As fast as she had raged at him, she turned her back once again and called for her dog. “Come on, Little Ann, we’re out of here.”
She grabbed the nearest box off the porch and stalked back to her Land Rover, clearly intent on leaving the island as fast as her truck would carry her. As she bent to place the box in the trunk, he came behind her and yanked the box back out of the SUV.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
He didn’t bother to answer, just walked away with her laptop and printer. He set them on the rocker and said over his shoulder, “Do you want the rest of this stuff put someplace special or just dumped in the living room to sort through later?” He walked past her again and grabbed the last of her stuff from the truck. He slammed the doors closed and walked into the house without once looking back.
So much for making a good first impression, he thought, watching her stalk toward him. He beat a hasty retreat out the back door. Better and safer, he knew, to live to fight another day. His job would be all the harder now. He had to protect a woman without her knowledge from a threat no one knew was coming. He needed to befriend her and gain her trust. Normally it wasn’t a problem, but from the moment he saw her across that crowded bar, he knew there wouldn’t be anything about Regin that would be easy.
Chapter Four
It was a perfect night. The lightning bugs were out in full force and the wind had picked up enough to ease the thick humidity always found on the Gulf Coast. Galen brought it deeply into his lungs, inhaling the smell of salt water, pine trees, and something he couldn’t put his finger on, but smelled like home.
The island had been in his family for generations. No one knew how the first Matthews had acquired such a prime piece of land. There were rumors of course, but nothing had ever been proven.
Some said his great-great-great grandfather made a deal with a voodoo woman, cursing the land for anyone but those carrying the blood of a Matthews who might try to live there. Others said one of his Cajun ancestors shot anyone, other than family, that attempted to step foot on the sandy white beach. There might have been some truth to the last story, but nothing with eyewitnesses. So his family continued to live, love, and thrive on their tiny island year after year.
Galen didn’t think, after all this time, anyone would want the island anyway. It boasted only two homes, the main house, where he stayed, and the guest cottage, where Regin was now living.
The house had survived everything nature and man had thrown against her and come out better for it. It was a typical southern home boasting two stories and eight large white pillars supporting the second story balconies. He hadn’t changed the interior his mother had re-done just two months before her death. He liked the classics she’d filled the house with. Persian carpets covered the floors, several outstanding original art works were displayed throughout the house, and the sweeping marble staircase was the main focus upon entering the front hall.
He found himself standing outside on the back porch, fighting to keep his gaze from Regin’s cottage. He watched the lights go on in her bedroom; imagined her walking through the house, touching the walls and furniture, getting ready for bed.
He leaned against the wall, propped a leg up and lit a cigarette. He continued to weave fantasies involving virginal white lace and whipped cream as he stared across the pond separating his house from hers. His mind wandered far from his own self-proclaimed regulations about conduct with Ms. Neff.
He had no choice but to admire her courage, he admitted to himself as he watched various lights go on and off in the cottage. Based on what Elliot told him over the phone, the woman had turned the worst experience in her life into something positive. She hadn’t given up and buried her head in the sand, nor had she locked herself away never to be seen again. Regin Neff was re-born that night in the most basic way possible.
She had everything torn away from her and been left with nothing but the fundamentals to rebuild. Regin changed the course of her life and did it without apology to anyone. She’d given up the career she’d worked for and the life she planned every minute from the time she’d been sixteen. She’d struck out on her own, made the rules as she wanted them, and never looked back. He was jerked out of his musings by the headlights of an approaching car. He kept one hand on his gun while the other flicked the cigarette out into the damp grass. He was debating his next move when the car stopped in front of Regin’s house and the engine switched off. A man emerged and Galen’s senses went into over-drive. The man opened the back door of his vehicle, pulled out what looked to be a briefcase and a large brown paper bag with handles. He had barely made a dozen steps when the front door flew open and Regin came flying down the steps straight toward the stranger. He’d barely taken another half a step before Regin flung herself into the stranger’s arms, wrapped her legs around his waist, and covered his face with kisses.
“Damon!” she yelled, winding herself around him. She tilted her head back far enough to look him in the face. “What are you doing here? No,” she stopped him with more kisses before he could answer, “I don’t want to know. I don’t care. I’m so happy you’re here.”
“Ah, Duchess, you seemed to have become attached.” He had both arms wrapped around her and squeezed her waist.
Galen watched as she flung her head back and laughed. The sound caused his heart to clench in anger at the position he’d been forced into.
“Well, macho man, looks like you have a problem on your hands cause I’m not letting you go.”
“If I would’ve known you were this happy to see me, I’d have shown up much earlier.” Damon smiled, looking down on her face. “Not to sound ungrateful for your undying show of devotion, but in my attempt to stop you from killing both of us, I dropped your presents.”
Regin quickly dropped her legs and arms from around him and searched the lawn. “What? What did you bring me?”
He crouched down beside the brown bag and checked its contents. “Looks like you lucked out, Duchess, nothing broken.” He raised a bag high over his head, out of her reach and grinned.
Regin popped up, grabbing for the bag.
“Nope, you don’t get anything till you help me inside and feed me.”
“Damon, please, can I have my present now?” she wheedled. “I’ll be good the rest of the evening...promise,” she raised her right hand as if swearing on a Bible and gave him an innocent wide-eyed look.
He took one look at her and burst out laughing. “I’ve never fallen for that look before.” His glance took in her outfit. “As if I could take what you’re saying seriously dressed like that.” He waved his empty hand up and down her body.
“I was in the middle of working out,” she explained. “This is what I wear,” she pulled the exercise shorts from her waist and let them snap back.
“I wasn’t so much referring to what you’re wearing as to the fact there is so little of it.”
Regin made a face and glanced down at her red sports bra. “Maybe not, but it’s not like I was expecting company. Not like you haven’t seen me in less,” she laughed and pulled him toward the house. “Or, like I haven’t seen you in less, either, though that shower scene was strictly an accident.”
“We’re not talking about what I’ve seen,
Regin. And you’re to forget what you’ve seen. It’s what others might see that bothers me.” He looked out into the quiet night.
Laughing, she turned in a circle, “Who’s out here to see or care what I wear?”
Damon took in his new surroundings and directed her attention toward the darkened house across the pond. “Maybe your neighbor. Have you met up with him yet?”
“Him?” She snorted indelicately. “Not likely, my dear. Even if he were to see, he wouldn’t be interested.” Regin shot a look toward where Galen stood and spoke in an overly loud tone. “I have it on good authority that he’s gay and here to mend a broken heart.” She marched up the remaining steps, pulling a stunned Damon into the cotta
ge.
Hands curled in tight fists at his side, Galen took half a dozen steps toward the bridge separating their houses before he managed to stop himself. Gay? She thought he was gay? Worse yet, who was this Damon guy to her, and why hadn’t he been informed of his visit?
The way she greeted the man left no doubt she was happy to see him. Galen’s heart had stopped beating when he saw her outfit as she ran to greet her visitor. Those little scraps of nothing had only heightened his desire and further fill his fantasies. He wanted to cross the space separating them and demand to know what business she had bringing another man to his island.
The situation was bad enough, but was made only worse with the dreams plaguing him. The same ones repeated night after night since he’d set eyes on her in Killeen, Texas. Galen never imagined when he took the call from his old friend that Regin would be the one he was sent to protect. Hindsight being what it was, he wished he’d never picked up the damn phone. ****
Damon lowered his travel weary body into one of the wicker chairs Regin led him to and watched her dance back into the house for drinks. He’d been traveling hard for over fifteen hours and could have easily closed his eyes and slept for the same amount of time, but forced his eyes open to take in the surroundings. He carefully replayed everything prior to this moment and found it hard to reconcile the Regin he knew with the horror that had come before. He rubbed his hand over tired eyes thinking back to everything they had been through together.
His first impression of Regin Neff was not favorable. They had been paired as lab partners for a political science project. He had every intention of doing a little flirting and conning her into doing the work for both of them. It didn’t take him long to figure out she wasn’t like other females. She didn’t buy his flirtations, he couldn’t charm her, and she sure as hell told him what to do with his money when, as a last resort, he tried bribery.
Stuck up, anal, and repressed.
Those were his impressions. She’d told him frequently enough that he was snobby, arrogant, and conceited. There had been nothing to build a friendship on, but somehow that was the way it had turned out. She was the only woman he’d ever actually slept with repeatedly without having sex.
He grinned, thinking it was hard to be aroused when the woman in question was throwing her guts up from too much tequila the night before.
The credit for her drunken state belonged to him. He’d talked her into celebrating something or other, and they ended up in Mexico with Regin swearing she would never forgive him. The trip was one of the many memories he’d stored up over the years. Regin was closer to him than his actual sisters and, more important, she was his best friend. He’d be dammed if anyone or anything would put her through hell again.
Last month, he tried talking her into a week in Paris or a long weekend on the yacht. She refused.
“Damon, not everyone needs a dozen people sucking up to have a good time,” she reminded him.
He glared down at her knowing the look was wasted. She was never intimidated by anyone. “For the last time, Duchess, there won’t be a dozen people aboard the yacht. We’ll barely have a crew if that’s what you want. Just tell me, yes,” he promised, “and I’ll take care of everything else.”
She’d laughed, patted his arm, and done exactly what she wanted. It still took him by surprise to see how different she was after the attack. Before, she never would have laughed so easily or taken the time to enjoy her life and friends. He was sorry her change took a brush with a madman for her to feel free.
“What if we go back to Mexico and—”
“No way!” she cut him off. “Not Mexico. I can’t smell tequila without getting queasy, thanks to you!”
He bit back a grin thinking how much fun that weekend had been. She’d kill him if she so much as saw a show of teeth.
“Actually, I was hoping for something more along the lines of the beach house. Remember?” he prompted. “We can go diving, swimming, take out the jet skies or the boat, and have a bonfire every night on the beach.” He grasped both her hands to his chest. “We always have fun, and I promise it’ll be just the two of us like always.”
Regin had really wanted to give in, he knew, but there was no way she could go off and play with him while work waited. She had asked for a rain check and turned away from the subject. He’d been content to leave it until Tatum had called. He didn’t care how much Tatum had assured him of Elliot’s friend. He wouldn’t trust anyone to care for Regin but himself.
He heard the squeak of the screen door before he heard her speak. The advanced warning gave him a minute to pull himself back from the conversation he had less than twenty-four hours ago with Tatum.
He would bide his time here and make sure this Galen Matthews fellow knew what the hell he was doing or at least knew who he was dealing with. “Duchess, I have a hard time picturing you here.”
She turned toward the moonlit pond. “Yeah, I know. When Tatum first suggested the place, I thought she’d lost her mind. She said it might give me a different atmosphere for my books.” She smiled at him. “She was right, as much as I hate to admit. I’ve been here less than two days and I’m already writing the new book. Want to hear about it?” The grin she shot him was pure Regin, full of mischief and fun.
At his nod, she jumped from her perch on the railing and laughed out loud. “It’s going to be about fishing and camping,” she stated proudly.
Damon couldn’t help it. He tried to choke back the laughter in his throat or at least make it seem more of a cough than a laugh. But, picturing his elegant, refined, painfully clean friend digging in dirt or baiting a hook with something that wiggled was too much to ask of his self-control. His laughter spilled over without any signs of stopping.
“Damn it, Damon,” she scolded. “It’s not funny. It’s actually a brilliant idea. How many women really know anything about being outdoors? Hmmm? Not many. We’re told it’s not something we would enjoy or be good at. Instead, we’re sent off to have our nails done or our hair cut while you men,” she walked over to poke him in his still laughing chest, “get to have all the fun. Well, not anymore. I’ll write about everything from the woman’s point of view from which tent to buy to what worms work best. Tatum said the book would sell like hotcakes,” she smugly finished.
He managed to control his laughter and turned a serious face to her. “I know it’ll sell, but it’s not really your sort of thing. All of your books have been along the line of... understanding the stock market, using home computers, or how to plan your vacation in Paris.” He shook his head. “I can’t see a book of yours with the title Duchess’s Guide to Camping and Fishing. You have to admit it’s a bit different from what your fans are used to.”
“So? My readers are intelligent women and there is nothing wrong with females trying new things. It’s a wonderful opportunity for me, and I wish you wouldn’t make fun of me.”
He could tell she was serious and decided to back off for the moment. There were more important things to worry over than her next “how to” book. Though her writing any book amazed the hell out of him when she’d first started.
He’d been the one to nickname her “Duchess” because of her cool class, unflappable determination, and natural beauty. The name had stuck and, as a joke, she’d used it for the title of her first “how to” book. Readers and critics alike loved it, and she’d been on a roll ever since.
“Okay. I promise no more jokes about your newest masterpiece. Just tell me one thing.” He held up a hand to show truce. “Who the hell is going to teach you everything you need to know about camping and fishing?”
She hesitated over her answer and turned toward the pond again, mumbling her reply.
“What? Speak up, Duchess. Couldn’t understand you.” At least he hoped he’d gotten it wrong.
“Him,” she almost howled, pointing to the darkened house across the still water. “Galen Matthews is supposed to teach me everything I need to know.”
Damon rose
and quickly walked to where Regin stood on the porch. He gently but firmly grasped her bare shoulders and forced her to face him. “Who? And what is he teaching you?” he asked, but already knew the answers.
Tatum had told him about Galen Matthews. He knew everything there was to know about the man, and it wasn’t much. Most of Matthews’ information had remained classified due to his tenure with the SEALS. After his retirement, the information was just as thin. He’d formed a security company, hired former military men, and then proceeded to bust up corporate espionage rings, financial hackers, and virus inventors. The man was good, damn good, and no one had reported any complaints. He always got his man. With Matthews’ undeniable success rate, he was the best, according to sources. But Damon was here to determine that fact for himself.
****
Regin knew if she gave Damon information as simple as the man’s name, he’d have his complete history including what he wore to bed. It wasn’t that she minded him being so protective, but sometimes he went too far and looked too hard.
There was nothing sinister about Galen Matthews unless you counted being crude, vulgar, and sexually explicit or dangerous. These qualities were the only impression he had left her with on their first and only meeting. A meeting she was determined to forever block from her mind.
“Why does it bother you so much to have this man show you the ropes for the book?” her friend asked. “You normally love this part. Gets your juices flowing, you always tell me. What’s so different about this guy?”
Instead of answering, she walked away from Damon, sat down in the old-fashioned porch swing, and tried to gather her thoughts in a way that would make sense, not only to her closest friend, but to herself, as well.
“He’s familiar to me, Damon,” she looked around to ensure their privacy. “I’m not sure how to explain it, but he is. I saw him once before at a bar in Killeen right before I left. The minute I looked at him, I had to get away. He frightened me,” she stopped and shrugged her shoulders. “I’m not afraid of him, but of what he might be to me.” Her laughter rang out softy in the star filled night.
Familiar Strangers Page 4