His Kind of Trouble

by Samantha Hunter

  With a tired sigh, she packed everything up to head back to her dressing room and call it a night. A glance at her watch told her that it was actually close to being the next day.

  She hadn’t realized it was so late. Ana had meetings in the morning—they were foisting some protective detail on her because of the harassment issue—and she was supposed to come in and meet whoever was assigned to protect her over the hiatus.

  She had no intention of agreeing; she planned to leave all of this behind her. Whoever was bothering her would probably lose interest in her over the break. Things like this flared up from time to time; it was part of the business. She received all kinds of crazy letters; if she took all of it seriously, she’d have no time to cook.

  Walking down the dimly lit hall of the soundstage, she dismissed the thought. She entered her dressing room and closed the door behind her. Turning, she found a man sitting on the sofa. Immediately, her fingers fumbled for the doorknob as she dropped her files, and panic rose tightly in her throat.

  “Ana,” he said, and she spun to face him.

  Her stalker.

  He wasn’t what she expected, to be sure.

  A tall, broad, huge man with dark blond hair—and incredibly clear green eyes—looked at her with curiosity more than anything else.

  Her phone. She fell to her knees, looking for her phone among the papers, and gasped in relief when she had it, pounding out security’s number, her eyes on the intruder.

  He didn’t seem concerned.

  “This is Ana. I’m in my dressing room. There’s a man here. He’s broken in. Please come now,” she said urgently, not taking her eyes off the guy, but then she realized she was talking to a recording.

  Her stomach dropped. Where was the night guard?

  The green-eyed hulk blinked at her, then smiled.

  “You’re Ana Perez,” he said calmly, taking a seat in the chair across the room, crossing long legs as if he had nothing to worry about.

  Her eyes searched desperately for something to defend herself with, landing on a little red box on the wall.

  As she dived for it, he stood, putting his hand out.

  “Ana, no,” he said, but it was too late.

  She pulled the fire alarm and let it ring.

  “I am. And you’re about to be arrested,” she said. “No way am I letting you out of here, no matter what you do to hurt me.”

  He sighed and shook his head.

  “Ana, I’m not going to hurt you. Quite the opposite. But security won’t be here anytime soon. The fire department will, but not security.”

  “And why’s that?” she asked, fearing he had done something horrible to Ben, their night guard. Ben had lost his wife the year before, was near retirement and was celebrating the arrival of his first grandchild. Ana chatted with him every night before she left. He was a sweet, good man.

  “What did you do to Ben? If you hurt one hair on that man’s head, I’ll—” she threatened as she took a step forward, then stopped. She had no idea what she would do.

  The man reached into his pocket, pulled out a small black phone. “Your security guy left his phone on the front desk when he went to the men’s room,” the man said laconically. “The studio definitely needs to beef up the night watch. It was easy as kittens to get in here. I could have been anyone. Someone who does want to hurt you.”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  He walked toward her and put out his hand, and she had another chance to appreciate the solid mass of muscle that allowed him to move with a dangerous kind of masculine grace. Cocky, self-assured, powerful and not at all worried about being caught. Certainly not afraid of her.

  She was dismayed to hear a panicked squeak emit from between her lips.

  As if he was dealing with a frightened animal, he bent down to her level.

  “Ana, my name is Chance Berringer. I’m your bodyguard,” he said, holding out his hand just as she heard the sound of heavy footsteps landing outside the door.

  * * *

  CHANCE STOOD AT THE END of the hall near Ana’s dressing room, watching her sign autographs for some of the firemen who gathered around. The least she could do, she said, after dragging them out for a false emergency. One guy suggested filming their show at the firehouse one week, feeding all the guys, and Ana seemed to seriously consider it.

  The men were rapt. Chance didn’t blame them. She was even more striking than in her picture.

  Petite—not more than five foot two, tops—Ana Perez packed every inch of her small frame with succulent curves and intriguing angles that he enjoyed studying as she worked the crowd.

  Too bad she’s a client, he thought with a sigh. Hands off. Chance liked women—lots of women, all women, in all shapes and sizes and colors—and he never experienced a shortage of female company. But clients were always off-limits when they were on a job.

  Well, unless you counted how all of his brothers had met their wives and current significant others, he thought with a smirk. All of the women had been principals, or clients needing protection, when they’d met.

  Not that Chance was looking for a wife. Women were wonderful and he loved them, but he had no intention of ever putting anyone through the experience his friend Logan had just suffered. That had affected him more than he liked.

  Chance had never actually seen such a serious injury up close; Logan had almost died. So much violence done to the human body as his friend lost control and plummeted down the icy ridges of the mountain they had been skiing, landing in a patch of trees. It had been one of the few things that had ever truly frightened Chance. Luckily, Logan hadn’t hit any of the big pines or he would have died on the spot.

  Chance had stayed with him through the helicopter ride out and had listened to Logan’s earnest, painful request for what to tell his wife, Jillian, if he didn’t make it. Chance had to call her and had picked her up at the airport, had taken her to the hospital.

  Jill was one of the exceptions. A former Olympic athlete herself, she understood competition, drive and the need for adventure. She not only understood but encouraged Logan’s need to do the things he did, whether it was extreme skiing or any of the other potentially life-threatening adventures he enjoyed.

  Sometimes she even went with him.

  But Chance still remembered how her legs had weakened, how she’d started to sink, as if her life had fallen out from under her when they had been let in to see Logan for the first time after surgery. Chance had done what he needed to, helping her stay strong for Logan, but it hadn’t been easy.

  It had shaken him to the core. He knew his family worried about him, and that was hard enough. It was the kind of thing that could get in your head, hold you back, make you hesitate. That was what could kill you.

  Chance didn’t want to ever hold back, and if he thought he could cause anyone the kind of pain that Jillian had suffered, he would have to quit living his adventurous lifestyle. And then, well, what would be the point?

  Better to keep things loose. A woman in his bed but not in his life was what he often said.

  Logan was going to be okay. He might never be able to extreme ski again, but he’d recover. He’d live to be with Jillian. Chance never told her what Logan had said on the plane. It hadn’t been necessary, but it was in his head for good.

  Now Chance needed to do something to stabilize that place inside him that had tilted off its axis. The accident had happened to Logan, not to him, right? He was fine. He was on a job doing work he loved. By the sound of it, the threat was local, and once they were in Mexico, it was likely that he would largely be on a babysitting vacation. Given the principal and the location, he wasn’t complaining.

  But they weren’t there yet.

  Breaking into the studio and getting by security had been a breeze. Locating and picking the lock on Ana’s dressing room, again, easy. Why did they just let anyone in the door to see her? A stalker or anyone else could practically walk right in if they had just a few social-engin
eering or lock-picking skills.

  Checking the status of her current security was his first job. Playing the role of the attacker, trying to see what barriers were in place.

  Ana didn’t like being held back, either, or caged in. She wanted to move around her life freely, without fear, and she resisted any real security they had wanted to implement. She still lived in her own apartment, drove her own car to work and refused to be limited in any way. Ana didn’t think she needed a bodyguard; he’d decided this was an effective way to change her mind.

  Chance could respect her need for freedom, except that now he would be the barrier, the enforcer of limits. He was the one who stayed at her back and who would stand between her and anyone who wanted to harm her.

  He’d been warned that she wasn’t going to like it.

  The firefighters dispersed, and Ana smoothed the front of her blouse as if readying for something. The motion brought his attention to her ample breasts, very delicious cleavage still peeking out from where she modestly buttoned up her red silk blouse.

  She turned, facing him, and he waited, unmoving. Her hair was loose, black curls cascading everywhere, and his fingers itched for a handful.

  Only in his imagination, he cautioned. Or maybe they could loosen the limits when they got south of the border and left the threats far behind.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic smile. She had shadows under her eyes. She was tired. Worked hard, still smiled. Trying to charm him. Gone was the wildcat who had trapped an unwanted guest in her room, faced off, threatened him for possibly hurting her friend the security guard.

  “For what?” he countered.

  She shrugged prettily. She knew her effect on men. How many beautiful women didn’t?

  “For all of it. The thing in the room, keeping you here so late and making you wait while I signed things for the firemen,” she said easily. “You could have gone. I’m heading home now. But I am glad to have had the chance to apologize for the chaos and for wasting your time.”

  “You’re not wasting my time. I’m on the clock, bought and paid for,” he said just as easily. “This is what I do. I watch you,” he said and saw a flicker in her eyes. That had affected her.

  Color infused her cheeks. Maybe it had affected her in a few different ways, he mused.

  “Well, what I mean is, I don’t need a bodyguard, and I’m really not interested. I appreciate you pointing out the holes in the security that you have, but honestly, the studio is overreacting. This simply isn’t necessary.”

  “Yet you seemed to think it was necessary when you found me in your dressing room. I could have been anyone. I could have been him.”

  “I panicked, but I also got the firemen here, didn’t I? I can take care of myself.”

  “The studio thinks differently.”

  “They’re only worried about their bottom line, making sure everything is okay until we get the finale taped and I’ve chosen our winner. But seriously, the harassment isn’t that big of a deal. I’m also leaving town the day after tomorrow, and that will make any protection unnecessary,” she explained. “I doubt very much whoever is bothering me will follow me to Mexico.”

  Chance shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see.”

  Pretty, dark brown eyes fringed with thick lashes that were completely natural as far as he could tell, not cosmetic, narrowed.

  “What do you mean, we’ll see?” she demanded.

  “We’ll see if they follow you to Mexico. And if they do, I’ll be there.”

  “You’ll...what? No, you can’t go to Mexico with me. Absolutely not.”

  “The studio has paid for my time for the next two weeks, until you return, and possibly after, to provide your protection. They have also paid for my ticket to Mexico, on your flight,” he said, pulling the ticket from his pocket and showing it to her. “My seat is right next to yours, as you can see.”

  She actually tried to grab it away from him but wasn’t fast enough.

  “I refuse,” she said, planting her hands on her hips, her eyes snapping. “This is ridiculous! I am going home. To my family. For the holiday. This is not the time nor place for this, this...intrusion. They have no right, and you have no right to thrust yourself in on my private time with my family,” she spat angrily, stepping up close to him.

  Wow, he thought, heat shooting through him. After this job was over, he had to have Ana Perez in his bed or anywhere else she’d have him. But for the moment, he kept his cool.

  “Sorry, Ana, but apparently your contract says differently. Don’t worry. I’m good at what I do, and parents tend to like me,” he said cheekily, knowing it would annoy her. He liked watching her color rise and her eyes snap. Sexy as hell. “It’ll be fun,” he added just for kicks.

  She looked as if she might hit him.

  “You may be used to intimidating people or winning them over with that cocky charm,” she said, clearly seething.

  “Thanks,” he interrupted. “Cocky charm. I like that.”

  She bit her lip as if holding back, and it just made him want to kiss her.

  “Listen, I know they hired you, and you have a job to do, but this isn’t going to happen,” she said, changing tactics and appealing to reason, as much as her temper would allow. “How would I even explain you to my family? Have any of you thought of that?”

  He pursed his lips, letting his eyes fall on hers. Her mouth was drawn tight, and he felt the challenge of wanting to kiss it into softness.

  “Well, they can’t know who I am, that’s rule number one. You can’t let anyone know I’m your protection detail—that gives us the edge. So make something up. Tell them we’re lovers,” he suggested with a shrug.

  Ana swallowed hard and took a deep breath that released in a frustrated growl as she turned away, striding back down the hall and into her dressing room, slamming the door behind her. Inside the room, Chance made out a litany of extremely colorful curses in a skillful blend of Mexican and English.

  As she emerged, keys in hand, and headed for the exit, he waited a few seconds, giving her some space before he followed.

  This was going to be fun.

  2

  ANA STEPPED INTO THE COZY entryway of the brownstone that she rented down in Brooklyn and made her way up the stairs and down the narrow hall to her apartment, letting herself in with a sigh of relief. Her landlady had decorated the place for the holidays, and the holly and poinsettias were still healthy and lovely, cheering her a bit as she passed them. She loved this place.

  Closing the door, however, she stopped short. There was an envelope on the floor and it had Ana’s name on it, but it was handwritten. Perhaps she had dropped it earlier? She tried to control the fear that was already choking her, but she knew she hadn’t. She’d never seen this. Maybe her landlady had left it for her—but why on the floor?

  Picking up the strange envelope, she opened it, and something fell out all over her hands, along with a piece of paper.

  Ana’s heartbeat raced as she stared down at the polished hardwood floor, her mind spinning as she focused and realized what had fallen out of the envelope—it looked like rose petals. Dried and black, they decorated her feet. Bending, she retrieved the paper that had fallen out with them.

  Have a safe trip, Ana. I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.

  Ana shoved the note into her pocket with shaking hands, her thoughts momentarily drowned out by the liquid fear that blanked her mind.

  He’d been in here. There was no space under the door to shove anything, so whoever had left this had to have been inside her apartment.

  He could still be here.

  She had to get out, call the police and have them check the place for her. Making her way back out to the stairs as quietly as she could, she rushed outside into the freezing-cold darkness. Frantically, she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

  A firm hand stopped her from dialing, and Ana almost screamed as she realized someone was right there
, right next to her, until she looked up.

  Chance Berringer.

  Everything inside of her seemed to melt in relief, and she forgot to be scared or agitated. She’d checked him out; he was indeed her bodyguard, and right now, that was okay with her.

  “Hey, what happened? Talk to me, Ana,” Chance said, supporting her with one strong arm as he directed her to his car.

  “What are you doing here?” she had the presence of mind to ask, but answered her own question before he could. “You followed me home.”

  “That is my job. Now, tell me what scared you so much,” he said, his eyes perceptive and hawklike.

  If he had been impressive back at the studio, Chance was ten times more so inside the small, intimate space. He wasn’t wearing cologne, but Ana could smell his soap, and she was close enough to study the strong line of his jaw and note the way the hair at the nape of his neck laid curled slightly against his skin. The muscles in his upper arms were impossible not to admire as he laid an arm along the back of the seat.

  Swallowing hard, Ana quickly looked away.

  “So what happened?” he asked smoothly.

  “Just a note from my...fan,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

  “Where?”

  “In my apartment. On the floor when I walked in. He had to have been there. He might still be there.” She shoved the note at him.

  Ana hated feeling weak, something she didn’t experience too often, but fear had nearly paralyzed her. Very few people knew where she lived; she kept her private life as separate from work as she could. No one should have found her here.

  Chance cursed under his breath. “Any previous indication he or she knew where you lived?”

  Ana shook her head. “No. Everything so far was through the studio.”

  He read it quickly, and she watched his pursed lips draw into a tight, flat line. He didn’t like what he saw.

  Would she have to move? She dismissed the thought as soon as it rose in her mind. Drug gangs had terrorized her village in Mexico for years, trying to use it as a path to the coast, and never made her people back down. She certainly wasn’t about to do so now because of some stalker fan who got their kicks out of trying to scare her.