Personal Protector

by Debra Webb

  She tugged on a pair of blue silk panties, suddenly wishing that she owned just one pair that wasn’t a thong. She didn’t usually think about it, but knowing that more than six feet of hot Latin male waited on the other side of that door made her a bit apprehensive. An oversize T-shirt and a loose-fitting pair of sweatpants with the waistband shoved beneath her bandage was about the best she could do since she couldn’t comfortably lounge around the apartment with Martinez hanging around.

  Piper pulled the T-shirt over her head and allowed it to drop down her body. Her stomach growled. She hesitated as she reached for her sweatpants. Her brow creased with the effort of concentration as she tried to remember if she’d eaten today. No, she hadn’t. And she was starved. Careful of her incision, she dragged on the baggy sweats. She needed food. She combed her fingers through her damp hair, then headed for the living room. Takeout from Mario’s down the street would be good and fast.

  A heavenly aroma met her the moment she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hall. She inhaled deeply, nearly buoyant with the appetite-arousing scent.

  Martinez couldn’t be cooking.

  Could he?

  Intrigued and damned hungry, Piper followed the enticing smell into her kitchen. She paused at the door and did a double take. Martinez, with Piper’s only apron draped around his waist to protect his slacks, stood in front of her stove stirring something in a rather large pot. She would have laughed out loud had the picture not been so thoroughly awe inspiring.

  He looked…domestic and way too handsome. How could a guy so cocky, so incredibly male, appear perfectly at home in a kitchen? In an apron!

  Piper squeezed her eyes shut and then looked again just to make sure she hadn’t somehow conjured up a Freudian slip of her imagination. Nope, he was still there.

  “What are you doing?”

  Martinez looked up from his work and smiled. “Dinner.” He pointed to the pot he was conscientiously stirring.

  Piper’s heart dropped to her stomach under the force of that brilliant smile. How could a man wearing an apron and wielding a wooden spoon look so…so sexy?

  Piper mentally cursed herself.

  It had to be the drugs. She wasn’t thinking straight.

  “You feeling better?” That dark gaze skimmed her body. “You look really good.”

  Drugs. Oh, yeah. She didn’t look good. She looked like death warmed over. She was imagining this entire scene. That explained everything.

  “Would you like something to drink before dinner?”

  “Dinner?” She stared at him, completely dumbfounded. Maybe she needed to go back to her room and lie down.

  He nodded, indicating the steaming pot once more. “I wasn’t sure what you would feel up to eating so I rummaged around in your cupboards and found enough ingredients to make soup.” He stopped stirring and covered the pot. “It’s ready if you’re hungry.”

  “I’m starved.” Okay, so it was real. He’d cooked soup. But his comment about her looking good was obviously just an attempt at being nice. Because she looked like hell. Felt like it, too.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” He gestured to the living room behind her. “And I’ll bring it to you.”

  Piper didn’t respond; she just turned around and walked to the couch. She eased down into the overstuffed cushions and got as comfortable as she could—considering. The television was on and tuned to WYBN and the evening news.

  There sure wouldn’t be a report from Piper Ryan on there tonight. She’d lost the taped interview of Taylor, and the meeting with Mrs. Olsen had been a bust. Then she’d spent a nice trip to the hospital in horrendous pain, and the kind people there had proceeded to poke, prod and suture her until she felt like a pincushion. She was batting a thousand here.

  Surely tomorrow’s agenda would be better.

  Martinez, a loaded tray in his hands, appeared next to her and placed her dinner on the coffee table. The soup smelled absolutely wonderful. There were crackers, grapes and an ice-cold glass of water.

  What else could a girl want?

  Her gaze collided with Martinez who had crouched down next to her to slide the table closer to where she sat. His handsome face was intent on his task. The healing lip drew her attention to his mouth. His lips were full and well shaped, especially for a man. The lines and angles of his face were well defined and perfectly proportioned. This close she noticed that his nose wasn’t as straight as she’d thought. She wondered vaguely if he’d ever broken it. That would explain the ever-so-slight imperfection.

  He turned to her then, those dark, alluring eyes tugging at her feminine senses. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Piper blinked and forced herself to breathe. “This is fine,” she replied, and to her supreme chagrin, somewhat breathlessly.

  He touched her chin, tracing the tiny scar from her fall down the stairs when she was a small child. Piper couldn’t say precisely what it was at that moment, but something in his touch warmed her…affected her on a level that she couldn’t quite understand. He straightened and walked back into the kitchen. She watched, losing her breath all over again, simply watching him move.

  She scrubbed her hands over her face and through her hair. Snap out of it, Piper, she railed silently. He’s only being nice. Lucas probably coerced him into staying and doing all this. There was no telling what her uncle had said to him before asking to speak with her. Piper had heard the series of “yes, sir’s” Martinez had belted out. Lucas had already recruited her boss and most everyone else with whom she worked closely as guardians. Martinez would be no different. She imagined all those macho genes he had made for an inflated sense of protectiveness anyway. And she was certain Dave had ordered Martinez to keep a close watch on her.

  Ignoring the little prick of pain caused by bending forward, she reached for her soup. Gingerly she tasted it. She almost moaned out loud. It was marvelous. A lightly seasoned chicken broth that was thick and smooth. She couldn’t make soup like this. Especially with nothing but a half-dozen or so bouillon cubes and milk, which was about the only thing in the house. She couldn’t even remember what kind of seasonings she had on hand. Obviously enough for him.

  She suddenly wondered what else the man could do?

  The sound of running water reached her ears, then the clanging of pots. Confusion inched its way across her forehead. He was cleaning up the kitchen. The man cleaned, too? Piper took another sip of soup and banished the image of Martinez cleaning her kitchen.

  Then she remembered the gun he carried. She stilled, the spoon halfway to her mouth. He was quite adept at defending himself, as well, she remembered from the brawl with Taylor and his friends. He carried a gun that he no doubt knew how to use. She stared at the bowl in her hand. He cooked. She glanced toward the kitchen. He cleaned. She moistened her lips. He kissed like no man she’d ever been kissed by before.

  Piper quickly gulped down the soup. She needed to focus on anything other than Martinez. After she’d finished her soup, she made herself drink the water. Just as she set the tray aside and reached for the grapes, Martinez came into the room and dropped into the chair directly across from her. He leaned forward and braced his forearms on his knees, his hands dangling between his spread thighs.

  “Can we talk?” he asked, his expression suddenly serious.

  And now he wanted to talk?

  This hallucination had gone entirely too far.

  “I don’t think so.” Piper shot up from the couch, grimacing at the pain generated by the abrupt move. “I’m tired. I think I’ll take a nap.”

  He was on his feet and at her side before she could escape between the couch and the coffee table. “You’re sure there’s nothing else I can get for you?”

  Piper backed away from him, her hands held up in a defensive maneuver. “No. You’ve done more than enough.”

  She strode straight to her door and closed it behind her. Sagging against it, she considered how he could know all the right things to do.

&nbs
p; He couldn’t. It had to be coincidence. No man was that perfect. Certainly not the man she’d described in her diary when she was a college freshman. She and her roommate, Darlene, had laughed for hours about what they required of their future mate: handsome, built, loyal and sensitive.

  And he had to be able to cook and clean, Piper had added, laughing until she cried. Because she never intended to play housewife to any man. And then, of course, the final item she had secretly added to her own diary entry: he had to be an incredible lover.

  That was one thing about Martinez she had no intention of learning.

  Piper would not be ruled by the silly notions she had entertained as a teenager. No matter how much her traitorous body seemed to want to.

  Chapter Seven

  Ric lay on Piper’s sofa staring at the digital clock on the VCR—2:35 a.m. He’d tossed and turned for the past two hours and still, sleep would not come. He kept replaying the events surrounding Piper’s sudden and unexplainable illness. She had acted fine until they were at the Olsen woman’s house. Piper had not been out of his sight at any time except for her one trip to the bathroom. But he’d noticed her strained facial expressions just prior to her leaving the room, so whatever went wrong had to have started before she left his sight. And Townsend had checked the place out before they entered the Olsen residence. There was no one else in the house and the woman had seemed harmless enough to proceed with the interview.

  Ric sat up and jammed his fingers through his hair. It didn’t make sense. Sure, the doc had a reasonable explanation, but Ric wasn’t satisfied. He hadn’t liked the condescending doctor. He hadn’t liked the place…and he sure as hell didn’t like the way the whole event nagged at him now. Something just wasn’t right. He wanted to talk to Piper about his uneasiness, but she’d blown him off when he tried. She’d disappeared into her room and hadn’t come out since. He knew she was exhausted. He’d read the fatigue in the tiny lines etched in her face, but he’d wanted to get her take on what had happened.

  At least she’d eaten and appeared to be resting comfortably now. He had heard the television until around eleven, then the sound had ceased and the light spilling from beneath the door had disappeared. He considered sneaking into her room to check on her, but decided against it. He doubted she would appreciate his concern if she awoke and found him hovering over her bed for whatever reason.

  Ric clasped his hands behind his head and relaxed into the thickly padded sofa cushions. He wanted desperately to pretend that his restlessness was related to nothing more than his job and the hard driving way in which this assignment appeared determined to go south on him. In the three days he’d been working Piper’s case, she had been attacked by SSU, then gang members and now some sort of weird virus. And he always seemed a step behind. He realized that in the bodyguard business it was his job to react and protect, but he wanted to do more. He wanted to keep Piper away from risk. Period.

  But she had no intention of allowing him to do that. Ric wondered if a prerequisite to being a reporter was fearlessness. Piper wasn’t afraid of much as far as he could tell.

  I was afraid they were going to hurt you.

  Well, she had admitted to being afraid for him. But that was exactly what she didn’t need to worry about. Ric could take care of himself. He’d grown up in a rough neighborhood, learning to fight before he learned his ABCs. Ric closed his eyes and tried not to allow the belief that her fear for him was anything other than basic human compassion. But no matter how hard he tried, his self-deprecating mind kept dangling that kiss as evidence that there was more to her concern. She had responded with a great deal more than worry.

  The distinct creak of a door opening at the far end of the hall jerked him to attention. The barely audible whisper of bare feet on carpet sounded next. Ric sat perfectly still as Piper, her white nightshirt reflecting the dim light from the hall, shuffled through the living room on her way to the kitchen. Ric’s gaze slid down her shapely legs, instantly noting that the baggy sweatpants were now missing. Awareness kicked his heart into a faster rhythm.

  She was either looking for a drink or a midnight snack. The fridge door opened with a rattle of plastic and glass. Ric stood, then moved silently in her direction. He wondered if she had forgotten he was here or simply assumed he was asleep. He paused in the doorway and opened his mouth to speak, but any words he might have uttered took a hike when she bent down to reach into the fridge. The shirt rose to the tops of her thighs, teasing him with just a hint of the curve of her firm behind. His throat went dry.

  “Hungry?” he asked, unable to stand that tantalizing position one moment longer without doing something else he would regret.

  She jumped, bumping her head in the process. A spicy curse echoed from inside the fridge. She turned around, rubbing the back of her head. “Dammit, Martinez, you scared the hell out of me.”

  Ric winced in empathy. “Sorry, querida.” He crossed the room and studied her irritated expression. She actually looked better already. Maybe he was just being paranoid about Petersen and the hospital. “Can’t sleep, or just hungry?”

  She stared at his chest for two endless beats, a quart of orange juice in her hand. Ric looked down at himself to see what had snagged her attention. He’d taken off his shirt. His gaze instantly sought hers. She didn’t blink quickly enough for him to miss the pure feminine appreciation in her eyes. She was attracted to him even now, after all that had happened. Before the moment could turn any more awkward, she shooed him away so that she could step out and close the fridge door.

  “Go back to sleep. I only came in here for a drink.” She reached for a glass in a cupboard near the sink and filled it with juice. “I don’t know why you didn’t go back to Mr. Rizzoli’s. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’m not a child.”

  “The doctor said someone should stay with you tonight.” Ric strode over to the cupboard and retrieved a glass for himself. He picked up the carton she had abandoned on the counter and poured his glass full. He took a deep drink from the juice, then licked his lips. “You have a personal physician, don’t you?”

  She stared at him, as dumbfounded as if he’d spoken in a foreign language. “What?”

  “A doctor,” Ric repeated. “You have someone you prefer when you need medical treatment, right?” What was up with her? She usually composed herself more quickly than this. He was pretty sure he didn’t have that much of an effect on her. Maybe the anesthetic was making her slow to process responses to his question.

  Piper sipped her juice, her gaze carefully averted from him. Finally she shrugged. “Sure, I have a doctor. Why do you ask?”

  Ric set his glass down on the counter and leaned against it. He wasn’t sure how she would take his suggestion. She’d probably think he was loco, but that was a chance he’d have to take. This whole scenario still didn’t sit right in his gut. “I think you should get a second opinion.”

  She looked surprised, then frowned. “That’s ridiculous.” She plunked her own glass down and busied herself by putting the orange juice away. “What would be the point in a second opinion? They didn’t find anything. Who knows? Maybe I ate something bad. And besides, I feel fine now.”

  Before Martinez could say anything else, Piper hurried out of the room. Other than being a tad groggy, she’d felt fine when she awoke, just thirsty and in need of a bathroom break. How could she have forgotten that Martinez had bunked on her couch? She supposed that she was groggier than she’d thought. He’d scared the life out of her. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d blatantly flaunted that bare chest right in her face, making her feel…odd somehow. She rolled her eyes in self-disgust. Who was she kidding? She knew exactly how he made her feel. Hot. Wanton. She wanted to flatten her palms against that awesome chest and push him to the floor so she could climb aboard right now.

  Damn. What did that make her? Desperate. He was her co-worker. She never slept with co-workers. No matter how damned good they looked. Or how horny she was.


  “Wait, Ryan,” he called out before she could escape to her room. Piper stalled. “Give me a chance to explain my concerns,” he added then.

  Why didn’t he just go back to sleep? She did not want to talk to him right now. He was half-naked and she was…susceptible. Piper gulped at the knot lodged in the back of her throat. Why did she have to be so fiercely attracted to the man? A year—that’s why.

  Slowly she turned to face him. “What concerns?”

  The dim glow of the hall light only enhanced what she wanted so to ignore. His navy blue slacks were the typical loose-fitting style he appeared to prefer. His feet were bare, long and well formed. Piper shook herself. Why the hell was she staring at his feet? Admiring them, at that? Because being celibate for a year wasn’t natural? She was young; she should never have allowed her career to take over her social life—at least not to this point.

  Dreading the reaction she knew would slam into her with breath-stealing force, her gaze slid slowly up his lean body. From his long legs, to the rippled abdomen and on to those perfect pecs and mile-wide shoulders. His skin was smooth, stretched taut over bulging muscles that made her feel undeniably restless.

  Her gaze settled on his face. The full effect of his extraordinary good looks hit her then. She felt flushed and needy. Her entire body went on alert. Her nipples rose to attention and her pulse pounded. Those hypnotic dark eyes drew hers like light to the dawn. And when she stared directly into them she found that he was assessing her with the same avid interest.

  She couldn’t let this get out of control.

  Dave wouldn’t like it. And the station manager had a strict policy about this sort of thing…especially considering Martinez was his cousin.

  “I’m not going to have sex with you, Martinez.” The words, strangely emotionless, sounded as if they had come from someone else.

  “I didn’t ask you to have sex with me,” he said slowly, but the naturally seductive quality of his voice only tempted her all the more despite his rather flat denial.