The Bride And The Bodyguard

by Anita Meyer

  Caroline shrugged. “Authority may be a bit strong. How about—” she pursed her lips “—an aesthete?”

  Jeff laughed and flipped open the razor, rinsing it under the faucet.

  “You don’t believe me?” she asked.

  “Of course I believe you. I’ve just never thought of shaving as a fine art.”

  “Oh, it’s definitely an art,” Caroline said. She took the razor from his hand and checked the blade. “Here, I’ll show you.” She reached up, but he grabbed her wrist and held it tight.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “I’m going to shave you.”

  “Is that so? And have you ever shaved a man before?”

  “No, but I used to watch my brothers all the time.”

  Jeff laughed. “Honey, watching and doing are two entirely different things. I watch Olympic ski jumping. That doesn’t mean I’m fool enough to try it.”

  Caroline made a face. “You can hardly equate ski jumping with shaving. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?”

  “I could look like van Gogh,” Jeff said, tightening his hold on her wrist.

  “Ah,” she replied. “So what you’re really saying is that you don’t trust me.”

  Jeff stilled. There was that word again. Trust. For a long time he stared into her eyes, their faces close, only the sharp edge of the razor between them. Just a few short hours ago he had begged her to trust him. What good were all his fancy words and promises if he wouldn’t offer her the same thing?

  The moment stretched out between them and then suddenly he released her hand. He positioned himself between her legs, gripped the edge of the marble vanity and held himself rigidly still. “Go ahead,” he said calmly.

  Caroline stroked the handle of the razor with her thumb and swallowed hard. Once again her actions had been foolish and impulsive. Once again she found herself trapped between a rock and a hard place. Either she made some feeble excuse and politely backed down, or she went for it.

  A few weeks ago she would have gone for it—straight for his jugular. But that was a few weeks ago—a lifetime ago. Now the air crackled with tension and there was enough chemistry between them to blow up a science lab.

  She was acutely aware of the powerful legs brushing against the insides of her thighs, the strong hands placed flat on the counter on either side of her legs, the handsome face just scant inches from her own.

  No, she had no desire to slit his throat or any other part of his anatomy. But she wasn’t at all sure she could help it. Not the way her hands, and in fact, her whole insides, were shaking.

  She looked into his eyes, so clear and blue they rivaled the sparkling waters of the Caribbean. There was no challenge written there. No “I dare you.” Only a complete and utter confidence that took her breath away. He believed in her. He

  trusted her. And that was all the encouragement she needed.

  “Turn your head,” she said softly.

  Obligingly, Jeff turned his head to the right and closed his eyes. Gingerly, she reached out with her fingers and touched his left cheekbone. Pulling the skin tight, she placed the blade against his cheek in front of his ear. With a sure slow stroke, she cut a swath in the white foam, from ear to chin. Filling the sink with warm water, she rinsed the blade, and repeated the process. Finally she wiped her fingers on the towel draped over his shoulder.

  “Other side,” she commanded, her voice still little more than a whisper.

  He turned again, never looking at her, never wavering. Since she wasn’t ambidextrous, the right side of his face was harder. She had to keep her elbow in the air to maintain the all-important angle with the blade. The razor moved again and again across his cheek, leaving nothing but smooth, soft skin in its wake.

  Caroline dunked the razor in the sink and took a deep breath before beginning again. She turned his head so he faced her, then tipped it back so the skin on his neck was taut. Starting at base of the neck, she slowly moved the blade upward, always with slow, even strokes. She moved carefully over the Adam’s apple, half-afraid he would swallow. But he never moved. Not even a fraction of an inch. It was as though his entire body had turned to stone.

  With much of the shaving cream gone, it was easier to see his face. She put the razor on the vanity and used the towel to wipe his neck. So far, so good. Not a single nick or scratch. But then the hardest part was yet to come. She still had to shave his chin, under his nose, and around his mouth.

  She wet her lips and picked up the razor once more. “Go like this,” she said, stretching her top lip down over her teeth.

  The statue came to life. His eyes flashed open and met hers, then quickly closed again. But in that split second she saw the passion, the need, raw and explosive. And it rocked her to her core.

  The razor shook as she moved closer—so close she could trace the outline of his lips. So close she could hear his ragged breathing. So close she could smell the minty toothpaste on his breath.

  Acutely aware of the intimacy of her actions, she touched his face with trembling fingers. The razor moved with short, feathery strokes as she shaved the tender skin around his upper lip, mindful of the hollow just beneath his nose. She swished the blade in the water and continued working around his mouth, over his chin, and along the jawline. She focused solely on the act, on the small quill-like bristles and the scalpel-sharp blade. But her heart belied her mind’s effort, taunting her with his scent, the feel of his skin, and the memory of his kiss.

  Somehow she finished the job. “There,” she squeaked. She wiped the last of the shaving cream from his face with one end of the towel, then flipped it over her own shoulder. “All done.”

  Placing her hands flat against his bare chest, she pushed him away and hopped off the vanity, anxious now to put a little distance between his towering form and her overly stimulated libido.

  Jeff leaned forward and looked in the mirror, rubbing his hand over his cheek, chin, and neck. “Not bad,” he said. “In fact, it’s perfect. If you ever decide to give up baking you can always open a barbershop.” The look he gave her was overtly sexual. “I guarantee I’ll be the first one in line.”

  She drained the water from the sink, washed and dried the razor blade, and folded it into the handle. “Sorry,” she said, wadding up the wet towel and tossing it against his chest, “but someone’s got to make the croquembouche.”

  “What do you mean you didn’t ask her?” Caroline planted her hands on her hips and frowned at the little boy who stood in the middle of the room clutching the puppy. He had taken the dog less than an hour ago and she hadn’t expected to see either one of them this soon. “Alex, we had a deal. I promised to keep the puppy for one night and you promised to talk to your mom.”

  The little boy shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Um, I don’t think this is a good time.” He put the squirming puppy down on the floor. “But it’s okay,” he added hastily. “I have a plan.”

  Something about that word set her teeth on edge.

  “Terrific,” she muttered as she looked from Jeff to Mac to Alex and back again. Here was another one. Brian’s plan had gotten him killed. Arthur Peterson’s plan had put her through an entire wedding ceremony and reception. Jeff’s plan translated into house arrest. Mac’s plan meant he was continually popping up and barging in as some ridiculously disguised employee—today, a supposed tennis pro.

  And now this six-year-old child. Why was it men always had a plan? And why did those plans inevitably mean trouble for her?

  “Well, now, Alex,” Jeff said, squatting down so they were at eye level. “Is it a good plan? Did you look at it from every angle? Consider all the options?”

  Alex nodded solemnly. “It’s gonna work,” he said. “It’s got to.”

  “I believe you,” Jeff replied. “And I’ll tell you what. I think we can, uh—” he lowered his voice conspiratorially “—I think we can manage the puppy for another day or two.”

  “Aw-right!” Alex whooped. He j
umped into the air and slapped Jeff’s hand in a high five. Then he gave the dog one last hug and skipped out the door.

  Jeff looked at Caroline who stood tapping her foot, her arms folded across her chest.

  “He got to you, too, didn’t he?” she said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jeff answered. He gestured to Mac who dug a fuzzy green ball out of a tennis bag and tossed it to him. Jeff rolled the ball across the floor and watched the puppy scamper after it.

  “Oh, you don’t, do you? Those great big eyes and that angelic little face.” She shook her head in disbelief. “At least he only conned me into keeping the puppy one night. You just promised to keep him for several days.”

  “I said a day or two,” Jeff corrected.

  Mac snorted. “A day or two, a week or two—do you think a kid knows the difference? I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. Brother, you were had. Hoodwinked. Suckered. Bamboozled—”

  “I was helping a poor kid out of a tight spot. After all, we men are supposed to stick together. Remember?” Jeff gave Mac a withering look.

  The puppy chased the ball until it disappeared under the bed. Caroline retrieved it and rolled it back to him. “Jeff, I’m not upset that you offered to keep this guy a little longer. I think he’s adorable. But we can’t keep him cooped up in here, and we can’t take him outside to play.” She paused as the gravity of her words hit home. “Not yet, anyway.”

  Once again their eyes met. But this time they smiled and in tandem, slowly turned to look at Mac.

  Mac grabbed his tennis bag and started backing toward the door. “Don’t look at me,” he warned. “I’m not taking that mutt and that’s final.”

  “It’ll only be for a day,” Jeff said.

  “Two at the most,” Caroline echoed. She picked up the puppy and held him out at arm’s length in Mac’s direction.

  “Uh-uh, no way, not a chance, forget it. I’m not going to baby-sit a dog. If I touch him once, I’ll be stuck with him forever.”

  “It’s a dog, Mac,” Jeff said. “Not leprosy.”

  “Sorry,” Mac replied, opening the door behind him. “Not interested.”

  “Fine,” Jeff said with mock resignation. “I’ll just send Caroline and the poor puppy out on that long, lonely stretch of beach, Or maybe I’ll take him out and leave her here, all alone and unprotected….”

  Mac swore. “I’ll come by every few hours and walk him. But that’s it, and that’s final.” He was gone before either of them could say another word.

  Caroline smiled and put the dog back on the floor. “What do we do in the meantime?”

  Wordlessly, Jeff picked up the phone. “This is Mr. McKensie in Oceanside No. 8. We need six more copies of the morning paper.”

  Augie Davis studied his collection of markers. Red. Definitely red. He selected the deepest, darkest red and closed the drawer. The list of names lay before him. Only one name and one location remained.

  Caroline Peterson McKensie.

  St. Croix.

  He pulled the top off the pen and circled the words. Then he held the pad at arm’s length, admiring his work. The bloodred color accentuated the name so nicely.

  He recapped the pen and put away the file. This called for a celebration. Slowly, he crossed the room. There was no need to hurry. Time was on his side now, and he wanted to savor the moment. He stopped in front of a credenza and withdrew a box of Cuban cigars. Exquisite. Against doctor’s orders—but he’d allow this one exception.

  Augie Davis rolled the cigar between his thumb and forefinger and inhaled its aromatic scent. Then he picked up the gold-handled cigar trimmer and clipped off the end in one…quick…snip.

  Chapter 11

  “Irritation,” Caroline mumbled, chewing on the end of her pen.

  “What?” Jeff glanced up from his book.

  She tapped the crossword puzzle resting in her lap. “I need a long synonym for ‘irritation.’“

  “Exasperation.”

  Caroline counted the little squares, then shook her head. “Too long.”

  “Okay,” Jeff said. “How about bother…problem…nuisance…pest…vexation…annoyance?”

  She tried the words, one after the other. “All too short,” she said. “I need something with nine letters.”

  A soft knock sounded at the door and Jeff jumped to answer it. He looked through the peephole, then shook his head. “How about M-y b-r-o-t-h-e-r?” He opened the door and Mac breezed in, wearing strange-looking coveralls.

  “I’ll bite,” Caroline said. “Who are you this time?”

  “Assistant groundskeeper…and messenger boy.” He grinned. “I’ve got good news.”

  Jeff and Caroline exchanged looks. “Arthur cleared the new housekeeper?” Jeff asked.

  Mac nodded. “Sure did. The background check was spotless. They traced her history back to kindergarten. She’s everything she says she is. And the maid she replaced—flat on her back in the hospital, recovering from an emergency appendectomy. It’s completely legit.”

  “Yes!” Caroline threw on a pair of socks and laced up her running shoes. “Come on, dog. We’re out of here.”

  “Not so fast,” Mac said. “We need to talk about him.”

  Jeff scowled. “Don’t start in, Mac. I already I told you he’ll be gone in a few days.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s already been a few days and besides, the kid and his parents just checked out of the hotel. They left this.” He held up a folded piece of paper.

  Jeff grabbed the note from Mac’s hand. Childish letters covered the hotel stationery: “iknt hvappy bkzmiddhz alrgz. plz fndhma gdhm. Lov, Alex.”

  “What’s it say?” Caroline asked, coming up behind him.

  Jeff shrugged. “Beats me. I think it’s in code.”

  She studied the carefully made letters. “I can’t have a puppy because midday…my day…my dad has…something or other. Please found…find him a good home. Love, Alex.” Caroline looked pointedly at Jeff. “Terrific,” she said. “Another great plan bites the dust.”

  Caroline bent forward, hands on her knees, her chest heaving. “Lord, that feels good,” she said, panting.

  Gasping for breath, Jeff sagged against the wooden sea gull while the puppy collapsed at his feet. “That’s a matter of opinion,” he rasped.

  Caroline grinned. “Don’t you just love it out here?” She spread her arms wide and tipped her head back. “The warm sun on your face, the wind in your hair.” She breathed in deeply. “The fragrance and beauty of all these flowers. C’mon, what do you say? Once more around the trail.” She smiled at him mischievously. “It’ll do you good.”

  Jeff looked into her eyes, as dark and rich as the earth itself. Filled with excitement and pure joy. She was wearing plain running shorts and a baggy tank top. Her ponytail had slipped to one side and beads of sweat ran down her neck.

  And his gut tightened just looking at her.

  “I’d love to,” he said, enjoying her look of surprise. “But you’re forgetting about our friend.” He pointed to the puppy still sprawled on the ground. “I’ve already carried him twice around the trail. It’s not comfortable for him, but he’s too small to run more than a hundred yards at a time. We’ll have to go back.”

  “Because of the dog.”

  “Absolutely,” Jeff said. “Hey, if it were up to me, I’d run all day.”

  Caroline nodded thoughtfully. “Good,” she said. “Then we’ll do this again tomorrow morning. First thing. Maybe we’ll even watch the sun come up.” She scooped up the puppy and headed back toward the bungalow.

  “How’s this for a plan?” Jeff said, falling into step beside her. “We’ll celebrate our newfound freedom by going to the Sea Breeze tonight for dinner and then catch the live band. Dinner and dancing under the stars.” He draped an arm casually around her shoulders. “What do you say, Mrs. McKensie?”

  The bright sun glistening on the ocean didn’t come close to the sparkle that danced i
n her eyes. “That’s the best plan I’ve heard in a long, long time,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, if we’re out late tonight, we’ll have to sleep in tomorrow. It’ll mean missing the early-morning jog and skipping that stuff about watching the sun come up.” He ducked as she playfully swatted at his head.

  “Or,” she said, rubbing the puppy under his chin, “you and old fuzzy face can take a nap this afternoon so you’ll have plenty of energy. That way we can do both.”

  Jeff groaned. “And what exactly will you be doing all afternoon while I’m recharging my battery?”

  “I think I’ll treat myself with a visit to the health spa. I might even try one of those seaweed wraps Mac talked about.” She slowed as they reached the room. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

  “Not as long as I walk you over there.” Jeff fished the key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “And you promise not to leave until I come back and get you. Call me when you’re ready. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she said eagerly.

  Some three hours later she had cleansed her pores with a sauna, relaxed her muscles with a body massage, and rejuvenated her skin with a seaweed wrap. She was now nestled in a thick terry robe, her hair in a turban, while an attendant applied a thick green substance to her face.

  “There you are, Mrs. McKensie,” the woman said. “That needs to set for about fifteen minutes, so relax and I’ll be back shortly.”

  Caroline closed her eyes. Mrs. McKensie. She was becoming surprisingly comfortable with that name. The hotel employees called her that. Jeff had called her Mrs. McKensie when they were jogging. It felt…natural…and nice.

  A soft sigh escaped her.

  “You all right?” a voice asked from off to her left.

  Caroline sat bolt upright in the chair. She knew that voice. It was a voice that had coughed or whistled or intruded in a dozen different ways during the past few weeks. Cautiously, she glanced around.

  Some six or seven people lay stretched out in chairs, their faces slathered with goo, their eyes closed or covered with cucumbers.