The Baby & the Bodyguard

by Jule McBride

  The man was amazing. He actually gave Santa his parents’ number in Utah. Stevens had just given the New York area code when thudding steps flew past Santa’s door. “Thanks, I’ve got it,” Santa said, sensing that something was wrong. He covered the mouthpiece.

  “But I haven’t fini—”

  “Amanda?” Cynthia called out. “Amanda?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Stevens,” Santa said curtly, hanging up.

  Then Cynthia screamed his name.

  * * *

  “WHAT’S WRONG?” Santa asked calmly. Even though he was searching Cyn’s eyes, he was aware that her red robe was untied and that she wore a short silk nightie underneath. With relief, he realized Amanda was in the room.

  “He was here,” Cyn whispered in shock. “The front door was wide open, and this note—” She waved her hand; an envelope and sheet of stationery were pinched between her thumb and finger. “This note...”

  He didn’t wait to hear the rest. He bolted into the hallway, the thick red carpeting feeling soft beneath his bare feet. He tried the door to the other tenth-floor apartment. Locked. At the elevator, he pressed “down,” then ran the length of the hall. The entrance to the roof and metal fire door were locked. Good in this case, bad in case of a fire.

  Someone chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’re going down, sir?”

  Santa whirled around, hardly needing a reminder that he was clad only in a towel. “Jim.” As he jogged toward the elevator operator, he realized a frightened Cyn had shut her door. “Who came up?”

  The middle-aged man hit the Stop button, removed his cap and ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. “No one,” he finally said.

  “Someone must have.”

  “Toby’s the only other person on this shift. He called in sick. So—” The man’s jaw dropped. “There was no one to cover me when I, er, had to take a quick break.”

  “You took one just now?”

  “Yes, sir, just now.”

  “How long?”

  “No more than five minutes, tops.”

  Santa sighed. Cyn’s eyes had held pure terror. He could only hope she was overreacting. “No visitors are to come up without calling from the lobby,” Santa muttered. “How could anyone have gotten past Jennifer?” He stepped into the elevator. “Take me down.”

  Jim merely stared at him. “In that, er, outfit, sir?”

  Santa glanced down at the red-and-green towel. The words “Merry Christmas” were emblazoned across his privates. He grimaced but nodded.

  Unfortunately, the trip to the lobby was a dead end. He accomplished little more than a few raised eyebrows, whispers and chuckles at his expense. Jennifer’s phone wasn’t working properly, due to the weather, and she was unable to offer a good description of the only person who’d used the elevator. He’d said he was a delivery man going to an apartment on the fourth floor, but she’d been busy talking to repairmen.

  “Thanks for waiting, Jim,” Santa said gruffly when he returned.

  Jim laughed. “You kidding? I got some pointers. You sure know how to create a stir with the ladies.” He pointed.

  Santa raised an eyebrow. Sure enough, three well-heeled female tenants had stopped to gawk.

  “And a very, very Merry Christmas to you, too,” one yelled before she doubled in a fit of giggles. There wasn’t much mistaking which part of his anatomy had caught her attention.

  The last thing he heard, as the door slid shut, was one long, ear-piercing wolf whistle.

  * * *

  WHEN THE DOOR HANDLE jiggled, Cyn put her eye to the peephole. Then she threw open the door. “Did you find him?”

  Santa shook his head. “Did you get a look at him?”

  “No. I just saw the elevator doors close.” Her shoulders slumped, and she leaned against the wall. Only then did her eyes drop from the safe, comforting vision of Santa’s face down the rest of his body. It was a good thing the wall supported her; otherwise, her knees would have buckled. She tried to tell herself that worrying about Amanda had left her feeling faint, but she knew the way her heart thudded against her rib cage was due to Santa’s attire. The towel rode low and knotted beneath his navel. It rose, just slightly, where it pulled across his hips, too.

  Worse, Santa mistook her shocked expression for rawboned fear. He grasped her shoulder and squeezed with comforting pressure. It was a sweet, soothing masculine gesture. He clearly wanted to force all his own considerable, inner strength into her body. It was working, too. “Everything will be fine,” he said in a near whisper.

  His voice was so reassuring that she believed him. Out of the corner of her eye, Cyn caught a glimpse of Amanda. She was staring at Santa from the hallway, with her mouth gaping and her eyes popping out of her head. “Run and watch your cartoons, honey,” Cyn called weakly. No doubt, she appeared as awestruck as her daughter. Amanda took one long, last look at Santa, then fled as if the hounds of hell were on her heels.

  “Guess she’s not used to seeing men so scantily clad,” Cyn managed to say. Between the frightening circumstances of the morning and Santa, she felt thoroughly unnerved. Blood whirred through her veins so fast that her ears were actually ringing, and her face couldn’t have felt warmer if she’d downed a whole jar of red-hot chili peppers.

  Santa chuckled softly. “And you are?”

  She mustered a weak smile and evaded him by glancing toward her Christmas tree. Then she forced herself to fix her eyes on his again. They looked as darkly smooth and gold as roasted almonds. She gulped. “This is really no time to flirt. I’m scared.”

  His expression softened. It held so much concern that she was sure she’d misjudged him. Unlike other men—unlike Jake—this one could be trusted. He squeezed her shoulder again. His hand was so warm...but it was creeping toward her collarbone! She leaned farther back. Behind her, the wall felt solid and real. It steadied her.

  “Just wanted to help straighten you out,” he said quietly. She didn’t realize her robe had nearly fallen from her shoulders until he lifted her lapels and gently snuggled them against her throat. Ever since he’d kissed her, the man had become a whole lot less standoffish. The role reversal was unnerving her. When she was the aggressor, she’d felt in control.

  His fingers grazed her neck. “Thanks,” she nearly squealed. She tried to skeddaddle backward, but hit something hard. The wall. So comforting a moment before, it now made her feel trapped.

  “I like to think of myself as a full-service bodyguard,” he finally returned.

  As much as she was trying to fight it, her gaze dropped over his powerful shoulders. His smooth chest was tanned to a delicious bronze, and the dark hairs swirled, then tapered southward, in an ever-narrowing V. She drew in an audible breath and glanced down as he lithely grasped both loose ends of the tie to her robe. Even though Amanda was in the den and the kidnapper’s note peeked from her pocket, she half hoped he meant to undress her.

  “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold,” he drawled as he knotted her robe in front.

  How could this man excite her so much in the midst of such horrible circumstances? And how could he make her want to laugh? Why wasn’t he attending to the note in her pocket? “If anyone’s going to catch cold,” she said, regaining her equilibrium, “I do believe it’s you, Santa.”

  Their eyes met and held. His wry half smile made his mouth look lopsided. “So you noticed the outfit?”

  The fact that he had tiny laugh lines around his eyes suddenly seemed more important than it should have. “I’m sure it will be the primary order of business at the next tenants meeting.”

  “When you left it in my room,” he drawled softly, “I just assumed it was what you wanted me to wear.”

  “As a sort of uniform?” She looked him up and down, as if considering, wishing her throat didn’t close like a trap every time her gaze landed on his glowing naked skin.

  He nodded.

  “Well, it is seasonal,” she offered, her gaze meeting his again. The fool man wore a towel with
the same ease and commanding air he did his suits. “Especially the holiday message.”

  He glanced down. “A number of people wished me a merry Christmas, in return.”

  “Why, all you’re missing is a bow for your head.” She tried not to notice how his fresh-scrubbed skin smelled like a forest full of Christmas trees.

  “I’m sure we could round one up.”

  “But then you’d be so chilly,” she countered quickly.

  He chuckled. “I am feeling the draft,” he conceded.

  She felt compelled to check him for goose bumps. There weren’t any. Actually there were, but they rose on her own arms. A shiver zigzagged down her spine. She had to get him into one of his suits, she thought. Pronto. “Well, I guess you can go change now!” she trilled.

  His eyes widened at her voice. She’d meant to sound brightly perky, as if casually conversing with a nearly naked man was her usual morning activity. Instead, due to all her pent-up anxiety and excitement, she’d nearly shrieked.

  His eyes crinkled and twinkled. “I should, huh?”

  “Well, yes.” Her mouth felt so dry she could barely talk. “Don’t you have to investigate or something or maybe—”

  His smile turned into more of a smirk. It said he knew he’d thrown her off balance. “Don’t worry—” His mock gravity almost made her smile back. “I don’t intend to run around like this all day.”

  “That’s good.” She blew out a shaky sigh, wishing she hadn’t sounded so breathless. “It is ten below out there, you know.”

  “True.” Santa wiggled his brows. “And I’ve got no one to keep me warm on these wretched New York mornings.”

  “Well—er—oh heavens,” she suddenly rambled. Could she possibly recoup some sense of dignity? “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I was nearly yelling a minute ago. I was so scared and then, you’re—”

  His eyes seemed to dare her. “I’m?”

  Nothing less than Santa’s presence could have taken her mind off that terrible note, she thought. Why couldn’t she simply fade into the wood of the door? “You’re—well,” she managed.

  “I do feel well this morning.”

  She was starting to feel a bit hysterical. “Well, I just don’t know what’s come over me.” She tried to clear her throat and nearly choked. “I mean, yelling like that and all.”

  He merely scrutinized her, and smiled that cryptic Santa smile. “I could make a few guesses,” he said pointedly.

  She felt herself blush to the bottoms of her Clairol roots.

  “But I won’t.”

  “Nothing you could say would bother me in the least,” she managed, wishing it were true.

  His smile became kindly. Then it vanished by degrees until he looked as serious as he had when he’d said he’d guard Amanda with his life. “Why don’t you sit down and relax a minute?” he said softly. “Fix yourself something hot to drink, while I change. Then I’ll need to see the note.”

  Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. His every word, she realized, had been calculated. He’d intentionally offered her a diversion. In the next heartbeat she found herself liking him for it. She did feel calmer now. By the time he was ready, maybe she could look at that note again. She nodded. “Okay.”

  He swiftly stepped closer, so his rock-hard thigh touched hers. She felt the warmth of his large hand press against the small of her spine. Heat shot right through her back to her stomach, then spread through her whole body. “We’ll figure all this out,” he said. “Trust me.”

  For a second she thought he might try to kiss her, but he didn’t. “I do trust you,” she said in surprise. And it’s been a long time since I trusted a man.

  Sadness seemed to touch his eyes, as it sometimes did. “You should have trusted me always,” he said levelly.

  “When I first met you, I admit I didn’t.”

  He looked as if he were going to say something more. Instead, he turned and headed for his room. His back was every bit as enticing as the front of him, and though her towels were heavy and thick, they truly left very little to the imagination. When her eyes settled on his legs, she wondered how he’d gotten the scar on his calf. Bullet wound, she decided, just as his door shut.

  “I saw Mr. Santa in a towel, Mommy!” Amanda squealed from the hallway sometime later.

  Cyn realized she was still staring at Santa’s door. “So did I, honey,” she said with a sigh. “So did I.”

  * * *

  HE DRAPED HIS navy jacket over a kitchen chair. Cyn was seated and gazing wanly through a window. Amanda’s cartoons blared from the next room. “You should eat.”

  She hadn’t bothered to change, and her robe had nearly come untied again. Santa could see a hint of cleavage and her lacy nightie. She started toying with the rim of her coffee mug and glanced at the kidnapper’s note, which was on the table. “I just don’t feel like eating, Santa.”

  “I’ll make you a bagel.” He pulled one from the bread box, popped it into her rickety toaster oven, then placed the cream cheese on the table, suddenly wishing he could make her smile again, even if he wasn’t Amanda’s father. The events of the morning had been so swift that he’d barely been able to process that. Now he tried to tell himself it was for the best. What kind of father would he make, anyway?

  “I’m toasting you a bagel,” he finally said playfully. “Don’t look so impressed by my culinary talents.”

  She smiled then, but only because it was expected. He continued gazing into her eyes, wishing she didn’t look so vulnerable and beautiful. It was rare for Cyn to not be in complete control. Her softened features made him want to take her into his arms, to offer comfort rather than take his revenge. He served the bagel. “Should I change back into that towel?”

  “Oh, please, no,” she said chuckling. “I think I’ve had enough excitement for one morning.”

  At that, he grinned. He was pleased to see her lather an unhealthy amount of cream cheese onto her bagel, too. She actually started nibbling, while he looked at the note. This one was on heavy white stock and the words were typewritten with a pica electric. It said, “I’ll steal the closest thing to your heart.”

  “Could mean anything and it doesn’t specifically mention Amanda,” Santa finally said. “It’s probably not the same person.”

  Cyn put down her bagel as if she’d suddenly lost her appetite again. “No, it’s not.”

  His gaze shot to hers. “You know who sent this?”

  Her jaw clamped shut and her green eyes turned as hard as glittering emeralds. He grabbed the chair nearest hers, scooted it beside her, then sat. He was so close that their knees touched. “Who?” he repeated.

  “Jake Jackson.” Her voice sounded low and lethal.

  Santa’s lips parted in defensive protest, but he quickly caught himself and remained silent. After a moment he decided he might have laughed, if she hadn’t sounded so deadly. After all, Jake Jackson wasn’t even in the running for the suspect list. He felt a gut-level twinge of guilt. His being here, without her knowing his identity, was beginning to feel like a bad joke gone way too far. Worse—not a half hour ago, she’d said she trusted him. And Amanda wasn’t even his baby.

  He realized Cyn was watching him carefully. “Jake was a past lover of mine,” she finally said.

  His first impulse was to demand to know just exactly how many lovers she’d had. To hear himself described so offhandedly as a past fling was unnerving. I’ve got to leave. Right now. Today. He forced himself to nod.

  She exhaled shakily. “A few years back some college guys were romancing heiresses—” She paused and pursed her lips as if she’d just tasted something foul. “They called themselves The Grinch Gang.”

  He shifted in his chair uncomfortably and fought to keep the irony from his voice. “I remember the story.” Did she really think Jake Jackson would come back into her life, to hurt her or Amanda? Four years ago she’d lain in his arms, gloriously naked and so full of trust.... Or so he’d thought.

  “D
id you see me on TV? Or read the papers? Most of them printed the text of the trial.” She grimaced, a slight flush staining her cheeks. “Heiresses being played for fools make good copy for the tabloids, I guess.”

  Santa didn’t trust his voice. Lengthy segments of the trial had been replayed on newscasts. He’d seen her, all right. While he was on his back in a hospital bed, his calf and face undergoing reconstructive surgery, she’d positively blasted him. He felt himself getting furious all over again. He leaned forward casually and placed his elbows on the table. “I seem to remember seeing something about it,” he finally drawled.

  She reached over and squeezed his arm, as if thanking him for his support. Beneath his crisp white shirt, tingles skated along his skin. No matter how angry he felt, he still wanted her. It amazed him. He cleared his throat. “So you think it’s this Jackson character?”

  When she tilted her head, a lock of sleep-mussed hair fell over one of her eyes, making her look as mysterious as she did sexy. “During the trial, Jackson was hospitalized,” she said slowly. “I had followed him to my parents’ house. I saw him and two others robbing us, and called the police.”

  She slid a hand beneath her robe lapel absently. Apparently, her nightie strap had fallen. The simple, guileless gesture nearly took away Santa’s breath. Didn’t she have any idea what she was doing to him? “Why did you follow him?”

  “Because I was an idiot,” she said.

  Unfortunately, that didn’t really answer his question. At the trial, she’d said she’d trailed him because she hadn’t trusted him all along. Santa didn’t buy it. “Jackson,” he continued casually. “He was the guy who got shot, right? A couple of rookie cops came in on the scene, and it turned out that one of the robbers had a gun.”

  “The man who got away with our jewelry,” Cyn affirmed. “Some cash, too.”