He was going to make her pay for this occasion of weakness, wasn’t he? This was a mistake, a damn mistake. Why hadn’t she stopped herself while she still had a chance?

  Because she’d wanted it too much. And now she was going to pay for it, Bridget thought, trying to resign herself to her fate.

  “Okay,” he allowed, “then you must be lying on something very hot because you’re turning a shade of pink I’ve only seen on preteens and salmon steaks while they’re being grilled. The salmon, not the preteens,” he added with a widening grin.

  He was laughing at her, she thought angrily. Sitting up, Bridget scanned the immediate area, looking for her dress. Why hadn’t she been more careful when she’d done her frenzied striptease and taken note where she’d dropped her clothes?

  Suddenly spotting her dress, Bridget made a dive for it.

  Unfortunately, she had to turn her back on Josh to do it and he found that the view succeeded in arousing him all over again. His partner, he thought not for the first time, was one fine-looking woman.

  “If you don’t want to turn me on, Cavanaugh, I suggest you find yourself a blanket and wrap yourself up in it now.” He stressed the last word, conveying a sense of urgency to her. He wasn’t about to take advantage of her, but what he did want to do was to seduce her into doing what they’d just done all over again.

  Holding the dress, rather than slipping it on and having it reveal more than it hid—since she had no undergarments on—Bridget held it up against her as she turned around again to look at him.

  “You’re telling me I’m turning you on?” she asked incredulously. The Josh she knew would have never admitted to something like that. It completely went against his love-’em-and-leave-’em facade. Just who was this man she’d just made love with?

  “Right now, Cavanaugh, you could turn on a rock. A petrified rock.”

  She didn’t want him to see how much his words affected her. She wasn’t nearly as experienced as he was—who was?—but she wasn’t exactly a babe in the woods, either. The last thing she wanted was to hear Josh gloating that she’d been moved by his compliment. She did her best to appear unaffected and blasé.

  “Does that line usually work for you?” she asked him, a smirk on her lips.

  “Work for me?” he repeated as if he didn’t quite follow her.

  “Does it get you ‘repeat business’?” she stressed. When he still didn’t seem to get it, she elaborated even further. “The women you make love with, does saying that line to them have them suddenly desperate to do it all over again?”

  “It’s not words that they’re after,” he told her evenly, his meaning clear.

  He was telling her the reason the sexual partners he’d had were so eager to make love with him again was because of his technique, not his words. He really had made the earth move, but she would die before ever telling him that.

  His eyes seemed full of sensual mischief as he tugged her back down to him. “So, how about those 49ers?” he teased, referring to the San Francisco football team.

  “You’ll have to ask Logan,” she said, bringing up the name of one of her brothers. “He’s the resident expert on football.”

  The sensual smile still very present on his lips, Josh ran his fingertips over her mouth. “And what are you an expert on?”

  “I haven’t picked an area of expertise yet. When I do, I’ll let you know.”

  Her eyes fluttered shut almost involuntarily as she felt Josh sensually brush his lips—just the slightest point of contact—against her shoulder. Even that fleeting touch sent goose bumps racing up and down her spine.

  “I really wish you wouldn’t do that, Youngblood,” Bridget said. It took effort to squeeze the words out evenly.

  He drew his head back a little, as if studying her. “Nope, you don’t mean that,” he told her simply.

  Her back went up. No, she didn’t mean that, but he was being just a little too cocky for her taste. “Why? Because you’re so damned irresistible?”

  Lucky for her he liked feisty women, Josh thought. The more she resisted, the more she aroused and interested him.

  “No,” he told her very simply. “Because you’re crinkling your nose. You always crinkle your nose when you’re lying. It’s your ‘tell.’”

  “You studied my face?” she asked in disbelief, stunned.

  “Among other interesting parts,” he said, unable to resist giving her a leer. “I li
ke knowing my partner inside and out.”

  She just bet he did. Bridget raised her chin defiantly. “There’s such a thing as too much information, you know.”

  “Maybe.” His smile went straight into her nervous system, causing an instant upheaval. “But not in this case.”

  Leaning down over her, Josh kissed her. Not passionately the way he had in response to her first kiss earlier, but with small, soft kisses landing gently on her lips like the first spring butterfly delicately perching on a rose petal just before it flew off.

  If possible, this had an even greater effect on her than his passionate kiss had. She could feel her very core igniting as desire galloped through her even more urgently than the first time. Surrendering, giving up all resistance to this man, she reached for him.

  The next moment, he had her in his arms and was abandoning any thought of reining in his feelings. They had this moment and he intended to enjoy it—enjoy her—with every fiber of his being.

  Who knew what tomorrow might bring?

  Amid the passion and the ardor, the sound of first one cell phone ringing, then two, took a little time to penetrate.

  Bridget wanted nothing more than to ignore it and just absorb the wild feelings shooting through her. But she knew she couldn’t pretend her phone wasn’t ringing. She was a detective with the Aurora Police Department and that meant that unless she was lying on a table in the operating room and was actively under the knife, she was expected to be on call anytime, anyplace. No matter what.

  As was Josh.

  Drawing her head back, she looked up at him. His phone was ringing as well.

  Resigned, she reluctantly reached for her cell phone. It took her a moment to focus—and then she realized what the call had to be about.

  Oh God, please not again.

  “Cavanaugh,” she declared grimly a second after she unlocked her phone. Her voice blended with Josh’s as he announced, “Youngblood.”

  They were both on the phone and both looking at each other, dreading confirmation that the Lady Killer had struck again.

  “He’s out of control,” the voice on the other end—Langford—told her. Frustration echoed in his deep voice. “The Lady Killer just killed victim number three and it’s not even the tenth yet.”

  “Where?” she asked, sitting up and dragging her hand through her hair. As the detective on the other end of the line spoke, she scanned the room, trying to locate the rest of her clothes. Listening to Langford she was also attempting to make out what Josh was saying at the same time.

  He wasn’t saying much, but his face had grown grim. “Be right there,” he told the detective who’d called him. “No, I’ve already left the chief’s party,” he replied to Kennedy’s question just before he shut his phone and terminated the call.

  There was no reason to state the obvious. The Lady Killer had upped his ante and was on a spree.

  “At this rate, he’s going to double the number of his total kills by the time he gets to the end of the month,” Josh said grimly, standing up.

  Bridget suddenly found herself caught in two very different worlds. In one, she was the consummate detective, her mind on the case, in a hurry to get herself together so she could get to the scene of the crime as quickly as possible.

  In the other world, she was a woman who’d just been utterly blown away by her partner and was, even now, while in the midst of a tragedy, utterly captivated by Josh. The latter had just stood up, as unencumbered by clothing as the day he was born and completely unselfconscious about the figure he cast.

  He had one hell of a magnificent, taut body, she couldn’t help admiring. Even her fingertips were tingling.

  “Maybe you should get dressed a little faster,” she suggested, her throat feeling just the slightest bit tight.

  Picking up his clothes from the floor, Josh looked at her quizzically. “Why?”

  “Just do it,” she snapped, turning her back on him and marching off to her bedroom.

  She didn’t see Josh grinning at her.

  If she was going to be up all night—and this had all the earmarks of an all-nighter—she might as well be comfortable. Going to her closet, she pulled out a pair of jeans and a pale blue turtleneck sweater. She moved quickly, got dressed and hurried out, a pair of boots in her hand.

  Almost dressed, Josh was buttoning up his shirt. She sat on the edge of the sofa, pulling on her boots. He gave her a quick once-over.

  “Oddly enough, you look just as sexy in that as in the dress you had on tonight. Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that I know what you look like naked,” he added with a smoldering, lethal grin.

  Glorious as it had been, it was a mistake and she knew it. Most workplace affairs fizzled out quickly, leaving behind a residue of awkwardness if not worse. If that happened, ultimately they would wind up getting different partners, which was a shame because whatever else went on between them, she and Josh worked extremely well together.

  “I’d rather you kept that to yourself,” Bridget told him.

  Finished buttoning, he tucked in his shirt and then held up his hands.

  “No problem,” he said. “I wasn’t exactly planning on posting it on YouTube.”

  He was staring at her, she noted. Again. Braced for some kind of punch line or snappy comment at her expense, she told herself she might as well get it over with. “Okay, what?”

  “Nothing,” he answered noncommittally. “It’s just that you think you know a person after interacting with them on a daily basis for over three years and yet there always seems to be some kind of surprise just underneath the surface.”

  She had always liked surprises. “I would think that’s a good thing.”

  “Didn’t say it wasn’t,” he replied in his laid-back manner. The same sort of pseudo-country-boy manner that drove her crazy.

  Their phones rang again and they exchanged looks. Bridget had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Oh God, don’t tell me there’s another one besides the one they just called about,” she groaned. That seemed incredibly macabre, even for the Lady Killer.

  “Only one way to find out,” Josh said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Youngblood.” She could have sworn she saw him square his shoulders and snap to attention a beat before he said, “Yes, Chief. No, I wasn’t asleep yet.”

  Her phone began ringing. Why was the chief of detectives calling him, she wondered even as she opened her own phone. This seemed a little beneath the man’s level of operation.

  “Cavanaugh.”

  “So, I’m glad to hear you’re finally using it,” the deep male voice on the other end told her with resonant approval.

  “Chief?” she asked uncertainly, looking at Josh. Why was the man they’d left at the party calling both of them on a conference call? Was the man checking on them for some reason?

  Had he suspected the way the evening had gone and called to confirm?

  Brian Cavanaugh didn’t strike her as the type to pass judgment on the personal lives of his people, but then, she wouldn’t have guessed that Josh was as good as he was—or as thoughtful—either. Her ability to read people had been temporarily suspended.

  “Yes, it’s me, Bridget. I’ve got you both on conference call,” Brian told the duo. “Thought it might save a little time that way. I take it the two of you are in the same area.”

  She took a breath, then said, “Yes, sir,” wondering if this was just an innocent question on the chief’s part or if, as she feared, the man was putting two and two together. And if he did, would there be a reprimand along with some sort of consequences?

  “Okay, then I’ll expect to see you both here ASAP. We need to put an end to this. Now,” Brian emphasized grimly.

  “If the chief’s involved,” Josh said to her as she terminated the call and closed her cell phone, “that means he’s getting a lot of pressure to make an arrest and have a suspect arraigned for this killing spree.”

  She nodded in agreement.
“Certainly looks that way. The chief of D’s considers Aurora his city to personally protect.” Bridget sighed, shaking her head. “Now all we need is a suspect to arrest,” she muttered as they dressed and went over to the front door.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, setting his jaw grimly. “That would be rather nice, wouldn’t it? Well, maybe this time the son of a bitch made a mistake and we can finally latch onto something. C’mon, let’s go,” he urged, leading the way out.

  Locking her door, Bridget hurried to the waiting vehicle.

  Chapter 13

  She could hear herself breathe.

  Josh wasn’t saying anything. He hadn’t said a single word to her since they’d gotten into the car. It wasn’t like him.

  One of them had to bring it up before it became the elephant riding in the unmarked car, taking up all the available space, sucking up all the oxygen and growing at a prodigious rate.

  If he wasn’t going to do it, it was up to her.

  “So, what was that back at my place?” Bridget finally asked without any sort of preamble. The silence had gotten just too overbearing and unwieldy for her to tolerate.

  “Pretty terrific, I thought,” Josh answered with feeling. Sparing her a quick look, he added, “You were good, too.”

  His breezy tone, as well as the way he’d phrased his answer, told her all she needed to know about how he regarded what had happened between them.

  She should have known, Bridget chided herself. What had she expected, anyway? That one encounter with her and he’d magically transform into someone who’d hang around longer than the life expectancy of a fruit fly?

  “So, it was just a hookup,” she concluded quietly, setting her jaw hard.

  It was on the tip of Josh’s tongue to confirm her assumption. To say something light and flippant, the way he always did, and to act as if, now that they were back in their clothes, it was just business as usual between them.

  But it wasn’t business as usual. What had happened between Bridget and him earlier had been different. Really different. And he knew damn well that he stood the chance of losing something exceedingly special if he fell back on his usual carefree, man-about-town act.