Loving the Bodyguard

by Noelle Adams

  Three

  Blake pressed the rubberized lid onto the blender and pushed liquefy, frowning with annoyance when she realized that her hand was shaking. She clenched her offending fingers into a fist and crossed her arms, watching the blender.

  Why was it that watching the creation of a late-morning margarita was so comforting? The frozen strawberries gave themselves so agreeably to the tequila and lime juice; all that icy sweetness melting into the perfect consistency to calm and comfort even the most jagged nerve endings.

  She let her eyes wander away from the carved mahogany bar, across the beach and over the ocean waves. She breathed deeply, allowing the rhythmic whir of the blender to drown out the shrieks that still echoed inside her head.

  Jake had talked for a long time last night. Blake had understood some of what he was saying, but much of it – names, dates, places – had meant nothing to her, and she had known she wouldn’t remember it later. She had crouched behind the planter, listening, until her eyes had closed of their own accord, and her legs had started to cramp. She knew that it would be dangerous for her to fall asleep where she was, so she’d dragged herself back to her bedroom, locked the door and wedged a chair under the doorknob.

  She had tried to stay awake, to wait for the dawn, but eventually sleep had claimed her. And when she’d woken up this morning, Rube was gone.

  Blake had wandered through the empty house, touched the place where Jake had sat tied to a chair, examined the chair itself. There was no sign of the violence that had taken place the night before. And that was the most frightening thing of all.

  To Blake, standing on the redwood deck of this posh Malibu beach house, with three hundred dollar thongs on her feet and six hundred dollar sunglasses to shade her eyes, it seemed impossible that she could actually live this close to anything so ugly and dangerous.

  But like Rube always said, just because a thing was impossible didn’t mean it wasn’t so.

  She switched off the blender and pulled a margarita glass from the shelf behind the bar. After pouring out her drink, she wandered down the multi-tiered stairway to the beach below and settled into an Adirondack chair on the sand. She slid herself gracefully into her drink, sighing with relief as the alcohol made contact with her bloodstream. Ah. Good stuff.

  She didn’t know what exactly had gone on in the living room after she left, but she knew that she was in trouble, and she had no idea how to get herself out of it.

  There was a time in her life, in the not-so-distant past, when she never would have tolerated her present situation. But people do change as they get older, she mused, and not always for the better.

  You’ve come a long way, baby, she thought. And in her case, that wasn’t a compliment.

  She frowned into her half-empty glass, then forced her facial features to relax. No frowning, no wrinkles. And the glass wasn’t half empty, it was half full. Let’s keep a positive attitude here, shall we?

  After all, Rube had disappeared before, and he’d always come back. He certainly hadn’t appeared to be in any danger last night. And if past experience was any measure, he would be home in a few days. When he returned they would have it out – and how. But in the meantime….

  “What I need,” Blake murmured to herself, “is a really good distraction.” Her eye was caught by a pair of broad, tan shoulders strolling down the beach. “And what do you know? There it is.”

  Blake considered herself an expert on shoulders, and these were striking. She squinted, feeling sure she had seen those shoulders earlier today, walking in the opposite direction. And the chest also looked familiar – not to mention the fact that it looked fantastic. Rippled with muscle, yes, but that wasn’t uncommon on a California beach. What made this particular chest so outstanding was that the muscle was obviously born of necessity rather than vanity. Even at a distance she could tell the difference. It was the chest of a man who knew how to do a day’s work. Blake eyed him appreciatively. She liked working men. They always wanted to get the job done right.

  As the chest got closer she started to make out other details about the man who was attached to it. Tall, with lean, strong legs. Probably a runner. He had the hair of a loveable mutt – light brown with a little curling shag to it. No highlights, which meant that he was from out of town and hadn’t been here very long. Hair like that would get sun-bleached fast if he were a regular.

  An out-of-towner, she mused. This was just getting better and better. Sunglasses hid the color of his eyes, but when he was half a dozen yards away she could see that he had a strong face with a square jaw. Serious expression. Good. She liked them serious. They were more fun to mess with that way.

  As his left hand swung with his stride, she made out the final important detail: no wedding ring. This guy had all the goods, now didn’t he?

  She swallowed the last sip of her drink and kicked off her thongs. At least she had the answer to what she was going to do today.

  Blake smiled wickedly as she headed towards the water. This was going to be fun.

  *

  Caleb found the beach to be an impressive sight. To his left, huge houses clustered along the coastline like crows sitting on a wire. A long ribbon of white sand curved away in front of him, and to his right was the ocean. Waves washed in gently, tumbling over each other like they couldn’t wait to make it to shore. Then they retreated, only to start the game over again.

  He strolled up and down the beach, getting the lay of the land. He had a pretty good idea which one of those places belonged to Rube Jeffries. His aim was to find Blake, then stake himself out a place to keep an eye on her.

  Steve had warned him that the women on this beach would be uncommonly beautiful. “They don’t grow them like this back home,” he’d grinned, “so keep your mind on your work!”

  Caleb didn’t find it that difficult to concentrate. It’s true, there was an unusual amount of good looks spread over the sand, but he had seen pretty women before. Beauty could lie to you, that was the problem. He preferred to ignore them and keep his mind on the task at hand.

  But all of a sudden, that became impossible.

  A woman sauntered out of the shadow of one of those enormous houses. As soon as Caleb saw her, all thoughts of work flew right out of his head.

  She glided across the golden sand and stood at the edge of the ocean. It was a strategic position, one designed to garner the attention of every male within eyesight. She struck a pose, with one hand on top of her sunhat and one arm draping down her side. She was wearing some kind of flimsy cover-up thing that wasn’t intended to actually cover anything, and a navy blue bikini that showed plenty of skin and curves, but still managed to let a man think that there was more there to discover, if only he’d care to try. Her blond hair streamed out from under her hat, which had a wide blue band around it to match her suit.

  She even managed to convey the impression that she was artfully oblivious to her own sexuality, that every move she made was not a studied and deliberate attempt to stimulate the desire of anyone who watched her.

  Caleb didn’t know what to do. The woman was as bright as the sun, and twice as hot. What does an average guy say to a lady like that?

  He was going to walk right by her, but she turned her head ever so slightly as he approached, and lowered her sunglasses so that he got a glimpse of big blue eyes, guileless and fringed by dark lashes. He almost tripped over his own feet.

  This wasn’t just any woman. It was Blake Sera.

  She caught his gaze, and even though he was wearing dark sunglasses, he had the feeling that she could see right through them, that she was actually looking right into his eyes, even though that was impossible.

  But of course, just because a thing was impossible, didn’t mean it wasn’t so.

  Once those eyes had him, he was trapped. Even if she hadn’t been the woman he was looking for, he would have been helpless. He couldn’t look away. Her lips tipped up ever so slightly in a sweet smile that touched her eyes and made them
crinkle at the corners. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

  And before he knew it, he did trip. His feet, usually so sure of themselves, must have been caught in a hole or something. His knee twisted painfully and he went down hard. Gopher hole, he thought irrelevantly. Then: there are no gophers at the beach! And suddenly he had gone from striding upright to lying face down on the sand, with his knee throbbing like a rotten tooth.

  By the time he managed to untangle his legs and roll over onto his back, the woman had hurried to his side and was kneeling over him, concern written all over her. He pulled off his sunglasses and held up his hand to shield his eyes so he could get a good look at her. He caught his breath. Those eyes of hers were as blue as the Iowa sky in autumn, and her face was the perfect shape of a heart.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. With that question, she smiled, curving deep dimples into her cheeks. And with that smile, he was hooked.

  She must have seen the dopey look in his eyes, because she laughed. “Why don’t you come inside,” she said, “and we’ll get you cleaned up.”

  Oh yeah, Caleb thought as she helped him to his feet. This woman was trouble. With a capital “T.”

  Four

  When Blake was about five or six, she had told her mother, “I know I’m always right, because God made me, and how can He be wrong?” Although she didn’t realize it at the time, on that day she had pronounced the philosophy which would carry her through life. Even when she grew old enough to become aware of the fundamental flaw of reason in her way of thinking, she had clung to it stubbornly.

  As a result, the question “Did I make the right decision?” was seldom if ever allowed to cross her mind. But today was one of those rare occasions when she paused to doubt herself. Because quite frankly, it was making her very uncomfortable to have this man in Rube’s house.

  Peering around the corner from the kitchen, she watched him as he hobbled around and checked the place out. When she had first helped him into the house, she had thought he was just another beach-bound pretty boy, looking for some action. He wouldn’t have gotten any from her, of course, but that was beside the point. She was playing a role, here; one for which – let’s face it – she was admirably suited. And her success in this little performance depended, as always, on her co-star.

  But this guy? Well, he may have been leading-man material, but she was beginning to doubt that he was right for this part. Although my oh my, he certainly was easy on the eyes. He was taller than he had looked on the beach, and that scruffy dark-blond hair suited him, setting off his green eyes and contrasting with the refined line of his square jaw and full mouth.

  He paused by the bookshelf to study a picture of Rube, seemingly oblivious to her scrutiny. There was some kind of atmosphere around him, as if he was sucking up all the energy in his immediate vicinity. Or maybe he was radiating it. Either way, he took up more than his share of emotional space. Mixed metaphors aside, her instinct was to pull the plug, hit the eject button, and otherwise get him out of the house as quickly as possible.

  She made herself busy in the kitchen, setting water on for coffee, pulling bandages and disinfectant from the shelf, looking in the cupboard to see if there were cookies or something that she could serve. When she realized that she was just giving herself busywork to avoid being in the same room with this guy – note to self, she thought, find out his name! – she piled everything on a tray and marched out of the kitchen. The quicker she fixed him up, the quicker he could be on his way.

  She set the tray down on the chunky coffee table and gave him her most brisk and nurse-like smile. “Come sit down,” she suggested. “Let me get a look at that knee.”

  He turned slowly and looked at her, giving her the once-over. He didn’t seem in a terrible hurry to follow her suggestion, but neither did he seem unwilling to comply. Maybe he was just one of those people who have to do everything in their own time.

  Blake tried another smile, this one slightly less patient than the first. He took the hint and hobbled over to the leather easy chair by the sofa, settling into it with a slight grunt of effort. She sat on the ottoman across from him and slid the tray closer to her. “Here,” she said, patting her lap, “put your foot up, let me take a closer look.”

  “It doesn’t hurt much,” he said, speaking for the first time. Gingerly he lifted his leg, and put it across her lap, as she’d instructed. “It’s just a bit tricky.”

  His voice was low, like thunder rumbling through the air before a summer storm. And when she touched the warm skin around his knee, the contact brought the answering electric zing of lightning, raising delicate goose bumps along her arms and legs. Blake caught her breath at the unexpected reaction, then glanced up guiltily, to see if he had noticed. His face was impassive, but his eyes brightened as they met hers, giving the impression that he was not entirely unmoved by her touch.

  She narrowed her eyes and bent her head, concentrating on the task at hand. The skin wasn’t broken, but there was a bit of swelling starting around the kneecap. She gave her voice a little flip of insouciance. “Let me guess, old football injury?”

  “Baseball, actually.”

  She looked up again to find that he was still watching her closely. “I bet you were the star pitcher.”

  “First baseman,” he said.

  “Important position.” She’d brought a warm dishcloth on the tray. She reached for it and pressed it lightly against his knee.

  He jumped slightly, then relaxed. “In baseball, all positions are important.”

  She laid her palms flat against the cloth. “Not just in baseball,” she murmured beguilingly. After all, just because they weren’t going to play the full act didn’t mean this scene had to be a total washout. “Does that feel any better?”

  “A little.”

  “Hot and cold compresses,” she told him. “Twenty minutes each, several times a day. It’ll ease the pain and keep the swelling down.”

  His eyes found hers and lingered there, probing gently. She felt her cheeks get warm, and she stood up, being careful to lift his leg gently and set it back down on the ottoman. What was wrong with her? Men had looked at her like that before, and she had never reacted this way. It was enough to make her forget what she was doing.

  “So what’s your name?” he asked, abruptly reminding her that she had been meaning to ask him the very same thing.

  “Blake Sera,” she said.

  “That’s pretty,” he said. “And unusual.”

  “Thanks.” She stumbled a bit over the word. Wow, she had to get control of herself. The whole blushing and stammering bit just wasn’t going to fly. She put a hand on her hip and grinned at him, “And what’s your name, cowboy?”

  Unexpectedly, he grinned back at her. It looked a bit awkward on him, like maybe he hadn’t smiled that wide in a long time. “Caleb McKenna,” he said.

  “Oh, that’s pretty,” she mimicked, “and unusual.”

  He settled back into the leather chair and put his other foot on the ottoman. “Guess we have something in common, then.”

  “It appears so.” She frowned slightly, realizing that he was getting comfortable. She couldn’t exactly toss him out right this instant. Could she? “Would you… like some coffee?”

  He perked up. “Real coffee?”

  “Real as it gets.”

  “I mean, it’s not espresso raspberry-infused or something like that?”

  She shook her head in amusement. “Just plain old-fashioned Folgers.”

  “That’d be great.”

  She poured the dark, fragrant coffee into a thick white mug and held it out to him. “Cream and sugar?”

  “No, thanks – black is fine.” He took the cup eagerly in both hands. Before taking a sip he nodded at the picture of Rube. “So, who’s Prince Charming, over there?”

  “Him?” Blake swallowed, wishing she had another margarita to wet her whistle – although this wasn’t exactly a good time to dull her senses. She poured hers
elf a cup of coffee and settled on the end of the sofa, allowing herself some space to keep things in perspective.

  She looked at Rube’s photo, trying to see him through the eyes of a stranger. Most people found him intimidating, but Rube wasn’t a bad looking guy. He had strong features, piercing eyes, a good square jaw. Unfortunately, the combination of the scar and the bald head did make him look a little like a James Bond villain. “That’s Rube Jeffries,” she said, answering Caleb’s question at last. “This is our place.” She sipped her coffee with a sweet expression, daring him to judge her.

  “Your place,” he stated, obviously curious.

  She crossed her legs and nodded, swinging her ankle nonchalantly.

  “So the two of you are – “

  “Friends,” she supplied.

  He nodded. “Understood.”

  Blake felt her eyes crinkle in amusement. This guy was really cute. “Got me all figured out, don’t you?”

  He held up his hands defensively. “Hey, all human beings are mysteries to me. What does or does not go on between ‘friends’ is not my concern.”

  She tipped her head in acknowledgement.

  “So where is your friend?” Caleb asked.

  Well, that was the million-dollar question, now wasn’t it?

  Blake ran a hand through her hair in what she hoped was a carefree gesture and threw Caleb a flirtatious glance. “Out of town – I don’t expect him back for a few days.”

  Now he was the one who flushed. How unexpected… and how intriguing.

  He cleared his throat. “And what would your friend think of me being here?”

  “Well,” Blake said, “he’s always telling me that when he’s away I should find something constructive to do with my time, so I think he’d be fine with it.”

  “If you say so.”

  There was an awkward pause, one in which Blake felt the balance of power shifting from him to her. Good. That was how she liked it.

  She leaned forward, pressing her advantage. “So where are you from, Caleb McKenna?”

  “Iowa.”

  Blake laughed out loud. “Oh, that just figures.”