Loving the Bodyguard Read online

  He’d never been able to change his habit, and now she didn’t even mind anymore.

  She loved him, and they were the only family either of them had. He could call her whatever made him happy.

  His eyes—a warm brown that was exactly the same color as hers—rested on her soberly.

  Without thinking, she turned around to look at Michael, who was standing silently in a corner of the room, trying to blend into the furniture.

  He must have somehow found out she’d been sneaking out on Thursday nights and blabbed to her father.

  “It’s not a big deal, Dad,” she said quickly, deciding she better confront this head on instead of just waiting for it to fall on her head.

  Her father blinked. “It isn’t?”

  “No. It isn’t. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe. I have to be alone sometimes. I just have to.”

  Her father wasn’t an extreme introvert—he wasn’t an introvert at all—but he’d always tried to understand her distinct nature. He always did his best to accommodate her needs, since his Hollywood world often forced her into a lifestyle that was incredibly difficult for someone with her personality.

  She didn’t want to upset him, but surely he would understand this.

  His eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re alone when you’re home in your apartment, aren’t you?”

  “Not really.” She cut another quick glance over to Michael in the corner. “They’re always hovering.”

  “Not in your apartment, surely.”

  “No. But I know someone is always there. Right outside. I feel them there all the time. I’ve tried to do my best, since I know the security is important to you. But I can’t do it all the time. I just can’t.”

  “I understand it’s hard for you to have people around you don’t know very well, but it’s just for a couple of months, until we track down this possible threat.” Her father was speaking slowly, a little strangely.

  “But I just don’t really think there is a threat. I mean, there was one random note two months ago and then nothing ever since. I can’t live like this. It’s bad enough for regular people to be surrounded by bodyguards, but for me—”

  “You are a regular person,” her father cut in, something angry flaring up in his eyes. “Being introverted isn’t a psychological illness. Don’t you dare imply otherwise.”

  Claire rubbed her face, both frustrated and touched by her father’s fervor. He’d gotten remarried when she was twelve, and for the following four years of her life she’d listened to argument after argument between her dad and stepmother about whether her extreme shyness was a condition that needed professional treatment.

  Her stepmother, like a lot of the rest of the world, thought the only way to be healthy was to be outgoing and willing to talk endlessly about one’s feelings. Her father disagreed and had continued to disagree until the day they’d gotten divorced.

  “I know that. I just meant it’s bad enough for people who don’t need to be alone a lot, but it’s even worse for me. I’m not exaggerating, Dad. If I’m always surrounded by people, I just can’t…I can’t function.”

  “I know it’s hard, but bodyguards aren’t expecting you to talk to them or even acknowledge their presence. They’re in the background, like the furniture.”

  Claire’s lips twisted in annoyance as she glanced back at Michael, but he looked as impervious as ever.

  “I’ve tried to think of them that way, but I can’t. They’re people, Dad. And one or the other is always, always there. I just have to get away a little. It’s just been once a week and—”

  “What?” her father interrupted, in a half-roar she was very familiar with. “You’ve been sneaking away from your security?”

  Claire stared, stunned and speechless. Then she suddenly realized what happened.

  Her father hadn’t known. This wasn’t what he’d wanted to talk about this morning.

  And she’d just spilled it all like an absolute idiot.

  “Dad,” she began.

  “I’ll talk to you in just a minute.” He stood up from his chair, his eyes pinning Michael’s. “Explain to me, right now, how my daughter has managed to get away once a week without your team knowing about it.”

  There was a reason her father was respected and feared in this town by people who didn’t respect or fear anyone else. But Michael met the other man’s eyes evenly, and he didn’t look cowed.

  Claire wasn’t cowed either. She jumped up and grabbed her father’s arm. “Dad, it’s not Michael’s fault. He wasn’t even on duty when I snuck out.”

  “It is his fault. He’s in charge of the team, so he’s responsible for everything that happens on his watch, whether he’s present or not.”

  Claire gulped. She was going to feel horribly guilty if Michael was fired because of her.

  Her father had previously used a large security firm, and several years ago they’d sent over Michael as a temporary bodyguard. Michael had just gotten out of the military—he’d been an Army Ranger—but he was obviously naturally inclined toward close security work. Her father, recognizing his skill and talent, had immediately taken him on full-time staff and soon stopped working with the large firm completely, giving Michael the responsibility of overseeing a private security team. A couple of years ago, her father had offered Michael a position with the studio. It was a much more lucrative position with much better work hours, but Michael had refused to take it for reasons he wouldn’t explain.

  Michael might be frustrating and obnoxious a lot of the time, but he was a decent man who didn’t deserve to lose his job because of her.

  “But you can’t blame Michael—” she tried again.

  “I do blame Michael.” He turned back to face the other man. “This is my daughter’s safety, and there is nothing I take more seriously. Who was on duty when she snuck out?”

  “Rick Jonas. He’s already been let go.”

  Her father blinked, his mind working quickly. Then his expression relaxed. “You knew?”

  “Yes,” Michael said. “I knew. Your daughter was never unprotected.”

  Claire sucked in an outraged breath at this barefaced lie. Michael was always long gone for the night when she snuck out—she would never be fool enough to try to sneak out while he was on duty—and Rick had been completely unaware of her night trips. He’d been in the exact same position when she left and came back. There was no way he could have followed her.

  At least the lie would save Michael’s position. She would berate him for hiding the truth after they’d left her father, when it wouldn’t threaten his job.

  Michael continued, “I knew it was important for her to feel alone, so I didn’t let her know she was followed. She was never in danger.”

  Her father let out a long exhalation. “Good man. Thank you.”

  Claire sat down, squirming uncomfortably. She didn’t want Michael to get in trouble, but she didn’t like how grateful and relieved her father looked.

  She hadn’t had protection. If there had been danger on those nights, she would have been in it.

  “Just so it’s clear, I can refuse protection any time I want. But I don’t want to upset you, so I’ll try not to do it again.” She dropped her eyes as she spoke, pulling inward.

  “Please don’t, pumpkin. I don’t have another daughter to replace you.” He reached over to pat her hand and waited for almost a minute until she raised her eyes again. Then he continued, “As interesting as this revelation has been, it wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you today.”

  “What is it?” she asked, having actually forgotten there must have been another purpose for her summons.

  “I have a favor to ask you,” her father admitted. “But since you came out with this confession, maybe we can call it a fair trade rather than a favor.”

  “What do you need?” The favor must be something she wouldn’t want to do. He knew she was happy to help him however she could otherwise, so he would have just called to ask.

 
; “I’m in a bit of a PR pickle.”

  “You’re getting bad press about something?” Claire never read the papers or watched any sort of Hollywood news. She got the national headlines from NPR and simply didn’t care about politics in this town.

  “I’m afraid so. My people say it would help if I could remind folks that I’m a family man.”

  Claire’s fist tightened in her lap. “Oh, no, Dad.”

  “I’m really sorry. You know I only ask when it’s important.”

  It was true. He knew how she felt about mingling in his social circles, and so he almost never asked her to do so.

  She cleared her throat. “What is it?”

  “A cocktail party. Tonight. You’d only have to stay an hour or so. And it’s here, so it will be familiar territory.”

  She was swallowed in cold dread at the idea of mingling and making superficial conversation with a houseful of rich, gorgeous, intimidating strangers.

  Her father needed her help, though—he wouldn’t have asked otherwise. And she’d betrayed him every Thursday night for six weeks by sneaking away from her bodyguard.

  “Okay,” she said in a choked voice. “What time?”

  “You won’t need to go down until after nine, but come over early so you won’t have to get through the mob of people.”

  She nodded, a little stiffly. “Okay.”

  “Be brave.”

  He’d always told her that—since she was five years old and paralyzed with terror about going to the first day of kindergarten.

  It might not take courage for most people to face something as innocuous as a big party, but Claire had to be brave every time.

  “I will.” She pushed the fear to the back corner of her mind for the time being, the only way to make it through the day before a dreaded event. “I’ve got to get to work.”

  “I know. Thank you for helping me out. I’ll see you tonight.”

  She nodded again and accepted the hug her father gave her as she started to leave.

  As she was walking out through the large airy living area that connected to the formal dining room and the marble-floored main hall, she stopped short, imagining the huge spaces full of people.

  People she didn’t know and to whom she would have to make charming small talk tonight.

  For just a moment, she froze.

  Before she could work herself into a state of paralysis, she felt a pressure on her back.

  Michael was pushing her, his hand planted just below her shoulder blades.

  He wasn’t rough or even particularly rude, but his hand was a force that couldn’t be resisted.

  So she kept walking until she made it to the car, where Roger was waiting to open the door for her.

  Michael got into the backseat with her. Usually the bodyguard escorting her sat in the front with Roger or whomever was driving the car. Sometimes Michael sat in the front too, but at other times he joined her in the back. She never knew what decided the difference.

  He was on the phone when the car started off, talking to someone about arrangements for her protection at the party tonight.

  His low voice drifted over her consciousness, so familiar it was almost comforting.

  Being with him was like being with Stella, or her father, or her best friend Maria.

  His presence didn’t stress her out or make her anxious. If he was on bodyguard duty around the clock, she might not always feel like running away.

  When he hung up, he just looked at her, no emotion reflected on his face.

  She looked back at him, thinking his eyes would be absolutely beautiful—such an unusual silvery blue—if they weren’t always so expressionless.

  Then she remembered something.

  “You might have fooled my dad, but you and I both know that you had no idea I was going out on Thursday nights.”

  She must have surprised him into showing a genuine response. His eyes widened. “I did know.”

  “You did not. You were long gone every night I snuck—”

  “You left at ten-thirty on the last six Thursday evenings and went to your friend’s art studio in Melrose. You painted for about four hours each evening. Two Thursdays ago, you stopped for a decaf latte on your way home.”

  Her mouth fell open. “How did you know?”

  “I made sure to know. I wouldn’t leave you unprotected.”

  “But Rick had no idea.”

  “That’s why Rick isn’t working for us anymore.”

  “But how did you know?” She was torn between a shocked betrayal of privacy and a bewildered admiration.

  “I could see you getting restless. I knew you’d try to do something, so I made sure we knew when you did.”

  She wondered how he could have seen she was getting restless, that she was feeling imprisoned by her security measures.

  It was strange that he knew her so well.

  “You didn’t tell me you knew?”

  “As I told your father, it was important for you to feel alone, and I didn’t want to take that away from you unnecessarily.”

  She peered at him suspiciously. “You weren’t just smugly holding the secret over my head so you could lower the boom at the worst possible moment?”

  “That too.”

  She stared at him a full thirty seconds before she realized he was making a joke. He wasn’t smiling but his eyes warmed briefly.

  She was surprised by a rippling laugh. While laughing at his unexpected wit was not the best way to hold her own with him, her sense of humor was tickled and she just couldn’t help it.

  He still didn’t smile, but something almost softened on his face. Something she’d never seen before. Something that made her heart beat faster.

  Then his expression changed again. His brows drew together. “You really thought I was someone who would lie like that?”

  “I just thought you were…you were covering.”

  “You thought I lied to your father’s face.”

  She had, and she suddenly realized it had been a ridiculous thing to believe about Michael. She licked her lips and didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve never lied to your father, and I’ve never lied to you. I never will.” His face was stoic again, but there was an earnestness in his eyes that was as uncharacteristic as the warmth.

  She responded to it, her heart strangely fond for no reason she could understand. “Okay,” she murmured. “Sorry.”

  They stared at each other for what felt like a long time.

  Then his expression changed yet again. No trace of warmth or earnestness. Just tension. “Wait a minute,” he demanded. “Wait just a minute. You thought I lied to your father back there?”

  She frowned, feeling flustered by her strange responses to him and by the sudden shift in mood. “Didn’t we just cover this?”

  “We didn’t cover the implications. You thought I lied to your father about knowing you were sneaking out and you never said a word about it?”

  It sounded like an accusation rather than a question, and her shoulders stiffened defensively. “What’s your point?”

  “You never do that. Do you hear me? You never let anyone get away with a lie—not if it’s about your safety.”

  She was breathless again. He seemed angry. Simmering with something else she’d never seen in him before. “I was trying to…I mean, it wasn’t just anyone. It was you. It was my fault. I didn’t want you to get in trouble for it.”

  “I don’t care. It wasn’t your fault. If I didn’t know you were going out on those nights, then I deserved to be in trouble. I don’t care who’s doing the lying or how much you want to help them—you never let them get away with it.”

  He was tenser than she’d ever seen him—the muscles of his neck and shoulders rippling slightly. His blue eyes blazed with something she didn’t recognize, and she was hypnotized by his sudden intensity.

  She just stared at him, suddenly hit by an overwhelming attraction.

  She wanted to grab him, kiss him, pull h
im down over her and feel him against her.

  She wanted him. She wanted him.

  What the hell was wrong with her? This was just Michael—pushy, stoic, obnoxious, an inescapable part of the background of her life.

  And he was being particularly obnoxious right now. She shouldn’t be attracted by it.

  “Do you hear me?” he demanded. He actually reached out and took her by the shoulders. His hands were warm and strong through the fabric of her jacket, and his grip was hard and unshakeable.

  “Yes, I hear you.” She was hot and confused and overwhelmed with how much she wanted him, how much she wanted all of that intensity he kept hidden from the world to be directed only toward her.

  She pulled out of his grip and then clasped her hands in her lap. She kept looking at him, though. Couldn’t look away.

  After a minute, his whole demeanor changed. He seemed to rein in whatever had gotten loose earlier, and his expression became blank and professional again.

  His eyes searched her face. “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t answer him. She didn’t feel all right. It felt like Michael had become a stranger, and she had never been able to talk easily to strangers.

  “Claire,” he said sharply. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I was too rough just now. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  He hadn’t scared her. But she was scared.

  “Claire, talk to me.”

  She swallowed. “You didn’t scare me.”

  “Then what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to get her mind to work again. “I’m fine.”

  “I don’t think you are, but it doesn’t look like you’re… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He looked away, to the side, trying to get a grip on whatever was threatening to escape again.

  All this time, and she’d never known there was any sort of intense emotion that might try to escape from Michael. The idea of its presence behind his handsome, impassive face was almost…thrilling.

  “I told you that you didn’t scare me. You’re not that intimidating. Don’t flatter yourself.”

  He turned back to face her and something twitched at his mouth. Almost but not quite a smile. “I am sorry, Ms. Kenyon. It was unprofessional.”