by Anita Meyer
Or what’s left of it.
“Your wish is my command,” Jeff replied. He stood and pulled out her chair, bringing her to her feet.
“Now what?” she asked skeptically.
“Dancing, of course,” Jeff said. “The sooner we get through these traditions, the sooner we can leave.”
The moment Jeff guided her into his arms, Caroline felt as if her entire body had received an electric shock. Her right hand tingled as his fingers wrapped lightly around hers. His right hand burned through the silk and lace of her gown, caressing naked skin at the small of her back. Their bodies were almost touching and the realization ignited a flame in. the pit of her stomach.
She closed her eyes and tried to focus her thoughts on something, anything else—the gown and the flowers, the sunlit chapel and the vows she had taken. Simple, powerful phrases of love and devotion…that meant absolutely nothing.
Caroline swallowed around the lump that suddenly stuck in her throat. She had lied when she’d told Jeff she never believed in fairy tales. She had believed…once. But that was a lifetime ago. Now, strangely, in a heart that had been hardened by reality, she felt a yearning for the dreams she had long ago abandoned.
Get real, she warned herself. Even her wildest fantasies had not been of a knight in shining armor, and they certainly never included the total stranger with whom she was dancing.
Not that he couldn’t have been a knight.
His skin was bronzed by the sun and his scent was of citrus and spice. His hair was thick and shiny, sun-bleached to the color of golden wheat. He had deep blue eyes with a thick fringe of blond lashes, a strong mouth with a touch of sensuality, prominent cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. And, heaven help her, a slight dimple when he smiled.
Definitely knight material.
And he was definitely smiling.
Jeff felt his chest tighten as he held her. She was exquisite—every inch the beautiful bride. But there was more. An aura of sensuality enveloped her, a radiance that took his breath away.
She wasn’t supposed to be this lovely, wasn’t supposed to have eyes the color of warm chocolate. She wasn’t supposed to be a contradiction of fragile beauty and steely strength. And he sure as hell wasn’t supposed to want her. But he did.
Caroline gasped when he pulled her closer. Her trembling hand slid up the rock-hard muscles in his arm to the edge of his broad shoulder, and when she gazed into his smoldering eyes, her mouth went dry. She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue, too late realizing that the innocent gesture only darkened the desire.
A long brown tendril clung to her jawline. He released her hand and curled the hair around his finger, grazing her sensitized skin with the back of his hand. “You’re so…soft.”
“I’m not soft,” she said, her voice sounding far too husky, even to her own ears. “In fact, I’m very strong.”
He tightened his hold around her waist. “You can be both, you know.”
Her heart pounded uncontrollably and heated blood sang through her veins. What was going on here? This wasn’t like her. She was Caroline Southeby. Independent. Self-reliant. Stalwart in the face of mobsters and assassins. Able to deflect police officers at a single glance.
And now she was all weak in the knees because of a reasonably attractive man with bedroom eyes. Another flame, hot and restless, burned deep inside and she was powerless to stop it. Her knees buckled, and she leaned against him for support. His solid torso radiated heat, consuming her from without as swiftly as she burned within. She laid her cheek against the smooth satin lapel.
And then it happened.
Without warning a flash of light exploded, blinding her. Her heart seemed to stop and she clutched at Jeff as she waited for the searing pain that her mind knew would follow.
But it didn’t.
And after an eternity passed, she forced her hands to release their death-hold grip.
“It’s all right, Caroline,” Jeff said softly. “It was only a flashbulb.”
“Flashbulb?” Her mind struggled to comprehend.
“From a camera,” he explained.
“But…” Her heart lurched as the magnitude of his words sank in. “But there can’t be any pictures,” she gasped.
“There aren’t,” Jeff said soothingly. “The photographer is a police officer. He’ll be flashing away all afternoon, but there’s no film in the camera. Relax. You’re safe. I promise you.”
Relax? Not a chance. She’d tried that and look what had happened. No, no more. She had to stay alert and focused. She spotted Mac coming toward them.
He cleared his throat with a self-conscious sound. “May I?” he asked, grinning at the dark look that clouded Jeff’s face.
“No,” Jeff said bluntly. He swung her around and danced her away from his brother.
Mac persisted, trotting along behind Jeff and tapping him once again. “You wouldn’t make a scene at your own wedding, would you?”
“Yes. Besides, don’t you have some best-man stuff to do?”
“This is it,” Mac said. “I’m supposed to dance with the bride and welcome her to the family.”
“Says who?”
“Emily Post.”
Jeff put his head close to hers. “Pretend you don’t see him,” he whispered loudly. “Maybe he’ll give up and go away.” Jeff waved his hand as if swatting an irritating mosquito.
“Bzz,” Mac said, following the couple around the dance floor.
“He’s…um…still there.” Caroline tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh.
Jeff sighed loudly. “If you leave I’ll give you a dollar.”
Mac paused for a moment to consider the offer. “Nah.”
“A hundred dollars?”
“Nope.”
Jeff stopped dancing and glared at his brother. “How much will it cost to get rid of you?”
Mac grinned. “Bro, there isn’t enough money in all the world to pass up an opportunity to dance with this divine creature.” He pushed in front of Jeff and danced her away, grinning the whole time.
“Do you always get what you want?” Caroline asked Mac after he had whirled her a safe distance from his brother.
“Not always, but often enough,” he admitted.
Caroline looked him over appraisingly. “Honest, but not arrogant. That’s good.”
Mac grinned. “Then I’m succeeding.”
“At what?” she asked skeptically.
“At making you feel warm…welcome…” He paused before adding the final word. “Safe.”
The brittleness of her laughter surprised them both. “Safe?” she asked. “You sound like your brother. No offense, but I’m not likely to feel safe until Augie Davis is convicted and put away.”
Mac puffed out his chest. “Not even with two big, strong, he-man types to protect you?”
“Oh, no,” Caroline groaned. “Not you, too.”
“Not ‘me too’ what?” Mac asked, more than a little confused.
“Mr. McKensie, let me ask you something. Do you have any real experience in witness protection?”
“My father was Mr. McKensie. I’m Mac. And to answer your question—no, I’ve never actually done this before. But I’ve been in more than a few tight spots in my day.”
Now it was her turn to stare. “Tight spots? Mr. McKensie, a tight spot is when you’ve parallel parked and the car in front and the car behind have you blocked in. You’ll forgive me if I consider my situation something more than a tight spot.”
“My name is Mac, and I’m well aware of your situation. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could handle the job.”
“Ah, now we get the arrogance.”
“Arrogance, my ass. Lady, I know what I’m doing. I’ve been a marine, a cop, head of security, a—”
“Wait a minute,” Caroline interrupted. “If you’ve had that much experience, why didn’t Peterson ask you to take this job?”
Mac scowled. “Arthur thinks I’m flighty. He says I’ve got more exes than
Elizabeth Taylor and Mickey Rooney combined.”
Caroline shook her head. “What on earth does your marital status have to do with this?”
“Not ex-wives,” Mac explained. “Ex-jobs. I’m an exmarine, ex-cop, ex-P.I., ex… Well, you get the picture. Anyway, Arthur prefers working with more stable people. Like my baby brother, Jeff of Gibraltar.”
“Jeff of Gibraltar?” she repeated slowly.
“Yeah. The guy planned out his life when he was in kindergarten and he hasn’t missed a step since. College, law school, partnership. And talk about overachiever. He wants to learn karate? He’s a fifth-level black belt. Part-time P.I. to pay for school? He builds a full-time practice in one summer. Need to learn about firearms? He could give lessons to Annie Oakley.” Mac shook his head. “It’s a good thing I’m not the insecure type, or I might have developed a complex.”
Caroline smiled. “I don’t believe a person’s worth is determined solely by his accomplishments.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Mac said quickly. “Jeff has a lot of good qualities. He’s loyal, dependable, trustworthy, protective, true-blue—”
Caroline laughed. “You make him sound like a Saint Bernard.”
“Now that you mention it,” Mac said, “there are a lot of similarities.”
She returned his smile. “But basically, in this very roundabout fashion, you’re trying to tell me not to worry because your brother is rock solid, is that it?”
“Are you kidding? His middle name’s Prudential.”
“Really?” She tried hard to keep a straight face. “I could have sworn the minister said it was Paul.”
Mac shook his head solemnly. “It’s a source of embarrassment,” he confided. “And since this wasn’t a real ceremony, Jeff decided to use a more conventional middle name.”
“And since we’re divulging family secrets,” Jeff said, tapping Mac on the shoulder, “why don’t you tell the lady your real name?”
“Why don’t I go check on Gran?” Mac replied, quickly placing Caroline’s hand in his brother’s.
“Wise choice,” Jeff said, slipping his arm around his bride and pulling her close once more.
From the corner of her eye Caroline caught sight of a man standing alone, watching them with an intensity that made her skin crawl. Surely, he was guest, a friend of the McKensies. But he looked out of place, different.
She turned to keep him in view and reflexively her fingers tightened on Jeff’s hand and shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
Caroline hesitated. The man was talking and laughing now with several other guests. Maybe she was mistaken. Maybe her imagination was running rampant. It was hard to think straight anymore. She questioned everyone and everything. Augie Davis was so powerful. There was no telling how far his reach extended.
She glanced again at the man in the corner. He was still there, and he was still watching her. Of that much she was certain. She looked up into Jeff’s face, a face engraved with real concern, and decided to take a chance. “That man,” she said. “The one over there, talking to the lady in the blue dress. He’s been staring at me. Do you know him?” She held her breath.
“No,” Jeff said. “But I will.” Without missing a beat, he waltzed her over to his grandmother’s table and offered her a seat. “Smile,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
She never saw him nod or wink or motion to Mac and Arthur, but as Jeff laughed and pumped the stranger’s hand, they swooped down and quietly escorted the man out of the reception room. Less than ten minutes later all three were back—minus the guest.
“Who was it?” she asked Jeff when he appeared at her side.
“Tell you later,” Jeff said. “Now, let’s cut that cake.”
Jeff leaned forward and looked past Caroline out the small oval window of the plane. Under the dark cover of night, the plane continued its ascent, and after a few more minutes, clouds completely obscured the twinkling lights of Atlanta.
He ventured a glance at the lady sleeping next to him. She hadn’t been on the plane more than two minutes when she had fallen asleep—or rather, collapsed.
He watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, listened to her gentle breathing, noticed the faint circles under her eyes. She was exhausted. The pressure she’d been under the last few weeks was enough to fell a lumberjack.
With hired assassins breathing down her neck and a price on her head, the seriousness of her situation was never far from the surface. Like that guy at the reception. He wasn’t a hit man, but he was a known informer. Arthur promised to take care of him, but Jeff wasn’t satisfied. He had canceled the plane reservations to St. Croix for Mr. and Mrs.
Jefferson McKensie and made other, more circuitous arrangements for Mr. and Mrs. Paul Jefferson.
Jeff let out a deep breath and rubbed the base of his neck. From the moment Arthur had shown him her photo, he’d been flooded with an inexplicable desire to sweep her into his arms and protect her from dangers both real and imagined. He still wanted to protect her, but now he wondered why nobody had tried to protect him from doing something as crazy as marrying a total stranger.
Well, not really marrying her. But ever since he had stood at that altar, it sure as hell felt real. It would take constant reminding that the beautiful lady sleeping beside him wasn’t really his wife.
And she was beautiful. Hell, any man with eyes could see she was as perfectly made as a woman could be. He let his narrowed gaze travel slowly down the length of her body. She was everything a guy could want. Only trouble was, he didn’t know a damn thing about Caroline Southeby McKensie.
She was a mystery, a walking enigma. He could sense a darkness about her, an underlying sorrow that reinforced her beauty with a mantle of steel. In sleep, she opened like a morning glory. The tough, cold, I-can-go-it-alone defense unfurled, giving him a glimpse of the younger, softer, vulnerable woman inside. But he knew she would close up again as soon as she awoke, just like the flower protecting itself from the night.
Earlier, her mass of hair had been twisted into an intricate plait. Now, as she slept, the strands came undone, framing her oval face in a halo of brown curls. The memory of their silkiness against his fingers made him want to touch them again. He sucked in a hard, deep breath. The memory of her softness, her scent, her warmth, made him want to do a lot of other things—things he couldn’t allow himself to think about.
She moaned softly and turned toward him in her sleep. Twin crescents of lashes, as rich and dark as the earth, shadowed her cheeks. Her mouth was a pale rose, her lips slightly parted.
He eased his arm around her shoulders, and she curled against him, her head dropping to his chest. Her body was exquisite, the soft linen jacket outlining her full breasts, the curving valley of her waist, the seductive arch of her hip. His arm tightened possessively around her as her silky hair brushed against his throat, its fragrance as sweet as summer rain.
And she slept on, leaving him alone and uncomfortable with his thoughts. No doubt about it, it was going to be a hell of a long two months.
Caroline stood in the baggage claim and tried to stretch the kinks out of her bone-weary body. Her sleep had been haunted by memories of her father and Alden and Brian, and she awoke on a sob as the plane began its descent into St. Croix. The lemony glow of sunrise arched its way across the eastern sky, bathing her in soft, warm light. With practiced care, she’d pushed aside the gut-wrenching fear.
She watched Jeff pluck their suitcases off the conveyor belt. The Alexander Hamilton Airport on St. Croix was a lot different than the international one in Atlanta. The island airport was open, and balmy tropical breezes wafted around her as she followed Jeff outside to a station-wagon taxi. The climate was wonderful, and the humidity surprisingly low. It was probably eighty degrees in the early-morning sunnot much different than it had been in San Diego yesterday afternoon.
Was it only yesterday she had walked down the aisle to wed a complete stranger? Less than
a day since she had smiled and danced and tried to act the part of a blushing bride? In some ways it seemed like an eternity. Time was such a strange phenomenon, breathing a different life into everything it touched.
Augie Davis’s trial was nearly two months away. Two months of pretending to be gloriously happy. Two months of living side by side, day in and day out, with a man she had met less than twenty-four hours ago. They were to spend the next three weeks on this island—longer, if things went well; a lot less, if they didn’t.
Thankfully, Arthur was leaving that up to them. Their tickets were open-ended and the options were plentiful. They could fly to St. Thomas or St. John and start the honeymoon ruse all over again. They could hop a ship at the pier in Frederiksted and cruise the Caribbean. They could hide out in San Juan, or they could head for home. As long as she got to New York in time for the trial.
And she would. No matter what.
The taxi turned into a drive lined with palm trees. All around them were rolling, manicured lawns sprinkled with cottages, shops, and restaurants. And at the top of the hill stood a large, pink stucco hotel. It was breathtaking, resplendent with bright blazes of hibiscus and bougainvillea. Caroline smiled. There was something soothing about this elegant eighteenth-century relic, reminding her of a time when life was far less complicated…less sinister.
The taxi stopped in front of the building and Jeff hopped out. Caroline started to slide out after him, but he remained in the doorway, one hand on the window, the other on the roof of the car, his braced stance effectively blocking her way.
“Excuse me,” she said, waiting for him to move. But he didn’t so much as twitch a muscle. “I said, excuse me,” she repeated a little louder. Still nothing.
She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back into the car, holding her down while he scanned the area in all directions.
And what did he think she had been doing all this timeadmiring the scenery? She knew how far it was from the hotel to the road. She knew there was minimal cover from the palm trees and flowering plants. But that worked both ways. From the front of the hotel, there was no place for a sniper to hide.
