HER BODYGUARD Page 10

  He was in no mood to spend another day fighting this damned urge to lay her down on the bed, explore her soft warmth, and discover just how sweet her mouth tasted.

  Not to mention finding out if she was really a little bit wild, or if it was all a front. He couldn't be certain – and it was driving him crazy, distracting him when he shouldn't be distracted, as well as keeping him awake at night.

  Getting personally involved with a client sometimes happened, even with the best training to avoid it, and he'd be a fool to think Lili was interested in Matt Hawkins – the guy who collected the paycheck for the work he did – rather than the image and mystique of a bodyguard.

  Danger and hormones were a dicey mix. He knew that, dammit, and taking advantage of her vulnerability wasn't an option, even if he couldn't help thinking about her. He was only human, after all, but he was also a trained professional. He was –

  "Good morning," Lili called, and Matt turned to look at her.

  He was in deep shit, that's what.

  "Morning," he answered.

  He kept his voice deliberately cool with an effort. She wore a fitted dress with a matching jacket that had a pleat and a big bow sitting at the small of her back, reminding him of those old-fashioned bustle dresses. The suit was red – a color she looked damn good in. She'd pulled her hair back in her quasi-secretary bun, tendrils framing her chin, not too sexy, not too severe. Almost without thinking, he glanced at her feet – and saw she was wearing only pantyhose, her toenails painted pink.

  What the hell kind of signal was she sending him with that? In self-disgust, Matt pushed away from the window. Maybe she wasn't signaling anything at all. Maybe she just didn't want to put on her shoes yet.

  She smiled at his approach, but her eyes were wary. "Where's Manny and Dal?"

  "Outside talking to one of the security guards," Matt answered, his voice sharper than he meant.

  "Oh." Her gaze darted away, then returned. "You're done already with the morning briefing?"

  Matt nodded, and after glancing again at her feet, forced himself to meet her eyes, and remind himself to act as if nothing had happened the night before.

  And nothing had – despite how close he'd come to kissing her, he hadn't.

  "We've gone over the details at the historical society, and they're providing additional security in the auditorium," he said. "Do you still want to go out to the museum afterward to check out the dinosaurs?"

  She nodded. "But I'll want to come back first and change."

  Lili crossed the room, keeping a distance between them. Not that it did much good. She could be clear on the other side of the room, and a wisp of her perfume would tell him exactly how close or how far, and he'd track her every movement from the corner of his eye, hear her every breath.

  "Could you guys dress casually for the museum trip? I'd really like to blend in a little more with the local tourists."

  "I'd advise against it."

  Disappointment flashed across her face. "Why? Matt, I am tired of getting stared at, and—"

  "Would you prefer to get killed?" he interrupted, and when her eyes went dark with hurt, he wanted to kick himself.

  He had no reason to act like this to her. His physical discomfort was his problem to deal with, not hers – even if she'd caused it.

  "Look, I'm sorry … I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and I'm tired. I didn't mean to snap at you like that."

  Lili hesitated, then nodded, accepting his apology. "Can I ask why you advise against not looking like the Goon Patrol?"

  She had every right to know what he was doing, yet he held back – until he realized he was coddling her, as everybody else seemed to do. "Because the image I project when I'm in the dark suit with the radio earpiece is psychological. It's a warning to anybody who's considering harmful action against you that I will protect you with any and all necessary force. In security lingo, it's called 'hardening the target.'"

  "With me in the starring role of target," she said.

  "Yes."

  Instead of turning pale or getting upset, as he'd half expected, she nodded. "I see. That makes sense. Thank you for explaining it to me."

  Because he wanted her to fully understand – and to compensate for his earlier bad temper – he added, "Every detail is different. Usually all I need to do is stand around and keep an eye on things, blend in with the family or guests. But in a situation like yours, where a high risk for danger has been verified, a show of strength works best. My team and I will make every effort possible to maintain a nonconfrontational situation, but there are never absolutes."

  Again, Lili nodded. She was back to orbiting the room; a bright slash of color on the move. Just being in the room with her acted on him like a jolt of caffeine.

  "We should probably get going," he said, reaching for his suit coat. "Traffic at this time of day is pretty bad."

  "We can go as soon as I decide what shoes to wear."

  Her comment struck him as funny, and despite his lingering tension and unease, his mouth curved in a reluctant smile.

  Her eyes narrowed. "Are you laughing at me?"

  "No. It's the whole shoe thing. To me, a shoe's just a shoe. But to you, it's like this … religion or something."

  "Hmph." She turned on her stockinged heel and marched back toward the bed. "Philistine."

  Thinking maybe he'd pissed her off – he wasn't doing so hot in the tact and sensitivity department today – he went after her with the intent to smooth any ruffled feathers. He stopped short when he saw the black suitcase, containing a jumble of shoes, lying open on her bed.

  Staring, he asked, "How many shoes did you pack?"

  She turned, and blushed slightly. "Fifteen pairs."

  "Fifteen? You're only here for a week! God, Lili, you're—" He clamped his mouth shut before he said something stupid – again – and shook his head instead.

  "I'm what?" she demanded, folding her arms over her chest, chin rising.

  "Nothing."

  "Come on, Matt. What were you going to say? Spit it out."

  After a moment, he scratched his nose, and grinned. "You're such a girl."

  A look of surprise crossed her face, and then she laughed and gave a philosophical shrug. "A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. We have a saying in this business: If the shoe fits, buy it in every color."

  "Looks like you already did."

  "Oh, ha-ha. Very funny."

  Matt came up behind her, curiosity getting the better part of his good sense. He eyed all those shoes. "No wonder you have a hard time making up your mind. Just how many black shoes do you need?"

  She sent him an arch look as she pulled out a shoe – one with a narrow, wickedly spiked heel – and he raised his hands in a mock gesture of defense.

  "Hey, I'm just asking."

  Lili turned to face him, and as a wisp of her incense-like perfume hit him, Matt's inner warning alarm went off. He stood too close, and the bed behind her, still rumpled and unmade, seemed to beckon.

  Like a sleek cat that had been hiding in the grass, waiting for a chance to strike, that sharp, taut hunger rose to taunt him.

  "And you're such a boy." Smiling, completely oblivious to the fact he was contemplating ripping off her clothes and tossing her down on the bed, Lili reached up to straighten his tie. "A good-looking one, at that."

  Her touch and words took him completely by surprise – although, by now, he should've expected the unexpected from Lili.

  Two days. Just two more days, and if he could get through them without further bungling anything or making an idiot of himself, he'd be in the clear.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, and stepped to a safer distance. "Lili, there's something I need to talk to you about."

  She tipped her head, studying him, still smiling. "I know. I shouldn't flirt with you. It's against all the rules. Right?"

  Matt clamped his mouth shut, all the precise psychological explanations suddenly sounding too cold, too clinical. Too lame. "Tha
t about covers it."

  "Hmm." She moved away, and sat on the bed. Lifting one foot, she slipped on a black pair of heels with a red toe. "You have a lot of rules."

  "Rules are necessary," he said, squelching a sudden spurt of irritation. "Believe me, I wouldn't be where I am today without them."

  Not to mention he'd probably be dead, or worse. "Maybe." A long silence followed, and she watched him with interest as she slipped on her other shoe. "Mostly, I'm just trying to be friendly."

  "There's no need to be friendly," he said carefully. "You leave on Sunday. There'd be no point in a relationship beyond the professional."

  His own answer startled him; he'd meant to say "an interaction," not "a relationship." Relationship sounded way too … intimate. But it was too late now to call back that telling word.

  Lili's gaze suddenly sharpened. "I won't think less of you because you show me a human side. Emotions like kindness and friendliness aren't criminal. There is a point to them."

  "But they're a distraction," Matt said quietly. "When I'm responsible for somebody's life and their safety, I can't afford distractions."

  "The less you care for me, the better you can protect me? What kind of logic is that?" She made a sound of disgust. "In my mind, you're responsible for me regardless of whether or not you like me, so it seems we may just as well be nice to each other."

  "I am being nice." Hands on his hips, jacket pushed back, he stared at her, working at not letting his irritation show.

  "Really? All I see is a guy who gets human for a moment or two, and then freezes me out again. I'm getting whiplash from all this hot-cold-hot-cold."

  "Lili—"

  "Oh, be quiet and humor me a moment."

  Her eyes remained watchful, studying him, measuring and weighing. Sexual awareness still swirled around them, and beneath her even tone of voice, he sensed she was angry.

  "Tell me a little about yourself, Matt."

  And stubborn. If nothing else, he had to admire her persistence.

  "Like what?" he asked.

  "Something simple and basic. Like … where do you live?"

  Caught between the desire to appease her and the distrust instilled in him over the years, he didn't answer.

  After a moment, she said dryly, "You do live somewhere, right?"

  "I don't give out my home address or phone number to anybody except team members and my employer."

  "Did I ask for an address or a phone number?" Her tone was cool. "I only asked where you live. A house? An apartment? In the city, in the suburbs? Do you have a yard? A garden? A dog?"

  "I have a townhouse in the Lincoln Park area. I have a yard, but no pets or garden. I'm not home enough."

  "You live in a very nice part of town." She stood almost eye-level now that she wore heels, and for some reason it put him on edge. "Am I allowed to ask why you don't you give out your address?"

  "Sometimes I protect people whose lifestyles, politics, or professions are controversial … like abortion doctors, or lawyers defending child killers. It doesn't matter what I think about a client's beliefs or actions, I just do my job." He paused. "There are people who don't see the difference, and who'd take out their hatred of a client on an agent or an agent's family. Early on, we learn not to give out personal information."

  For a long moment, she stared at him, then shook her head. "What kind of a life is that for you, Matt?"

  "I make six figures a year, Lili. That's what kind of life it is."

  She didn't understand; he could see it in her eyes. Disappointment – irrational, pointless – nipped at him. Just like last night, when she'd said it would be a good joke for him to go to a costume party as what he was: hired muscle.

  Lili hadn't meant it to hurt – and that she saw him this way shouldn't have hurt. Yet for some reason he didn't care to look at too closely, he wanted her to see him as something more.

  "Some things are more important than money," she said at length.

  Easy for her to go all preachy; with her family's old money, her surgeon father, and her professor mother. Heated anger, tinged with something too like shame, rushed through him, but he tamped it down. "It's time to go. I'm sending Dal off for the car."

  Without another word, Matt turned and walked away.

  Eight

  Matt watched night fall over the city. In the gathering dusk, cars and taxicabs moved as ribbons of light, streaming through the streets. The sidewalks below teemed with shoppers, workers, and tourists headed toward their destinations, be it home for the night or a Saturday night out on the town, as he and Lili had planned.

  She was in the bathroom, humming to herself as she dressed for the fund-raiser, and a strange, sharp pang tugged at him as he realized this was his last night with her.

  He'd miss her energy and quick smile, those expressive eyes, and her blunt honesty. He'd even miss playing cards with her in the dead of night – not to mention those tantalizing glimpses of her tattoo and those great legs.

  It still surprised him how easy and comfortable she made him feel after such a short time of knowing her – so easy and comfortable that he had to remain constantly on guard against letting slip a word or action that would let her know his interest in her had moved way, way beyond the professional.

  Lili made him think, and for a guy like him – a doer, not a thinker – that wasn't always good.

  Right now, he was thinking about his pricey townhouse in its upscale neighborhood. Yellow brick, built in 1898, with hardwood floors. A four-year-old BMW 323 sat in the garage. The house had three bedrooms, two of them empty, and a family room – but he had no family to put in it. The place echoed when he walked the floors during the rare days when he was home.

  All show, he had to admit – and for whom? Those he'd wanted to prove himself to were either dead or gone away. All he'd done was buy an expensive stage, on which he could play at being a regular guy with a regular life.

  And then along came Lili Kavanaugh, making him think it was time to quit playing. His restlessness and dissatisfaction hadn't suddenly started the day he'd met Lili – it had been there long before – but being with her made it clearer, stronger.

  He was thirty-five, not getting any younger – a job like his wasn't forgiving to aging bodies and reflexes, and life wouldn't stop just because he wasn't ready to hit forty.

  Ah, hell. Even if he wanted to give his chances with Lili a shot, he couldn't have picked a worse time. Once he quit Armistead and Flannery, his future would be less stable. He shouldn't start something with a woman like Lili unless he had something to offer, and right now he only had a lot of maybes.

  Still, the temptation to start something stayed with him, every moment of the day. The temptation that, even if it was against all good sense, just one night would be enough. Especially tempting because he sensed her attraction ran as deeply as his – and resisting temptation was a lot more difficult than he remembered.

  Taking in a deep breath to clear his head, Matt turned from the window, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and looked down. He wore a gray pin-striped suit with a solid gray vest, a white shirt, and a wide tie in burgundy and black stripes. The pants were baggy, as had been the style of the day, and Lili had scrounged up a pair of wing tip shoes, as well as a red carnation from the Drake's floral shop, which she'd tucked into the breast pocket. He'd already shrugged into his shoulder holster, and as he glanced at the vintage gunmetal-gray fedora resting on the coffee table, he smiled.

  He looked like a gangster right out of Al Capone's Chicago, and had to resist the urge to talk out of the side of his mouth and call Lili "doll" or "sister."

  When Manny had seen him in full gangster regalia, he'd laughed so hard his eyes watered. Matt had playfully punched him in the shoulder – well, mostly playfully – and told his friend that being a team leader meant sometimes you had to do weird shit that made you feel like an idiot.

  Now, as Manny and Dal stood outside in the hall in their tuxedoes, laughing over some jo
ke and waiting for a word from Matt, Matt waited for Lili to finish whatever the hell it was that took women hours to do in the bathroom.

  As if on cue, the door to the bathroom cracked open. "Matt?"

  He turned. "Yeah?"

  "Turn off all the lights except for the one in the closet."

  He raised a brow. "Why?"

  "Just do it, please … you have to see this dress the way it was meant to be seen. I am totally in love with it! I don't want to give it back."

  Right, the dress. She hadn't let him see it earlier in the day when it had arrived and, curiosity getting the better of him, he did as she asked. The suite went dark one lamp at a time, until only the dim closet light cast a soft glow over the room.

  "Okay. Show time," he said, and stood back, arms folded over his chest.

  She killed the light in the bathroom, then walked out. Speechless, Matt watched her slow approach as he took in the dress. It was sleeveless, with a waistline around her hips, the skirt brushing just below her knees, longer in back than in front. Made of a soft, pale gray fabric – chiffon, he guessed – the entire dress was embroidered with silver and pearl-like beads in a Deco-style floral pattern.

  Lili stopped before him, smiling with delight, and spun. The beaded fringe of the skirt flared outward, the reflection from thousands of beads sparkling against the walls and ceiling. As she moved, the heavy skirt swung from side to side around her hips, and she twinkled with every step.

  "What do you think? Isn't it beautiful?"

  "I've never seen anything like it," Matt said with complete honesty, although the woman wearing the dress was by far more beautiful. She'd arranged her hair in a tight chignon, and wore Rose McIntyre's gaudy shoes on her feet. On any other woman, it would've been too much – on Lili, it was just right. "It looks great on you."

  She twirled again, shooting more sparkles around the room. "It's a little tighter than it should be. Whoever wore this was a good ten pounds lighter than I am. Lucky for me the styles were so boxy. My boobs are too big, though." She peered down at her chest. "And that's a first for me … but the idea of binding them makes my teeth hurt."

  The rueful comment brought Matt's attention to her breasts, which pushed against the low neckline. He eyed the softly rounded swell with appreciation, thinking it'd be a shame to flatten a great pair of breasts like hers. He cleared his throat, and mumbled, "Looks okay to me."