The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid

The confines of the front seat seemed impossibly small and intimate with his head ducked close to hers, crowding her space. She had been chilly only moments before, but now she felt far too warm. “Was there something else you wanted?”

A slow smile spread across his lips. “As a matter of fact there is.”

Clea hissed out a breath, chagrined that she’d left herself wide open for that one. “I’m tired, Fitzpatrick. So why don’t you go ahead and get your juvenile come-on out of the way, then get out of my face so I can go home.”

“You have such a suspicious mind, Duchess,” he countered. “See that little honey of a car parked in front of you?”

Clea noted the vintage candy-apple-red convertible that was practically touching her front bumper. “Yes. I see it.”

“It’s mine,” he told her, pride in his voice.

It figures, she thought. He had crowded her with his car just as he was crowding her with his handsome face and broad shoulders. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll both be happy.”

“I don’t know what it is, but I just love that smart mouth of yours,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Clea’s pulse kicked into third gear at the hungry gleam in his eyes. She looked away. “Is there a point to this conversation?” she asked with as much sarcasm as she could muster, given the fact that her nerves were jumping like grasshoppers on a spring day. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s really late, and I’d like to go home—which is a little difficult with your face stuck in front of my windshield.”

“The point is, I’ll be right behind you, and I want you to make sure you keep my car in sight in your rearview mirror until we get home.”

Clea glared at him. “We? What do you mean until we get home? I’m going home. If you want to follow me there, fine. Go ahead. But afterwards, you go.”

“One more thing, don’t get nervous if you see a black Jeep parked in front of your place. I called Sean. He’s bringing me a change of clothes and a razor,” he said, then slammed the car door in her face and started to walk off.

Shutting off the car’s engine, Clea unsnapped her seat belt and charged after him. “Get back here, Fitzpatrick. What do you mean Sean’s meeting you at my place with clothes? What do you need clothes for?”

He shot her that devilish smile. “I don’t, but I thought you’d insist. I’ll call Sean and tell him to forget the clothes.”

Furious with him, and with herself for stepping right into that one, Clea grabbed his arm to stop him from getting in his car. “Don’t make me kill you, Fitzpatrick.”

“Problem, Duchess?” he asked, his deep voice whisper-soft as it stroked over her nerve endings like a caress.

An autumn moon hung like a lantern in the night sky, illuminating the shock of black hair that fell across his brow. In the glow of the streetlamp, she could make out the shadow of whiskers along his sharp-edged jaw. His unsmiling mouth looked beautiful and inviting in that chiseled masculine face. He smelled like winter rain and pine forests, Clea thought as she lifted her gaze up to his. His blue eyes glistened dark and determined as he stared down at her. Her nervous stomach clenched and unclenched and she felt that warm tug of desire rippling through her again.

Suddenly, realizing how close they were, she dropped her hand. “I’ve changed my mind about this protection business. I don’t care what Maggie and James say, I don’t want you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive,” she tossed back. It was bad enough the man made her hormones act up. The last thing she needed was to have him trailing her back to her apartment, sticking himself into her life. Especially when she was a jumble of nerves and emotions.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pulse skittered at the intimate gesture, but she refused to retreat. As though sensing her reaction, his mouth curved in that familiar smile. “That’s too bad. Your not wanting me, I mean. It would have made us being roommates a lot more interesting.”

“Roommates?” she repeated “We’re not going to be roommates.”

“Sure we are. Because from now on, Duchess, wherever you go, I go. That’s what a bodyguard does.”

Three

“A bodyguard!”

“That’s right,” Ryan informed her.

Clea jerked away from him. “No way,” she fired off, reminding him of his five-year-old godchild.

Damn, Ryan thought. She was so distressed that he almost felt sorry for her. Almost, but not quite. Not enough for him to risk leaving her unprotected. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

She stiffened with indignation. “Wrong. I do have a choice,” she told him, her eyes shooting off angry green sparks. “And I choose not to have a bodyguard. I don’t need one, and I certainly don’t need you.”

“Oh, you need me all right. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Why, you—”

He caught her by the shoulders. “Wake up and smell the coffee, Clea,” he said, his voice harsh because he needed for her to see reason. “I’ve made light of what’s happened tonight because I wanted to wipe that terrified look out of your eyes. I can see how that was a mistake. Because this isn’t a game. You’re in danger. There’s some crazy out there stalking you. Or have you forgotten that fact?”

“Believe me, that’s something I’m not likely to forget.” She balled her hands into fists, propped them on her hips, faced him eye to eye, toe to toe. “There’s hardly an hour that goes by that I’m not aware of it. I think about it when I open my eyes in the morning and when I close them at night. I think about it every time the telephone rings or a letter shows up in my mail. So, don’t you stand there and tell me I’m not taking this seriously. Because I am.”

“Then quit fighting me and let me do what I’m being paid to do,” Ryan told her.

“Which is what? Trying to get into my pants?”

Ryan flushed, knowing there was some truth in what she said. “I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I want you. But that’s personal, and you and I will deal with that when this is over. You don’t have to worry about it getting in the way of me doing my job—which is to keep you safe from that creep who grabbed you tonight.”

“And, of course, since you’re an ace private eye for all of a...what is it now, a month? I’m supposed to put my trust in your vast experience?”

“I’d say the fact that I was a cop for twelve years counts for something. If nothing else it should inspire some confidence that I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, it doesn’t. Why should I believe you can find this guy when the police who’ve been working on this for months can’t?”

“Because I promise you that I will find him and stop him.”

“Fine. You go right ahead and play super sleuth. But you’ll to do it without playing bodyguard to my helpless female. Forget it, Fitzpatrick. I don’t need you to protect me.”

Lord but the woman was stubborn, Ryan thought, his patience wearing thin. “Because you can take care of yourself. Right?”

“That’s right. I can.”

“And if your admirer decides to cop another feel like he did tonight, how do you plan to handle that? By screaming bloody murder again?”

Clea sucked in a breath. “That won’t happen again. I’ll be more careful in the future,” she told him, her voice suddenly tight.

Hating himself for putting that haunted look back in her eyes, Ryan smacked his hand against the car door. “Dammit, Clea.”

“Don’t you swear at me, Fitzpatrick,” she fired back, some of the steel returning to her voice.

He raked at his hair. “Do you really expect me to just leave you alone so that sicko can take another shot at you?”

“You’re a private investigator. I expect you to investigate. Track down where his calls are coming from. Or do some kind of computer search. Or...or whatever it is you do to find a suspect. Just find out who’s doing this to me and make him stop.”

“I’ll hop right to it, Duchess,” he countered, not bothering to mask his sarcasm. Did she really think it was that easy to find a clever criminal who didn’t want to be caught? “Any other orders?”