by Anna Lowe
His sister had called it a snake, while all his brother had found were sheep. But it didn’t seem to matter because it was just for fun. Fun, like Jody.
She was definitely getting under his skin, bringing back good memories to dilute the bad. Making him smile from time to time. He’d already taken to listening for the quiet jangle of her bracelets and the soft sound of her step.
Give us a couple of days, Silas had said to Jody.
Cruz took a deep breath. In a couple of days, he would be in way over his head with this woman. Even now, her wild rose scent teased and taunted him, and the soft timbre of her voice did all kinds of titillating things to his soul.
Why is that a bad thing? his tiger demanded.
Because it could never work. Because he hated humans. Because he lived in a world of darkness while she inhabited a sunny universe of hope and light.
He worked his jaw. First, he’d kill whoever it was behind the door — unless, of course, it was housekeeping, though he really doubted it — and then he’d figure out how to keep himself immune to Jody’s charms.
With hate? With fear? His tiger growled.
Cruz scoffed. He wasn’t afraid of anything.
Not even of falling in love?
Someone whispered behind the door, dragging his focus back to the intruder. Little clicks sounded as a code was tapped in, and a man pushed the door open. In a flash, Cruz grabbed the man’s wrist and sent him sprawling. By the time Jody yelped and the guy on the floor groaned, Cruz had the second, bigger man thrust face first against the wall.
“Whoa,” the big guy protested, though his words were slurred, given that his lips were mashed against the wall.
“Richard?” Jody squeaked at the man on the floor.
Cruz did a double take. Who the hell was Richard? He glanced over to where the first man lay. A tubby guy with a polyester Hawaiian shirt who smelled of stale cigarette smoke. A guy he recognized from somewhere.
His tiger growled. It’s Slimeball.
“You know this guy?” he grunted.
Well, of course Jody knew Slimeball. He’d seen them talking at the Kapa’akea resort.
Jody made a face aimed more at Slimeball than him. “He’s the product manager for the photo shoot.”
“Call the police, Jody. Quick,” Slimeball urged, rolling away from Cruz.
Jody stuck her hands on her hips. “Sure. I’ll call the cops and tell them you and some hoodlum broke in to my unit.”
“We weren’t breaking in. We had the code.”
“And how exactly do you have that?”
The woman was even more beautiful when she was angry. Cruz grinned in spite of himself.
“We were checking on you,” Richard protested. He stood slowly, keeping his hands up.
“You and who are checking on me?” Jody glared at the second guy, not the least intimidated by his bulk.
The man’s muscles twitched, and Cruz tightened his grip, giving the guy a clear message he’d better not budge.
“Me and my bodyguard,” Richard said.
Cruz nearly laughed. The guy he had against the wall might have muscle, but he lacked reflexes and the most basic training.
“Your what?” Jody screeched.
“My bodyguard. I nearly got shot last night.”
“Wait a minute. I was the one who nearly got shot last night.” Her words cut off before she could tack asshole on to the end.
Slimeball wiped his sweaty brow. “I’m not taking any chances.”
Cruz’s blood boiled. “What about Jody?”
Slimeball looked around, confused. “What about her?”
If Jody hadn’t given Cruz a look of warning, he would have punched the man there and then.
“What about Jody’s safety?” he repeated, grinding the words out.
A burning sensation registered in his eyes — the first signs of a telltale shapeshifter glow — and he blinked hard, trying to wrestle the rage back. That was a losing battle until Jody touched his arm, making his broiling emotions settle down again. Cruz blinked as a new image popped into his mind. Instead of picturing the carnage he’d like to wreak, he saw beams of sunlight breaking through the trees on one of those perfect afternoons in his patch of jungle on the estate. The wild pumping of his heart slowed down slightly, and his fists unclenched.
He took two more breaths then opened his eyes — on Jody.
Wow. Her eyes are so blue, his tiger cooed. Like the sky in summer.
Cruz almost forgot where he was until Slimeball spoke, breaking the magic spell.
“I swear I was going to get Jody a bodyguard, too,” Richard said.
I bet, Cruz thought.
“Don’t need one,” Jody barked.
Richard scowled and jerked his thumb at Cruz. “Oh no? Who is this guy?”
A sly grin flitted over Jody’s face and she crossed her arms. “Maybe he’s my bodyguard.”
The way she emphasized my made Cruz warm, totally distracting him. It wasn’t until a second later that he processed her words and went wide-eyed. Her what?
“No, seriously,” Richard protested. “Who is he?”
Now Jody really looked pissed, and Cruz was, too. Their eyes met, and his mind spun. She was serious. She wanted him to be her bodyguard.
Say yes. Yes! his tiger cried.
But that meant sticking with her, night and day, for as long as it took to find the gunman and close this case. That meant sniffing her intoxicating scent. Watching her graceful moves. Listening to her cheery voice. That meant feeling things he wasn’t prepared to deal with.
It meant betraying his family, too. Letting a human into his heart.
No, it doesn’t. It means living. Maybe even loving, his tiger whispered.
“When did you have time to find a bodyguard?” Richard demanded.
Jody glanced at Cruz with an expression that said, He found me.
His heart skipped, and his tiger whispered inside. I didn’t find you. Destiny led me.
Cruz swallowed hard and answered Jody’s unspoken question with a tiny nod. Yes, I will be your bodyguard. Even if it kills me.
He shoved the big guy against the wall in warning then let go and stepped forward. He bristled, forcing Richard to step back — way back. “Like she said. Her bodyguard.” And just like Jody, he left off the asshole at the end.
Jody stared as if she hadn’t expected him to take her up on the challenge, and in a way, that hurt. She hadn’t expected him to do the decent thing. Hell, he hadn’t expected it either.
So, damn. Just how much of a shithead had he become in the past couple of years?
Jody stuck an accusing finger at Richard. “What exactly are you doing here?”
“Like I said — checking on you. Making sure you’ll be ready for the photo shoot.”
Jody’s jaw fell open. “You’re kidding. I got shot at yesterday, and you want to go ahead with the next session?”
Richard shrugged. “The show must go on, baby.”
Not your baby. Cruz could see the retort flash over Jody’s face.
Richard shuffled closer, and Jody’s nose wrinkled. “In fact, we’re ready to go ahead this afternoon. Unless, of course, you want me to sign the contract over to someone else, along with the paycheck. How would you like that?”
Jody’s face became a tight, angry mask.
“How would you like the paycheck to go to someone else, huh?” Richard goaded. “Someone who could help their sister or mother or whoever—”
“My mother is dead,” Jody said in a totally flat tone.
Cruz whipped his head around. He knew the pain concealed in Jody’s even voice. He knew the feeling of a hole in his heart and the regret of so many important things left unsaid. Words like I love you and Thank you and Sorry for everything I put you through as a kid.
See? his tiger said. Humans mourn, too.
Richard flapped his hand. “Whatever. The point is—”
Cruz’s vision went red. Whatever? He stalked f
orward. “Now you listen to me—”
“I got this, Cruz,” Jody hissed, clenching her fists.
He glowered at them both. “No photographs today. Period.”
Richard was too terrified to protest, but Cruz could see the gears move in the man’s mind. He would come up with some sneaky way to force Jody to pose — that, or he’d fire her.
“Tomorrow,” Jody said, stepping between them. “I think a day is reasonable, don’t you?”
Richard made a face. “The big boss wants results, and she wants them soon.”
Cruz leaned forward. She? Was that Moira?
“We need to make a splash ASAP and get this campaign in the news. Especially since these two-bit island cops refuse to let me hold a press conference. We can’t even get any mileage out of last night.”
Between two-bit island cops and mileage, Cruz was ready to snap. Dawn, his buddy Hunter’s mate, was an island cop, and she was a damn good one. And as for getting mileage out of an attempt on Jody’s life…
She touched his arm, and he took a deep breath.
“Two days,” Cruz snarled at Richard. “Minimum.” Then he locked eyes with Jody. “As your bodyguard, I insist.”
Just saying the word made his tiger want to roar loud enough for folks over on the Big Island to hear.
Her bodyguard. Hers. Finally, you’re catching on.
Jody’s expression started out steely and grim, but the longer they stood there, the softer it became, and all kinds of emotions Cruz didn’t know he possessed stirred and rumbled inside.
“Two days,” Richard grunted. Keeping the wall at his back, he slunk toward his hired thug and the door. “Tuesday at noon. If nothing else, it gives me more time to arrange for that damned jewel.”
Cruz’s ears perked. Maybe that was a good sign. If there’d been some complications obtaining the jewel, that might mean it wasn’t a Spirit Stone being drawn out by the others.
“Be ready at noon — or else,” Richard snapped. “I’ll call you with the location. And you, idiot,” he snapped at his bodyguard, “are fired.”
Cruz wanted to shove them both out the door, but he refrained, if only barely. He settled for closing the door with a thump and faced it for a moment, getting his shit together again. Then he turned and—
Jody’s shoulders were slumped. She stared at the too-busy pattern of the rug, and her hands knotted tightly. Even right after being shot at, she hadn’t looked so unhappy. Like a bird with clipped wings staring out from a cage. His heart ached just seeing her like that. He reached for Jody’s hand the way she’d reached for his when he needed it.
A moment later, she tossed her hair, back to her usual self.
“Asshole,” she muttered, glaring at the door. She stuck her hands up quickly. “Him, I mean. Not you.”
In spite of himself, Cruz grinned.
Chapter Nine
Jody was glad to have a bodyguard. She really was — especially one with dark, flashing eyes, slabs of muscle, and the kind of rugged looks that helped distract her from the fact that someone wanted her dead. But a bodyguard who insisted on stalking around every corner like a predator did seem a bit over the top.
Of course, the man had started out as her potential killer, and part of her still struggled with that. But a far greater part of her trusted him, as crazy as that seemed. Bone deep, she knew he meant her no harm. She slung her bag over her shoulder and followed Cruz closely.
“Do you really think this is necessary?”
“You wanted a bodyguard? You got one,” he said without glancing back.
When she’d first announced the idea, she’d surprised herself as much as him. Once again, she hadn’t exactly thought things out. Should they discuss terms? Payment? God, could she even afford his fee, whatever it was? She doubted it. And damn, she really ought to ask, because she’d learned the hard way about verbal agreements.
Or maybe not, because she didn’t want to talk business with Cruz. She didn’t want to be his client. She wanted to be his…his…
She got stuck there. What did she want to be? His friend? His future one-night stand? More?
She caught herself staring at the stacks of muscle on his shoulders and gulped. Maybe she ought to stick to client, after all.
“Do we really have to snoop around like this?” she asked as he peered into the condo’s foyer, holding up his fist in some kind of sign. Mr. Military on high alert.
She placed her hand on his shoulder. Big mistake, because she nearly started kneading the muscle and purring to herself.
“Do you want to be shot at again? Let’s go.”
He hurried her across the parking lot and into the car. Before she even had her seat belt buckled, he gunned the engine and took off.
“Whoa, Nelly,” she murmured, hanging on to the door. Maybe the previous night wasn’t an exception. Maybe Cruz always drove like a maniac.
She crossed her arms and watched scrubby bushes and a row of condos blur past. A minute later, she opened her mouth in spite of herself. “How exactly did you get into bodyguarding?”
He turned and shot her a look that matched his tone. “It all started at this party at a fancy club…”
She swatted his arm. “I mean, how did you start in the business?”
He sighed. “Do you really want to know?”
Yes, she did. She wanted to learn everything about this fascinating man. This assassin-protector. This contradiction on two feet.
“I do. Really,” she whispered.
For a moment, his eyes softened, and the electrons zipping back and forth between their bodies strained even harder, trying to draw them closer. Then Cruz blinked, leaned back, and grunted one of his not-quite-replies.
“How did you get into surfing?”
The question was meant to shut her up, she figured, but heck, she’d be happy to talk about that all day.
“My dad got us started — my sisters and me. He was a pro surfer for a while. His parents surfed, too. Did you ever see those old movies where women balance on men’s shoulders while they surf?” She laughed out loud. “My grandparents did that. So I pretty much grew up with surfing.” She waved toward the ocean as they raced along. “I’ve always loved it, and I thought it would make a great job. Making your own hours. Being out in the sun, in the water, riding the waves. And when you catch the perfect ride…” She closed her eyes, imagining herself inside the barrel of a breaking wave. The roar of the water, the drop in temperature in that gravity-defying pocket of air. The feeling of harnessing one of nature’s greatest powers. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and finished the thought. “It’s a job, but it’s not a job.”
She braced herself for the lecture that was sure to follow. How much of a job is number eleven on the women’s tour? When are you going to earn real money? Her father never said that, but just about everyone else did.
Cruz remained silent, digesting her words for the next half mile before he finally replied.
“I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?”
He motioned back the way they’d come. “That asshole — Richard, I mean.”
Oh, she knew who he meant, all right.
“Why do you work for him?” Cruz finished.
Jody frowned. Because I didn’t listen to my father?
She tried the kind of answer most people could understand. “There’s a thing called money, Cruz. Maybe you don’t have to worry about it on that fancy estate of yours—”
“It’s not my estate,” he cut in. “And believe me, I know about money. I know about hard work. What I don’t get is selling yourself out.”
She choked on her next words, then jabbed a finger at the steering wheel. “Pull over. Stop. Stop the car right now.”
He threw a hand up in a placating gesture, but she wasn’t having any of that.
“Stop the car,” she ordered.
For an agonizingly long second, she wondered if he would ignore her, but to his credit, he turned into the
next pullout.
“Whoa. Hang on,” he protested.
She was that close to jumping out of the car and slamming the door, but she didn’t. Not yet, anyway.
“I am not selling out,” she hissed, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror of the visor. “I am not selling out.”
“No? Then why agree to modeling if you dislike it so much?”
She crossed her arms. He would never understand. “Maybe I want to get rich.”
He looked at her — really looked at her, like no one at the party had bothered to do — then snorted. “Liar.”
She nearly smiled at the conviction in his voice. It felt good to have someone believe in her, even if that was a man she barely knew.
“Maybe I want to be famous,” she said, testing him.
He cut the engine and turned to her. “If you wanted to be famous, you already would be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He flapped a hand. “I’ve seen how some women market themselves with their own YouTube channels and stuff. You could sell those ‘assets’ of yours.”
“Assets?” she protested, shrill as an angry cat.
Cruz threw his hands up. “Your word, not mine.”
She made a face. Damn. She’d have to be more careful what she said around him.
“I bet you get lots of offers,” he went on.
She rubbed her hands over the scar on her leg. Actually, she did. Ever since she was fifteen — regardless of the scars. But her dad had protected her from preying agents and made sure she kept her head screwed on right.
You don’t need them, her dad had warned her. They take all the pureness out of the sport. The fun.
How right he was. Representing products she didn’t believe in wasn’t any fun. The Elements fragrance line had engaged a prominent photographer for this gig — a man who’d shot several Sports Illustrated swimsuit issues. But, damn. She’d always had a different image of how she might make it into the pages of that magazine.
“I know how it goes.” Cruz’s voice grew chilly. “If you have the looks, you can get rich and famous for nothing more than notoriety. But you don’t strike me as the kind of person who wants that.”
She stared at the sunlight sparkling off the waves. Some of her closest friends didn’t know her as well as Cruz.