The Bride And The Bodyguard

by Anita Meyer

  “Do you mind?” she demanded through clenched teeth, struggling to break free of his viselike grip. She looked at the solid wall blocking the way, from chest to knees, and seriously ously considered jabbing her somewhat bony elbow into a very strategic target.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said, his voice a silky purr.

  “Then get out of my way,” she purred back.

  “Of course, dear. Allow me.” He took her arm and helped her to her feet, then dropped his tote bag on the sidewalk before turning to pay the driver who had already lifted their luggage from the back of the wagon.

  “Usually there’s a doorman here,” the driver said as he tucked the bills Jeff gave him into his shirt pocket. “But it’s pretty early. Do you want me to take these inside for you?”

  “No, thanks,” Jeff replied, offering the man his hand. “I think we can handle it. We don’t have that much stuff.”

  “Right,” the man said. He hopped back into the taxi and started down the hill.

  Caroline slung her purse over her shoulder, picked up the camera bag, and reached for her suitcase.

  “I’ll carry that,” Jeff said, reaching for it at the same time.

  “I can manage.”

  “But I insist.” Forcibly Jeff took the suitcase from her and once again Caroline felt like a volcano ready to blow. Apparently he didn’t think she could even manage a suitcase. Well, he didn’t know squat—not about her, and certainly not about her abilities. But he would. Before this mess was over, he would learn just how good she was. Starting right now.

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said sweetly, her voice dripping honey. She slid her purse off her shoulder and hoisted it onto his. Then she hung the camera bag around his neck. Finally, she nudged his own suitcase and tote bag with her foot. “Don’t forget those,” she said blithely. With one last smile, she spun on her heel and walked into the hotel, leaving him to struggle with all the bags alone.

  She had taken no more than a few steps into the pink building before coming to an abrupt halt and scanning the lobby. It was highly unlikely a professional hit man would make a move in the middle of a posh hotel in broad daylight—or even early morning. But she looked anyway—a safety precaution, an instinctive reaction born of weeks of being on the road.

  “May I help you?” A smiling clerk stood behind the registration desk.

  Caroline gave him a quick once-over—bald…bespectacled…benign. “Yes,” she said, approaching the desk and returning his smile. “We’d like to check in.”

  “We?” the clerk asked hesitantly, scanning the empty lobby.

  “My…husband and I,” Caroline said. She turned toward the front door, with what she hoped was a convincingly puzzled look. “I don’t understand,” she said. “He was right behind me.” She stifled a laugh as the door swung open and Jeff staggered in.

  The clerk rushed to his rescue. “Oh, sir,” he said apologetically. “You shouldn’t have brought those in. We do have a doorman, you know. Well, actually, the regular doorman is ill and our bellhops are taking turns on the door. Someone obviously misread the schedule. I am so sorry. Please, allow me.”

  The bags dropped with a dull thud on the marble floor. “No harm done,” Jeff replied pleasantly. But the razorsharp glance he aimed at Caroline clearly said otherwise. He shoved her purse into her hands, then straightened his shoulders and removed the camera bag from around his neck, placing it on the counter.

  The clerk cleared his throat. “Well, then,” he said. “Perhaps we should start over. How may I help you?”

  “We’d like to check in,” Jeff said. “Mr. and Mrs. McKensie.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. McKensie.. Welcome to St. Croix.” The clerk tapped a couple of buttons on the keyboard and the computer came to life. Moments later he offered Jeff room keys and a copy of the hotel newsletter.

  “Ah, finally,” the clerk said. “Here comes the bellhop to take your bags and show you to your room.” He frowned in the direction of the tall man who was hurrying toward the registration desk.. The man’s head was down, and he was frantically buttoning the buttons on the front of his uniform.

  “Show Mr. and Mrs. McKensie to Oceanside No. 8,” the clerk ordered sharply.

  “Yes, sir,” said a familiar voice.

  Caroline spun around and looked up into the man’s grinning face. “Ma—”

  Her words were silenced as Jeff’s mouth slammed onto hers, knocking the oxygen from her lungs. With one arm he held her tightly around the waist, with his other hand he held the back of her head, so his lips could plunder hers again and again. Finally, his mouth broke free, and they both gulped in air.

  Caroline put the palms of her hands on his chest and pushed him away. His shoulders were rigid with tension, his expression determined, his voice grim. “Now, darling,” he said, “would you like to go to the room?”

  Unflinching, she matched his angry stare. What she would like to do was knock him into the middle of next week. And she would have, too, if she could have come up with just one reasonable explanation to offer the desk clerk. But discretion being the better part of common sense, she nodded, biting her tongue for the umpteenth time.

  “Right this way, sir, ma’am.” Mac smiled and gathered the bags, then led the way out of the hotel to a deserted parking lot.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Caroline asked Jeff as soon as they were clear of the building. “What was that, some feeble imitation of machismo?” She rushed on, not waiting for an answer. “I reluctantly agreed to this…this…dramatic tableau, but I certainly didn’t agree to be pawed by you every time I turn around or open my mouth.”

  “Then maybe you ought to consider keeping your mouth closed,” Jeff said sardonically. “And for your information, I’m not in the habit of forcing myself on unwilling, uncooperative, sharp-tongued shrews. It was a last-ditch effort to prevent you from blowing Mac’s cover sky-high.”

  “Look, guys,” Mac ventured, leading them toward one of several small resort vehicles, “it’s over and don—”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything,” Caroline insisted.

  “The hell you weren’t.”

  “He caught me off guard. I turned around and there he was, grinning like a court jester.”

  Mac looked indignant. “Hey, wait a min—”

  “I don’t care if he was standing there buck naked,” Jeff said. “When you work undercover you’ve got to be able to react fast—which is exactly what I did.”

  “Which is exactly why you nearly got your head busted.”

  Mac dumped the bags in the car, then started walking away.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Jeff demanded.

  Mac shrugged. “If you two want to stand here and duke it out in front of God and everybody, be my guest. But I’ve got better things to do.” He jammed his hands into his pants pockets and sauntered down one of the paths.

  Caroline glanced around nervously. She had spent weeks making herself all but invisible, yet here she was squaring off in the middle of a parking lot, creating a very angry, very public scene. What on earth was she thinking of? She offered up a prayer to the powers that be that no one had witnessed their little debacle, then cast a scathing look at the man who was responsible for the confrontation in the first place.

  “All right, all right,” Jeff called to Mac. “You made your point. Come back and show us where we’re supposed to go.”

  Mac grinned. “Only if you two promise to kiss and make up.”

  “Don’t push it,” Caroline warned.

  Mac helped them into the car, then ran around to the driver’s side and hopped in.

  “So what have you found out?” Jeff asked.

  Mac took a deep breath. “Well, to begin with, there are a hundred and forty-eight rooms.”

  Jeff swore. “What in thunder was Arthur thinking of? It’ll take a week just to check them all out.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mac said. “The owners have assured me that everyon
e here, except you two, made their reservations months ago—long before the Augie Davis thing.”

  “A bellhop talking with the owners? Now there’s a convincing cover,” Caroline said dryly.

  Mac nodded. “Credit Arthur with that one. I’m the son of some very good friends of the owners. I’ve been sent down here to learn the hotel business from the ground up. I’ll be floating in and out of every position imaginable.”

  “What else?” Jeff asked.

  “The rooms are spread all over. The two-story pink building has basic rooms upstairs and luxury suites on the ground level. There are also basic rooms over there,” he said, pointing to a band of linking units on the far side of the main hotel. They rounded a curve and began a slow descent down a long drive. “These four buildings on the right are guest cottages, and there are three superdeluxe suites that sit right on Grenville Beach.” He turned left onto another long asphalt drive. “You’re in one of the Oceanside rooms. They’re along the shoreline between two beaches.”

  Jeff looked around and whistled appreciatively. “Thank you, Arthur.”

  Mac nodded. “As far as I can tell, the Oceanside is a perfect choice—not creme de la crème, but very nice—and most honeymooners stay there. Once again, it looks as though the old man knew what he was doing.”

  “Okay,” Jeff said, “what else do we need to know?”

  Mac took a deep breath. “You name it, this place has it. Three beaches and two swimming pools—one up on the hill by the main building and one at Grenville Beach. There are eight tennis courts around the corner from the cottages. Two of the courts are lighted at night, so…” He glanced in Caroline’s direction as he let the sentence trail.

  “So, I’ll need to avoid that area,” she finished neatly. “It’s all right, Mac. You don’t have to tiptoe around me. I know all about sniper fire, and I have no intention of painting a bull’s-eye on my forehead. Go on.”

  “Well, there are three restaurants and a salon in the main building. Oh, yeah, they got this seaweed wrap that is incredible. Makes you feel like a new man. You gotta try—” He stopped short at the look on their faces.

  “You? And seaweed wrap? That’s a little hard to picture,” Caroline said.

  “Especially at this hour of the morning,” Jeff added. “And why do I have the feeling this isn’t a twenty-four-hour salon? I guess we know where you were when you weren’t at the front door.”

  Mac didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Yeah, well, somebody had to check things out. Anyway, in addition to the salon, they’ve got an exercise trail, lots of classes in tennis and scuba diving, and—” he paused dramatically “—an eighteen-hole professional golf course—par seventy-one. Can you imagine that? Face it, bro. This place is paradise and you landed right in her lap.” He looked from Jeff to Caroline and back again. “So to speak.”

  He parked the car in front of one of a half-dozen singlestory curved buildings that formed an S, snaking their way along the coastline. Although the buildings were new, their style maintained the feeling of the old sugar plantation.

  Mac dropped the bags in front of a door, pulled out a key, and slid it into the lock.

  “Wait a minute,” Jeff said, slipping his hand into his pants pocket and withdrawing the two keys the clerk had given him. “When did you get that?”

  “Last night. How else was I going to sweep the room?” Mac nudged open the door and Jeff started to follow, but Mac turned around in the doorway, blocking it as neatly as Jeff had blocked Caroline from leaving the car. “Uh-uh,” Mac said devilishly.

  “Now what?” Jeff asked.

  “Don’t you guys know anything?” Mac sighed audibly. “The groom is supposed to carry the bride over the threshold.”

  Caroline’s mind painted erotic mental pictures at Mac’s suggestion and her body reacted accordingly, leaving her overheated, fluttery, nervous. She turned to look at Jeff at the exact moment he turned to look at her.

  “Forget it,” they said in unison. Caroline swallowed hard. They spoke at the same time, moved at the same time—could their visual images be anything but the same?

  A warm blush flared upward from her throat.

  “Hey, bro, if you can’t handle the job, I’ll be more than happy to take your place.”

  “Over my dead body,” Jeff said flatly. “Now, move it.”

  “Not until you do the right thing.”

  “This is your last warning,” Jeff said coolly.

  “I’m not going to budge until—”

  For the next hundred years it would be an ongoing debate as to whether Jeff’s actions were deliberate or accidental. But before Mac could utter another word, Jeff swept Caroline into his arms. She stiffened and he plowed straight into Mac’s chest, knocking his brother solidly on his keister.

  Chapter 4

  “You two ought to be committed. Of all the idiotic, infantile, sophomoric…Put me down!” Caroline snapped.

  “Yeah, and help me up,” Mac grumbled, untangling his legs and rubbing the spot on his chest where Caroline had rammed into him.

  Jeff dumped his “bride” unceremoniously onto a king-size bed. Then he turned and glared at his brother. Mac struggled to his feet, brushing off his uniform as he stood.

  “You have all the manners of a goat,” Caroline complained. She slid off the bed, trying to straighten her disheveled appearance. She had lost a shoe and her skirt had hiked halfway to her waist.

  Jeff pushed past Mac, and stepped outside to retrieve the luggage. A moment later he threw Caroline’s suitcase and camera bag on the bed, then went back for another load. Mac met him halfway and Jeff wrenched the bags from Mac’s hands and flung them on the bed with the others.

  “Look, there’s no reason for everyone to be so touchy,” Mac said placatingly.

  “Speak for yourself,” Caroline groused. She pulled off the remaining shoe and tossed it on the floor next to its mate. Then she unzipped her suitcase and threw back the lid. With any luck, her disposition would improve as soon as she got out of her hot linen suit and sticky nylons.

  “Hey, come on, guys, lighten up. You’re sitting in the middle of paradise. Blue skies, sunshine, a terrific room—”

  “Then why don’t you take the room?” Caroline said. “I’ll take the beach.” She frowned at the contents of the suitcase, which, at first glance, didn’t look too promising. There was a boatload of silky lace underwear, a breathtaking rose negligee, and a handful of colored string that apparently doubled as a bathing suit. Closer scrutiny revealed an assortment of toiletries—toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, comb, hair dryer, even a little box of—

  Caroline stared in disbelief at the happy couple walking hand in hand on the front of the small box. It couldn’t be. She opened one end and a half-dozen neatly wrapped packets fell into the palm of her hand. It was.

  “Ohmygod,” she breathed.

  “Are you okay?” Jeff turned from the large bay window he had been inspecting. His face revealed nothing more than concern.

  “Fine,” she muttered, shoving the packets back in the box and stuffing the box under the negligee. This was obviously someone’s idea of a practical joke. But she couldn’t keep her imagination from running rampant—thoughts of flimsy underwear and negligees and king-size beds and stupid little packets of…

  “You sure?” Jeff asked.

  “I’m fine, just dandy, couldn’t be better.” She grabbed something that looked vaguely like shorts and a shirt and dashed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Mac asked.

  Jeff shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.” He turned back and checked the lock on the window. “So, you didn’t find anything when you swept the room?”

  Mac shook his head. “Nada. It’s squeaky-clean. Including the phone. But I can’t keep coming in here to check things out without attracting a lot of attention. From here on, I’ll keep tabs on the new tourists and any hired help that suddenly shows up, and you watch the room.”


  “Agreed,” Jeff said. He hoisted his suitcase onto the luggage rack and unzipped the double tabs with one smooth motion. “I’ll keep you posted as best I can, but basically my plan is to stay put. No one’s going to think it’s strange if we draw the blinds and hide out for a while. If nothing happens after a week, we might loosen up.”

  The bathroom door opened and Jeff stared as Caroline walked out. She had changed into a pair of light blue cotton shorts—shorts that bared her long, lithe legs—and a matching blue-and-white striped top. Her long dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, making her look cute and sexy all at the same time.

  She reached into the closet for a hanger and her top rode up, revealing the inward curve of her waist. She had the kind of body men dreamed about—exciting, ripe, touchable.

  He watched in frank admiration as she settled the suit on the hanger and hung it in the closet.

  “A-hem,” Mac said, elbowing his brother in the ribs.

  “Hmm?” Jeff never took his eyes off Caroline as she searched through the suitcase.

  “If there’s nothing else…”

  Jeff watched as Caroline triumphantly pulled a pair of sandals from the bottom of the suitcase and slipped them onto her feet. She crossed the room and had her hand on the doorknob before he realized what she was doing.

  “Hey,” he said, sprinting across the room. His straight arm whizzed past her head and his palm flattened against the door, neatly trapping her in. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Just out.” She waved her hand. “Out there. On the beach. In the sand. You know, out.”

  “No way,” Jeff said bluntly. He pushed her aside and hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the front doorknob, then closed the door.

  “Excuse me?” Caroline asked, unable to believe what she had just heard.

  “I said, you’re not going out. That’s not the plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “The plan, my plan, the plan that’s going to keep you alive for the next two months.”

  Caroline stared at him in disbelief. “You sound like something out of a bad television show. ‘The plan, the plan,’“ she mimicked. “Well, I’ve got a news flash for you, McKensie. I never agreed to any of your plans.”