Loving the Bodyguard Read online

  With an instinctive need to comfort him, she put a hand on his sleeve. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Yes, it is my fault. You shouldn’t make any excuses for me if I’ve failed to do my job.”

  “You didn’t fail. Both my dad and I are fine.”

  “And you’ll stay that way,” he promised. His eyes searched her face intently, as if he could see into her mind. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. She was anxious and restless, and she was horribly upset about the idea of her privacy being invaded this way. But at least, if this stalker would target her first, it would keep his attention away from her father.

  She glanced down automatically when Michael’s phone vibrated in her hand. He never got this many calls.

  To her surprise, the screen flashed the word “Mom.”

  She handed him the phone. “Your mom’s calling.”

  He glanced at the screen but sent the call to voice mail.

  She frowned. “Is it your mom who keeps calling? You should take it.”

  “I don’t need to take it.”

  “But something might be wrong. You shouldn’t ignore her calls like that. Not for me.”

  He looked briefly torn.

  “I don’t care what kind of ridiculous code of professionalism you follow. Call your mother right now,” she instructed. Then she turned toward the car window to give him as much privacy as was possible when they were in the same backseat.

  She wasn’t looking at him, but she knew he’d made the call when she heard him ask in a low voice, “What’s going on?”

  There was a long pause while the other person spoke. Then he said, “I can’t get away tonight.” Another pause. “No, I really can’t. It’s an emergency here. Did you try playing the Sinatra album? That sometimes relaxes her.”

  Claire was starting to feel strange—since she was overhearing a private conversation. Something was going on with Michael that she’d never known about.

  “What about the lemon balm tea?” She could tell his body was turned away from her, instinctively trying to keep her from hearing. It couldn’t have been a serious attempt, however, as it would be futile in such a small space.

  “I can’t get over there tonight,” he said again, his voice sounding slightly stretched. “Can you put her on the phone? Maybe talking to me would help.”

  There was a longer pause, during which Claire stared studiously out the window.

  Then she heard Michael say, “Hi there. Ruth tells me you’re having a hard evening…No, I don’t think that’s going to happen…Remember, I found that nice room for you so you wouldn’t be disturbed by the loud teenagers.” His voice was strong, relaxed, utterly reassuring. “We talked about this, remember? Sometimes I have to be at work.”

  Claire listened with an ache tightening in her heart.

  She heard Michael inhale hoarsely. “I’m really fine, Mom. I don’t need that bike anymore…I am happy. The bike was a long time ago… I do mean it. I’m very happy. You don’t have to worry about me…I don’t work too hard…No, Mom, I don’t want that bike anymore.”

  After a minute, the first person must have taken the phone again because Michael said, “Just do the best you can with her. I’ll be there tomorrow.”

  When he hung up, Claire didn’t turn to look at him immediately. It felt like she’d invaded his privacy, and she knew it would bother him.

  After a few minutes, when it felt like he’d relaxed beside her, she straightened in her seat again. Still not looking at him, she asked softly, “Is your mom all right?”

  “Yeah. She’s…it’s dementia. She’s mostly lucid during the day, but it gets worse at night. I’m usually with her at nights, so I guess they’re having trouble calming her.”

  “You work all day and then stay with your mom all night?” she asked, disturbed by this piece of information.

  He gave a half-shrug and glanced away from her.

  “You should be with her now. Someone else can stay with me.”

  “No.”

  She frowned at him, suddenly impatient with his obstinacy in a way she’d never been before. “I’m serious. If your mom needs you, then she’s more important than me. I’m sure there’s someone else who can take your place in my protection.” She would feel a lot safer with Michael than with anyone else, but she wasn’t about to be selfish about him.

  Michael narrowed his eyes, his voice growing slightly thick. “You can’t possibly think I’m going to let someone else take my place. I wasn’t exaggerating about the danger to you. There’s no way in hell I’m going to leave you tonight.”

  She was briefly hypnotized by his sudden intensity. She could tell he meant it, and the knowledge prompted a surge of safety and excitement both.

  But she’d heard Michael’s voice earlier, when he’d been talking to his mother. She knew it was really hard for him to not be there when she needed him.

  “Where is she?” Claire asked in a different tone.

  Evidently thinking she’d dropped the subject of his leaving her, Michael relaxed slightly. “She’s at Rivercrest Home. It’s a very nice nursing home in Beverly Hills. She’s taken care of well.”

  Claire leaned forward and rolled down the window into the front seat. “Roger, we’re making a stop on the way the cabin. Can you go first to Rivercrest in Beverly Hills?”

  “Yes, miss,” Roger said immediately, but she could see him look through the rearview mirror to catch Michael’s eye. He was obviously waiting for the other man’s permission before he acted.

  Claire glared at Michael challengingly.

  “Your safety is the most important thing,” he told her.

  “How is stopping by to see your mother unsafe for me? You’ll be with me the whole time, just as you wanted. It’s not like the stalker could possibly predict such an errand, and you said he’s not following us right now, so he’d never know we were there. It’s not going to put me in any sort of danger, and I’m not going to feel guilty all night about your abandoning your mom when she needs you.”

  She saw Michael let out a breath. Then he gave a brief nod in the mirror to Roger.

  As she was rolling up the window, she caught him giving her a frustrated look.

  She scowled. “I’m shy. I’m not a pushover. They’re two entirely different things.”

  “Believe me. I know.”

  Four

  Rivercrest was an incredibly exclusive facility. It looked and felt more like a high class hotel than a nursing home.

  Claire would have waited in the car, but she was afraid Michael would refuse to go in unless she did, since he was so set on being with her at all times. So she went with him to the fourth floor and then to a very nice corner room. She volunteered to wait in the hall, but he rolled his eyes like she was being foolish and put a hand on her back to nudge her into the room.

  Pete stayed in the hall to man the entrance.

  Michael’s mother was surprisingly tiny to have a son so large. She was obviously out of it, tossing restlessly on the bed, talking incomprehensibly to the matronly woman sitting nearby, and not even aware they had entered.

  Feeling a familiar wave of shyness at being confronted with people she didn’t know— and compounded by the fact that she knew Michael was uncomfortable by her presence—she retreated to a corner of the room by the window and sat down in a straight-backed chair.

  Michael’s eyes scanned her for a moment, probably assessing that she was all right. Then he walked over to the bed.

  Claire watched as he talked for a minute to the other woman, whom she assumed was named Ruth and was the person he’d spoken to on the phone. Then he went to make a cup of tea with an electric kettle and helped his mother drink it.

  His mother kept up a constant stream of disconnected conversation—much of it revolving around a bike she was very upset about for some reason—and Michael responded to it patiently. He wasn’t openly affectionate or even particularly tender. He was calm and matter-of-fact, the way he nor
mally spoke to Claire. It was obvious to her how much he loved his mother, however, and Claire’s heart softened as she watched him.

  She’d known Michael for six years. He’d only ever shown her the ultra-competent professional. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known this side of him existed until tonight.

  After about twenty minutes, his mother had calmed down quite a bit. And ten minutes later Michael gestured to Claire in what she knew was a sign they should leave.

  Claire got up and went over to him. Gazed up at his strong, familiar face. “Are you sure it’s all right to leave her?”

  “She’ll be okay, and I need to get you to the cabin. We shouldn’t have come here at all.”

  She scowled. “Yes, we should have come.”

  “Who is this?” his mother asked from the bed, sounding surprisingly lucid.

  “This is Claire Kenyon.” Michael didn’t add any further information, and Claire could understand why it might be difficult to explain her identity without worrying his mother about the nature of his job.

  His mother looked at Claire for a minute. Then closed her eyes, visibly exhausted. She murmured, “I’m so sorry you can’t get the bike, Mikey.”

  Michael leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I’m perfectly happy without the bike, Mom. Please don’t worry about it. You get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Then he nodded toward the door with a jerk of his head, and Claire left the room with Michael a step behind her.

  When they’d gotten back in the car, Claire studied Michael’s face and knew he was self-conscious about her meeting his mother.

  “What was the bike she kept talking about?” Claire asked, since someone had to say something.

  He gave a half-shrug. “Just something from when I was a boy. She gets hung up on things and thinks they just happened.”

  “She obviously loves you a lot.”

  He inclined his head in what was supposed to be a nod.

  “The home seems really nice. How long has she been here?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “What about your dad?”

  “He died about six years ago.”

  “You don’t have any brothers and sisters?”

  “No. It’s just me.”

  She thought about that for a minute. “Was she the reason you left the Rangers? After your father died?”

  He looked out the window. “Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  Overwhelmed by a wave of affection, she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she’d even thought it through. Despite having shaven twice today, his skin was already bristly again under her lips.

  He stared at her, and she saw that look in his eyes again—the one that made her breath hitch. “What was that for?”

  “That’s because you’re a really good son.”

  Her voice was hoarser than usual, and she felt a shuddering emotion in her chest and in her belly.

  She’d never met anyone she admired as much as Michael. She’d never met anyone she wanted as much.

  His lips seemed to soften as she watched him, and she leaned forward instinctively, sure he was going to kiss her, desperately wanting it to happen. Without thinking, she lifted one of her hands to his chest.

  Then something changed. Michael stiffened and his expression cleared to its typical stoic demeanor. Very gently, he lifted her hand and put it back in her lap. “You might want to get some rest,” he said. “We have a couple of hours until we get to the cabin, and I know it’s been a long day for you.”

  Just this morning, he’d put her in the pantry in her bra and panties because someone had snuck into her building. It seemed like ages ago.

  Just this morning, she hadn’t realized how close to Michael she felt, how much she wanted to be even closer.

  But that was obviously not going to happen. She let out her pent breath and told herself not to be disappointed or embarrassed.

  This was Michael. He’d met her for the first time when she was just nineteen. A year later, he’d caught her behind the pool house with Brandon’s hand down her pants. Just this evening, he’d found her having a panic attack about attending a cocktail party.

  He’d seen her at her worst, and he wasn’t likely to think she was a very good catch.

  Besides, he might already have a girlfriend. If he did, she must be the most understanding woman in history, since he seemed to be busy both day and night, barely leaving him enough time to sleep.

  “Yeah,” she murmured, leaning down to take off her heels and then slouching in the seat to get more comfortable. “I’m kind of tired.”

  ***

  Claire started to wake up but couldn’t do it all the way.

  She was in that half-sleeping state where she was slightly conscious but not enough to actually open her eyes. After a few minutes, she realized she was lying down in the backseat of a car.

  But her head wasn’t on the seat. It was resting on something warmer and firmer.

  She shifted slightly, enjoying the pleasure of sleeping awareness without the pressure of having to wake up. She was curled up on her side, and she shifted to get more comfortable, bringing one of her hands up toward her face.

  Her palm rested on something she vaguely recognized as fabric.

  She relaxed again and must have drifted into a state of unconsciousness for an unspecified amount of time.

  The next time she eased into awareness—still not prepared to wake up all the way—she realized a hand was brushing her hair back from her face in a gentle caress.

  It felt good, so she just enjoyed it for a long time.

  Whatever her own hand was resting on seemed to be bigger and harder than before. She liked the feel of it, so she rubbed her palm against it with a long sigh.

  Her firm pillow shifted a little—which was strange but not strange enough to blow away the cobwebs in her mind. Then the hand that had been stroking her hair wrapped around her wrist and very gently removed it from what she’d been rubbing.

  She readjusted, pulling her arms in toward her chest. She was suddenly aware that she could open her eyes, but that idea seemed so painful she didn’t dare to try it.

  After a minute, the hand started to caress her hair again, the touch delicate, almost tender. It made her feel safe. It made her feel treasured. She rested in the knowledge and soon lost the ability to open her eyes.

  The next thing she was aware of was her hand being moved again. She must have brought it up again to the nice, firm thing.

  This time, she tried to resist since it didn’t seem right for her body to be moved that way. She should be able to touch whatever she wanted.

  But the hand around her wrist couldn’t be resisted, and the effort finally woke her up all the way.

  She shifted, suddenly aware that she’d fallen asleep in the back of her father’s car on the drive to the cabin, and her head was resting in someone’s lap.

  With a jolt of realization, she opened her eyes and saw the fabric of a dark suit.

  Michael’s suit. Michael’s lap. She turned her head and blinked up into Michael’s blue eyes. There wasn’t much light in the car, so maybe that was why his expression looked different. Softer than she was used to.

  “Oh.” With a wave of self-consciousness, she sat up in rush, moving so quickly her head spun.

  “Okay?” he asked. His voice sounded strange too, but she wasn’t oriented enough to recognize its timbre. He adjusted in his seat as if he needed to get more comfortable.

  No surprise. She’d just been sleeping in his lap.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep all over you. I mean…” She trailed off, blushing a little, hoping she hadn’t done anything too embarrassing like talk in her sleep.

  “It’s fine. You were tired. We’ll get to the cabin soon.”

  “Oh. Good.” She rubbed her face, trying to wake up and trying to push past her self-consciousness. “Is my dad all right?”

  “Yeah. I heard from him about tw
enty minutes ago. Nothing happening there.”

  She let out a breath and stared out into the night.

  It had been a lot easier when she’d just thought about Michael as familiar, obnoxious, and pushy.

  But she was afraid she’d never think about him so simply again.

  ***

  The cabin was definitely not primitive, but it was not large or particularly luxurious. The small living and kitchen area with simple, rustic décor was familiar and comforting when she stepped in through the front door.

  Pete was checking the perimeter of the property, and Roger was parking the car in the unattached garage after dropping them off at the front, so Michael and Claire were alone as they came inside.

  Claire had a sudden vision of coming to this cabin with Michael for an entirely different reason. Spending a leisurely weekend with him. Spending passionate nights with him. Seeing him let go of the professionalism he always hid behind. Touching, knowing, being with the real man at last. For a minute, she wanted it so much she couldn’t breathe.

  “Are you all right, Claire?” he asked, when she’d stopped in her tracks without explanation.

  She suddenly realized he’d been calling her Claire today, when he never had before. Maybe—maybe— he was experiencing the same feelings of closeness and attraction that she was. “Yes.” Her voice cracked on the one word.

  When she dropped her eyes, he reached out and lifted her head with one hand. His palm remained on her face, cupping her cheek. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “I know. It’s just…” She trailed off, finding it impossible to articulate what she was feeling, what she wanted from him. She leaned her face into his warm hand.

  “Just tell me what I can do for you, and I’ll do it.”

  She loved the gravel in his voice. It triggered sensations that rippled down her spine. She opened her mouth, but no words came out this time.

  “You can tell me if something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide, Claire.” His eyes were so deep she could drown in them. “Not from me.”

  She didn’t want to hide. She wanted him to know her all the way. And she wanted to know him just as deeply.