She didn’t explain, but that was okay, because he wouldn’t ask her to give up her secrets when he was keeping his. Early in life, he had known that he would be a loner. He had grown up being the only real thing standing between his father and his siblings, given the fact that his mother was usually too beaten and bruised to be an effective shield. Living like that had set him apart; it had kept him from social opportunities. In time, he realized that being alone came naturally to him. He was good at it. Besides, living by himself made it easy to keep his worst fears at bay, and he liked it that way.
“Well then, here we are. Together. We might as well see how we can make this work.”
Natalie nodded. She frowned, and her brows bunched together in concentration. “Do you cook?”
Vincent did a double take. “I get by. Why?”
“What’s ‘I get by’ mean?” she asked with a laugh. “What can you cook?”
He twisted his mouth in concentration. “Burgers, steaks, pancakes, that kind of thing.”
“Pancakes? You make pancakes?”
“Occasionally,” Vince admitted. He was getting a bad feeling about this.
“Great!” She gave him a wide grin, and her green eyes sparkled with what looked like delight. “That’s perfect. I never make pancakes.”
“So what do you make?” He studied her closely.
“Canned soup, frozen meals, maybe salad or an omelet if I’m feeling creative. But you make the tough stuff. Come on.” She held out her hand.
He looked at what she was offering. Long, slender fingers, nails buffed and pretty without polish. Her skin looked soft. He wanted to touch. Probably a bad idea to do that. He could tell that she wasn’t thinking of him as a man in this moment, but as something lighter. A friend, a fellow cook, perhaps. At any rate, she wasn’t arguing with him or looking worried.
Vincent took Natalie’s hand.
Instant awareness shifted through him. Her pretty body became not just something that looked good, but something that felt good. He wanted to slide his hand up her arm, to touch his thumb to her lips, to taste her mouth. He wanted to know what lay beneath her blue jeans and white T-shirt.
And he had no business thinking such thoughts.
“Where are we going?” he asked, and his voice came out just a touch too harsh.
“We’re going shopping,” she whispered conspiratorially.
Vincent almost cringed. “Shopping?”
She chuckled. “For food, so you can make some of that hearty man stuff you like to eat. I like to eat it, too, and it only seems fair that if I’m sharing my house with you, you could share some of your steak with me.”
He couldn’t help laughing. “I think you’re a witch, Natalie. No woman has ever insisted I go shopping with her, and yet, somehow I think this is an experience I’m never going to forget.”
“I’ll try to make it memorable,” she promised.
He’d just bet she would, Vincent thought as they left the house together.
Seven
Natalie’s hand felt small in Vincent’s grasp, and she wondered if she had been stark raving mad to reach out to him this way. His skin was warm, his touch made her too aware of herself as a woman. She couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to have his entire body pressing against hers.
Stop it, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t because Vincent was right here with her. And she’d never been more aware of a man in her life.
The only relief was when he let go of her hand to open his car door for her. But that provided only short-term relief because Vincent’s car was sinful, with black, butter-soft leather seats that reminded Natalie of a cushy bed. The errant thought made her squirm.
She forced herself to sit still until Vincent had pulled up in front of the grocery store, and then she hopped out before he could help her. This time, she didn’t hold out her hand.
“What first?” she asked as they entered the store. She waited for him to come up beside her.
“You first,” he told her. “I walk behind.”
Of course. How could she have forgotten? This was going to be awkward, but darn it, somehow she was going to make it work. If she and Vincent were going to be joined at the hip for a while, she intended to make the best of it.
“How far behind?” she asked. “Does it have to be real far, because talking is going to be difficult if I have to yell.”
“Don’t yell,” he said softly. “I’ll stay close.” She felt him at her back, at her elbow. He was definitely close. He leaned forward and placed his mouth near her ear. “I just need to watch your back, that’s all,” he told her.
But it was clear from the looks people were giving them that the other shoppers thought he was doing a lot more than watching her back. They thought he was sleeping with her.
Warmth stole through Natalie. She looked down. They were in the produce aisle, which was draped with Christmas tinsel and red and green bells, and she hadn’t even noticed. “Onion?” she asked.
He blinked. “Why not?”
She put one in her basket. They walked on together. Like a couple. He handed her mangoes and bananas.
“Energy drink in the morning,” he told her. Of course, a man who made his living physically placing his life between others and harm had to stay fit.
When anyone got too close, Vincent shifted subtly—too subtly for anyone else to notice, most likely, but Natalie noticed. Every time.
“How far does it go?” she finally asked, her voice choked.
“How far does what go?”
She looked up at him and wondered if he had ever had to get between a client and a bully or a bullet. And suddenly her throat closed up. He was a man of honor. She was almost sure that he would place the life of his client above even his own safety, but in the end she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to wonder about whether he had ever chosen someone else’s life over his own, about whether he had ever been wounded. For sure she didn’t want to worry about the fact that he could get hurt guarding her.
“I mean, is there anything else you need?” she asked.
“Just one thing.” His voice was low and husky.
“What?” Did she want to know this?
“Chocolate.” He practically breathed the word, and she could almost feel his sly smile, but feeling wasn’t enough.
She turned suddenly, catching him off guard, and found that she was right. He was grinning.
“Don’t you like chocolate?” he asked.
Natalie raised one brow. She grasped Vincent’s arm and smiled up at him. “Chocolate? Something gooey that melts in the mouth? Downfall of half the women I know? And I thought you were such a hard man.”
He smiled. “I am. I just have a weakness. I like sweet things.”
For a minute, their eyes met and held. Natalie almost wished she was soft and sweet, but she wasn’t.
“Well then, let’s go find some chocolate. I’ll race you.” And she laughed as he swooped in behind her and kept pace.
Vincent closed all the shades. He made a swift check of all the doors and windows. Jamison was out there somewhere, and he was a smart guy. He probably knew where Natalie lived.
“Do you think he’s looking for me?”
Vincent turned. Natalie was standing there in the doorway all covered up in a fluffy pink bathrobe that covered her from neck to toes. Not that it mattered. No amount of covering up could mess with his overactive imagination. He had a pretty good idea of what that sweet little curvy body looked like beneath all that pink fluff. He’d been living here for days, trying not to envision her naked for just as long. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. Her clear green eyes were filled with concern.
“He’s had some time to get away. Maybe he’s just running as far and fast as he can,” he said.
She nodded. “I should want that, I guess, but I don’t. If he keeps running, he’ll eventually run into someone. Another someone he might hurt when he’s already hurt too many.”
�
��Then maybe he’s not running. But if he’s around here, he won’t get to you. I’ll take care of you.”
“But then you might get hurt.” She licked her lips, grave concern in her eyes. “And…”
She looked up, tilted her chin just a bit too high. He was beginning to recognize that look. “And you want to tell me that you can take care of yourself,” he said.
“It sounds childish.”
“No. It just sounds like what anyone would say if they’d never been allowed to get hurt or to try when there was a risk. The world is full of risks. It’s healthy to take a few. Just…”
She frowned at him. “Say it.”
“Just not this time. Not with this man,” he said. “You have to let me keep watch over you.”
“Because you’re bigger and stronger.”
“Because I’m trained to defend and protect, and I won’t hesitate to do anything that is necessary to keep him from getting to you. I won’t waver. You would, because it’s human nature to give other humans a second chance. That would be a mistake. Could you shoot if you had to, maim if you had to, or even kill?”
She studied him, her chin still lifted. “I’ve never had to find that out. Have you?”
He slowly nodded, but he offered no details. He didn’t like remembering what it had been like the night a deranged madman had thrown himself at one of Vincent’s clients, then came at Vincent with a knife. The crazed man had lived, but just barely. And Vincent had had to go to sleep every night remembering the taste of blood and the look in the madman’s eyes as his own knife was plunged into him. What had happened had been necessary but it had also been ugly, and Vincent didn’t want Natalie to ever have to experience something like that.
“Do you resent having me here so much?” he asked, wondering what the hell he was doing. This wasn’t the tack he normally took. He didn’t discuss his clients’ reservations with them, but then his reaction to this woman wasn’t like his reaction to any other client.
“No, I don’t resent you,” she said. “I’m grateful. I just resent the fact that I can’t do what you do. I want to be that strong. I want to be invincible, to control everything it’s possible to control. I don’t want to have anyone else running my life.”
He smiled then. “No one can do everything. We all do what we’re good at in life. You’re going to help Mrs. Morgensen. That counts just as much or more as any contribution I’m making here.”
She stared at him, questions in her eyes. Vincent felt as if she were searching his soul, as if he were the subject of one of her articles. It wasn’t something he was used to, being the object of attention this way. In his job, he stayed in the background as much as possible; if he was in the foreground, his sole purpose was to intimidate the bad guys. No one ever wondered what he was thinking, what made him tick. He was pretty sure that Natalie was trying to figure him out, and the very thought made him want to move, to move to her, to touch her in order to distract her from her thoughts. Or hell, maybe he just wanted to touch her, and there was no good reason other than the fact that she was a beautiful woman with eyes that did him in.
He studied her, and some of what he was thinking must have shown in his face, because she blinked then and shifted.
“About Mrs. Morgensen,” she said. “Thank you for understanding.”
“It was a no-brainer. She’s a really nice lady, and she’s been hurt. You’re going to do something about it, make the bad guys pay. That’s admirable.”
All traces of concern left Natalie’s face. She smiled, and damn him, his breathing kicked up, hard. It was all he could do to keep himself from going to her, unwinding her from that frothy pink thing she was wearing so that he could see all of her.
As if she knew just where his errant thoughts were headed, she suddenly wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. Her lashes drifted down. “Well, I guess I should be getting to bed. Is there anything you need?”
You in my bed, he wanted to say. But instead he said nothing. He shook his head, said good-night and settled in to try to sleep. He hoped he didn’t dream of Natalie tonight, with or without her bathrobe.
The days were settling into a routine, Natalie was surprised to admit. Not that she would ever get used to having Vincent so near all the time. He just wasn’t the kind of man a woman ever forgot was around. But he had done his best to make her comfortable. He had joined in with household chores without being asked and he was a surprisingly good cook.
“You could give lessons,” she told him, savoring a taste of pork tenderloin that Vincent had served her. “Did your mother teach you to do this?”
He laughed. “Necessity taught me how to do this. I didn’t feel like starving, and I figured I’d starve if I couldn’t cook a decent meal.”
“I can’t cook much, and I haven’t starved,” she pointed out.
He looked at her as if checking to make sure she was still in the world of the living.
“No, you certainly haven’t,” he finally said in a deep, husky voice.
Natalie blinked. “Are you telling me I’m fat?”
Vincent laughed. “Hardly. Why do women worry so much about being fat?”
“Because it’s unhealthy?” she suggested.
He shrugged. “True, but a few curves are…nice, don’t you think?” He looked at her in a way that made her aware that yes, she had a few curves.
“I—I guess so. But we weren’t talking about curves. We were talking about how you learned to cook.”
“Yes, we were, and no, my mother didn’t teach me. She was a wonderful cook, but my father had very strict beliefs about what men and women did. Men didn’t cook. Women didn’t work.”
“I thought those rules went out a long time ago.”
“They did. In most places.” Vincent’s voice was tight, his expression unreadable. It was clear that he didn’t like talking about his family, and that this conversation was becoming too serious.
“Well,” she said with a smile. “He probably wouldn’t have liked me at all, then.”
Vincent took a step closer. He touched her cheek. “No,” he said in a harsh but gentle voice. “He wouldn’t have liked you, but the flaw wouldn’t be yours.”
Natalie swallowed hard. Vincent’s fingers were warm, and he was close. He was clearly not happy but was being so gentle with her. At the moment, stupid as it was, she wanted to lean into him, to place her fingers on him, as well.
And then what? she thought. Natalie, you’re living with this man, she reminded herself. He’s a protector. Once the need for protection is over, he’s gone. And could you ever really get involved with a man whose whole life is built on calling the shots, a man who doesn’t believe in relationships?
She swallowed hard and backed away. “I’d better get ready to go. I have to interview a man who has been running a holiday party for a local day-care center for twenty-five years.”
“All right. Let’s go.”
Natalie’s heart sank. She had seen Mr. Felsmith, another wronged neighbor, in the hall last night. He was worrying about not being able to buy Christmas presents for his grandchildren this year. She hadn’t had any more contact with Brad Herron or Neil Gerard since that day at The Ladder. With the holidays coming, the paper had been sending her on every human interest story in San Antonio, and at this time of year there were plenty. She hadn’t done a thing to help Mr. Felsmith or Mrs. Morgensen, and that just wasn’t right.
Whenever Vincent was around, she felt too aware of him. She didn’t act the right way or do the right things to get the answers she needed. And asking him to let her slip out alone just wasn’t going to cut it with him, even though there hadn’t been a peep out of Jason Jamison since he had made his escape. If she pointed that out to him, as she already had, he would only smile at her indulgently and continue to tail her, to protect her.
What she needed was a plan.
“Well, we’d better get moving,” she muttered, but she knew that her directions were more for herself than fo
r Vincent. He, of course, needed no further encouragement. The man was tireless, and he was always at her side.
The only problem was she was beginning to like having him there.
“Oh, hello, Vincent.” Mrs. Morgensen came out of her door just as Vincent and Natalie were heading down the hall.
“Hello, Mrs. Morgensen,” he said. “You’re looking lovely this morning.”
“Oh, Natalie, he’s a flirtatious one. Does he do that with you, too? I’ll bet he does a lot more than flirt.” Mrs. Morgensen gave Vincent a sly wink.
He almost blushed.
“Oh, Vincent definitely does a lot more than flirt,” Natalie said.
Vincent nearly choked. “Excuse me?”
“Men,” Mrs. Morgensen said. “They like to make wild, passionate love, but they don’t want anyone to talk about it. My husband, Bernard, never did like me to compliment him publicly about what we did in bed. I don’t know why. He was an excellent lover.”
Vincent saw Natalie’s shoulders shaking. Was she actually laughing?
“Natalie?”
“I’ll bet he’s a tiger,” Mrs. Morgensen said.
“I’ll bet he is, too,” Natalie said, “but Mrs. Morgensen, Vincent and I aren’t— Well, I’m sorry if I somehow misled you, but we aren’t— That is, we don’t—”
Vincent began to grin.
“Help me here,” Natalie said, turning to him.
“Oh, you’re doing just fine, love,” he told her in a low drawl.
She wrinkled her nose at him and turned back to Mrs. Morgensen. “Vincent and I are just friends,” she said in a clipped voice, “and that’s all we’ll ever be.”
Mrs. Morgensen rolled her eyes and gave Vincent a long, hard look. “Really? But you two are shacking up, aren’t you? That’s the right way to say it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, we are, but only as friends,” Natalie insisted.
“Hmm, just friends. I have to say I’m a bit disappointed in you, Natalie.”
Vincent chuckled.
Natalie turned and glared at him.
Keeping Her Safe Page 7