His Bodyguard

by Greiman, Lois

  But Nathan was back in a few minutes, bringing her a glass of milk, a carton of raisins, then finally a plate of scrambled eggs.

  “There’s no toast,” he said, seating himself beside her, his abdomen contracting beneath the ungodly width of his belt buckle. “You’ll have to make do.” He grinned as he handed her the plate. “See, I won’t kick you out for eating crackers in bed.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You should be.” She’d gotten back a little of her spunk, he noticed. But she still looked a little peaked. “Eat that.”

  “How many eggs is this?”

  “Six.”

  “And you expect me to eat them all?”

  “Charming as it is that you faint when I kiss you, I like my women a little more lively—conscious anyway.”

  “I am not your woman.”

  “You’re in my bed.”

  She snorted and took a bite. Nuf jumped up beside her, his belly scraping the crumpled coverlet as he sniffed out the eggs.

  Nathan swiped him gently aside. The cat sat down grumpily to watch from the sidelines.

  “What do you think?” Nathan asked, nodding toward the eggs.

  “Not bad,” she said, but he noticed that she had already taken a second mouthful. Poor little thing. She ate like a sparrow and worked like a dog. And he was beginning to understand why.

  “Ever have a man cook breakfast for you before?”

  She gave him a sidelong glance. “Listen, Fox, I work for you. Nothing more.”

  “Never have, huh?” he said, and entwining his fingers behind his head, leaned back against their shared pillows. He was giving her a clear view of his chest and abdomen, which he liked to think were pretty hard, thanks to the damned weights he kept wedged under his bed. And now that he knew she wasn’t repulsed by him, which was a shocking relief, he wasn’t above showing off a little. She’d said she wasn’t good at this sort of thing. But the truth was, her kiss had just about singed his eyebrows. Oh, boy. Maybe all she needed was a little time. He could give her that He glanced her way and noticed with heart-stopping gratitude that she was staring at him with those sexy, hotter-than-hell eyes of hers. But he had to keep his head, play this smart. “Not even your brothers?”

  “What?” She lowered her gaze back to her plate and blushed.

  He loved it when she blushed, like the bloom of a prairie flower. But he wouldn’t tease her about it just now, no matter how tempting it was. “Your brothers never cooked for you?”

  “No.”

  A short answer, he mused. He stole a cracker from the pack. “They all younger than you?”

  “No.”

  “Who did the cooking?”

  “After Momma died?”

  He nodded.

  “I did.” She didn’t like to admit it. He could tell.

  Nathan rolled over on his side. Propped up on his left elbow, he could watch her face very closely, read each emotion before she could lock it away. “You must not have had much time to play commando with the boys.”

  “I was Daddy’s…”

  “What?”

  She shrugged. But the movement seemed stiff. “I was Daddy’s little gal.”

  A wealth of meaning behind that statement. He analyzed each possibility carefully before speaking. “Which meant you did all the housework.”

  Another shrug.

  “And you had five brothers who sat around on their backsides and told you what to do.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  Ah, loyalty. It was a charming attribute. Still, he didn’t like these brothers one bit, even though Nathan’s own tendencies ran toward the piggish side.

  “They began working full-time as soon as they could and started bringing home wages.”

  “At twelve years old?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  But she had worked at twelve and Nathan seriously doubted if wages were involved. Surely that could make a woman hate the jobs generally thought of as feminine. “So do you see your brothers much?”

  She gave him another sidelong glance. “I’m awful busy. Traveling and whatnot”

  “As a bodyguard.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And what do they do?”

  Turning abruptly away from him, she set the plate on the nightstand. “It’s getting late.”

  “Geez, O’Shay,” he said, catching her arm. “You’re as jumpy as a mustang. Relax.”

  She settled tentatively back against the pillows.

  “What do your brothers do?”

  “One’s in the Navy. Two are firefighters, and two are in the police force.” Fiddling with a loose thread in the coverlet, she turned her gaze to the overstuffed cat. “Why Nuf?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why do you call him Nuf?”

  “Paul found him a couple years ago when we were touring up north. He was half-froze and all starved. Ate like a horse. The boys started calling him NF.” She’d turned her gaze to watch his face. He shrugged. “Short for Nate Fox. Pretty soon they just called him Nuf. They seem to think he personifies the real me.” She still stared at him. “Fat, lazy and kind of cocky,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “Where do your brothers live?”

  “We have to get back to the hotel.”

  “Not going back to the hotel,” Nathan said.

  She spun on him like a top at full tilt. “What?”

  “Nope.” He tried not to grin, but it was pretty much hopeless. “I’m staying here tonight.”

  “You can’t stay here.” The look in her eyes could be described as nothing but panicked.

  “Why not?”

  “Because the cat’s not neutered.”

  Nathan stared at her for a moment, then threw back his head and laughed out loud. “You don’t have to worry,” he said finally. “I’m housebroke.”

  “It’s not the house I’m worried about”

  He chuckled. “You’ll be safe.”

  “Sarge’ll worry.”

  “You think so?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Then I’ll call him,” Nate said, and rising to all fours, crawled past her to pick up the phone. It took him a minute to get the number and connect with the correct room. Twisting slightly, he sat down, letting one thigh droop over her feet where they rested on the bed. The contact with her toes was nearly more than he could handle, but he smiled, trying to look casual.

  “Sarge,” he said when the manager answered. “I’m sleeping on the bus tonight Yeah. She’s here. Okay. Yeah. Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock.” He hung up. “There. That’s taken care of. We can get some sleep now.” He stretched out where he was so that his abdomen was pressed against her bare leg.

  She jerked it away as if burned. “We can’t both sleep here!”

  “I’m just trying to make your job easier.”

  She gave him a look.

  “You gotta guard me, right? And you’re not real steady on your feet. But if we’re right here together…” He shrugged and reached for his belt

  “What are you doing?” Her voice had pitched up to a squeak.

  “Can’t sleep in my jeans.”

  “Sweet Mary!” she said and jerked away, but he caught her arm with a chuckle.

  Their gazes caught only inches apart

  “You stay here. I’ll sleep on the couch.” Dropping her arm, he slipped off the bed, and although he knew he should retreat, he couldn’t resist just one more touch.

  Gently, he cupped her cheek with his hand. For just an instant, her eyes fell closed. There was nothing he could do but kiss her. Her lips were warm and soft against his, and the tiniest whimper escaped.

  It was that whimper that made him draw back, because if he was going to win this battle, he’d have to fight smart.

  Her eyes were as big and bright as castanets when he drew away, and beneath his hand, he felt her tremble.

  He smiled, leaned forward and tenderly kissed her cheek. “I like you too, O’Shay,” he said, and using ever
y bit of self-control he’d thought he didn’t have, he turned and walked out.

  10

  “HOW YOU FEELING?”

  Brenna opened her eyes, and there, sitting on the bed next to her was Adonis, unshaven, rumpled by sleep, and so handsome it nearly made her drool.

  No wait. She was drooling. Ohhh! She snapped her mouth closed and sat up.

  The events of the night before rushed back to her. “What time is it?”

  “’Bout seven. I made some breakfast.”

  She saw now that he had a plate of pancakes in his hand.

  “Listen, Fox—”

  “Don’t want to hear it,” he said. “I can’t have my bodyguard passing out on me. Who’d protect me? Here. Eat this.” He handed her the plate, then lifted the syrup from beside her spare contact case.

  “How long have you been in here?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Ten minutes maybe.”

  She winced at the thought. “Was I drooling?”

  He laughed. The sound did bad things to her insides. “Geez, O’Shay, you’re so vain. You’re my bodyguard, remember? A strictly professional relationship. Hurry up. Eat. I want to take you dancing. I mean—” he grinned “—running.”

  THE DAYS FLEW BY as did the miles. Oklahoma, Kansas, Colorado, all blurred together with the performances and the duties and the fans.

  Brenna did her job as she had from the first day, mulling over the letters, analyzing the threats. Who was sending them? Someone who knew him well. But with the kind of publicity he generated, that could be anyone.

  She worked hard and late, and although her schedule never let up, something was different now. Instead of standing in her way at every turn, Nathan seemed to be accepting her presence, informing her when he was going out, consulting about risks, actually helping her do her job.

  And although she was still nervous about her role, she would have to say she did her job well. Even the road crew mentioned the difference her presence made. The crowds were more manageable, the performances ran smoother.

  They pulled into Omaha on a late afternoon in July. Brenna saw to the usual details while keeping an eye on Nathan as he rehearsed. Afterward Sarge mounted the stage, his boxy body rolling along, his clipboard hugged against his hip.

  “So, Fox, you got a date for tonight?”

  “Tonight?” Nathan set his guitar aside. The music ceased. Brenna pulled herself from the emotions with an effort. Eventually, she would get used to it, she thought.

  “Dinner with me and Shauna. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m set. Seven o’clock, right?”

  “You’re not going to try to slime out of this, are you?”

  “No. I’m planning on it. Shauna coming here?”

  “Yeah. We’ll pick you up at your room.”

  “Uh-huh.” Nathan turned to fiddle with a mike.

  “She’s been planning this a long time. You’ll be there, right?” Sarge asked, scowling.

  “You think I’m going to be abducted by aliens or something?”

  Sarge ignored the joke. “She wants to see you. Make amends.”

  “There’s no amending necessary,” Nate said. “I told her that.”

  “Well, she thinks there is.”

  “Why don’t the two of you just go out? You haven’t seen her in months.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Fox,” Sarge said. “We’ll make it a foursome.”

  “Sure,” Nathan said.

  Sarge turned with a grunt Nathan lifted his gaze, and Brenna, caught breathless and staring, tried to pull away.

  “Ms. O’Shay?” someone said from behind.

  “Yes?” She turned with abject appreciation for the interruption.

  “I got some questions about tomorrow night’s performance,” said the coliseum’s manager, and she pinned her attention on work.

  The day was slow and long, and though Brenna berated herself a hundred times, the thought of Nate’s conversation with Sarge made her crazy. Who was Fox seeing tonight? How long had he had it planned? And how the hell was she supposed to keep from strangling his date?

  Regardless of the turmoil inside her, Brenna managed to hide her feelings and maintain her professionalism.

  That evening, she let Nathan open his own hotel room door, but insisted on stepping inside first to make sure all was safe.

  “No boogies?” he asked.

  She made a face and he grinned.

  “S’pose you heard that I’m having dinner with Sarge and Shauna,” he said.

  She nodded, although she wanted mostly to hide under her bed.

  “I really think I’ll be safe. Sarge’s scowl is pretty much enough to scare off anyone. Why don’t you skip this little shindig?”

  Because she couldn’t bear to leave him alone with another woman, especially now that she knew he wanted her to. But she couldn’t bear to be there watching him either. She tamped down all the inappropriate feelings and tried for professionalism.

  “Who’s your date?”

  He raised his brows at her. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m wondering if she’s the type to write nasty letters.”

  “She may have plans for the night. But I’m sure they don’t include murder.”

  He grinned. She ignored it as best she could. “How long have you known her?”

  “Just a couple of months. But we got to know each other real well right off the bat.”

  So he’d had sex with her. Something twisted in Brenna’s stomach, but she refused to let her feelings show.

  “I’ll be safe as a babe in his momma’s arms,” he said.

  In her arms…the image tormented her. Maybe she shouldn’t accompany them, she thought. But that was the coward’s way, she realized suddenly. “I think I’d best come along. I’ll be careful not to cramp your style,” she said. It sounded a bit more stiff than she had intended.

  Nathan shrugged as if unconcerned either way. “It’s up to you. But Shauna’s got rich taste. You might want to dress up a little.”

  “I’ll try not to embarrass you.” Catty. She wanted to draw back the words. But he only smiled.

  “See you at seven then,” he said.

  BUT AT 6:45 BRENNA WAS still in her underwear, her hands clasped in front of her as she agonized over what to wear. Dress up a little, he’d said. But why? So that she wouldn’t embarrass herself, or so that he wouldn’t be embarrassed by her?

  She dropped her forehead against the closet door. What was wrong with her? Of course he was going to date. He was a healthy, famous, gorgeous, tantalizing—

  Shut up, shut up, shut up, she told her mind and made one quick circle around her dressing room before returning to the closet to stare dismally at the limited number of clothes. She’d chosen a wardrobe that looked professional while not looking stiff. But now it seemed pathetically lacking. Maybe she should have purchased something better. Something with sequins, showing a little cleavage, a bit of—

  What the hell was wrong with her? she wondered, and snatched a black jumpsuit from its hanger. Ten minutes later, she quit wringing her hands long enough to knock on Nathan’s door.

  “O’Shay?” he called.

  “Yeah.”

  “Come on in.”

  She slid her key into the lock and stepped into his sitting room.

  “Is it seven already?”

  “Almost,” she said, trying to sound casual as she glanced about. But if his date had already arrived she was not in the sitting room. Oh God, if they were making out or something, she was going to jump out the window.

  “You’ve really gotta get over being so damn punctual,” Fox called from his bedroom.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” she said and tried to peek into his room, but just then she heard him approach and ducked back near an upholstered chair to gaze blindly at a picture on the wall.

  In a moment he was in the doorway. She could feel his presence without turning around.

  “Could you throw me that bag by
the door?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She turned to do just that, but stopped short. Her jaw dropped as she stared at him. “You’re, umm…” Oh, boy. She was in big trouble, because all her blood had suddenly drained from her brain into parts that hadn’t gotten a lot of attention for, say…oh…her entire life. “You’re not dressed.”

  He grinned, buck naked but for a towel wrapped around his waist. “Yeah, I know. There was a show on about dolphins. Sucked me right in. Did you know they’re considered one of God’s most amorous creatures?”

  “No.” His hair was still wet It was slicked back and dripped onto his shoulders. One bead rolled down the taut muscle of his deltoid before sliding languidly along his pectoral and past his taut, left nipple. Brenna swallowed. “No, I didn’t”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You gonna throw me that bag?”

  “Oh!” She nearly jumped. “Yeah.” Rushing over to the plastic bag by the door, she prepared to actually throw it, but it was filled with small cans and tubes, and wasn’t the type of thing one would go tossing about, so she took a fortifying breath and made the long walk across the sitting room to hand it to him.

  “Thanks.” His tone was casual enough to be nothing more than a chance meeting at a bus stop. Nevertheless, when her fingers brushed his, she couldn’t avoid that spark that snapped through her. He turned away. “Make yourself at home. Some of that dolphin show might be on yet.”

  “Thanks,” she said, but she felt no need to learn about sexually overstimulated creatures, because she figured she pretty much had that category sewn up. It was going to be a long night.

  He left the doorway, and in a moment she heard his towel drop to the floor, heard the ting of a hanger as he drew out his clothes. Her knees were starting to sweat.

  “You didn’t see anyone in the hallway, did you? A tall blond woman—looks kind of like Madonna?”

  Oh God. Brenna stared down at her plain black jumpsuit and serviceable flats. It was an okay outfit to run down prospective murderers in, but not quite suitable for boosting her ego while she hung out with a country-and-western superstar and his Madonna.

  “O’Shay?”

  “No. No, I didn’t,” she said, wanting to weep.

  “Well, I suppose they’ll be here soon enough.” He stepped into the doorway again. She tried to look away, but found herself sadly undisciplined. To her depressed relief, she found that he had his jeans on. They were zipped, though unbuttoned, and he was pulling on a shirt.