by Jamie Pope
“You’re different from every other girl he’s been with.”
“Really? What’s his type?”
“You’ve never notice him glance at other women?”
“No,” she said truthfully as she slipped on a dress over her head. “When he is with me, he is completely focused on me or at least he’s really good at pretending like he is.”
His stare was so intense. She chalked it up to him being different from Bobby, who had been a D.C. cop before he worked for her father. His training was different, more intensive.
It was something that she thought she would get used to over time, but she hadn’t. And right now, she was away from him, away from his protection and gaze. It felt like something was missing. Maybe she had become accustomed to it.
“He usually goes for those model types. Those girls that wear too much makeup and document every moment of their day for Instagram.”
“Really? But he’s so private and so serious. I can’t imagine him with someone like that.”
“He was with women like that because they were beautiful and completely self-absorbed. None of them really wanted to get to know him. It was perfect for him. No one got too attached.”
“You know so much about him.”
“I do.” She nodded approvingly. “You’re buying this dress. Why are you with him? I’d bet anything he’s not like the typical guy you date.”
“There is no typical guy. People capture your heart for different reasons.”
“What did he do to get yours?”
Nothing. They weren’t a couple. This was all a lie, but Jazz wasn’t going to let up. She saw now why he told her to lie. They wouldn’t have accepted her at all as some stranger, the daughter of a politician who could ruin their peace and quiet with an invasion of reporters. “His hands are always warm.”
“Excuse me?”
“He puts his hand on my lower back and I can feel the warmth travel through my entire body. I feel safe with him. He’s always there.”
Jazz blinked at her. “I wasn’t expecting you to say that.”
“I didn’t realize how important it is to me that he’s always there. I take him for granted.”
“He’s sexy too. Don’t forget that. That is also important.”
“Some things go without saying.” She wanted to think that she had first noticed how appealing he was that morning on the plane when she saw him with his guard down, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
She remembered the day she had met him. It was right after New Year’s, one of the rare times her father had been in town. He had summoned her to his office and when she arrived she spotted Cullen there. He rose as soon as her feet crossed the threshold and she was immediately struck by his appearance. The angles of his features. The richness of his brown hair. The color of his eyes paired with the intensity of his gaze.
And then he spoke.
“How are you, ma’am?” The deep Irish brogue. She should have realized that this black-clad figure was there to be her new security guard, but she had gone a little dumb when she had met him, because he was beautiful.
And when he shook her hand, his fingers engulfed hers. His hand was hot and completely warmed her up. She had a reaction to him then. It was a memory she had repressed. It was something she thought would never happen to her, but it had.
She didn’t want him for a bodyguard, but her father didn’t care. And now here they were, on an island together, pretending to be lovers when they were very far from it.
“I need a bathing suit,” she told Jazz. “And new underwear.”
Jazz grinned at her. “I know just the place we can go.”
The house was so damn quiet without Mum there. It was just after five. Normally there would be the sounds of her rummaging around in the kitchen for dinner. Pots clanging, Mum’s voice yelling like a fishwife at the little ones who were always running through the kitchen. But it was quiet now. Even the little ones were gone. His brother and sister taken by some relatives that were better off than they were. They didn’t want to leave them with Pop. Pop never held a steady job. Pop who had always drank a little too much. Pop whose mouth and temper always got him in trouble.
He hadn’t been to work since Mum had died. He had barely come out of his room. His father was shit, but he was a man who loved his wife. Her death had devastated him. The whole neighborhood was heavy with grief. His mum was innocent, caught in a battle between the IRA and the UVF. Five other people had died, civilians, just regular people going about their business.
It was senseless. Mindless. Never-ending bloodshed. And for what? Cullen wasn’t even sure anymore.
“Boy!” his father yelled and by the tone of his voice Cullen knew he was in one of his moods. He went back to the room. It stunk like booze and sweat and sadness. He was fifteen and he knew what sadness smelled like because he had been a witness to it for so much of his life. He never remembered a time when it was peaceful, when people weren’t always clenched with worry. But there had been happy times. Mum had made things happy. She was always smiling and singing, even when Cullen had thought she had nothing to smile or sing about.
His father was sitting on the edge of the bed. He looked like death. His eyes had circles so dark beneath them, it looked like he had been punched a dozen times. His undershirt was filthy. He probably hadn’t changed it for a week. He stunk to high hell. Cullen wanted to cover his nose as he walked further into the room, but he knew that would only make the bugger angry.
“Yes, sir?”
“Bring me food,” he demanded.
“We’ve got no food.”
“Bullshit. The neighbors brought some over after she died. The freezer was full.”
“That was two months ago. Food is gone.”
“Then what the fuck have you been eating?”
The neighbors were feeding him. They’d see him pass on his way to school and give him whatever they had. Sometimes, it was sausage roll or a bit of potato bread. If he was lucky, he got stew. All the neighbors gave them what they had, knowing he could no longer depend on his father to provide a thing. “I ate at school today.”
“You’re lying. You’re a no-good lying little shit.”
“I’m not lying. There’s nothing in the house. If you don’t believe me, you can bloody well go look your damn self.” He had known he had said the wrong thing as soon as he said it. His father looked for any excuse to go into a rage and lately it took next to nothing to set him off.
The first smack came quickly and was delivered with so much force that Cullen’s head snapped back. His felt his lip split open again. It had just healed. Just stopped stinging when he ate something or brushed his teeth.
His father’s hand raised again, but Cullen couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t be beaten anymore. He was just as tall his father. He was just as angry. He grabbed his wrist and bent it back.
The cry of pain awoke Cullen from his sleep. He opened his eyes to see Wyn standing over him as he lay on the couch. He had her tiny wrist in his hand. He let go immediately and jumped up.
“Wyn!” He had hurt her. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He could see that it was already red and swollen. “Is it broken? Let’s get you to the hospital. I’m sorry. I would never hurt you on purpose.”
“It’s fine.” She stepped back from him, looking as wary of him as she would of a wild animal. “It was my fault. I should know better than to stand over someone when they are sleeping, especially someone trained in hand-to-hand combat. I can move it.” She twisted it from side to side and he could see that she was in pain. “See?”
“Let me get you some ice.” He ran to the freezer, only to find there was nothing there except some old pizza pockets. He still grabbed one, wrapped it in a paper towel, and returned to her. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. I’m not upset with you. I heard you say something. I came over to check on you.”
“I hurt you . . .” He felt helpless. He had dreams all the time. It
was why he didn’t do sleepovers with the women he was seeing. He didn’t want anyone to know the depth of them. They had gotten better in the past six months. He rarely had any dreams now, but today they had returned. “Can I see your wrist?”
She held it out to him. He took it as gently as possible. He could clearly see the marks left by his fingers. He pressed the frozen pizza pocket to it, knowing it was inadequate. “It’s fine. It’s fine,” she assured him. “It was my fault.”
“I’m not used to anyone being around. I had forgotten where I was.”
She looked up at him, her eyes huge. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”
“I don’t want you to be afraid of me,” he admitted. “I’m supposed to be keeping you safe, not be the one that hurts you.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Cullen. What can I say to put your mind at ease?”
“Nothing. Just do me a favor. If you ever hear me having one of those dreams again, don’t try to wake me.” He walked away from her and went to his room, locking the door behind him. He felt too damn guilty to even look at her.
* * *
Cullen avoided Wyn for the rest of the day. She felt terrible. Almost sick to her stomach. It had been completely her fault. She had heard him cry out in his sleep. He had been napping on the couch when she got back from shopping. Not just dozing, but in a deep sleep. She had known he was tired when she had left him earlier. He probably hadn’t gotten any sleep the night before. Knowing him, he probably hadn’t meant to fall asleep there. He had probably been waiting for her to get back to make sure she was safe.
But she had been fine with Jazz. Jazz had taken her to a little town that had been set up by expats and retirees from all over the world. It wasn’t the touristy part of the island, she was relieved to find. There were no American papers with her father’s face and sordid story splashed all over them. She had come back feeling better than when she left and then she had heard him cry out.
She had gone over to check on him and saw that he looked distressed. His face was twisted in agony. He was mumbling words she couldn’t understand. She had absently reached down to touch his cheek and that’s when he grabbed her, his fingers like a vise around her wrist. He had bent it back and that’s when she cried out. His eyes opened immediately. Cullen had always been so cool and calm, but she had seen panic there, then deep regret, then self-loathing.
She understood that he could have broken her wrist. But she should have known better than to touch him. She knew a little about PTSD dreams and that she shouldn’t have interfered. But the sound that escaped from him wasn’t just one of pain. It was one of anguish and now he would barely look at her.
They had gone to the community house for dinner. It was Kingsley’s turn to cook. He was standing at the grill in a chef’s hat and apron. His heavily muscled arms were bare and bulging as he flipped the meat that he was cooking. She had stuck close to him, because out of all of them, he was the most welcoming to her. She helped him cook, making mango salsa to go over the chicken, putting together a salad and making a pot of rice.
King had tried to send her away to relax by the pool with the rest of the crew, but she couldn’t relax. She needed to keep busy. There were times during the evening that she would catch Cullen looking at her. Before, she could never tell what he was thinking, or if he had any feelings at all, but she could see how he felt when he looked at her today.
There was tremendous guilt there. She didn’t know how to reassure him.
“Jazz,” King called. “Get off your ass and help Wyn set the table.”
Jazz rose and frowned at him. “Set the table? We don’t set the table.”
“We do tonight. Our boy is home. Get the good wine and the glasses.”
“He’s been here before. Why are we going all out for him?”
“Because it’s been a long time. And he brought this lovely girl back with him and we are trying to make her think we’re not a bunch of hooligans. Now please, love, go help.”
“Hooligans? Who says hooligans?”
Wyn was surprised to see Jazz follow Kingsley’s directions without much more of a fight.
“Are you happy, your royal highness?” Jazz said after she completed her tasks. “Good wine. Actual plates.”
Kingsley put down his tongs and wrapped Jazz up in a tight hug. “Good girl.” He kissed her cheek. “You’re almost on your way to becoming a kind and reasonable person.”
“Shut up, King.”
“It’s a good thing you listened. I was going to have to punish you if you didn’t. Throw you over my shoulder and take you back to your house with no supper.”
“It took her two times before she realized he wasn’t playing around.” A tall, Adonis-like man appeared from somewhere in the house. He was clearly American. Blond, blue-eyed, dark-tanned skin, straight white teeth. He looked like he had stepped from an ad.
“Hello.” He gave Wyn a friendly smile. “I’m Jack. I haven’t seen you in these parts before. Are you Jazz’s sister?”
“No. Unfortunately, Jazz and I don’t share any DNA. I’m Wyn.”
“She’s mine, Jack,” Cullen said, leaving his spot outside. “Touch and I’ll break your goddamn nose.”
“Cullen!” Wyn was surprised at him and she surprised herself by liking the possessiveness in his voice.
“Jack nearly got King’s mother in bed,” Jazz informed her. “Cullen needs to stake his claim hard. Women fall for Jack. And Jack falls real hard for women.”
“King’s mother looks damn good for sixty. She’s still got those legs of a dancer.”
“You had better be glad Jazz and Darby were there to hold me back. I would have murdered you.”
Jack grinned. “I regret nothing.” He faced Cullen. “How the hell are you, man?” He gave him one of those macho hugs that men give each other.
“I’m good. How’s business?”
“Great.” He turned back to Wyn. “Let me know when you’re free. I’ll take you up in my helicopter and give you a tour of the island. Or if you’re really adventurous, I’ll take you up in one of my planes.”
“Jack was a fighter pilot in the Air Force. He can also do all those stunts you see in air shows,” Cullen said, speaking to her for the first time in hours.
“That’s amazing. Will you come with me on the helicopter tour?” she asked to keep him talking.
“You think I would leave you alone with this bugger?”
“Do you think a pretty boy with a nice smile could turn my head? Give me more credit than that. Moody Irishmen are the only ones for me.”
He flashed her a brief smile. She had never seen him smile before, at least not at her, but it was there, right under the surface of his usually expressionless face. But his smile had faded as quickly as it appeared.
The guilt returned quickly and she hated that it was still there, even hours later. She didn’t have to forgive him. He had to forgive himself and she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
“Jack is just in time. I think dinner is ready.”
They sat down at the large table on the patio. The sun had started to set and colorful lanterns had been lit to illuminate the area. Wyn had been a lot of places in her life, but this was one of the most beautiful. The rain forest around them, the orangy-purple of the sky, the light glistening off the pool water. But it wasn’t just what they could see. It felt warm there. These were old friends gathered around the table. They were laughing and enjoying each other’s company. And they did this every night when they were there. It was so different from how her nights were spent. Dinner for her was nearly always alone. Eating something simple. Catching up on emails or work.
She looked at Cullen, who sat across from her, rather than next to her. Did he still feel like he was at work even though he was here?
Time had seemed to fly by. She was mostly quiet during dinner, just watching the old friends interact. Even when the food was gone and the plates were clear, the friends didn’t seem to want to separ
ate from each other. They had congregated around the pool, drinks in hand. She could tell it was something they did a lot. She had helped Darby clean up, even though he had tried to send her away to relax. She felt like an outsider there and she didn’t want to interfere with their time together.
But soon there was nothing left to clean up and it would feel wrong to leave them and return to Cullen’s cottage. She spotted him sitting on the glider, a space next to him, waiting for her. She went over to him, slid into the seat beside him and wrapped her arm around him. He stiffened immediately, uncomfortable with her touch.
“You’re supposed to be my boyfriend,” she whispered in his ear.
He relaxed and, looking her in the eye, gave her a little nod. He picked up her wrist and studied it and then he surprised her by kissing it, letting his lips linger there. Every nerve ending came alive.
His body was hard and warm. He was always so warm. Not in his mood or attitude, but his hands, his body. She had always liked it and if she was being honest with herself, she realized it was something that she had looked forward to on those cold D.C. days. Now she was cuddled into his warmth on this breezy night. A week ago she would have never imagined this.
This was supposed to be a charade, a show they put on for others, but she enjoyed this feeling. The safety of it. Of not feeling alone. Of being able to lean against someone.
It was something she would never tell anyone.
Chapter 5
The next morning Cullen wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Wyn wasn’t there when he woke up. He threw on his clothes and rushed out of the cottage to look for her, but then he remembered himself. She would be safe here. It was the reason he had brought her here. He wasn’t supposed to act like her bodyguard and if he tore up the compound looking for her, it would sure as hell give them away.