Personal Protector

Most, male or female, would have cowered in fear under much less threatening circumstances. But not Piper Ryan. She didn’t intend to let the bad guys win. As risky as it was, she wasn’t backing down in the least. A smile slid across Ric’s face. She was one tough lady for a spoiled little rich girl. He suddenly wondered what events in her life had given her that much backbone. He doubted she would ever share anything that personal with him, but his respect for her had grown somewhat today. She wasn’t just another pretty face on the television screen.

“She doesn’t know it was me,” Ric assured him when Lucas asked if Piper had recognized him outside her car that morning. “My cover is intact. She thinks I’m some sort of Casanova.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say. Ric regretted using the term immediately. “No, man, I am not flirting with your niece,” Ric lied. As far as he could tell, flirting with Piper Ryan was the only way he’d found to throw her off guard, to make real contact. She clearly did not allow anyone close. He wondered about that. She was young, beautiful and wildly popular with the viewing audience. But on a personal level, an introvert if he’d ever seen one.

“Yes, sir, I won’t take my eyes off her,” he said in response to Camp’s final warning. Ric punched the off button on his cell phone and tossed it onto the sofa. The man Ric had tackled this morning had no previous record, and he wasn’t talking. Since he didn’t sport the usual shield tattoo on his right bicep, there was no way to know if SSU had sent him, or if he was somehow related to the gang series Piper was doing. Or, hell, he could just be a nut case trying to make the evening news. Whatever his motivation, the threat had been neutralized. Lucas was royally ticked that he couldn’t talk Piper into going into seclusion. Prior to calling Ric, he had apparently spent the last thirty minutes trying to convince her to take a leave of absence from her work.

“You’re one headstrong lady, querida,” Ric murmured distractedly as he unbuttoned his shirt. He’d ruined one of his favorite shirts this morning, and had to change before he got to the station. He shouldered out of his shirt and tossed it onto the back of the sofa, then started to unfasten his slacks when Piper’s face on the screen grabbed his attention. The segment lasted less than four minutes but it was very good. Ric gave himself a mental pat on the back for his videography. He unzipped his pants and headed for the bathroom. He supposed he could always be a cameraman if Lucas Camp got him fired from the Colby Agency for flirting with his niece. A vision, including her pretty face, especially those lush lips, instantly loomed large in his mind.

Ric needed a shower. If he couldn’t keep his thoughts away from the woman next door, it might be in his best interest to take a cold shower. The signal was set loudly enough that if Piper decided to leave her apartment while he was in the shower, Ric would hear the alarm. But she wasn’t scheduled to go anywhere for another hour. He had time. And since he couldn’t keep his eyes on her every waking moment without blowing his cover, he’d had to wire her apartment to ensure he knew her every move—or anyone else’s who might try to go through the Feds and enter the premises.

Considering his sore shoulder, he opted for the hot shower after all. The pavement had been hard, and his shoulder had taken the brunt of the fall when he’d slammed into the guy with the gun aimed at Piper. Ric scrubbed his hands through his hair and allowed the relaxing spray to flow over his tense muscles. The image of Piper Ryan, all five feet four curvy inches of her, filled his head once more. He had not expected the physical attraction between them to be so fierce. He’d thoroughly read her file. She’d grown up in the lap of luxury, was educated at a fancy private college and had all but been an overnight television success. Atlanta’s sweetheart.

The complete opposite in every way with Ric’s upbringing. He’d grown up in the Projects on the south side of Chicago. He’d had to fight his way out of that barrio, and only the kind of drive and fortitude borne of desperation and alien to the likes of Piper Ryan had saved him. In her world she stood head and shoulders above the rest when it came to determination and courage, but she wouldn’t last five minutes in the world he’d known as a kid.

Ric leaned against the cool tile wall and forced that old bitterness from his thoughts. He wasn’t envious of people like Piper, only impatient with their way of thinking. He knew what she probably thought about him. Though she was physically attracted to him, she saw him as a lesser person somehow because they hadn’t attended the same Ivy League schools, because he wasn’t the refined gentleman with whom she preferred to associate.

He swore at his foolish reverie and shut off the spray of water. It wasn’t Piper’s fault she’d had it all as a kid, no more than it was his that he hadn’t. And Ric had no intention of letting that old chip climb back onto his shoulder. He had a job to do. Protecting the princess next door. This was an up-close-and-personal assignment and he would simply have to get over the social differences between them. He could be judging her too harshly. He knew better than to fit her into the same mold with the types he’d been forced to tolerate in his youth. It was just as wrong as those who’d lumped him in with every bad boy in his neighborhood.

Ric shook his head. Hell, he thought he’d gotten over that inferiority complex long ago. The past was just that; he couldn’t change it…didn’t want to really. Those tough years had made him a better man. He didn’t like being judged based on how others from the barrio had failed, no more than he was certain Piper would want to be held accountable for what some of her royal crowd had turned into.

The high-pitched tone of the motion detector warned him that the subject of his contemplation had just opened her door. Ric hissed a curse and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist. She wasn’t supposed to make a move for at least another forty-five minutes. Piper’s neighbor had worried that he’d promised to attend some sort of charity function with her tonight. Camp had told him he would take care of informing Piper of the sudden change in plans. It would be just Ric’s luck that Piper had decided she needed a pair of panty hose or something, which would require her to leave early.

Before he could consider what the hell he would say to stop her from going anywhere without him, he had bounded to the door, unlocked it and jerked it open. To his surprise Piper stood directly in front of him wearing a tight little black dress that barely hit midthigh. Very sexy high-heeled shoes and definitely no panty hose. Whatever he’d decided to say left him the moment his brain assimilated all that he saw.

For the second time today, Piper stood gawking at Ric Martinez. Only, this time he wasn’t wearing that slick mix of silk and rayon attire. This time he was naked, save for the towel carelessly slung around his hips. Water droplets clung to his golden skin, some slipping down muscled terrain that did strange things to her insides. His hair was damp too, she noted, when at last she could tear her gaze away from that truly incredible bare chest.

The shower. He’d been in the shower. But she hadn’t even knocked on his door. Had she? Piper shook her head to clear the fog there.

Reality abruptly kicked in. What was he doing in Mr. Rizzoli’s apartment?

And why was he staring at her like that?

When his gaze finally connected with hers, desire flashed in his eyes. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, then flip-flopped when she considered that he must see the same thing in her eyes. Piper blinked and squared her shoulders in an attempt to mask her runaway response to the man.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Rizzoli?”

Why hadn’t she noticed before the perfect cut of Martinez’s nose in proportion with his chiseled jaw? Or that sexy cleft in his chin?

Her cameraman. They worked together. She wasn’t supposed to notice things like that about a co-worker. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way about a man she had absolutely nothing in common with, and didn’t even like for that matter. Especially one that infuriated her to the extent Martinez did. But those unbelievably wide shoulders and that amazing face…mercy, she was losing her perspective altogether. A plausible excuse bloomed in Piper’s mind, sending relief soaring through her.

Sex. It was about sex. She hadn’t…in, she concentrated hard, in almost a year. Her eyes widened. A whole year? Had it really been that long? No wonder she was drooling over Mr. Latin Lover here. It was nothing personal. Just hormones. She’d been too busy for a social life lately, and her body was simply overreacting to the first attractive man under fifty who got too close.

“Mr. Rizzoli’s in Hawaii on vacation,” Martinez finally responded, jumping into her strange reverie with both feet, his tone tense and slightly clipped as if he’d sensed her epiphany and realized he’d drawn the short straw in her opinion because of it.

Hawaii? A frown knitted its way across her forehead. “Mr. Rizzoli didn’t mention a vacation.”

“It was sudden,” Ric offered. “He won the trip and had to leave right away.”

Suspicion wiggled into Piper’s muddled thoughts. This was too coincidental. Too much had happened in her life during the past few weeks for this sudden turn of events to leave her anything but wary. “That doesn’t explain why you’re in his apartment. And just how do you know Mr. Rizzoli?”

Martinez licked those incredible lips and Piper almost jerked with reaction. Silently she cursed herself. She had to get a grip here. She’d worked with Jones for over three years and he’d never once had this effect on her.

“I’m apartment-sitting.” Martinez lifted one shoulder in the hint of a shrug. “Watering the plants, feeding the fish, you know, holding the fort down. My aunt and Mr. Rizzoli met in a gardening class of some sort.”

Piper felt herself nod, though she didn’t understand at all. Had Mr. Rizzoli ever mentioned attending a class? Nothing came to mind. But even so, this wasn’t like Mr. Rizzoli. He never went anywhere, not since his wife died anyway. The few occasions he left the apartment other than as dictated by necessity were when Piper coerced him into attending some function at which she needed an escort.

Like tonight’s charity art auction.

Oh, God.

Her eyes rounded and this time it had nothing to do with Martinez’s naked body, her hormones or her suspicions. She had no escort for tonight’s function. And it was definitely too late to call anyone else. She’d RSVP’d for two. No one—no one—came unescorted to these affairs. And if she did, it would be the gossip of every local television as well as radio talk show host tomorrow.

“Was there something you needed?” Martinez was watching her closely now, as if he expected her to faint or make some unanticipated move.

Piper felt certain all the blood had drained from her face at the thought of all the possible ramifications of attending the art auction alone. Maybe she would be lucky and faint; then she could claim she’d fallen ill and unable to attend tonight’s goodwill mission.

“Mr. Rizzoli was supposed to be my—my escort at a charity function tonight,” she finally stammered. “I suppose he forgot,” she said.

A devilish grin lifted one corner of Martinez’s sexy mouth. “No problem,” he said smoothly. “I’ll be more than happy to stand in for him.”

She shook her head, then realized he wouldn’t understand unless she said the words. “It’s a black-tie affair. You don’t have time to—” He leaned close, the fresh scent of his soap tickling her senses, cutting off her next words and sending a shiver through her. Mr. Rizzoli certainly never smelled like that.

“Don’t worry, querida. You think I can’t dress the part?” he teased softly. “Give me five minutes.” He winked, then pivoted and strode away, leaving her standing, stunned, in the open doorway.

Any air still remaining rushed out of Piper’s lungs as she watched him stride across the room and disappear down the hall. The white towel hung low on his slim hips, and stood out in sharp contrast to the smooth, dark skin that made him the perfect candidate for a sexy body oil commercial. She could just imagine that muscular body slathered in exotic-smelling oil. Piper sucked in a burst of much-needed air at the unbidden image of her smoothing it over his skin. She shook her head to dislodge the ludicrous picture and forced one foot in front of the other until she’d gotten inside far enough to close the door. She sagged against it. Another deep breath and she felt somewhat rational again. All she had to do was stay composed on the outside. He didn’t have to know what havoc he played with her inside.

Piper swallowed with immense difficulty and surveyed the familiar environment. She had played cards many times with Mr. Rizzoli since his wife died last year. Brought dinner to him even more often. He was a kind, good-hearted man. He would never ask someone to watch his apartment if he didn’t trust that someone completely. And if he knew Martinez’s aunt…

Surely that meant that she could trust Martinez.

Piper paused next to Mr. Rizzoli’s antique desk. His ancient manual typewriter looked lonesome without a piece of paper and a half-finished letter hanging out of it. He was always corresponding with a friend or relative he hadn’t seen in ages. Mr. Rizzoli wrote letters like most people these days used the telephone. Piper smiled, remembering the man’s rare smile and even rarer laughter. Maybe he would find a fun companion in Hawaii. The name of an island resort hotel along with a telephone number was written in Mr. Rizzoli’s bold strokes on the desk’s notepad. For Martinez to contact him in case of an emergency, she supposed.

To ensure Martinez was taking his job seriously, Piper walked across the room and surveyed the aquariums. All looked well, as best she could tell. The setup was pretty much self-maintained in that the fish were fed automatically. She guessed that Martinez’s job was to make sure the food reservoir was kept filled and that nothing went wrong with the water’s chemical balance. The slow gurgling sound was somehow soothing to her frayed nerves. The urge to collapse on Mr. Rizzoli’s comfortable old sofa and sleep until her life was back to normal was almost overwhelming.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chastised softly. “You are not going to hide.” Piper strode determinedly to where the orchids sat on their glass shelves beneath their special light and she studied them closely. No sign of wilting…yet. It appeared that Martinez was doing what her neighbor had asked of him.

She still couldn’t understand why Mr. Rizzoli hadn’t left her a note or something. Frowning, Piper turned away from the lovely flowers just in time for her gaze to collide with a fully dressed and completely elegant Martinez.

“Where exactly are we going?” he inquired as he crossed the room in slow, deliberate strides designed to enhance the overall picture of sheer sophistication. “I hope this is acceptable,” he added as he indicated his attire with one broad sweep of his hands.

It was her turn to speak. “That’s—” she cleared her throat “—fine.” Piper clutched the small purse in her hand until the beads felt like tiny needles. “Fine” was nowhere near an adequate description as was generally the case with Martinez. “I requested that the limo come a little early,” she continued around the rock lodged in her throat. “I’d thought we—Mr. Rizzoli and I—would have time for dinner, but…” She jerked her gaze away and tried to banish the image of Martinez in a tux. If she’d thought he looked handsome in flashy street garb, she now knew why the word devastating was often used to describe the way the right man could look. The tux fit like a glove. The contrasting black and white only served to set the classic frame for his model-perfect build. “We should just go straight to the Exhibit Hall. There’s a charity art auction,” she finally remembered to say in answer to his original question.

He shrugged easily. “Sounds interesting.”

For the first time in her entire life, Piper knew what it was to be totally blown away by the way a guy looked.

She had to get a grip. Things like this didn’t happen to her. She was too logical, too professional. She didn’t have time for this kind of distraction.