Her Secret Bodyguard

by Misha Crews

  He answered abruptly. "What time should I pick you up?"

  Her heart sank. "Ten o'clock would be fine," she said, putting down the coffee and crossing to the kitchen to get a pad and pencil. She thought he might object to the late hour, imagining that in Iowa all the parties started at seven and were over by nine. But he didn't comment, just watched as she scribbled down an address.

  "What's this?" he asked when she handed him the paper.

  "It's the address to our main house – you can pick me up there."

  "Main house? You have two houses?"

  "Actually we have three," she said. "And an apartment in New York."

  "Must be nice," he murmured.

  "Oh, it is," she assured him unapologetically. It was too late to back out now. She'd let him take her to the party, but that would be it.

  Caleb tossed the warm towel aside – surely it must be cold by now, anyway – and stood up, gingerly testing his knee. Blake clapped a hand to her cheek. "Oh, I forgot all about the cold compress!"

  "No worries. It seems to be working fine," he said.

  She gestured at the paper he held in his hand. "Think you'll be able to find the place okay? The hills can be difficult to navigate at night."

  "I don't imagine I'll drive off a cliff," he said.

  "I certainly hope not – I'd hate to have to take a taxi."

  She turned around to toss the pen onto the coffee table, and when she looked up she was surprised to find him standing right in front of her. The guy could move fast when he wanted, hurt knee or no.

  He spoke quietly. "I get it, okay? You know how to banter. But I can't help but wonder, are there any smarts under all that smart talk?"

  Blake swallowed. Under ordinary circumstances, she might feel intimidated right about now. She might, in fact, kick him square in that bum knee, then call neighborhood security and have his Iowa-loving butt tossed right out of Malibu. But after the events of the past few weeks, it would take a lot more than this cowboy to scare her, no matter how fierce he may seem.

  She cocked her head and gave a tough little grin, the one she'd learned from Rube, and answered his question neatly. "I guess you'll have to come along tonight and find out for yourself."

  He smiled suddenly, the corners of his eyes crinkling sweetly, and any menace in his demeanor evaporated. "I'll pick you up at ten," he said.

  "I'll be ready."

  Blake's eyes followed him as he let himself out through the sliding glass door. His well-muscled back tapered to an intriguingly trim waist. She bit the inside of her cheek. Keep it together girl, she told herself. In spite of everything, he's just another guy. Use him, lose him, and move on. Just like the others.

  Chapter Five

  Caleb had no idea what to wear to a Hollywood party, so he decided to wear what he usually did – jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. After all, it wasn't like he was trying to impress anyone. Besides, the shirt was one of his favorites. It was green and faded and bore the words of the great Groucho Marx: "Live forever, or die trying." That was an idea he could definitely get behind.

  He ran a comb through his damp hair in an attempt to make himself look slightly more presentable. But he knew that between his motorcycle helmet and the wind whipping past him, any semblance of tidiness in his appearance would be completely destroyed, so the gesture was more symbolic than practical.

  He grabbed his jacket and snapped off the light in his motel room, trotting down the stairs and giving a quick wave to the manager behind the desk before exiting. Caleb liked this motel. True, it wasn't much to look at: the building showed many signs of wear, the rugs were dark green polyester and the walls were hung with faded prints of ducks in flight. But it was clean, the rates were good and the owners were a nice Pakistani family who lived on premises. Plus there was a great diner across the street which was open till all hours, and there was nothing Caleb loved quite so well as having breakfast at midnight.

  The light on the corner at Franklin Street was green, and he made a left, heading toward Laurel Canyon Drive. Earlier in the afternoon he'd gone online, searched out the route and familiarized himself with the area. When he was in the service, he'd once had to do a night-jump into the mountainous, rocky region that lay southwest of Shiraz. The ground had been cold and hard, and the night had been the kind of pitch-black that most people never see. Getting lost or being seen would have likely meant the end of his life. So he wasn't too worried about negotiating the winding roads of the Hollywood hills, dimly lit though they may be.

  Navigational challenges aside, it was pretty damn stupid of him to go to this party tonight. He knew that well enough. His job had been to watch Blake – not talk to her, and definitely not take her on what was essentially a date. But he hadn't been able to resist.

  Caleb didn't really consider himself a tough guy. But he had, as his mother would say, kicked his fair share of fanny during the course of his life. It seemed that that there was always somebody around who needed a little discipline, or who needed to be protected from the unfair discipline of others, and Caleb just happened to be one of the guys who could do both when required.

  Right now, Blake was the one who needed protection, although apparently she didn't know it. It irritated him that she had been so eager to invite him into the beach house, and then up to her place tonight. Didn't she know that the world was dangerous? A woman shouldn't just go around bringing strange men into her home.

  When she had flipped her hair and told him that Rube wasn't expected back, well, that had really steamed him, in more ways than one. This woman was setting off red flares all over the place. She was too damn sexy and seemed too damn smart to be acting so damn stupidly.

  And that was another thing. The pictures that he had seen of her hadn't given any indication that she would be smart and funny as well as gorgeous. That was a treacherous combination. More red flares.

  Sure, he could pretend that tonight was all part of some noble goal to ensure Blake's safety, and that definitely had something to do with it. But he was honest enough with himself to admit that it was more than that. He was intrigued by her. She wasn't what he'd thought she would be. The look in her eyes when she'd said Got me all figured out, don't you? was something he thought he'd never forget.

  But he had no intention of allowing any of that to get in the way of the job that he was here to do.

  Blake's "other" house – and that was another concept he was still trying to wrap his head around – was located at the end of Entwistle Ridge Drive and was guarded by a tall iron gate. He rolled to a stop outside and studied it carefully. Here, at least, was some good security. And yet it occurred to him that a man who lived behind a gate like that must have a lot to hide.

  Caleb reached out and pushed the buzzer. An electronic voice directed him to look up at the camera. He did. Someone inside must have pushed a magic button, because the gates swung open with a loud creaking squeal that was worthy of a Bela Lugosi movie.

  The driveway that lay beyond was shorter than he expected, cutting an abbreviated "S" curve through the wild-looking underbrush and ending in an elongated oval in front of a sprawling ranch house. He released the throttle on his bike and put his feet on the ground, staring.

  "Ranch house" had been the first phrase that had come to his mind, but he'd worked on a ranch, and he'd never seen a house like this. It was long and low, built to hug the mountain on which it rested. It was made of wood and stone. The center portion was a hairsbreadth taller than the two arms on each side, which jutted toward him slightly like the wings of a bird. Large windows threw rectangles of light onto the lawn, and lush landscaping, rich but simply done, drew him down the flagstone path to the covered front patio.

  The front door was oversized, made of highly polished dark wood with thick squares carved into it. It stood slightly open. He reached out his hand, touched it, and it swung inward without a sound.

  Blake's voice came from somewhere to his right. The sound of it was even more opulent than the ho
use. "Hi Caleb," she called. "I'll be right out. Come on in."

  The flagstones from the front walk continued into the foyer, giving the impression that he was still outside. The ceiling seemed slightly lower than usual, but rather than making the place feel smaller, it pushed his attention outward, opening up the vista that lay in front of him.

  He walked a few steps forward. Similar to the beach house, the living area was all one big room. He could see straight through to the back of the house. The wall on that side was glass, from floor to ceiling. On the other side of the glass was a long patio with a pool, and beyond that the city lights twinkled in the valley below.

  Then Blake appeared, and the view was completely eclipsed. She was wearing a dress with long, full sleeves and a short, tight skirt. The fabric of the skirt had some sort of sparkly stuff woven into it, making it shimmer as she moved.

  "What is it?" she asked, her voice uncertain. "You're staring."

  "You'd stare, too, if you were me," he said. "That dress is an absolute knockout."

  She grinned, which knocked him back another step. That smile of hers should be registered as a lethal weapon. "This old thing?" she teased. "I've had it a million years. I only wear it when I don't care what I look like!"

  She gave a runway-style turn, peering over her shoulder flirtatiously. Christ, did this woman have any idea how dangerous a look like that could be?

  He looked down at his faded jeans and scuffed boots. "Am I dressed okay for this thing tonight?" he asked uncomfortably.

  She waved an airy hand. "You're fine. In this town, the shabbier you dress, the more important you look."

  "And what about you?"

  "That rule only goes for men," she explained.

  "I see," he said, though in truth he was mystified.

  "Oh, what's your t-shirt say?" Blake stepped closer to him to read the slogan. He could smell her perfume – something light and spirited, like the wind blowing in from off the ocean. Heady stuff.

  "Live forever, or die trying," she read. "Didn't Groucho Marx say that?"

  "Yeah." He was impressed. "Are you a Marx Brothers fan?"

  "My dad is, so I am." Her eyes twinkled. "We watched A Night at the Opera so often that by the time I was ten I practically knew it by heart."

  "That's their best movie. Your dad sounds like my kind of guy."

  When Caleb mentioned Blake's father, she stiffened. The change was so slight that he almost didn't see it, but it was there. He was confused. She reacted as if the subject were painful, but she was the one who brought it up. What was going on here?

  "Why did you agree to come with me tonight?" she asked suddenly.

  "Why did you ask me?" he countered. He tried to keep his voice light, but the question had been plaguing him for hours.

  She shrugged and looked like she was going to avoid answering. But she must have changed her mind because she met his eyes firmly and said, "You seemed like a good guy. There haven't been a whole lot of good guys in my life lately."

  "I thought that might be the case. That's why I agreed to come." It was as close to the truth as he dared to get.

  They were standing very close together. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, see the pulse in the base of her throat. If he leaned forward slightly, he could take her mouth with his. His heart raced at the thought, even as his mind raced forward to what could come next. He saw her breath catch, and he knew she was sharing his thoughts. Clothes on the floor, his hands in her hair, skin against skin….

  But then what? He shook his head mentally. This woman was in trouble, and she didn't even know it. Was he going to complicate things for her?

  No, of course he wasn't.

  He took a step backward, out of harm's way. "Are you ready to go?"

  She nodded shakily. "I'll get my purse."

  By the time they were outside, he had recovered his equilibrium. And she had recovered her contrariness. "A motorcycle?" she squeaked, surveying his cherished bike with a critical eye.

  "Yep," he said, unfazed by her expression. "I've brought you a helmet. You asked me to take you to a party, this is how I'm taking you."

  She shook her head stubbornly. "Oh no you're not," she said. "Do you have any idea what a ride like that will do to my hair? And look at how short my skirt is!"

  "You can tie a scarf around your hair. You'll be fine."

  "What about my skirt?"

  He grinned wolfishly at her. "Not my problem."

  She shook her head again, backing up. "Oh no," she repeated. She turned around and headed toward the garage. "We'll take my car. I'll just go get it. I've – oh, damn it!"

  "Now what?" This woman was starting to try his patience.

  "My car's in the shop. The mechanic came by this evening to pick it up." She stood with her back to him, thinking hard.

  "You've only got one car for the two of you?" Caleb asked teasingly. "That must be rough."

  She glowered at him over her shoulder. "Rube took his car when he left last night."

  Last night? Suddenly Caleb's ears perked up. Steve had seemed to be under the impression that the guy had been gone for days. Was that significant?

  He started to ask another question when Blake whirled around, eyes bright. "Mira!" she said triumphantly, as if Caleb were supposed to understand what that meant. "She's a friend of mine – she said she might be there tonight. I'll give her a quick call and see if she can swing by and pick us up."

  "Well, if you've got her, you're not going to need me."

  Blake pointed at him. "Stay there while I make this call," she said, as if he were a prized Doberman. Caleb was so amazed that he couldn't even be angry. Nobody had talked to him like that since boot camp.

  Blake took her phone out of her purse and started to dial. Then she stopped, frowned, and pressed a lot of buttons.

  She shook her head in frustration. "Mira sent me an email saying she can't make it tonight. She's going to Rome – last minute trip."

  Well, that figured. "Audience with the Pope?" he asked.

  Blake looked up, perplexed. She hadn't heard him. "What?"

  "Never mind." He cleared his throat, took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and polished the seat of this bike. "Your chariot awaits," he said.

  He didn't bother to look up, but he heard her huff out a breath and start toward him, heels clicking on the pavement. He smiled to himself.

  Blake tucked her head onto Caleb's shoulder and squeezed his waist with her thighs, hanging on for dear life as he took a dark curve at breakneck speed. Where did this guy think he was, the Autobahn?

  Despite her terror, she had to swallow a smile every time she thought about him showing up on this bike, wearing those old boots and that great t-shirt, all of which suited him much better than a regular car and some name-brand designer. He was definitely unlike anyone she'd ever met before, which was glaringly evidenced by what she'd blurted out about not having nice guys in her life. She regretted saying that now. It seemed disloyal to Rube, and she owed him so much.

  She felt the knot of her scarf slipping and wanted to check it, but she didn't dare to release Caleb long enough to adjust it. She just closed her eyes and held on, praying for them to arrive soon.

  At last she heard him let up on the throttle, and felt the pressure of forward acceleration ease off. She opened her eyes and found that they'd arrived at their destination. The motorcycle had just passed through the gate and they were now cruising smoothly up the long driveway.

  The parking valets ogled Caleb's motorcycle with a hungry look in their eyes, practically drooling as they jostled each other competitively for a chance to park the bike. But of course, Caleb was having none of that. He drove around back and settled the bike safely between an Escalade and a BMW SUV.

  Blake had been annoyed at first that Caleb hadn't offered to let her off at the front door, but her irritation turned to relief the moment she climbed off the bike. She wouldn't have wanted her friends to see her right now, with her just-of
f-the-motorcycle stride, bow-legged and trembling. Not to mention the fact that her hair was still wrapped up in a scarf.

  She walked back and forth, trying to regain her balance and some semblance of graceful motion. She hadn't been so thankful to have her feet touch ground since the time she and Mira had gone skydiving to celebrate Mira's eighteenth birthday. When she felt that she'd regained the ability to walk like a human being, she turned her attention to the other facets of her appearance. She released her hair from its scarf and fluffed it with her fingers as best she could. Then she fished a compact out of her purse and touched up her makeup. While she was at it, she checked her teeth for bugs.

  Through all of this, Caleb stood patiently by, thumbs hooked in his front pockets. He looked like a statue, or some sort of sculpture. Greek God Meets Cowboy. Rodin would have cast him in bronze with his feet anamorphically bonded to the pavement.

  She chuckled as she returned her compact to her purse, and tied the scarf to the back of the bike so it wouldn't blow away while they were inside.

  "What's so funny?" Caleb asked mildly.

  "You," she said, "and me." She crooked out an arm for him to take. "Come on. I can't wait for my friends to get a look at us!"

  The house was a mansion. There was no other word for it. Three stories tall, built of red brick with diamond-paned windows and a steeply sloping, many-gabled roof.

  Blake handed her invitation to the discreet-looking young man with the polite smile who was standing in the foyer. "Good evening, Ms. Sera," he murmured, before turning his attention to the next guest. Caleb's nod in his direction received no acknowledgement beyond the slight flick of an eyelash. But the slight was easy to shrug off. In his situation it was preferable to fly under the radar, anyway.

  He trailed after her through the long rooms, accepting introductions to Blake's friends, memorizing names and faces out of habit. Blake greeted person after person, always with the same practiced smile. He wondered how much her face must hurt, having to hold that expression all the time.