Tempted By Her Rescuer: Brotherhood Protectors World

by Christine Glover

  Losing herself in working, filming the show, would effectively wash the ever sexy Brent Lancaster out of her system permanently. At least, she hoped it would, she thought as she drove back to the luxury ranch’s main building.

  Rounding the final corner to enter the parking lot, she hit a bump and the SUV skidded. She tasted acid, panic raced through her scalp, raising the hairs on her head. Tamping down the fear, she turned into the skid and regained control immediately.

  Still, her heartbeat thundered in her ears until she safely parked and exited her vehicle. Clutching her crossbody bag’s straps, she hurried up the stairs that led to the entrance and stepped onto the grand wraparound porch. Moving to open the door, a large hand beat her to the handle.

  “After you,” Brent said, stepping beside her to let her in.

  Her pulse accelerated, thundered in her ears. The restaurant didn’t start serving for another hour. “You following me?” she asked.

  “No. I’m supposed to be here,” he said. “Meeting with the general manager about providing security here. Looks like the Brotherhood Protectors are plenty busy these days and Hank asked me to touch base with her.”

  “I thought you were here on vacation,” she said as she walked inside.

  “I am,” he said easily. “But when she heard I was coming here, she contacted me about hiring my company.”

  Reagan had met the general manager during their tour and had liked the woman on the spot. The single mother had a great sense of humor, was insightful and smart too. And, given all those positive check marks in her favor, her gorgeousness along with her size perfect body, would attract any red-blooded man.

  Jealousy, unwelcome as hell, wove through her. “Well, I guess you’re not going to have any trouble having a good time while you’re here after all,” she said, feigning a breezy attitude she absolutely didn’t feel.

  Disappointment tripped along her spine, but Reagan clamped down the ridiculous emotion, walking away from Brent before she exposed herself to his way too scrutinizing gaze.

  Chapter 7

  Brent waited for her to greet her makeup and hair stylists before moving to the chairs in front of the large fireplace. Oversized logs crackled and fired sparks up into the chimney. Checking in with his commander with the recent developments, he forwarded the information to his agency’s headquarters in California via his encrypted cell phone.

  How is Reagan doing? She suspect anything?

  He paused, hesitated in answering. The truth? Too personal. And his rationalization for sleeping with her, wanting to be with her in more than a physical sense, dipped into the guilt zone as he read his commander’s text. After leaving Reagan’s cabin, Brent had returned to his to watch over her via his surveillance cameras. She has no idea about the possible danger. I’d like to keep it that way. Brent replied.

  Other than seeing the sadness in her face, nothing out of the ordinary happened. The sadness brought an ache to his chest that refused to evaporate.

  Her brother will want to step up security if this intel pans out. He’ll do anything to protect her.

  So far Brent had been the only person who’d hurt Reagan. She might have every reason not to spend time with him, but now he had to make sure he never let her out of his sight. Later, he’d wrap his brain around what to do about the feelings she’d stirred in him.

  I’m in constant contact with Hank Patterson. We’ll mobilize if necessary.

  Excellent.

  He signed off, made his way to the concierge’s desk, poured a cup of fresh coffee. Drinking it, he crossed the floor to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ranch’s vast property. Snow covered the grounds and the staff outside prepped a pair of sleighs with holiday garland. Inside, he heard the clatter of the restaurant crew gearing up for the morning breakfast rush. Cutlery clinked against china, orders called by the managers to the servers, and the scents of cinnamon and sugar filled the air.

  “Hey,” Eric’s voice cut into his thoughts. “Didn’t expect to see you here this early. Where’s Reagan?”

  Brent turned to face her assistant and now director. He’d gotten a great opportunity after the accident, but Reagan hadn’t been in charge of the decision to put Eric in the director’s seat. “Already on the set,” he said. “Getting ready.”

  “Great. You drive her?” the man asked, knowing just exactly where Brent had been the night before.

  “No.” He’d run a background check on the entire cast and crew prior to arriving in Eagle Point. Nothing stood out. He glanced at his agency issued spyware watch, the recording ability set to on. “Got a meeting with the general manager in fifteen.” But he’d also seen her skidding on her way to the ranch’s main building. He’d check out her SUV after he ditched Eric.

  “Ah. You want to watch today’s filming? We’ve got a studio audience set up. Would love to see you there.”

  “What time?” he asked nonchalantly though he jumped at the idea of being closer to her without tipping her off per his orders. But he had to fake his meeting first or he’d raise suspicion.

  “Not for another hour and a half.” Eric waved. “Owen. You ready for the big day?”

  The chef from New York sauntered toward them. “Absolutely. Just went over the menu with the ranch’s staff and we’re good to go. Hey,” he said. “You the hero of the day that saved Reagan from this dope’s slip and slide?”

  Hero? More like an asshole. “I just pulled her out of the SUV’s path. No big deal.”

  “Is to me,” Owen said, stretching out his hand. “And to the entire crew. Reagan’s the heart of Cooking Thyme. Without her, they’d have to reboot the entire show and go in another direction.”

  After giving the man a firm grip, Brent smiled without meaning it. Owen Davidson was the face of the Davidson fleet of five star restaurants located in and around New York City, but Brent didn’t buy the guy’s schtick. He’d never trusted guys who oozed metro charm and compliments. But being a playboy didn’t make the chef his chief suspect.

  Yet.

  “I’ll pop by later, check the show out if my meeting doesn’t run too late,” he said to Eric. “See you around.”

  He left the two men, strolling toward the hallway that led to the ranch’s offices, then veered over to the main entrance and stepped outside.

  The day before he’d nabbed her fob’s code. Now he went to her rental, brought out the device to transmit the same radio frequency to jam the signal that locked the car. After opening the driver side door, he popped the front hood to check the battery connections. Nothing. Brake fluid and oil levels came next. All at required levels. Closing the hood and kneeling to examine the undercarriage, he mulled over how to take Eric up on his offer.

  Tires solid. But.. Fucking brake line had a slight cut-precise and deliberate. He clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes, anger flashing through him. One wrong turn or ice on the road or hitting a bump could snap the motherfucker in two. He withdrew his cell phone, snapped a picture of the damaged line.

  Was this coincidence or planned? He’d follow up with the rental company. And he definitely had an in with Reagan after securing one with Eric.

  Before he could tuck his cell phone back in his pocket, a text flashed on the screen. He read the message. Sheriff’s suspicions had been confirmed. The report gave him the answer he needed.

  Standing, he wracked his brain for a way to get past her guard again. One thing he knew for sure, she might not like him much as a person, but she still wanted him. He’d seen the flash of envy in her blue eyes before she’d shuttered them and hustled off to meet her show’s crew.

  He made his way back to the ranch’s front entrance as the pain behind his sternum intensified, lanced deeper. He rubbed the spot with the heel of his hand before opening the doors. He hated that he gave her the wrong idea about him. He’d lied to himself when he’d told himself they’d both be better off as long as he continued to do so.

  Now he’d have to ramp up the charm himself.

&nb
sp; Killed him a little inside that he’d acted like the jerk of the year this morning, but ultimately he’d believed he didn’t have a choice. He certainly shouldn’t have had sex with her. Period.

  But now that he’d gotten a taste of her, could he keep his hands to himself while still trying to reach beyond her defenses, so he could protect her? So he could one day make his subterfuge up to her at the right time?

  Walking through the ranch’s foyer toward the restaurant’s hostess stand, he knew nothing could stop him from eating breakfast in the same restaurant where she filmed her show. The sheriff’s text along with the sheered brake line had given him extra motivation to step up his game.

  He’d do everything in his power to keep her sexy ass alive even if it meant admitting the truth.

  “So how did last night with Mr. Tall Hot and Sexy Stetson go?” Eric asked.

  Reagan closed her eyes as her makeup artist applied shadow. “It went… I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “He’s here.”

  “I know.” She didn’t like Brent’s presence in the same building one bit. But he had a right to go wherever he pleased as long as he avoided her. “Not that I care.”

  “Sure,” her stylist said. “Then explain the puffy eyes and shadows I just had to cover up.”

  A shiver crawled into the back of her neck, making the bones brittle as ice. She’d spent the better part of her morning ritual swallowing disappointment and tears, but her crew didn’t need to know every detail of her personal life. “Nothing happened with him. I just didn’t sleep well,” she said, now staring at her flawless reflection in the mirror across from her. “We ate, talked about the best ways to produce and market my secret special marinating and basting sauces.”

  Not the truth. She’d shared her plans with a few people on the show’s staff along with her former rival Owen who’d offered to showcase her products in his restaurants.

  Her stylist applied another stroke of blush on her cheeks. “Tell that to someone who’ll believe it. I saw the way you were looking at him yesterday.”

  “When did you… oh never mind. How’d I look at him?” Was she really that obvious? Inwardly, she rolled her eyes and shook her head. God, sometimes she wished her emotions didn’t come across like an open book, but she’d gotten the current gig with her genuine personality.

  “Well?” she asked again.

  “Like he was a big juicy steak and you couldn’t wait to take a bite and eat the whole damn thing.”

  She inhaled a breath, counted to ten, then released the air slowly, trying to make the embarrassment flushing through her evaporate. “Honestly, we just talked business. No big deal,” she said, scrutinizing the final touches the makeup artist had added to her glam. “But thanks for making me look better than I could possibly do on my own.” Reagan meant every word. Her stylist was a true genius at beautifying her.

  “You’ve got an easy face to style”

  “Ha. I’m glad you think so.” She’d never been a total girly girl. Not when she’d been hanging out with her brother and his friends, cooking in her parents’ family restaurant, or serving up dogs and burgers at the snack stand during high school football season.

  That Scott Harlow had even noticed her had been a minor miracle. But she’d taken a serious effort to make her high school crush look at her like more than his best friend’s pesky younger sister.

  “I told you to get some rest last night,” Eric said, bringing her back to reality.

  She glanced at her bare ring finger, then back at her reflection. A lot had changed since she’d gotten that first kiss during a bonfire held at their favorite river cove hangout.

  Shifting her glance from the mirror to her PA and temporary director, she shot him a warning glance. If only Eric hadn’t been freaking out at her cabin when Brent had shown up for dinner. “I got a case of the nerves,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone that also stated he keep the details of her date under wraps.

  Eric nodded slightly. “You’ve been hosting the show for a year,” he said. “You’ll be fine.”

  She relaxed back in her chair. Thank god he’d gotten her message. “Live filming, no way to edit out mistakes or bloopers,” she said. “That all adds up to one jittery show host.”

  “Relax. I can handle your nerves until Angela is back behind the camera on Wednesday,” he said. “Meanwhile, let’s get rolling. We film in half an hour.” Eric pushed away from the wall where he’d been leaning. “I’m heading out to prep the audience and touch base with Owen.”

  “Great. I’m looking forward to meeting them. They’ll take the edge off,” she said.

  “Maybe, maybe not.”

  A bunch of jellybeans bounced in her tummy. Besides the skeletal early morning ranch staff, one person sprang to mind. One tall, hot and wearing a Stetson to be accurate. Please tell me you didn’t… “What do you mean” she asked, pressing her hand to her stomach to will the real nerves to get under control.

  “I wish I hadn’t asked this one particular guy to join us on the set.” He moved around Reagan. “But I thought he’d be a welcome addition when I did.”

  “Aha. Not a big deal? Doubtful.” Her stylist stopped packing up her brushes and palettes of color. “I can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

  “Please tell me he said thanks, but no.”

  “No can do,” Eric said. “Sorry, but I didn’t think including him would be a problem.”

  “I’m a professional.” Reagan squared her shoulders, stood and raised her chin. “No way will I let him distract me from I have to do on the set if he decides to be part of the live audience.” She breezed away from the makeup mirror with what she hoped gave the appearance of total calm, total control.

  But on the inside, the jumping jellybeans in her tummy bounced like crazy, zipped into her nerves and pinged into her veins. She trembled, half afraid Brent would be waiting for her front and center on the set.

  Half afraid he wouldn’t be there which would, for some ridiculous female pride reason, disappoint and hurt her even more.

  Chapter 8

  “Why are you here?” Reagan asked, crossing her arms.

  “To support your show,” Brent said. “And to grovel again.” He held up his first gambit, a poinsettia plant potted in silver and gold foil with a huge Christmas tartan bow around the brim.

  She narrowed her eyes, but, to his relief, reached for the plant. “It’s beautiful, but you didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

  “I did,” he said, peering over her shoulders to the set beyond. “I wanted to see you again and if this is the only way I can, I will.”

  “You hardly seem like the type who cares about pulling together a holiday dinner with all the trimmings.”

  “Point made, but I am the type who cares about the person prepping the meal.”

  “You care?”

  “Yes. I do. I screwed up, but I won’t do it again.” He mentally crossed his fingers while holding her gaze, inhaling her delicious scent of vanilla and her unique essence. “I promise. Please. Give me another chance to prove I’m not a first class jerk.” Though she’d boot him right back into the asshat territory if she discovered his original reason for bumping into her. Though everything that had happened afterward had been based on real attraction, desire. The deep yearning to explore the emotions she’d sparked in him.

  She pursed her lush lips, stroked one of the pink petals. “You willing to forgo the extracurricular nighttime activity to be with me?”

  His breath bottled in his chest when he realized her ring finger still remained bare. Lucky for her he’d already vowed to keep his paws to himself in the going all the way department. “I just want to spend time with you. If that means just going out on dates and hanging together, that’s cool with me.” Because she needed his protection until he figured out who’d cut the brake line and set up the accident the other day. And he needed time to figure out how to keep her as a part of his life after this mission.

  Everyon
e, including Eric, was on his suspect list despite his earlier background checks.

  Reagan inhaled a breath, her full breasts rising and falling, tempting him, making him itchy to touch and explore them again. He shoveled internal dirt over the instant attraction buzzing through him, waited for her reply.

  “I’ll think about it.” She tilted her head toward the area the show’s crew had cordoned off in the restaurant. “Grab a seat. Cooking Thyme starts filming in fifteen minutes.”

  She turned away, walked toward the set without glancing back. He followed her and sat through the show, unable to keep his eyes off her lush ass. Damn. She had a fine butt and he’d just promised himself, and her, he’d never touch it again. At least, not until he’d completed this operation.

  This assignment had all kinds of pitfalls, dangers included more than stopping a potential killer. They included his cock suffering from sex deprivation. He’d have to take a lot of cold showers, maybe even spend extra time on the nearby slopes to keep his shit under control.

  He sat through the show, tasted the dish samples Reagan and her temporary co-host, Owen, created. And wanted a taste for a whole lot more than the succulent bourbon-maple glazed spiral cut ham and side dishes.

  But no. He’d reminded himself to limit his tastes to the food she offered throughout the week, not her.

  Easy. No.

  Especially now as they walked out of Al’s Diner into the cold air, the frigid wind slapping his face.

  Beside him, Reagan shivered. “The temperatures drop to a billion below freezing in Montana at night.”

  “Come here.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, warming her. “Won’t be long before we’re inside my SUV.” He’d remotely started the vehicle and the purring engine would have the heater running.

  “The burgers and fries are worth freezing my ass off.” She quickened her pace as they approached the rental. “And meeting Al is a bonus. Knowing he’s all bark, no bite will make filming our show in two days.”