Her Passionate Protector

by Laurey Bright

  Standing behind her, he helped her into it, and then came round in front and adjusted the waist strap.

  She could see the faint gleam of incipient whiskers on his chin as he completed the task. He pointed out the various instruments integrated into the system. "In the water it'll give you greater freedom of movement than older systems and fewer hoses to manage." He stepped closer again. "There are just two nice big buttons to press for gaining neutral buoyancy."

  Neutral buoyancy prevented a diver from sinking fast to the bottom or bobbing about on the surface; once achieved, it allowed full control of movement in the water.

  Brodie looked up from checking the fit and met her eyes. For a moment she was lost in the blue depths of his, only aware of how intense the color was, and then of the sudden flare that lit them before he gave her a slow grin, his eyebrows lifting slightly in teasing, hopeful inquiry.

  Hastily Sienna looked away, a pulse beating unevenly at her throat. Neutral buoyancy was what she needed, she thought—a way of controlling her feelings so that she neither sank once again into the dangerous depths of misdirected love nor floated aimlessly into a shallow affair.

  She touched the buttons he'd pointed out, experimenting, and Brodie stood by with his hands thrust into his pockets and a studiedly casual expression, watching her familiarize herself with the system.

  "What do you think?" he said.

  "I think it's probably expensive." She peered at a swing tag hanging from the front, confirming her assumption.

  "I'll give you a twenty-five percent discount. I can provide you with something cheaper, but believe me, this will be worth having once we're out there in the deep ocean."

  "You're the expert." Twenty-five percent must be near cost price. "PTS is going to pay me very well for going on this trip and I'll have some insurance money coming for the gear that was stolen from my car, so yes." Although temporarily at least it would make a hole in her bank account. "And thanks for the discount."

  Taking the jacket from her, he smiled. "You won't regret it."

  "Is that a promise?" she asked lightly. Lightly, she'd decided, was the only way to deal with this man.

  "I'll bet on it."

  "You're the gambling man." She recalled him offering to bet her that Camille and Rogan's shining love would last. "I don't do bets."

  "Ah, yes. The cautious type," he teased, his eyes laughing at her. "Well, that's good—taking risks underwater can be fatal. Why are you looking at me like that?"

  "Like what?" Sienna wasn't aware she'd been looking at him in any special way, except that the light in his eyes had a mesmerizing effect and she'd been caught by it, not thinking at all but unable to look away.

  "As if you don't believe me."

  What had they been talking about? Mentally she shook herself. Taking risks underwater, of course. Diving was always risky. Her instructors had made sure everyone knew the strict rules that governed the occupation, regularly hammering home the safety aspects. "You don't strike me as the cautious type," she told him. How did a gambling man cope with the necessary precautions?

  He said grimly, "I am, underwater. Guys who do stupid things in this business don't live long."

  Sienna went a little cold. "Have you ever done anything stupid?"

  "Coupla times," he grudgingly admitted. "When I was young and thought I was superhuman. But not anymore. I figured my luck was about to run out."

  "Is that when you decided to buy a shore business?"

  Brodie laughed. "No, that came later. The thing is," he said, sobering, "the second time I damn near took Rogue with me. He put himself at risk to save my sorry butt. Kicked it later for me, and I don't blame him. I swore I'd never put someone else in danger again just because I felt invincible. No one is. Remember that when you're at the bottom of the sea."

  "I'm not likely to forget." Sienna had some sympathy for him. In a way she'd experienced a similar situation, not physically but emotionally, finding herself disastrously out of her depth before she fully realized what had happened. But it wasn't, she reminded herself, a matter of life and death. Just as Brodie had survived his moment of truth, she'd survived the gaping wound in her heart.

  It hadn't been easy, and it wasn't her first such mistake, but she was determined it would be her last. She'd never again been quite so vulnerable. Nowadays she was in charge of her emotions, not allowing them to escape her control. Life was much more comfortable that way.

  "Something the matter?" Brodie asked, startling her.

  Her expression must have betrayed her. She thrust the unwelcome memory back into her subconscious where it belonged. "Nothing," she said brightly. "I need all the other gear too. Wet suit, flippers, mask, dive computer…"

  He helped her choose the rest of her equipment, and when they were both satisfied, she said, "How do you want me to pay for this? Is a credit card okay?"

  "Sure, or leave it until we get back. I'll deliver it all to the boat for you. Are you moving to the Sea-Rogue?"

  "I think I'll stay on at the Imperial until we leave tomorrow." There wasn't much privacy on board, and Camille and Rogan might need as much of it as they could get before the boat sailed. Since their Easter wedding, they'd only snatched weekends together while Camille finished the semester and Rogan made preparations for PTS's project.

  "Let me know when you want to park your car at my place," Brodie offered. "When I'm not here I'll be at the Sea-Rogue or my place."

  "Where do you live?"

  "Five minutes' walk. If you wait around until closing time—" he glanced at his watch "—which isn't far off, I'll show you. Why don't you have dinner with me there? We could get to know each other a bit before we start the trip."

  Sienna knew it was important to get on with other members of the crew, but stalled, giving herself time to consider. "Can you cook?"

  "Sure I can cook. Did you think I was offering so you'd cook dinner for me? You won't have to lift a finger—and that's a promise."

  She didn't actually say yes, but somehow he took it for granted that she'd accepted, and half an hour later he was ushering her through a wicket gate and along a short path to a tiny cottage with a disproportionately large garage toward the rear.

  A curve of corrugated iron hooded the veranda at the front of the cottage, giving it a sleepy look. Wide wooden steps creaked as Brodie led the way up them and opened a lead-light-paneled door flanked by long old-fashioned windows.

  Inside, the board floors had been varnished to a soft sheen and dressed with rugs. The furniture was minimal but Brodie pointed her to a big, comfortable sofa—chosen, she assumed, to accommodate his large body when he wanted to sprawl on it and watch the small TV set that sat in a corner.

  She guessed that someone had removed a wall, replacing it with a wide arch that defined areas of the roomy living space. Besides the sofa, there were two double-seaters, a low coffee table and the TV trolley, while bookshelves lined one wall. The kitchen was separated by a polished wooden counter doubling as a dining table, with two high-backed wicker chairs pushed under it on the sitting-room side.

  "Drink?" Brodie offered, opening a cupboard. "Gin, beer, wine—white or red?"

  Sienna settled for white wine and he poured two. After handing hers over, he plunked himself down in one of the two-seaters. Lounging back with his long legs spread in front of him, he inquired, "Do you like nasi goreng?"

  "It's a rice dish, isn't it? I think so. I like rice."

  "Good." He raised his glass. "To the Maiden's Prayer and a more successful voyage for us than her last one."

  "I should hope so!" Sienna said, and tasted the wine—cool, fruity and with a pleasant zing to it.

  He drank some of his wine and lowered the glass. "How long have you known Camille?"

  "A couple of years, since I started at Rusden." Longer than her husband had known her. "I hope Rogan appreciates her."

  "He does. Rogue's a lucky man. She's gorgeous."

  "She is beautiful." Sienna didn't have Camill
e's spectacular looks, only she had never been short of men to take an interest. But she'd become wary of being too eager and open, of giving too much and receiving too little. She would never fall into that trap again.

  "So are you," Brodie said.

  "Please, I don't need any empty compliments."

  "The compliment," he said, "was sincere. Clumsy," he acknowledged with a wry grin, "but sincere."

  Sienna couldn't help a small laugh at his chagrined expression.

  He picked up his glass and said, "I'll start the rice."

  "Can I help?"

  "Nope. I told you, all you have to do is appreciate while I work."

  Not hard, she thought. Any female—and she was one—could hardly fail to appreciate a man as good-looking as Brodie, especially when he was cooking for her, with evident enjoyment and expertise. As a seduction technique it was probably almost fail-safe. Not that he seemed to have any such intention at the moment.

  She moved to one of the wicker chairs and they talked about the planned voyage while he chopped and sautéed and added ingredients to the mixture simmering on the stove.

  He refilled her glass and she began to feel pleasantly relaxed, resting her elbows on the counter in front of her while a tempting aroma filled the big room, and night began to darken the corners.

  Brodie switched on lights in the kitchen, but behind her the room remained shadowed.

  He handed her a fork and put two well-filled plates on the counter, then pulled out a stool from under it and sat down opposite her, offering red wine.

  "I'll stick to white," she said, allowing him to refill her glass again. She'd be walking to the Imperial so wasn't too bothered about drinking, but would make this the last glass. She didn't want to go reeling back to the hotel. And besides, experience and the tug of reluctant attraction that Brodie engendered in her was a warning to take care not to let down her accustomed guard over her emotions.

  The nasi goreng was fragrant, spicy and delicious, but she couldn't quite finish the pile he'd heaped on her plate, pushing the remains away regretfully.

  "You don't like my cooking?" he growled.

  "It's wonderful, but just a bit too much for me." She looked up and realized he'd been teasing.

  "You didn't do too badly," he conceded.

  He put crackers and a couple of cheeses on the counter, which she nibbled while he made coffee.

  "Shall we sit over there?" he suggested when he'd poured it, indicating the darkened sitting room. "There's a light switch by the door if you want to turn it on."

  Wondering if he'd noticed her slight hesitation, Sienna flicked the switch, then settled on one end of the big sofa.

  Brodie took the other end. "We could watch some TV if you like," he offered.

  "I don't mind, if you want to."

  "Not specially. Most of it's pretty depressing."

  Brodie probably didn't allow himself to be depressed often. He seemed like the kind of person who tackled life head-on and if something bothered him he'd do something about it, not sit around thinking how awful it was. The way Sienna tried to organize her own life. She didn't want to sink into the kind of despair that had engulfed her mother after her father's defection, which still dimmed her enjoyment of life and prevented her from moving forward. A long time ago Sienna and her brother had realized that they were little compensation for the loss of a husband.

  "Want to tell me?" Brodie offered softly, bringing her gaze to his face.

  "Tell you what?"

  "Why you look as if you have some secret sorrow."

  His perception was startling. Her voice brittle, she asked, "Doesn't everyone?"

  Extraordinarily, for a second she'd been almost tempted to confide in him the story of her parents' divorce, her mother's subsequent ongoing misery and hopelessness, and her own struggle to overcome feelings of utter abandonment.

  Fortunately her normal defenses quickly came rushing to the fore. Pouring out her heart to a virtual stranger wasn't in her nature. Maybe she'd had more wine than she realized.

  Determinedly she shook away the shadow that had fallen over her and laughed, proving to herself and Brodie that she could. "You don't want to hear about my misfortunes." It was a banal story anyway. Divorces happened every day, and most people—even children—recovered from the trauma and went on with their lives. As she had, eventually.

  Lifting her coffee, she finished it and put the cup down. "Time I went home. Thank you for dinner, it was great."

  She reached for her bag and stood.

  Brodie rose too. "I'll see you back to the hotel."

  "It's not far, and there are streetlights."

  Remembering the attempt to take her bag, she didn't argue, shamingly grateful to have his large, intimidating presence at her side.

  She strode out purposefully and of course he easily kept up. The streetlights glowed on the blond streaks in his hair, and she averted her fascinated eyes to look at the harbor with its ghostly boats riding on their anchors.

  Outside the hotel she said briskly, "Thanks again for a delicious meal. And for seeing me home."

  "No problem." As she was about to go up the steps to the lighted doorway he seemed to come to a decision and caught her arm, turning her to face him again.

  For a moment he just stared into her face, his gaze intent, and she said, "What?"

  The skin about his eyes crinkled as though she'd said something funny, but his expression remained sober. Then he dipped his head, and even as her lips parted in astonished recognition that he was about to kiss her, his mouth met hers firmly, warm and confident, lingering for all of two seconds.

  As soon as she began to pull away he lifted his mouth, and without letting go her arm he drawled mysteriously, "Yeah … well."

  Chapter 4

  « ^ »

  Sienna blinked. She ought to have protested, should have pushed him away, but he'd taken her by surprise.

  Brodie released her and stepped back. "Good night, Sienna," he said, and turned on his heel, leaving her staring as he swung off down the street, his hands in his pockets, his back straight, the street lamps gleaming on his hair.

  "Yeah, well…?" she murmured, injecting indignation into the echo of his words. What did he mean by that—the kiss and the comment?

  "Oh, what the heck," she thought crossly, mounting the steps to the hotel foyer. He probably always kissed women good-night when he'd escorted them home … if he wasn't invited in. And it had hardly been the kiss of the century. Just a sociable gesture.

  But her lips tingled from the touch of his; she couldn't banish the feeling of the slight, experimental movement of his mouth over hers. And she could still see the disconcerting glitter in his eyes, hear the exact nuance of his voice as he'd stepped away from her and uttered that odd phrase.

  Brodie glanced back just as Sienna disappeared through the open front door of the Imperial. The taste of her mouth—surprised, soft, parting slightly under his—lingered on his lips and in his mind. Tentative, unsure, but not closed against him.

  His body stirred pleasurably. He'd wanted to kiss Sienna ever since he'd first seen her at Rogue's wedding, had wondered what it would be like. Now he knew that it was just as sexy and sweet and exciting as he'd imagined—even more so—and it wasn't enough.

  She didn't give much away—a contradictory puzzle of a woman, determined to appear composed, cautious, competent. He was sure she was all of that—in her job. But that luscious, vulnerable mouth and the occasional haunted look in her eyes when she dropped her guard told a different tale, at odds with the cool personality she tried so hard to project.

  "Yeah," he murmured again. The kiss had confirmed that suspicion to his satisfaction. "Well…" Where did they go from here? Sienna aroused in him unfamiliar sensations—burning curiosity about why she was so determined to" fend him off despite the small signs that she wasn't as indifferent as she'd like, and something uncomfortably like compunction. He'd never been a pushy kind of guy—hadn't needed to be. I
f a woman indicated she was taken or—rarely—just not interested, he'd shrugged off the rebuff and moved on. This time he didn't want to move on. He wanted Sienna.

  Whatever her problem, she wasn't cold. And he'd love to prove it someday.

  He began a pleasant fantasy about just how he could do that, and was still lost in it when he turned a corner to the narrow street that wound uphill toward his house. The street lamps were yellow but dim, with pools of darkness between them.

  Approaching his house, when he pushed open the gate he hardly registered the hint of movement under the shadow of the veranda. He was still thinking about Sienna and wondering if those sweetly rounded breasts were as soft as her lips, and he was almost at the veranda steps when he heard the creak of one of the old boards. The back of his neck prickled, his shoulder muscles tightening, ears alert for any sound, all his senses telling him to exercise caution.