by JoAnn Ross
"It's nice to know you're actually human, darling. I was beginning to wonder." With that less than flattering remark, she let her damp red hair fall back over her shoulders, held the corset against her breasts, and disappeared into the bathroom.
When he heard the shower turn on, Finn imagined her naked, imagined himself joining her in that compact shower, smoothing the fragrant soap that clung to her skin over her lush curves.
As his mind wandered into forbidden territory, flashing pictures that would make the old Playboy magazines his brothers used to snitch from him back in high school seem tame by comparison, Finn leaned his head against the wall and reminded himself that if he allowed his rampant hard-on to drag him into that shower with her, he'd undoubtedly be breaking every rule in the book. Along with some that hadn't even been written yet.
But that crack about not being human was pissing him off. What the hell did she think he was? Some sort of sexless android? Just because he didn't believe in giving in to temptation and mixing work and pleasure? Of course, he'd never been so tempted, either.
Finn had been threatened, shot at, and had even foiled an assassination plot that had earned him an ugly knife gash in the thigh and an invitation to the White House to have dinner with the President and First Lady. Unfortunately, he was beginning to fear that guarding the woman soap opera fans loved to hate might end up being the most dangerous assignment of his career.
He could protect Julia from her obsessed star-stalker.
But who the effing hell was going to protect him from her?
On the other side of the closed door, as the shower cubicle filled up with fragrant steam, Julia's reckless mind imagined Finn Callahan's broad, capable hands moving all over her wet slick body, touching her, doing all the erotic things he'd done in her dreams.
Leaning her head back against the shower wall, she lifted her face to the water and sighed. It was going to be a very long two weeks.
Chapter 13
Julia woke feeling cranky and out of sorts after having spent the night tossing and turning, suffering unwanted erotic dreams about Finn, one of which had included a hoopskirt and a vat of warm honey.
The silent drive to Beau Soleil did nothing to ease her headache. When they arrived Margot looked hungover and was her typical acid self, deriding the room service waiter who'd taken all of ten minutes to bring her coffee to her suite, the van driver for "purposefully trying to hit every goddamn pothole in the goddamn road," and Warren for writing such "godawful drek."
Warren appeared unwounded by both her barbs and her stiletto sharp glares. He was deep in some creative zone, madly scribbling on a legal pad, undoubtedly changing the script yet again, Julia thought with a sigh.
Shane, who, if one could believe a barb Margot had thrown at him, had disappeared from the inn's bar last night with a cocktail waitress, caught up on missed sleep while Randy went over the script, blocking out scenes he intended to shoot today.
And all the time Finn remained beside Julia, as large and silent as the Sphinx.
Clouds were gathering out over the Gulf, dark portents of a possible storm, making Julia very glad Randy had decided to shoot the indoor ballroom scene, which flashed back to a time before the war, today. The light was an odd yellow, making Beau Soleil gleam more gold than alabaster. It truly was a stunning house, though Julia couldn't imagine ever thinking of it as home. To her it would be like living in a museum.
Dreading the prospect of another day laced up like a Christmas goose, she entered the trailer that served as a temporary dressing room. Someone had left a manila envelope with her name on the table. She sighed and opened what she took to be yet more revisions to the script. Blood rushed from her head in a dizzying rush when she saw the photograph. Sound roared in her head. Then everything went black.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on the couch.
"Wait here," she heard Finn say from what sounded like the bottom of the sea.
As if she were capable of getting anywhere without crawling. Julia looked up at him, but the way he was going in and out of focus only made her more dizzy, so she shut her eyes.
A moment later, a cold washcloth was laid on her forehead.
"Take a deep breath."
She managed a shallow, shuddering intake of air that cleared away a few of the mental cobwebs.
"Again." When she felt his fingertips against her throat, Julia realized he was checking her pulse.
She took another, more efficient breath.
"Good. Another." The deep, self-assured voice, the reassuring stroke of his fingers as he brushed her hair off her cheek, the coolness of the damp cloth against her skin, all began to calm her. "The color's coming back to your cheeks."
She knew. She could feel it. Her heart, which had been pounding against her ribs like an angry fist, began to slow to something resembling a normal beat.
"I feel so foolish," she murmured. "I never faint." She'd once gotten a little light-headed when she'd stood up too fast after giving blood, but had felt fine again after eating the cookie the nurse had given her.
"There's a first time for everything. You're going to have to start having something besides coffee and half an orange for breakfast."
"Easy for you to say. You don't have to squeeze into a spandex catsuit in a couple weeks."
After winning the role, she'd belatedly realized the downside of becoming a Bond Girl. Her body was going to be up on that huge screen, inviting audiences all around the world to criticize every blemish and lump. Which was why she'd hired a personal trainer, a sadistic Russian immigrant she suspected must have run a gulag back in his homeland.
"Besides, I've skipped breakfast my entire life and never fainted before."
If her eyes hadn't been closed, forcing her to rely more on her other senses, if his hand hadn't still been on her face, she might have missed the way he stiffened ever so slightly.
"Never?" His voice was gritty, even for him.
"Never."
"Could you be pregnant?"
That made her open her eyes. "No."
"You sure?"
"Since I haven't been paid a visitation by some angel bringing glad tidings lately, I'd have to be six months pregnant, so yeah, I'm pretty sure I would have noticed by now. Besides, I'm on the pill."
"You haven't had sex for six months?"
"Gee, Callahan. Is that germane to our situation?"
"Touché." A flash of humor momentarily brightened his eyes, then just as quickly faded, replaced by concern. His lips had appeared to quirk, just a little, and thinking back on those disturbingly erotic dreams, Julia wondered what they would taste like.
Which was also not germane to the situation, she reminded herself.
"Maybe I'd better call a doctor." Her stomach fluttered when he brushed a wayward curl off her cheek.
"That's not necessary." She pointed toward the photograph lying face down on the carpet. "You might want to take a look at that."
Anger moved in waves across his face as he viewed the photograph, computer printed exactly as the first one had been. Having surreptitiously watched him nearly as carefully as he'd been watching her, Julia had looked beneath the stoicism he wore like a coat of armor, and begun to sense Finn Callahan could be dangerous. Now, taking in the muscle jerking in his dark cheek and the whiteness of his knuckles as he clenched and unclenched his right hand, she belatedly realized that if you were one of the bad guys, he could be deadly.
"How do you think he took it?" she asked, swallowing her fear. She would not allow some stalker to make her feel helpless or vulnerable. She sat up and pushed her hair back from her face with both hands.
He held the photograph by the edges. The better, she guessed, to protect any fingerprints that might be on the paper. "My best guess would be, since we were alone in here, he was outside the window."
That idea caused goose bumps to rise on her flesh. Despite an outside temperature in the low nineties, with a humidity nearly as high, Julia began to s
hiver. She wrapped her arms around herself, partly for warmth, partly in an unconscious gesture of protection.
"You probably think I'm acting like a ninny."
"Why would I think that?"
"Well, I do spend a great deal of my life performing for a camera, and, as you've already pointed out, I shed my clothes on a regular basis, so I suppose a single still shot shouldn't be so upsetting . . ."
"But this is different," Finn guessed. "Because those scenes were carefully scripted and professionally acted." He brushed his fingers along the top outline of her lips, which she was pressing together to keep from quivering. "Having some stranger filming your ordinary everyday private moments without any warning or permission would be enough to make anyone a little jumpy."
"I think what took me by surprise was that if someone on the cast isn't playing a very sick joke, my stalker's back."
"From last week, right?"
"No." She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "Before that."
"Before . . . When? And why the hell don't the police have a record of any stalker?"
"There wasn't any official report made, because he didn't quite fit the criteria for a stalker. He didn't make any threats, never tried to get too close to me. If he had, I'd know who he was.
"Since the photos were flattering, with equally flattering comments written beneath them, I decided it was merely a fan with a crush and not worth dragging the police into."
"That's what they're for, dammit. I can understand how you might be reluctant, given your background, to go into a police station, but believe it or not, cops do have other duties besides beating up civilians at traffic stops and setting up speeding traps to catch you when you're driving too fast to the airport."
"I went to traffic school," she muttered, irritated but unsurprised he knew about that. "Paid the fine and did my time."
"I know. The instructor said it was the only time in his memory that someone stuck all Saturday in the basement of a church brought home baked brownies to class."
"It was my birthday. My parents were at some jazz fest in Sedona— that's in Arizona"
"Yeah. I've been there. Pretty little place."
"It's more than pretty. It's spectacular with all that red rock and impossibly blue sky. Did you know it's the red of the rocks that makes the sky look so blue over the canyons?"
"I've never heard the theory, but it makes sense . . . And you're changing the subject."
"I'm merely responding to your crack about the brownies. I didn't want to celebrate alone, so I baked some from my mother's famous recipe and took them along for the class lunch break."
He lifted a dark brow. "I'll bet that made the second half of the day a lot more mellow for everyone."
"They weren't laced with anything. Geez, Callahan, even if I did drugs, which I never have, you must have a really bad opinion of me to think I'm that stupid."
"I don't think you're stupid. I also didn't think you'd actually done it. I was just—"
"Making a joke?"
Hell, Finn thought. What kind of opinion of him did she have if she found that idea so impossible? "Yeah. But not because I'm not taking this seriously."
"Of course you take it seriously. From what I've been able to tell, you're a textbook firstborn. You take everything seriously. And the only reason I didn't get the joke was that I wasn't expecting it."
Humor lit her remarkable eyes. "Perhaps we could work out some sort of system for you to warn me when one's coming up," she suggested. "Hold up a sign, perhaps. Or maybe a code word that'll serve as a clue."
When she smiled, Finn realized that despite what he'd said to Nate about her being a pain in the ass, he was actually starting to like—and admire—Julia Summers. "Clues never hurt," he murmured with a practiced casualness.
And speaking of clues . . .
He studied the picture more closely, seeking some small clue to the photographer. It had been taken by a digital camera, printed on the type of inexpensive white computer paper that could be bought at any office supply store.
"Is it like the others you've gotten? Either the first time or last week?" He didn't see any point in suggesting that having thrown the earlier one away hadn't been the most prudent thing to do.
"I'm no expert, but it looks like the same paper and the same printer. The flesh tones are off in the same way."
"You have a good eye." The skin above and between the corset laces was more pink than the pale ivory of a true redhead. More rosy than he knew hers to be.
Beneath the photograph her stalker had typed, I'm very disappointed in you, Amanda. You should choose your lovers more carefully.
"He thinks we're lovers," Finn said, more to himself than to her. A suspicion that had undoubtedly been fueled by this seemingly intimate moment which her stalker had frozen in time.
"It appears so."
"He—or she—is also jealous."
"Surely you don't think it's a woman?"
His gut told him it wasn't. But. . .
"I'm not ruling anyone out."
She tried to hold the shiver in, but accustomed to watching for the smallest of details, he caught it, Wanting to reassure, he took hold of her shoulders.
"It's going to be okay."
Hell. He'd known it was a mistake to touch her. From the way her eyes widened, Finn knew she felt the same flash of heat, the sizzle of nerve endings.
"I'll keep you safe."
"I know." For a woman who had grown up surrounded by free love, an actress who could slip with silky ease into the skin of a siren, her green eyes were surprisingly innocent. "You may not be the easiest man in the world, Callahan. And I'm not even sure I like you. But I do trust you."
It would be against every tenet he believed in if he gave into the temptation to take that wide, generous mouth. The safest thing to do would be to take his hands off her. Unfortunately, if he'd been a fan of safe, he would have made his mother happy and become a corporate lawyer instead of a cop.
His fingers stroked, soothing the knots at the base of her neck. His eyes delved deeply into hers, hoping he'd find the refusal that would stop him before he stepped over the line.
"Callahan . . ." He knew he was lost when she lifted a hand to his cheek. Knew the same smoke that was clouding his mind was billowing in hers.
The hard-won control Finn had forced himself to take on so many years ago deserted him. Knowing what he was about to do was wrong, knowing it would create even more problems, he lowered his mouth to hers, stopping just a breath before contact.
Her eyes were deep green pools. A man could drown in them, if he wasn't careful.
She recklessly wrapped her arm around his neck and closed the distance.
Chapter 14
The first touch of lips was like being punched in the gut with a velvet fist. The way she drew her head back just enough to stare up at him assured him that she'd felt it, too.
The little voice of caution, of conscience, he was usually able to count on deserted him. All Finn could think about was how much he wanted to strip that T-shirt and tight, low slung jeans off her body and touch her. All over. Taste her. Everywhere.
As dangerous as that idea was, even worse was the realization that she wanted him to do exactly that.
Since he'd already broken his rule about getting involved on the job, Finn decided to deal with the consequences later—when his body wasn't throbbing, his blood had cooled to something below the boiling point, and his brain wasn't clogged with her scent.
She shivered, not from cold, not from fear, but anticipation. And that was his undoing.
This time he dove headlong into the kiss, dragging her right along with him. Tongues tangled, teeth scraped, arousal flared. His hands streaked over her, desperate to touch. Melting against him like heated wax, she encouraged him with soft sighs, low moans and dazed whimpers.
He tangled a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, allowing his mouth access to her smooth white throat. When he touched his ton
gue to the hollow where her pulse was pounding hot and hard and fast, Finn imagined he heard a hiss of steam.
Dark desires drummed in his head. Erotic images of all the things he wanted to do to her, with her, flashed through his mind like strobe lights, blinding him to anything and everything but her.
He wanted her. He wanted to press her back against the cushions, wanted to feel those long, slender legs around him; he wanted to bury himself deep within her, taking, possessing, claiming. That was just for starters.
Battered by hunger, by need, Finn forced himself to back away now, while he still could.
A little cry of protest escaped her lips as he broke the heated contact. Ruthlessly reining in his runaway desire, he nearly groaned as he took in the sight of her—eyes still a little soft-focused from lust, wine-sweet lips parted, her face flushed the soft hue of the late summer roses his mother had loved to tend in Beau Soleil's gardens.
"Wow." She pressed her fingers against her lips as she stared up at him. Her voice was ragged, her breathing hard.
She wasn't the only one. His chest was heaving like a man who'd been on the verge of drowning and pulled to safety just in time. Which was pretty much the case.
Finn pushed himself off the couch and put a safety zone of about five feet between them.
"I owe you an apology."
"You tell me you're sorry you kissed me, Callahan, and I'll forget I'm a pacifist and slug you." Her chin tilted up in that way he was beginning to enjoy. Her voice and her breathing steadied. "You liked it while it was happening. A lot."
Despite having just caused himself one helluva problem, her spark of spirit made him want to grin. Which was odd. He couldn't recall the last time he'd grinned.
Nate, of course, was well known for his lady-killing boyish grin, and Finn had heard more than one woman describe Jack's bold, cocky one to be a pirate's, dark and wickedly appealing. But to Finn's knowledge, no one ever mentioned his smile when describing him.