He advanced again, and she hesitated with another step back, then held her ground. He needed to touch her. He stroked a finger along her jaw. “You’re beat, Cooke. A couple hours away with a decent meal will recharge your batteries.” He moved his hand to her neck, caressing his knuckles along her soft skin, and she shuddered.
“Tucker—” She pulled his hand away. “I can’t.”
She could, and she needed to. He fiddled with her fingers. “Tell me you aren’t going to let Lenora Cartwright ruin your special day.”
She frowned.
“This is your last official year in your twenties. Put on something nice and let’s go—for a little while.”
She let loose a deep breath. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
He grinned. “See you in twenty-five.”
“Fifteen. Start your timer.” She walked into the guest bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Wren studied the gorgeous presentation of her dish as their suit-clad waiter set their meals before them. “This looks lovely.”
The waiter picked up the bottle of pinot grigio, adding to the crisp white Wren already sampled, then tipped more into Tucker’s glass as well. “Enjoy your meals.”
“Thank you,” Tucker said as he picked up his fork and knife.
Wren breathed deep and hummed her appreciation. “I can’t remember the last time I had a good piece of cod.”
“Looks like this could be your night.”
“It smells amazing.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and give it a try.”
She cut into the tender white fish, forked up a small bite, and closed her eyes, moaning as the subtle tastes melded beautifully on her tongue. “Oh my gosh. This is amazing. The hints of pesto are perfect.”
Tucker grinned. “Good.” He cut a sample of filet mignon and held the fork to her lips. “How about this?”
She held his gaze in the candlelight as she sampled the melt-in-your mouth morsel. “The chef is a genius. He’s earned every one of his five stars.”
He tasted his meal for himself and nodded. “Not half bad. I’ve never been to this restaurant. Ms. Hayes suggested it. She thought you might like it.”
She glanced around at other well-dressed patrons enjoying their cuisine. Quiet violin music added to the stuffy fine-dining atmosphere. She looked back to Tucker again. This definitely wasn’t his scene. He’s was more of a burger-and-beer kind of guy, yet he seemed just as at home here among Park City’s upper crust as he did in his atrocious apartment. “Ms. Hayes was at the house today?”
He shook his head. “Yesterday. She stopped in to check on us—brought some fresh fruits and vegetables by. She asked where you were. I told her you were working. She said I should bring you here. When Ethan told me it was your birthday, I thought tonight would be the perfect opportunity to check it out.”
“That’s very sweet. Ms. Hayes takes good care of you.”
“Always did.”
“So, how long has it been since you’ve been back?”
“Fourteen-and-a-half years.”
“A long time.” Too many memories here, she assumed. Her heart broke all over again for the man sitting across the table, but she pushed away the unhappiness. He was trying to make tonight special. “Park City’s a beautiful place.” She looked out the window as pretty flakes fell. The slopes in the distance were lit up, and several enthusiasts were taking advantage. “Do you ski?”
“Sure. You?”
“Yes.” She swallowed another heavenly bite. “It’s been awhile, though. Several years, actually, but Ethan and I have had more than our fair share of races. In fact, that’s how I broke my arm.”
His brow shot up. “Some competition.”
“He’ll do anything to win.”
Tucker paused with his next forkful. “Ethan broke your arm on purpose?”
“He says no, and Ms. Willa the same, but I’ve always had my doubts. I was about to cross our agreed-upon finish line and bam, he just happens to tangle his pole with mine, and I take a nosedive.”
He grinned. “Sounds like a conspiracy.”
She chuckled as he cut another piece of steak.
“Tucker Campbell? Is that you, son?” A tall older man stopped by their table.
Tucker stood, smiling, and held out his hand. “Mr. Follensby.”
Mr. Follensby returned the handshake. “I haven’t seen you in years. How are you?”
“I’m fine. Doing well.”
The man smiled down at Wren.
“Mr. Follensby, this is Wren Cooke. Wren, Mr. Follensby is a good friend of my parents.”
She took his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you. I hope you’re enjoying your stay here in Park City.”
“I am. This is a beautiful area.”
“It certainly is.” He patted her hand and returned his attention to Tucker. “I ran in to your pop awhile back in London. The missus and I stayed at the resort. The old man still runs a tight ship. Be sure to let him know his staff is still among the best. We were well taken care of.”
Tucker nodded. “Will do. That’s always great to hear.”
“How’s Melanie?”
“Mom’s good. She’s doing her charity work in Monterey.”
“The missus needs to give her a call the next time we head that way. Well, I should go. I don’t want to interrupt any more of your evening. It was nice to meet you, Wren.”
“You as well.”
“Good to have you back in Utah, son.” He slapped Tucker’s shoulder. “You take care, now.”
“I will, and you do the same.”
Mr. Follensby left as quickly as he’d strolled up to the table.
Wren sipped her wine, following the older gentleman’s path to the exit. “Now there’s a man with some energy.”
Tucker settled himself in his seat. “He’s always had plenty—used to work for my dad.”
“I see.” She’d learned more about Tucker’s family in the five minutes he’d spoken with Mr. Follensby than she had in the week they’d been in his home. She wanted to know the man across the table. “He worked at the hotel your father runs in London?”
“No, Mr. Follensby oversaw the Northeast branches here in the States for…years. He’s retired.”
“Well that’s a relief.”
Tucker frowned. “I’m not following you.”
“I was starting to think your father was Bruce Wayne and the off-limit wing at the summer home housed the bat cave.” She took another bite of cod.
He grinned. “Sorry to disappoint you. Nothing as exciting as that.”
“So, your father runs hotels in London and the U.S.?”
“Among several other spots around the world.”
No wonder they had money. With a job like that… She picked up her wineglass and set it back down as she connected the dots. “Wait a minute. Campbell Suites.”
He sampled a bite of creamy mashed potatoes. “That’s us.”
She gaped as she stared at the simple man across from her. “You’re Campbell Suites?”
He shook his head. “My dad’s Campbell Suites. I’m a bodyguard.”
“But—this is—” She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to digest this new development. If she’d ever been more shocked, she couldn’t remember. “I can’t believe this. You’re family has piles and piles of money and you live in that crap hole by the water?”
He shrugged. “I like my crap hole by the water.”
“Your family’s main home is in Monterey?”
“Yes.”
“Has your mother ever been inside your apartment?”
“No. She doesn’t get out of Monterey much.”
“That might
be for the better. A shock like that could be unhealthy.”
He chuckled.
She smiled at the absurdity of it all. “So, why aren’t you a hotelier like your father?”
“That was the plan. Then things changed.”
“Like what?”
“I decided I wanted to become a cop instead.”
“From hotelier to justice seeker.”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
His eyes were growing distant with every question she asked. He was closing up on her again. Why? Taking a risk, she reached out and touched his hand. “I’m not teasing you, Tucker. Criminal Justice is a very noble profession.”
He smiled. “We’re a noble breed. You just won’t date us.”
She wrinkled her nose and pulled back, caught in her own web of inconsistencies. Score one for Tucker. “Nope.”
He reached forward and snagged her hand. “There’s just one problem, Cooke.” The troubled look was gone from his eyes, and the mischief was back. “We’re out on a date right now.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, and she swallowed as a spark of heat followed the trail.
“This isn’t a date.” She tried to free herself from his grip as he sent his thumb on another journey, but he held her still.
“No?”
“Absolutely not.”
“You’re dressed up—look good enough to eat, by the way; I’m dressed up, we’re drinking wine, candles are flickering while you stare into my eyes. Definitely a date, Cooke.”
She wiggled uncomfortably in her deep red, clinging sweater-dress as his long, slow strokes continued to drive her crazy. “Sorry to disappoint you. We have a working relationship—nothing more. I’m just not attracted to you,” she lied.
Shrugging, he shook his head. “You win some, you lose some.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut. He was baiting her and having a hell of a time doing so. She was quickly losing control of this evening. It was time to go. “I don’t know about you but I’m full.” She pushed back her mostly empty plate. “I’m ready whenever you are.” She glanced down at her hand, wanting him to let her go. His thumb alone was making her melt. What would the rest of him do?
“No cake?”
“Uh, no thanks. The fish and veggies were very filling.”
“Ice cream?”
“I doubt they have Death by Chocolate.”
“Probably not.” He held up his free hand, signaling the waiter.
Minutes later the heat puffed through the vents of the Jeep and the wipers batted away enormous flakes as they traveled down Main Street. Wren kept her hands in her lap, her fingers laced, afraid Tucker might try to touch her again. He packed a punch. Her skin still tingled from his last teasing assault.
He slowed and pulled up to a spot by the small general store. “I’ll be right back. Keep the doors locked.”
“Okay.”
Tucker hustled inside, tucking his chin into his thick jacket. The wind was picking up, along with the precipitation. She watched Tucker through the large panes of glass, studying him as he moved about, bringing his item to the counter. Her heart picked up its pace as he spoke to the cashier and grinned. That smile was as lethal as any weapon. She scrutinized his gorgeous face and powerful build, searching for any flaw. There was none to be found. He was beautiful—perfectly so. And beneath the cockiness and sarcasm lay a kind man with plenty of sweet spots. All in all, Tucker Campbell was a dangerous package. It was wise to remember that. She still struggled to wrap her mind around the staggering wealth he came from. He was so basic—not a stuck-up, entitled bone in his body. She admired him more because of it. He easily could have sat back and coasted in his father’s footsteps, but he’d paved his own path.
He gave the attendant a quick wave and pushed through the door.
Wren unlocked the driver’s side for him. “What’d’ya get?”
He handed her the small brown bag. “Needed some shaving cream.”
“Oh.” She loved his constant five o’clock shadow.
He buckled in and waited for an ebb in traffic, then reversed back on to Main Street. He stopped at the four-way intersection and took a left up the twisting mountain road.
Wren pulled her phone from her purse as Tucker slowly maneuvered the sharp, slippery curves. Dinner had been enjoyable and a much-needed break, but now she had to get back to work. There were probably a million voicemails waiting for her. She slid her finger across the screen and stared. No new messages. No waiting texts. Surprised, she shoved the cell away. Patrick must’ve actually taken her advice and put his feet up.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just weird not being bombarded by calls.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts.”
She wanted to, but the silence left her uneasy. Patrick was as obsessed with the business as she was. She grabbed her phone again, ready to give him a call, then put it away. Maybe he’d found himself a date—the new guy he met on the buying trip last week, perhaps. Patrick deserved a quiet night as much as she did.
Tucker pulled in the drive and stopped. “Brilliant. What the hell kind of plow job is that?” A good two feet of snow had been pushed up against the garage door.
“I guess they don’t know we’re staying here.”
“Yeah, but it’s the garage. Who does that?”
Shrugging, she shook her head. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
He backed up and pulled closer to the front door. “I’ll have to call the company and get this figured out. I can’t have the vehicle sitting out. It’s not good for logistics.”
“You never know when we’ll have to make a speedy get away,” she teased.
He smiled. “I think we’re good here, but I like to be safe rather than sorry.” He turned off the ignition and killed the lights. “Looks like we’re going in this way tonight. Ready?”
“Yes.”
“Wait right here.” He snagged the bag from her lap, shoved it in his pocket, got out, came around to her side, and opened her door. “It’s getting slippery.” He offered his arm.
She was in heels, and the snow was piling up, yet she didn’t want to grab hold. She was still churned up over a simple slide of his thumb. “Thanks but I think I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.” She stepped out and slid. “Crap!”
He grabbed her around the shoulders, pulling her against him, catching her before she went down.
She clung to him, gripping his powerful waist. They stared in each other’s eyes as their breath puffed out in white plumes.
“Wasn’t kidding. How about that arm?”
His cologne clogged her brain, and her gaze darted to his lips just inches from her own. “Uh.”
“It’s freezing out here, Cooke. Walk.”
She broke out of her trance and took a step toward the door. What was her problem? She’d never reacted to a man like this before. A few swipes of his fingers along her skin and he’d successfully tied her up in a ball of sexual knots.
He unlocked the door and she stepped inside, immediately untangling herself from his hold.
“Thanks for dinner,” she said in a rush as she unbuttoned her coat. “I should probably get back to work.” She needed to lose herself in the details of the Movenbeck install and pretend this whole evening never happened. Work would help her smooth out the worst of whatever it was Tucker was doing to her.
“Night’s not over yet.”
What did he mean by that? She narrowed her eyes as he put his jacket in the closet and walked to the fire, throwing more logs onto the sleepy embers.
“Wanna scoop us a couple bowls?”
“Huh?”
He tossed her the brown bag.
She caught the paper sack, peeked in, and couldn’t help but smile. “Death by Chocolate.”
“Gotta have it on your birthday.”
“I thought you said you bought shaving cream.”
“I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.”
How was she supposed to resist a man who made a special stop-off in crappy weather for her favorite ice cream? He kept throwing her off balance with his sweet gestures. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She held his gaze a moment, worried for the first time ever that her sheer determination to keep Tucker Campbell at arm’s length might not be enough. She had few defenses against a kind heart.
“You all right?”
“Uh, yes. I’m going to…do this…” She waved the bag and turned, rolling her eyes at herself on her way to the kitchen. “Get it together, Wren,” she muttered as she yanked two bowls from the cupboard. Nothing was happening here. She didn’t feel anything more for Tucker than a healthy dose of lust. She glanced through the open space separating the kitchen from the living room and huffed out a breath. Did he have to stand there like that, looking all gorgeous and vulnerable while he stared into the fire?
She bit her lip as she fought the urge to walk to him and soothe away his sadness. No. This isn’t happening. More determined than ever to remain unaffected, she scooped up a small serving of creamy chocolate for herself and a large helping for Tucker. They were friends—if that. And he was her bodyguard. She was not about to be the clichéd damsel who fell for her protector. The idea alone almost made her chuckle. Calmer, steadier, she put the container in the freezer and grabbed two spoons on her way to the sitting area. She would enjoy her birthday treat with some friendly conversation, then get back to work. The end. “Here you go.”
He gave her a small smile as he took the bowl and sat on the loveseat. “Thanks.”
Determined to show herself that Tucker was nothing more than another attractive man, she took the cushion next to him. Heat radiated from the fire as she held the cold bowl in her hand and scooped up a bite of rich chocolaty sin. “Mmm. This is the best flavor ever invented.”
Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) Page 12
