One Night with her Bodyguard
Noelle Adams
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Noelle Adams. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute,
or transmit in any form or by any means.
One
Claire Kenyon was getting a second cup of coffee when Michael barged into her apartment without
knocking.
She’d finished her first cup in the process of dressing, so she wore nothing but a black bra and
little red cotton panties.
She choked in surprise at the sight of Michael Lyle where he wasn’t supposed to be.
He was big—more than six inches taller than her with a broad-shouldered, athletic build—
and he seemed to take up all the room in her small kitchen. He wore his normal outfit of dark trousers
and a dress shirt.
“Hey! What the hell are you—”
Before she could finish the outraged exclamation, Michael had pushed her backward into the
pantry.
His icy blue eyes were dead serious. “Don’t move. Stay here.”
Then he shut the pantry door in her face.
Michael had been the head of her father’s personal security team for almost six years. She
hadn’t lived with her father since she was twenty-one, but she was over at his place a lot, so she’d
known Michael for a long time. She’d seen him more often than usual for the last two months, ever
since her father had received a threat aimed at her and had ordered his team to watch her around the
clock.
Being an extreme introvert, Claire was often tongue-tied around people she didn’t know, but
she hadn’t been shy around Michael for years. In fact, she’d been known to bark like an obedient dog
when he told her to “stay” in that curt way.
She didn’t this morning. His expression—invariably stoic—was tenser than normal, and he
had a gun in his hand.
Something was wrong.
Her pantry was a walk-in, but there wasn’t a lot of extra room. It was also pitch black, since
the light switch was on the outside.
She didn’t particularly like to be trapped in small, dark places, but fortunately claustrophobia
wasn’t one of her neuroses. She could handle the lack of light and space. What she couldn’t handle
was knowing there was danger somewhere out there but having no idea what it was.
She was trembling ten minutes later when Michael finally opened the door.
She blinked several times as her eyes adjusted to the light. When she could see clearly, her
gaze landed on Michael’s clean-shaven, square-jawed face and his ever-unrevealing expression.
His eyes scanned her closely as she squinted up at him.
She assumed he was just checking her condition, but she was uncomfortably aware that she
was still just wearing her underwear.
He turned around without speaking and left the kitchen. In someone else, the abrupt departure
might indicate rudeness, but Michael was just being himself.
He never spoke unless he had something to say. It was a quality she appreciated in him.
When he returned, she snatched for the fuzzy snowflake robe he’d brought her from the
bathroom.
“Remember, I’m just part of the furniture,” he murmured, avoiding looking at her until she’d
tied the robe closed.
That was his refrain—whenever she complained to him that a member of the security team
was hovering or that she needed more space. They were part of the furniture, he always told her, and
she should treat them as such.
She wanted to snarl every time she heard it.
“I don’t care if you saw me in my underwear,” she said. “Just tell me what’s going on.” Her
voice was a little wobbly since she hadn’t yet caught her breath.
“Everything is fine. No emergency.” He poured coffee into the mug she’d left on the counter
earlier, added the cream, and handed it to her.
She held it with both hands as she took a sip, the liquid warm and comforting as she
swallowed. Then, “Well, what did you think was the matter that caused you to stick me in the
pantry?”
He put a hand on her back and pushed her out of the kitchen and into the dining area, where he
pulled out a chair for her at the table.
She sat because her knees were a little shaky. Not because he’d bossed her into it.
“Tell me what the hell is going on,” she demanded as he sat down across from her.
There had been a time when she’d hated Michael more than anyone else she knew. She’d
believed he was cold, pushy, obnoxious, and utterly heartless.
Now she just thought he was pushy and sometimes obnoxious. She didn’t hate him anymore.
“You work for me,” she insisted when he remained silent. “Tell me.”
“I work for your father,” he corrected.
“But I’m not a child. I’m twenty-five years old, and I have the right to know about something
that affects my life—as this clearly does. Tell me.”
“There was someone unauthorized in the building,” he explained, his tone as calm and
impersonal as always.
Michael wasn’t a mean man, no matter what she’d thought five years ago. In fact, in the time
she’d known him, she’d sometimes noticed him being surprisingly considerate—like when he’d
searched for hours for the lost cat that belonged to the daughter of one of her father’s housekeeping
staff. He hadn’t stopped looking until he’d found the cat.
She knew he was a good man in his own detached way, but never once had he been friendly
with her—or even just casually good-natured. No matter his mood, no matter how she behaved, no
matter the situation, he was always, always professional.
“Who was it?” she asked. Her hands weren’t shaking quite as much now, and her voice had
returned to normal, much to her relief. She didn’t like feeling weak and silly with Michael. He was
the kind of man who respected strength.
“It was the ex-boyfriend of a woman on the floor below yours. He’d snuck in to see her since
she wasn’t answering his calls. It had nothing to do with you.”
She nodded and kept sipping her coffee as Michael checked something on his smart phone.
She assumed he’d gotten a text with further information.
Since she was feeling better, she got up to pour Michael a cup of coffee as well. She’d
learned not to ask, since he would just say “no” to the offer, but he would always drink it when she
just set it in front of him.
As she took her seat again, she realized her robe was gaping open, showing a lot of cleavage
and a hint of lacy bra.
Not that Michael would ever leer at her—he was evidently completely impervious to any
potential feminine charms she possessed—but still… She pulled the robe closed.
“What’s your schedule today?” he asked, picking up the coffee she’d given him and taking a
long swallow.
“I’ve got to be at the Center from nine to noon, since our normal volunteer is on vacation.”
He nodded, more to acknowledge that she’d spoken than out of any show of interest.
“Then I need to restock some supplies. Oh, and stop by the art store on Willow.”
Claire was the assistant director of an urban community center. She’d started as a volunteer,
teaching art lessons to kids during college as part of a required community service project in a
sociology class, but she was now a paid employee. She enjoyed the work, but the social interaction
had been excruciatingly hard when she’d first begun, since she was so incredibly shy. A lot of her
work was with children, however. She liked kids a lot and wasn’t as nervous around them as adults,
and now she knew most of the people in the neighborhood anyway.
It wasn’t well-paying job, and she never would have been able to make a living at it. She
could only afford her nice apartment because her father was the head of one of the most successful
movie studios in Hollywood.
“You’ll need to stop by your father’s before work,” Michael said, looking up from his smart
phone.
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Your father needs to talk to you, and he asked for you to stop by first thing.”
She almost groaned. “Why didn’t he just pick up a phone?”
Michael, of course, ignored that question.
Thinking about it, Claire sucked in a sharp breath. Her father only demanded a meeting in such
an indirect way when he had something serious to discuss.
She suddenly knew the purpose of the meeting today.
Her father was angry about something he’d found out and wanted to lecture her about it.
She gave Michael a narrow-eyed look, wondering if he was somehow to blame for it.
He’d been known in the past to discover things he shouldn’t discover.
He’d never actually told anyone about them, though.
Five years ago, when she’d started secretly dating a member of her father’s security team,
Michael hadn’t told her father about it.
He’d simply fired Brandon, the bodyguard in question.
Claire had kept dating Brandon for several months after he’d been let go, until she’d realized
he mostly just wanted a free ride on the coattails of a rich woman.
That was the year Claire had hated Michael.
Since then, Michael had never hired another young, good-looking man as part of his team.
Michael was fairly young himself—in his early to mid-thirties, she guessed—and he was
good-looking in a big, rugged, dark-haired way.
But he was completely different from Brandon’s lean, charming, blond gorgeousness. Plus,
Michael’s über-professionalism would make it impossible for him to fall for a protectee.
Even if he was remotely attracted to her. Which he obviously wasn’t.
“Will you be ready to leave in fifteen or twenty minutes?” Michael asked.
Claire nodded. She was low-maintenance and rarely wore much make-up. Since she’d
already showered and dried her hair, all she had to do was put on clothes.
Then she glanced at the clock on the mantle in surprise. “What are you doing here anyway?
Where’s Rick?”
“Rick is no longer on staff.”
“What happened? I like Rick.”
Michael just met her eyes levelly, the way he always did when he wasn’t going to answer her
questions.
He didn’t answer her questions a lot.
“I liked Rick. And I certainly wasn’t sleeping with him.”
“I know you weren’t sleeping with him. If you think that’s the only reason I would let someone
go, you’ve seriously underestimated my requirements for the team.”
She frowned. “He was in good shape and everything.”
Michael just looked at her.
“He did his job just fine. And I liked him. He made me laugh.” Claire had liked Rick, and she
also dreaded the idea of trying to get used to someone new.
“I understand you’re disappointed, Ms. Kenyon, but making you laugh wasn’t part of his job
description.”
Claire took a deep breath so she wouldn’t snap at him. There was no sense in getting into an
argument with Michael, although she’d tried many, many times before. He would never argue in a
satisfying way. He wouldn’t get upset or angry. He would try to respond to genuine objections but
would otherwise simply ignore her, his expression as impassive as always.
She’d never met anyone as frustrating to argue with as him.
She knew he expected an argument from her now. He never called her Claire, but he only ever
called her Ms. Kenyon when he thought she was annoyed with him.
Managing to keep her voice level, she said, “But he did fine at all the stuff that was in his job
description. He was a perfectly good bodyguard for the night shift. It’s mostly just sitting around,
anyway.”
Even as she said the words, she realized Rick hadn’t exactly fulfilled all of his required
duties. He hadn’t caught her or even noticed when she’d snuck out every Thursday night for the last
six weeks.
But Michael didn’t know that.
Or maybe he did.
Her father, after all, was summoning her to a lecture this morning.
She dropped her eyes and didn’t speak, closing out her surroundings for a few seconds to
restore her equilibrium. She and her father always called it “shutting down.” She had done it all the
time when she’d been a child—so shy it was almost debilitating—but she’d gotten better about it as
she’d grown older. She didn’t have to resort to it nearly as often as she used to, and usually a few
seconds was all she needed.
Sometimes she just couldn’t help it. Social interaction was always stressful for her. She
genuinely liked people, and she enjoyed talking to people she knew well—as long as it wasn’t in
large groups and the interactions didn’t get too intense. When it did, her instinct was always to
withdraw, to hide away where it was safe. Since she couldn’t always get out of the room, shutting
down was the way she was able to make it through difficult conversations.
This morning, she didn’t snap back as quickly as usual—probably because she’d gotten so
anxious earlier as she waited in the pantry.
Being with Michael wasn’t usually hard for her, since she knew him so well. At the moment,
however, she wished he would leave. Even as she tried to close him out and retreat into her mind for
a few moments, she could feel him watching her silently.
At least he didn’t say anything. At least he didn’t force her to push through it before she was
ready and then spill all her most intimate feelings as if she were psychologically ill the way her
former stepmother had.
She heard Michael get up and walk away, and she let out a relieved exhalation at being left
alone, even for a few seconds. The cold wave of vulnerability faded as she stared down at her hands
and envisioned herself painting a desert scene on an empty canvas.
She wasn’t even aware that Michael had returned to the dining area until he set a fresh cup of
coffee on the table in front of her, picked up her hand, and wrapped her fingers around the mug.
She lifted it to drink automatically.
She swallowed a sip of coffee and felt a different kind of wave overtake her—this one of hot
embarrassment.
Michael was as cool, competent, and in control as anyone she’d ever met. He must think she
was a pitiful wreck, not even able to make it through a simple conversation.
She’d never told him about her social anxiety, but he was around so much he couldn’t not
know about it.
Her cheeks burned and she took another sip, still unable to meet his eyes.
“Ms. Kenyon,” Michael said, as if he could somehow tell the difference between her
embarrassed withdrawal now and her restorative withdrawal earlier.
“What?”
He didn’t reply immediately. When she didn’t meet his eyes, he repeated, “Ms. Kenyon.”
“I said what?” She was starting to get annoyed.
He again didn’t reply. Just sat there in infuriating silence. When she still didn’t lift her eyes,
he said again, “Ms. Kenyon.”
His obnoxiousness pushed her past her embarrassment. She snapped her head up to glare at
him. “For the third time, what the hell do you want?”
Despite her tone, his eyes were almost mild as they rested on her. “Your father is expecting us
shortly.”
She scowled but bit back an instinctive retort, since she tried not to act grumpy with the
people who worked for her father.
She got up and went to her bedroom to get dressed, both her brief paralysis and her
embarrassment completely forgotten.
Two
Thirty-five minutes later, Claire entered her father’s huge mansion in the Hollywood Hills, wearing
jeans and a green velvet jacket with her dark blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail.
She’d been chatting with her father’s chauffeur, Roger, about his wife’s bad case of the flu,
until Michael had cleared his throat to hurry her along. Now Michael was in his normal position two
steps behind her.
Claire gave a kiss to Stella, her father’s housekeeper of thirty years, and whispered, “Do you
know what’s going on?”
Stella had greeted her with normal warm affection, but now she pulled back and made a
reluctant face, which meant something unpleasant was going to happen.
“Shit,” Claire breathed.
Her father must have found out she’d been sneaking away from her protection.
She was an adult. Her dad couldn’t force protection on her if she refused, and both of them
knew it. But he would worry himself into a heart-attack if she dug in her heels about this, and she
couldn’t make him suffer that way.
“He’s on the breakfast porch,” Stella said, with no further information about the impending
unpleasantness.
During the summer, her father ate breakfast next to the pool, but in the winter he ate on a large
glass sun porch, filled with ferns and potted flowers.
Claire found him there and took the seat across from him, after leaning over to give him a kiss
on the cheek.
“Hi, pumpkin,” he said with a smile. “Have some coffee and a muffin.”
She took a blueberry muffin and poured herself a glass of orange juice, since she hadn’t had
time for breakfast but she’d had plenty of coffee already.
Her father had been calling her “pumpkin” all her life. When she was a teenager, she’d spent
years trying to correct him, practically begging for him to call her something less childish.
He’d never been able to change his habit, and now she didn’t even mind anymore.
She loved him, and they were the only family either of them had. He could call her whatever
made him happy.
His eyes—a warm brown that was exactly the same color as hers—rested on her soberly.
Without thinking, she turned around to look at Michael, who was standing silently in a corner
of the room, trying to blend into the furniture.
He must have somehow found out she’d been sneaking out on Thursday nights and blabbed to
her father.
“It’s not a big deal, Dad,” she said quickly, deciding she better confront this head on instead
of just waiting for it to fall on her head.
Her father blinked. “It isn’t?”
“No. It isn’t. Nothing happened. I was perfectly safe. I have to be alone sometimes. I just have
to.”
Her father wasn’t an extreme introvert—he wasn’t an introvert at all—but he’d always tried
to understand her distinct nature. He always did his best to accommodate her needs, since his
Hollywood world often forced her into a lifestyle that was incredibly difficult for someone with her
personality.
She didn’t want to upset him, but surely he would understand this.
His eyes had narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re alone when you’re home in your apartment,
aren’t you?”
“Not really.” She cut another quick glance over to Michael in the corner. “They’re always
hovering.”
“Not in your apartment, surely.”
“No. But I know someone is always there. Right outside. I feel them there all the time. I’ve
tried to do my best, since I know the security is important to you. But I can’t do it all the time. I just
can’t.”
“I understand it’s hard for you to have people around you don’t know very well, but it’s just
for a couple of months, until we track down this possible threat.” Her father was speaking slowly, a
little strangely.
“But I just don’t really think there is a threat. I mean, there was one random note two months
ago and then nothing ever since. I can’t live like this. It’s bad enough for regular people to be
surrounded by bodyguards, but for me—”
“You are a regular person,” her father cut in, something angry flaring up in his eyes. “Being
introverted isn’t a psychological illness. Don’t you dare imply otherwise.”
Claire rubbed her face, both frustrated and touched by her father’s fervor. He’d gotten
remarried when she was twelve, and for the following four years of her life she’d listened to
argument after argument between her dad and stepmother about whether her extreme shyness was a
condition that needed professional treatment.
Her stepmother, like a lot of the rest of the world, thought the only way to be healthy was to be
outgoing and willing to talk endlessly about one’s feelings. Her father disagreed and had continued to
disagree until the day they’d gotten divorced.
“I know that. I just meant it’s bad enough for people who don’t need to be alone a lot, but it’s
even worse for me. I’m not exaggerating, Dad. If I’m always surrounded by people, I just can’t…I
can’t function.”
“I know it’s hard, but bodyguards aren’t expecting you to talk to them or even acknowledge
their presence. They’re in the background, like the furniture.”
Claire’s lips twisted in annoyance as she glanced back at Michael, but he looked as
impervious as ever.
“I’ve tried to think of them that way, but I can’t. They’re people, Dad. And one or the other is
always, always there. I just have to get away a little. It’s just been once a week and—”
“What?” her father interrupted, in a half-roar she was very familiar with. “You’ve been
sneaking away from your security?”
Claire stared, stunned and speechless. Then she suddenly realized what happened.
Her father hadn’t known. This wasn’t what he’d wanted to talk about this morning.
And she’d just spilled it all like an absolute idiot.
“Dad,” she began.
“I’ll talk to you in just a minute.” He stood up from his chair, his eyes pinning Michael’s.
“Explain to me, right now, how my daughter has managed to get away once a week without your team
knowing about it.”
There was a reason her father was respected and feared in this town by people who didn’t
respect or fear anyone else. But Michael met the other man’s eyes evenly, and he didn’t look cowed.
Claire wasn’t cowed either. She jumped up and grabbed her father’s arm. “Dad, it’s not
Michael’s fault. He wasn’t even on duty when I snuck out.”
“It is his fault. He’s in charge of the team, so he’s responsible for everything that happens on
his watch, whether he’s present or not.”
Claire gulped. She was going to feel horribly guilty if Michael was fired because of her.
Her father had previously used a large security firm, and several years ago they’d sent over
Michael as a temporary bodyguard. Michael had just gotten out of the military—he’d been an Army
Ranger—but he was obviously naturally inclined toward close security work. Her father, recognizing
his skill and talent, had immediately taken him on full-time staff and soon stopped working with the
large firm completely, giving Michael the responsibility of overseeing a private security team. A
couple of years ago, her father had offered Michael a position with the studio. It was a much more
lucrative position with much better work hours, but Michael had refused to take it for reasons he
wouldn’t explain.
Michael might be frustrating and obnoxious a lot of the time, but he was a decent man who
didn’t deserve to lose his job because of her.
“But you can’t blame Michael—” she tried again.
“I do blame Michael.” He turned back to face the other man. “This is my daughter’s safety,
and there is nothing I take more seriously. Who was on duty when she snuck out?”
“Rick Jonas. He’s already been let go.”
Her father blinked, his mind working quickly. Then his expression relaxed. “You knew?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “I knew. Your daughter was never unprotected.”
Claire sucked in an outraged breath at this barefaced lie. Michael was always long gone for
the night when she snuck out—she would never be fool enough to try to sneak out while he was on
duty—and Rick had been completely unaware of her night trips. He’d been in the exact same position
when she left and came back. There was no way he could have followed her.
At least the lie would save Michael’s position. She would berate him for hiding the truth after
they’d left her father, when it wouldn’t threaten his job.
Michael continued, “I knew it was important for her to feel alone, so I didn’t let her know she
was followed. She was never in danger.”
Her father let out a long exhalation. “Good man. Thank you.”
Claire sat down, squirming uncomfortably. She didn’t want Michael to get in trouble, but she
didn’t like how grateful and relieved her father looked.
She hadn’t had protection. If there had been danger on those nights, she would have been in it.
“Just so it’s clear, I can refuse protection any time I want. But I don’t want to upset you, so I’ll
try not to do it again.” She dropped her eyes as she spoke, pulling inward.
“Please don’t, pumpkin. I don’t have another daughter to replace you.” He reached over to pat
her hand and waited for almost a minute until she raised her eyes again. Then he continued, “As
interesting as this revelation has been, it wasn’t why I wanted to talk to you today.”
“What is it?” she asked, having actually forgotten there must have been another purpose for
her summons.
“I have a favor to ask you,” her father admitted. “But since you came out with this confession,
maybe we can call it a fair trade rather than a favor.”
“What do you need?” The favor must be something she wouldn’t want to do. He knew she was
happy to help him however she could otherwise, so he would have just called to ask.
“I’m in a bit of a PR pickle.”
“You’re getting bad press about something?” Claire never read the papers or watched any sort
of Hollywood news. She got the national headlines from NPR and simply didn’t care about politics in
this town.
“I’m afraid so. My people say it would help if I could remind folks that I’m a family man.”
Claire’s fist tightened in her lap. “Oh, no, Dad.”
“I’m really sorry. You know I only ask when it’s important.”
It was true. He knew how she felt about mingling in his social circles, and so he almost never
asked her to do so.
She cleared her throat. “What is it?”
“A cocktail party. Tonight. You’d only have to stay an hour or so. And it’s here, so it will be
familiar territory.”
She was swallowed in cold dread at the idea of mingling and making superficial conversation
with a houseful of rich, gorgeous, intimidating strangers.
Her father needed her help, though—he wouldn’t have asked otherwise. And she’d betrayed
him every Thursday night for six weeks by sneaking away from her bodyguard.
“Okay,” she said in a choked voice. “What time?”
“You won’t need to go down until after nine, but come over early so you won’t have to get
through the mob of people.”
She nodded, a little stiffly. “Okay.”
“Be brave.”
He’d always told her that—since she was five years old and paralyzed with terror about
going to the first day of kindergarten.
It might not take courage for most people to face something as innocuous as a big party, but
Claire had to be brave every time.
“I will.” She pushed the fear to the back corner of her mind for the time being, the only way to
make it through the day before a dreaded event. “I’ve got to get to work.”
“I know. Thank you for helping me out. I’ll see you tonight.”
She nodded again and accepted the hug her father gave her as she started to leave.
As she was walking out through the large airy living area that connected to the formal dining
room and the marble-floored main hall, she stopped short, imagining the huge spaces full of people.
People she didn’t know and to whom she would have to make charming small talk tonight.
For just a moment, she froze.
Before she could work herself into a state of paralysis, she felt a pressure on her back.
Michael was pushing her, his hand planted just below her shoulder blades.
He wasn’t rough or even particularly rude, but his hand was a force that couldn’t be resisted.
So she kept walking until she made it to the car, where Roger was waiting to open the door
for her.
Michael got into the backseat with her. Usually the bodyguard escorting her sat in the front
with Roger or whomever was driving the car. Sometimes Michael sat in the front too, but at other
times he joined her in the back. She never knew what decided the difference.
He was on the phone when the car started off, talking to someone about arrangements for her
protection at the party tonight.
His low voice drifted over her consciousness, so familiar it was almost comforting.
Being with him was like being with Stella, or her father, or her best friend Maria.
His presence didn’t stress her out or make her anxious. If he was on bodyguard duty around
the clock, she might not always feel like running away.
When he hung up, he just looked at her, no emotion reflected on his face.
She looked back at him, thinking his eyes would be absolutely beautiful—such an unusual
silvery blue—if they weren’t always so expressionless.
Then she remembered something.
“You might have fooled my dad, but you and I both know that you had no idea I was going out
on Thursday nights.”
She must have surprised him into showing a genuine response. His eyes widened. “I did
know.”
“You did not. You were long gone every night I snuck—”
“You left at ten-thirty on the last six Thursday evenings and went to your friend’s art studio in
Melrose. You painted for about four hours each evening. Two Thursdays ago, you stopped for a decaf
latte on your way home.”
Her mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“I made sure to know. I wouldn’t leave you unprotected.”
“But Rick had no idea.”
“That’s why Rick isn’t working for us anymore.”
“But how did you know?” She was torn between a shocked betrayal of privacy and a
bewildered admiration.
“I could see you getting restless. I knew you’d try to do something, so I made sure we knew
when you did.”
She wondered how he could have seen she was getting restless, that she was feeling
imprisoned by her security measures.
It was strange that he knew her so well.
“You didn’t tell me you knew?”
“As I told your father, it was important for you to feel alone, and I didn’t want to take that
away from you unnecessarily.”
She peered at him suspiciously. “You weren’t just smugly holding the secret over my head so
you could lower the boom at the worst possible moment?”
“That too.”
She stared at him a full thirty seconds before she realized he was making a joke. He wasn’t
smiling but his eyes warmed briefly.
She was surprised by a rippling laugh. While laughing at his unexpected wit was not the best
way to hold her own with him, her sense of humor was tickled and she just couldn’t help it.
He still didn’t smile, but something almost softened on his face. Something she’d never seen
before. Something that made her heart beat faster.
Then his expression changed again. His brows drew together. “You really thought I was
someone who would lie like that?”
“I just thought you were…you were covering.”
“You thought I lied to your father’s face.”
She had, and she suddenly realized it had been a ridiculous thing to believe about Michael.
She licked her lips and didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve never lied to your father, and I’ve never lied to you. I never will.” His face was stoic
again, but there was an earnestness in his eyes that was as uncharacteristic as the warmth.
She responded to it, her heart strangely fond for no reason she could understand. “Okay,” she
murmured. “Sorry.”
They stared at each other for what felt like a long time.
Then his expression changed yet again. No trace of warmth or earnestness. Just tension. “Wait
a minute,” he demanded. “Wait just a minute. You thought I lied to your father back there?”
She frowned, feeling flustered by her strange responses to him and by the sudden shift in
mood. “Didn’t we just cover this?”
“We didn’t cover the implications. You thought I lied to your father about knowing you were
sneaking out and you never said a word about it?”
It sounded like an accusation rather than a question, and her shoulders stiffened defensively.
“What’s your point?”
“You never do that. Do you hear me? You never let anyone get away with a lie—not if it’s
about your safety.”
She was breathless again. He seemed angry. Simmering with something else she’d never seen
in him before. “I was trying to…I mean, it wasn’t just anyone. It was you. It was my fault. I didn’t
want you to get in trouble for it.”
“I don’t care. It wasn’t your fault. If I didn’t know you were going out on those nights, then I
deserved to be in trouble. I don’t care who’s doing the lying or how much you want to help them—
you never let them get away with it.”
He was tenser than she’d ever seen him—the muscles of his neck and shoulders rippling
slightly. His blue eyes blazed with something she didn’t recognize, and she was hypnotized by his
sudden intensity.
She just stared at him, suddenly hit by an overwhelming attraction.
She wanted to grab him, kiss him, pull him down over her and feel him against her.
She wanted him. She wanted him.
What the hell was wrong with her? This was just Michael—pushy, stoic, obnoxious, an
inescapable part of the background of her life.
And he was being particularly obnoxious right now. She shouldn’t be attracted by it.
“Do you hear me?” he demanded. He actually reached out and took her by the shoulders. His
hands were warm and strong through the fabric of her jacket, and his grip was hard and unshakeable.
“Yes, I hear you.” She was hot and confused and overwhelmed with how much she wanted
him, how much she wanted all of that intensity he kept hidden from the world to be directed only
toward her.
She pulled out of his grip and then clasped her hands in her lap. She kept looking at him,
though. Couldn’t look away.
After a minute, his whole demeanor changed. He seemed to rein in whatever had gotten loose
earlier, and his expression became blank and professional again.
His eyes searched her face. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t answer him. She didn’t feel all right. It felt like Michael had become a stranger,
and she had never been able to talk easily to strangers.
“Claire,” he said sharply. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I was too rough just now. I didn’t
mean to scare you.”
He hadn’t scared her. But she was scared.
“Claire, talk to me.”
She swallowed. “You didn’t scare me.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to get her mind to work again. “I’m
fine.”
“I don’t think you are, but it doesn’t look like you’re… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” He
looked away, to the side, trying to get a grip on whatever was threatening to escape again.
All this time, and she’d never known there was any sort of intense emotion that might try to
escape from Michael. The idea of its presence behind his handsome, impassive face was almost…
thrilling.
“I told you that you didn’t scare me. You’re not that intimidating. Don’t flatter yourself.”
He turned back to face her and something twitched at his mouth. Almost but not quite a smile.
“I am sorry, Ms. Kenyon. It was unprofessional.”
Maybe it was unprofessional, but Claire desperately wanted to see it again.
Since she could hardly admit that to her bodyguard, she said instead, “If you really want to be
unprofessional, you might think about cracking a smile every once in a while.”
Three
Claire ducked into a small anteroom off the entertainment areas of her father’s mansion and took a
few ragged breaths.
Her heart raced brutally, and she was momentarily nauseated as she fought another wave of
anxiety.
She walked over to an ornate wall mirror and pretended to be primping, just in case one of the
guests wandered in and wondered what she was doing.
At the moment, however, the room was blessedly empty.
She’d made a last-minute appointment at her salon that afternoon so she would be presentable
for the party. She’d gotten some lighter blond highlights in her hair, which they’d blown out into a
smooth, shiny fall around her shoulders. They’d given her a manicure and pedicure and even done her
makeup. She wore a slinky chocolate brown sheathe gown and her favorite gold-tone heels. She
thought she looked as pretty as it was possible for her to look.
But her cheeks weren’t as rosy as usual now, and her eyes looked unusually large. It felt like
she was staring at a sexy, sophisticated stranger.
She took a few minutes to catch her breath. Then knew she needed to go back out.
She’d been standing near her father for the last half-hour, trying to reply sensibly to the hordes
of guests who came over to talk to her. She’d become more and more tongue-tied and self-conscious
as the minutes passed until she’d finally had to escape. If she didn’t return soon, though, her father
would worry. And people would wonder why she’d barely put in an appearance at the party before
she disappeared.
She sucked in a deep breath and tried to gird herself for battle.
She would go back now. She would smile and be charming. She would casually chat about the
latest movies, debate local politics, and complain about taxes. She wouldn’t freeze up or shut down
mid-conversation.
She would pretend to be someone else—someone who was able to work the room and be the
center of attention.
She gripped the back of a chair and didn’t move.
The door to the anteroom swung open, and she gasped before she realized it was just Michael.
He’d been waiting outside the door for her, but maybe he was worried because she was taking so
long.
He wore a dark evening suit, and he wore it so well she’d lost her breath earlier when she
first saw him. His suit looked expensive—she even wondered if it had been tailored to fit his broad
shoulders and long limbs so smoothly. He must have shaven again that afternoon because otherwise
he’d be bristly this late in the day. His eyes looked startlingly blue.
She’d seen him in eveningwear before, but ever since she’d experienced that bizarre
attraction earlier today, she couldn’t look at him without feeling it again.
“Ready?” he asked with his normal expression of bland inquiry. He nodded toward the party,
the buzz of voices audible through the closed door.
She nodded, trying and failing to smile as the instinctive attraction was smothered in a new
wave of fear about reentering the room full of strangers.
She managed to take two steps toward Michael but then stalled again.
“We can leave in another half-hour.”
She looked at him blankly for a few seconds until she realized he was trying to be
encouraging. She appreciated the rare gesture, so she nodded again. This time, when she tried to
smile, she took a loud, raspy inhalation instead. Embarrassed, she stared down at the floor. Her pretty
toe nails were peeking out of her shiny shoes.
She usually did better than this—even at cocktail parties, which were the worst of her social
horrors. She could usually put on a mask that hid her real feelings. The stress from earlier in the day
and from the last two months of being surrounded by bodyguards must have intensified her normal
responses, and she couldn’t maintain her mask this evening.
“Do you need me to talk to your father?”
She wasn’t looking at him, but she recognized his voice as gentler than normal. He felt sorry
for her. He thought she was going to cave.
She wasn’t going to cave.
She shook her head urgently and stiffened her shoulders as she met his eyes.
“Okay. Then let’s get out there.” He stepped over to her side and put a familiar hand on her
back, urging her out of the room.
She let him guide her to the door but, just before they reached it, she resisted the force of his
hand.
She dropped her eyes and shut down for a few seconds.
When she looked back up, Michael was waiting patiently. “Who do you know out there?” he
asked, unusually quiet.
She swallowed. “No one.”
“That’s not true. Don’t think of it as a room full of people. Think of the individuals. Tell me
who you know. Who have you liked talking to in the past?”
She scowled at him, since he was being bossy, but he stared at her like he was expecting an
answer.
Because she wasn’t in any state to argue, she thought about the question. “Parker Bowles is
here. He has eleven grandkids he likes to talk about. One of the girls is really shy and never wants to
do anything but read.”
Michael nodded. “Who else?”
She tried to remembered, but the room outside was just a blur.
He opened the door halfway so she could look out. “Who do you know?”
She took a quick look around the room before she pulled back. “Rosemary Turner has two
huge Neapolitan Mastiffs. They’re like big teddy bears. I went to a party at her place with my dad last
year and spent the whole time playing with the dogs.”
“Good. Who else?”
“Gino Martin and his wife own an art studio. They’ve got a really good eye for contemporary
art.”
“Okay,” Michael said. “You’ll go talk to Bowles about his grandkids. Then you’ll talk to
Rosemary about her dogs. Then you’ll talk to the Martins about any new art they’ve acquired. By then
it will be time for you to leave.”
It sounded easy. It sounded simple. It sounded like something she could do. She liked talking
to people when they were by themselves and not all gathered in a huge mob in the same space.
“It’s not a room full of people,” Michael murmured, placing his hand beneath her shoulder
blades again. Her dress was cut low in the back, and she was suddenly conscious of the feel of his
palm against her bare skin. “It’s three private conversations with people you know and like. Bowles.
Rosemary. The Martins. Then you’re done.”
She straightened up, taking one more breath. “What if they don’t want to talk to me?”
“Of course, they’ll want to talk to you.” Michael’s voice sounded inexplicably thicker so she
looked up at his face, not very far from hers.
“Believe it or not, I’ve never been the most popular person at any party.” She tried for a wry
smile and almost managed it.
He shook his head. “That’s only because you hide from people. You don’t let them get to
know you. Claire, if you let them see who you really are, every person in that room would adore
you.”
She gulped and gazed up at him with wide eyes, her heart racing again but for an entirely
different reason.
She saw something in his eyes—something real, deep, irresistible. “Really?” she breathed
stupidly.
“They would adore you. I promise you it’s true.”
Claire swayed toward him, wanting to kiss him so much she almost just pulled his face down
toward hers. Her blood coursed through her veins, and a ripple of excited pleasure swept over her.
Only a loud laugh from not far outside the door stopped her, distracted her.
Michael gave his head a strange little shake, and that very particular look disappeared from
his eyes. “Ready?”
She was a bit disoriented by the swell of feeling she’d just experienced, but at least she
wasn’t panicking anymore. “Ready.”
Then she walked out into the room.
***
She made it forty-seven minutes, rather than just a half-hour. She would have made it even longer
because Parker Bowles wouldn’t stop talking about his grandchildren. She’d had to talk to Rosemary
and the Martins first because Parker was occupied when she’d first come back out.
Claire was mid-conversation with him—not incredibly stimulated by the good-hearted elderly
man but at least comfortable in a secure conversation, which was rare for her in such a gathering—
when Michael stepped to her side unexpectedly.
“It’s time for us leave, Ms. Kenyon,” he murmured in the low voice he always used in public.
“If you’ll please excuse us, Mr. Bowles.”
Parker gave her a friendly farewell and said he hoped to see her soon, even sounding like he
meant it.
Claire went with Michael without argument. He’d never pulled her away like that before, so
he must have a good reason for it now.
Michael had his hand at her back as they walked to the front door of the house, pushing more
than supportive. When they reached the car parked at the front entry, she grinned at Pete, one of the
bodyguards, who was getting into the front passenger seat.
“Hey,” she said, “Did you get stuck with night duty today?”
“Something like that.”
Claire didn’t get a chance to follow-up on the greeting because Michael put his hands on her
waist and hoisted her bodily into the backseat of the car.
She gave a surprised huff as she straightened up, since she’d almost face-planted into the
cushy seat. She didn’t get a chance to settle, however, since Michael got into the car right after her,
forcing her to scoot over to make room for him.
She tried to roll down the window between the front and back seats to say hello to Roger, but
Michael stopped her by putting his big hand over hers.
“What the hell?” she snapped, scowling at him.
Michael raised his hand in a silent gesture that she should wait.
She tightened her lips but didn’t protest. She waited until Roger had started the car and driven
out through her father’s front gates.
Michael’s phone must have vibrated because he pulled it out and glanced at it, but he
immediately slid it back in his pocket.
“Can I talk now?” she asked, sounding just a little testy.
“Yes.”
She rolled down the front window and said hello to Roger, asking if his wife was feeling
better. When she’d been assured that she was making some improvements, Claire rolled up the
window and gave Michael a challenging look.
He just returned her gaze blandly.
“There’s no way you’re getting away with not giving me an explanation,” she bit out.
“There was potential danger, so we needed to get you out quickly.”
“Thanks for that very helpful piece of information. Obviously, I knew that much. I want to
know what this supposed danger was.”
“Is.”
She stared at him. Her pulse was racing a little, but it wasn’t really from fear. She still
couldn’t imagine a random threat from two months ago could really pose a danger to her.
But being with Michael excited her in a way it really shouldn’t.
“Was. Is. Whatever. Tell me what happened.” She lifted her hips to straighten her slinky skirt,
which had bunched up around her thighs. When Michael didn’t answer, she groaned in frustration.
“Damn it, Michael. What’s going on? Did my dad get another threat? Is he all right?”
“Yes, and yes.” He paused a beat. “The threat wasn’t directed at him.”
She made a face. “I guess that means it was aimed at me again. This all sounds very sketchy.
Is there any evidence at all that I’m in real danger. He gets crazy letters all the time. One guy wrote to
him and demanded he make a movie about the Titanic but have Leo play the iceberg this time—and if
he didn’t this guy would start killing all the Bichon Frises in L.A. I really don’t think you need to be
wasting your time responding to every wacko who sends my dad a note.”
“It’s not a waste of time. It’s my job. Your father ordered me to protect you, so that’s what I
do. It doesn’t matter if he thinks the threat is coming from a rabid squirrel, my job is to make sure
you’re safe from it.”
There was nothing light or warm about Michael’s unreadable expression, but his choice of
words made her choke on a surprised laugh.
Michael’s phone must have vibrated again because he pulled it out to check it again.
As he did, Claire glanced out the car window. “Wait a minute. Where are we going? I need to
go home.”
“You can’t go home.”
“What? Why not?” She was starting to get nervous for the first time.
“Your apartment is too difficult to secure, since so many other people live in the building.”
“Where are we going?” Her main thought was not fear that she would be killed but fear that
she would have to go to a strange place with people she didn’t know—after what had been a very
hard day for her. She wanted the familiar comfort of her home.
“To the cabin. This person is not following us at the moment and will have no idea that’s
where we’re going.”
She let out a breath. “Oh. Good.”
Her father had a cabin in the desert—it was in the middle of nowhere and she absolutely
loved the feeling of privacy and peace it offered. When life stretched her too much, she always went
to the cabin to recover.
Michael might not have chosen it because it would make her feel safe, but she appreciated his
choice anyway.
“It’s safe enough?” she added.
“I had the security system upgraded last month. It’s as safe as your father’s house.”
“Okay then. I’m fine with going to the cabin, but I’m going to get out of the car at the next red
light if you don’t tell me what the hell is going on.”
For the first time, Michael’s mouth twisted with what looked like reluctance.
Sensing he was caving, she persisted. “I’m not a child, Michael. And—despite what you
might think based on my behavior at social functions—I’m not psychologically impaired.”
He jerked slightly, as if she’d slapped him. “I’ve never though that,” he gritted out. “And I
don’t appreciate your implying otherwise.”
“Then tell me what kind of threat my father got. It had to be bad to rate this sort of
overreaction, and I can’t help—I can’t do anything—if I don’t know what it is.”
He looked away briefly.
“Michael,” she said, reaching over to put a hand on his arm. “I need to know.”
“I know you do. I told your father we should tell you. But it’s ugly. And he didn’t want it to
touch you in any way.”
Claire let out a long breath, her chest hurting a little as she thought about how hard this must
have been for her father. “So it’s ugly. I can deal with it. I’m shy. I’m not weak, Michael.”
“I know you’re not.” He seemed almost to be speaking to himself, still looking out the
window. Then he must have decided his course of action because he turned back to face her. “It
hasn’t just been one threat two months ago and another tonight. There has been a whole series of
them.”
“What are they?”
“At first, it was a series of gifts sent to the house but addressed to you. Seemingly romantic
gifts but with something wrong with each one—like two dozen roses with one dead one in the bunch
or a box of chocolates with a dead mouse in one wrapper.”
She shuddered slightly at the image but just prompted, “What else?”
“After that, there were photographs sent to your father. Of you. Photographs this person should
never have been able to taken.”
“Me doing what?”
“Shopping in the art store. Teaching at the Center. Walking into Maria’s building.”
She swallowed hard. “So someone was stalking me?”
“Is stalking you. Yes.”
“What does he want?”
“What does a stalker ever want?”
“But his insanity is directed at my dad, isn’t it? I might be the subject, but all the
communication has been addressed to my dad. Is my dad going to be all right?” She felt a different
sort of urgency at the thought of her father being in danger, more intense than any fear about being in
danger herself.
“He’s fine. I’ve doubled his security.”
“But you should be with him.” She shifted nervously in her seat. “Can you assign someone
else to me and go take care of my dad?”
“I’ve got good men on your dad.”
“But not as good as you. I’d rather you be with him.”
“He wouldn’t have me. He’d send me back to you. And he’s the one who pays me.”
She dropped her eyes and tried to reason herself out of her fear for her father. If it hadn’t been
for the party, she could have just stayed with her father tonight, so their security wouldn’t be split. But
Michael wouldn’t have left her father unless he was sure he was safe.
Michael waited for a few moments before he said quietly, “All signs indicate that this person
will go after you before your father.”
“Oh. Okay. What happened tonight that worried you?” When he hesitated, she insisted, “You
have to tell me, Michael.”
Michael had his phone in his hand, since he’d just gotten another call he didn’t answer.
Reluctantly, he pulled something up on the screen and handed it to her.
She looked down at the high end smart phone. Saw a photo of herself at the party this evening,
sipping a glass of red wine and trying to pretend she was comfortable there. She slid her finger
across the screen to pull over a second photo—her leaving the anteroom with Michael. They almost
looked like a couple, since his hand was on her back. She dragged over the next photo—her laughing
with the Martins.
Her hand trembled around the phone. “He was at the party.”
“Or she. Yes.”
“How?”
“It was one of the invited guests. Or one of the temporary staff. There was no other way for
someone to get on the premises.”
He sat tensely, and she suddenly realized he was angry at himself for letting it happen—for
allowing someone into the fortress he was protecting.
With an instinctive need to comfort him, she put a hand on his sleeve. “It’s not your fault.”
“Yes, it is my fault. You shouldn’t make any excuses for me if I’ve failed to do my job.”
“You didn’t fail. Both my dad and I are fine.”
“And you’ll stay that way,” he promised. His eyes searched her face intently, as if he could
see into her mind. “Are you all right?”
She nodded. She was anxious and restless, and she was horribly upset about the idea of her
privacy being invaded this way. But at least, if this stalker would target her first, it would keep his
attention away from her father.
She glanced down automatically when Michael’s phone vibrated in her hand. He never got
this many calls.
To her surprise, the screen flashed the word “Mom.”
She handed him the phone. “Your mom’s calling.”
He glanced at the screen but sent the call to voice mail.
She frowned. “Is it your mom who keeps calling? You should take it.”
“I don’t need to take it.”
“But something might be wrong. You shouldn’t ignore her calls like that. Not for me.”
He looked briefly torn.
“I don’t care what kind of ridiculous code of professionalism you follow. Call your mother
right now,” she instructed. Then she turned toward the car window to give him as much privacy as
was possible when they were in the same backseat.
She wasn’t looking at him, but she knew he’d made the call when she heard him ask in a low
voice, “What’s going on?”
There was a long pause while the other person spoke. Then he said, “I can’t get away
tonight.” Another pause. “No, I really can’t. It’s an emergency here. Did you try playing the Sinatra
album? That sometimes relaxes her.”
Claire was starting to feel strange—since she was overhearing a private conversation.
Something was going on with Michael that she’d never known about.
“What about the lemon balm tea?” She could tell his body was turned away from her,
instinctively trying to keep her from hearing. It couldn’t have been a serious attempt, however, as it
would be futile in such a small space.
“I can’t get over there tonight,” he said again, his voice sounding slightly stretched. “Can you
put her on the phone? Maybe talking to me would help.”
There was a longer pause, during which Claire stared studiously out the window.
Then she heard Michael say, “Hi there. Ruth tells me you’re having a hard evening…No, I
don’t think that’s going to happen…Remember, I found that nice room for you so you wouldn’t be
disturbed by the loud teenagers.” His voice was strong, relaxed, utterly reassuring. “We talked about
this, remember? Sometimes I have to be at work.”
Claire listened with an ache tightening in her heart.
She heard Michael inhale hoarsely. “I’m really fine, Mom. I don’t need that bike anymore…I
am happy. The bike was a long time ago… I do mean it. I’m very happy. You don’t have to worry
about me…I don’t work too hard…No, Mom, I don’t want that bike anymore.”
After a minute, the first person must have taken the phone again because Michael said, “Just
do the best you can with her. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
When he hung up, Claire didn’t turn to look at him immediately. It felt like she’d invaded his
privacy, and she knew it would bother him.
After a few minutes, when it felt like he’d relaxed beside her, she straightened in her seat
again. Still not looking at him, she asked softly, “Is your mom all right?”
“Yeah. She’s…it’s dementia. She’s mostly lucid during the day, but it gets worse at night. I’m
usually with her at nights, so I guess they’re having trouble calming her.”
“You work all day and then stay with your mom all night?” she asked, disturbed by this piece
of information.
He gave a half-shrug and glanced away from her.
“You should be with her now. Someone else can stay with me.”
“No.”
She frowned at him, suddenly impatient with his obstinacy in a way she’d never been before.
“I’m serious. If your mom needs you, then she’s more important than me. I’m sure there’s someone
else who can take your place in my protection.” She would feel a lot safer with Michael than with
anyone else, but she wasn’t about to be selfish about him.
Michael narrowed his eyes, his voice growing slightly thick. “You can’t possibly think I’m
going to let someone else take my place. I wasn’t exaggerating about the danger to you. There’s no
way in hell I’m going to leave you tonight.”
She was briefly hypnotized by his sudden intensity. She could tell he meant it, and the
knowledge prompted a surge of safety and excitement both.
But she’d heard Michael’s voice earlier, when he’d been talking to his mother. She knew it
was really hard for him to not be there when she needed him.
“Where is she?” Claire asked in a different tone.
Evidently thinking she’d dropped the subject of his leaving her, Michael relaxed slightly.
“She’s at Rivercrest Home. It’s a very nice nursing home in Beverly Hills. She’s taken care of well.”
Claire leaned forward and rolled down the window into the front seat. “Roger, we’re making
a stop on the way the cabin. Can you go first to Rivercrest in Beverly Hills?”
“Yes, miss,” Roger said immediately, but she could see him look through the rearview mirror
to catch Michael’s eye. He was obviously waiting for the other man’s permission before he acted.
Claire glared at Michael challengingly.
“Your safety is the most important thing,” he told her.
“How is stopping by to see your mother unsafe for me? You’ll be with me the whole time, just
as you wanted. It’s not like the stalker could possibly predict such an errand, and you said he’s not
following us right now, so he’d never know we were there. It’s not going to put me in any sort of
danger, and I’m not going to feel guilty all night about your abandoning your mom when she needs
you.”
She saw Michael let out a breath. Then he gave a brief nod in the mirror to Roger.
As she was rolling up the window, she caught him giving her a frustrated look.
She scowled. “I’m shy. I’m not a pushover. They’re two entirely different things.”
“Believe me. I know.”
Four
Rivercrest was an incredibly exclusive facility. It looked and felt more like a high class hotel than a
nursing home.
Claire would have waited in the car, but she was afraid Michael would refuse to go in unless
she did, since he was so set on being with her at all times. So she went with him to the fourth floor
and then to a very nice corner room. She volunteered to wait in the hall, but he rolled his eyes like she
was being foolish and put a hand on her back to nudge her into the room.
Pete stayed in the hall to man the entrance.
Michael’s mother was surprisingly tiny to have a son so large. She was obviously out of it,
tossing restlessly on the bed, talking incomprehensibly to the matronly woman sitting nearby, and not
even aware they had entered.
Feeling a familiar wave of shyness at being confronted with people she didn’t know— and
compounded by the fact that she knew Michael was uncomfortable by her presence—she retreated to
a corner of the room by the window and sat down in a straight-backed chair.
Michael’s eyes scanned her for a moment, probably assessing that she was all right. Then he
walked over to the bed.
Claire watched as he talked for a minute to the other woman, whom she assumed was named
Ruth and was the person he’d spoken to on the phone. Then he went to make a cup of tea with an
electric kettle and helped his mother drink it.
His mother kept up a constant stream of disconnected conversation—much of it revolving
around a bike she was very upset about for some reason—and Michael responded to it patiently. He
wasn’t openly affectionate or even particularly tender. He was calm and matter-of-fact, the way he
normally spoke to Claire. It was obvious to her how much he loved his mother, however, and
Claire’s heart softened as she watched him.
She’d known Michael for six years. He’d only ever shown her the ultra-competent
professional. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t known this side of him existed until tonight.
After about twenty minutes, his mother had calmed down quite a bit. And ten minutes later
Michael gestured to Claire in what she knew was a sign they should leave.
Claire got up and went over to him. Gazed up at his strong, familiar face. “Are you sure it’s
all right to leave her?”
“She’ll be okay, and I need to get you to the cabin. We shouldn’t have come here at all.”
She scowled. “Yes, we should have come.”
“Who is this?” his mother asked from the bed, sounding surprisingly lucid.
“This is Claire Kenyon.” Michael didn’t add any further information, and Claire could
understand why it might be difficult to explain her identity without worrying his mother about the
nature of his job.
His mother looked at Claire for a minute. Then closed her eyes, visibly exhausted. She
murmured, “I’m so sorry you can’t get the bike, Mikey.”
Michael leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “I’m perfectly happy without the bike, Mom.
Please don’t worry about it. You get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then he nodded toward the door with a jerk of his head, and Claire left the room with
Michael a step behind her.
When they’d gotten back in the car, Claire studied Michael’s face and knew he was self-
conscious about her meeting his mother.
“What was the bike she kept talking about?” Claire asked, since someone had to say
something.
He gave a half-shrug. “Just something from when I was a boy. She gets hung up on things and
thinks they just happened.”
“She obviously loves you a lot.”
He inclined his head in what was supposed to be a nod.
“The home seems really nice. How long has she been here?”
“Almost two years.”
“What about your dad?”
“He died about six years ago.”
“You don’t have any brothers and sisters?”
“No. It’s just me.”
She thought about that for a minute. “Was she the reason you left the Rangers? After your
father died?”
He looked out the window. “Yeah. It wasn’t a big deal.”
Overwhelmed by a wave of affection, she leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek
before she’d even thought it through. Despite having shaven twice today, his skin was already bristly
again under her lips.
He stared at her, and she saw that look in his eyes again—the one that made her breath hitch.
“What was that for?”
“That’s because you’re a really good son.”
Her voice was hoarser than usual, and she felt a shuddering emotion in her chest and in her
belly.
She’d never met anyone she admired as much as Michael. She’d never met anyone she wanted
as much.
His lips seemed to soften as she watched him, and she leaned forward instinctively, sure he
was going to kiss her, desperately wanting it to happen. Without thinking, she lifted one of her hands
to his chest.
Then something changed. Michael stiffened and his expression cleared to its typical stoic
demeanor. Very gently, he lifted her hand and put it back in her lap. “You might want to get some
rest,” he said. “We have a couple of hours until we get to the cabin, and I know it’s been a long day
for you.”
Just this morning, he’d put her in the pantry in her bra and panties because someone had snuck
into her building. It seemed like ages ago.
Just this morning, she hadn’t realized how close to Michael she felt, how much she wanted to
be even closer.
But that was obviously not going to happen. She let out her pent breath and told herself not to
be disappointed or embarrassed.
This was Michael. He’d met her for the first time when she was just nineteen. A year later,
he’d caught her behind the pool house with Brandon’s hand down her pants. Just this evening, he’d
found her having a panic attack about attending a cocktail party.
He’d seen her at her worst, and he wasn’t likely to think she was a very good catch.
Besides, he might already have a girlfriend. If he did, she must be the most understanding
woman in history, since he seemed to be busy both day and night, barely leaving him enough time to
sleep.
“Yeah,” she murmured, leaning down to take off her heels and then slouching in the seat to get
more comfortable. “I’m kind of tired.”
***
Claire started to wake up but couldn’t do it all the way.
She was in that half-sleeping state where she was slightly conscious but not enough to actually
open her eyes. After a few minutes, she realized she was lying down in the backseat of a car.
But her head wasn’t on the seat. It was resting on something warmer and firmer.
She shifted slightly, enjoying the pleasure of sleeping awareness without the pressure of
having to wake up. She was curled up on her side, and she shifted to get more comfortable, bringing
one of her hands up toward her face.
Her palm rested on something she vaguely recognized as fabric.
She relaxed again and must have drifted into a state of unconsciousness for an unspecified
amount of time.
The next time she eased into awareness—still not prepared to wake up all the way—she
realized a hand was brushing her hair back from her face in a gentle caress.
It felt good, so she just enjoyed it for a long time.
Whatever her own hand was resting on seemed to be bigger and harder than before. She liked
the feel of it, so she rubbed her palm against it with a long sigh.
Her firm pillow shifted a little—which was strange but not strange enough to blow away the
cobwebs in her mind. Then the hand that had been stroking her hair wrapped around her wrist and
very gently removed it from what she’d been rubbing.
She readjusted, pulling her arms in toward her chest. She was suddenly aware that she could
open her eyes, but that idea seemed so painful she didn’t dare to try it.
After a minute, the hand started to caress her hair again, the touch delicate, almost tender. It
made her feel safe. It made her feel treasured. She rested in the knowledge and soon lost the ability to
open her eyes.
The next thing she was aware of was her hand being moved again. She must have brought it up
again to the nice, firm thing.
This time, she tried to resist since it didn’t seem right for her body to be moved that way. She
should be able to touch whatever she wanted.
But the hand around her wrist couldn’t be resisted, and the effort finally woke her up all the
way.
She shifted, suddenly aware that she’d fallen asleep in the back of her father’s car on the drive
to the cabin, and her head was resting in someone’s lap.
With a jolt of realization, she opened her eyes and saw the fabric of a dark suit.
Michael’s suit. Michael’s lap. She turned her head and blinked up into Michael’s blue eyes.
There wasn’t much light in the car, so maybe that was why his expression looked different. Softer
than she was used to.
“Oh.” With a wave of self-consciousness, she sat up in rush, moving so quickly her head spun.
“Okay?” he asked. His voice sounded strange too, but she wasn’t oriented enough to recognize
its timbre. He adjusted in his seat as if he needed to get more comfortable.
No surprise. She’d just been sleeping in his lap.
“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sleep all over you. I mean…” She trailed off, blushing a little,
hoping she hadn’t done anything too embarrassing like talk in her sleep.
“It’s fine. You were tired. We’ll get to the cabin soon.”
“Oh. Good.” She rubbed her face, trying to wake up and trying to push past her self-
consciousness. “Is my dad all right?”
“Yeah. I heard from him about twenty minutes ago. Nothing happening there.”
She let out a breath and stared out into the night.
It had been a lot easier when she’d just thought about Michael as familiar, obnoxious, and
pushy.
But she was afraid she’d never think about him so simply again.
***
The cabin was definitely not primitive, but it was not large or particularly luxurious. The small living
and kitchen area with simple, rustic décor was familiar and comforting when she stepped in through
the front door.
Pete was checking the perimeter of the property, and Roger was parking the car in the
unattached garage after dropping them off at the front, so Michael and Claire were alone as they came
inside.
Claire had a sudden vision of coming to this cabin with Michael for an entirely different
reason. Spending a leisurely weekend with him. Spending passionate nights with him. Seeing him let
go of the professionalism he always hid behind. Touching, knowing, being with the real man at last.
For a minute, she wanted it so much she couldn’t breathe.
“Are you all right, Claire?” he asked, when she’d stopped in her tracks without explanation.
She suddenly realized he’d been calling her Claire today, when he never had before. Maybe
—maybe— he was experiencing the same feelings of closeness and attraction that she was. “Yes.”
Her voice cracked on the one word.
When she dropped her eyes, he reached out and lifted her head with one hand. His palm
remained on her face, cupping her cheek. “Everything is going to be fine. I’m not going to let anything
happen to you.”
“I know. It’s just…” She trailed off, finding it impossible to articulate what she was feeling,
what she wanted from him. She leaned her face into his warm hand.
“Just tell me what I can do for you, and I’ll do it.”
She loved the gravel in his voice. It triggered sensations that rippled down her spine. She
opened her mouth, but no words came out this time.
“You can tell me if something’s wrong. You don’t have to hide, Claire.” His eyes were so
deep she could drown in them. “Not from me.”
She didn’t want to hide. She wanted him to know her all the way. And she wanted to know
him just as deeply.
But the thought of telling him that—of stripping herself so completely naked—was simply too
much for her to handle.
She dropped her eyes again in a wave of self-consciousness, and she felt him release her face.
She shut down for a few seconds, trying to restore her equilibrium and composure.
When she looked up, Michael had on his professional face. “Did you need anything before you
go to bed?”
She shook her head, strangely crushed at having lost the moment of closeness. “Thanks. I’m
fine. I’m going to take a bath and turn in.”
“Okay. I’ll be out here all night.” He gestured toward the living area. “Pete will be outside.
The security system I had installed last month is top of the line. There’s nothing for you to worry
about.”
She told him goodnight and went into the bedroom. Roger would sleep in the small bedroom
over the garage, and Pete and Michael wouldn’t sleep at all.
She drew herself a bath and poured in some lavender honey bath oil. Then she soaked for a
long time in the sudsy water, thinking about Michael and how she’d somehow grown into her feelings
for him. It hadn’t really happened all of a sudden—she just hadn’t been aware of the change until her
feelings had completed the transformation.
She wondered how he felt about her.
He cared about her as a person—she was sure of it. If she hadn’t realized it before today, then
she would know it now for sure. But whether his feelings were at all like hers was impossible to
judge, since he masked his real self behind his stoic professionalism.
He’d seemed to feel something for her just now, though, until she’d withdrawn in
nervousness.
She suddenly remembered he’d been stroking her hair as she’d slept on his lap on the drive
here.
She stretched in the tub, reveling in that memory, as blurry as it was.
He wouldn’t have caressed her that way if she’d just been a job to him.
There was something else, something just on the edge of her consciousness.
She cleared her mind and tried to remember.
He’d been hard, she realized with a rush of excitement.
He’d been aroused when her hand had unconsciously rested on his groin in the car. She’d felt
him before he’d moved her hand away.
He must be attracted to her. At least a little.
He’d told her at the party that, if she stopped hiding and revealed who she really was, anyone
would adore her.
She suddenly knew what she was going to do. It would take all the courage she possessed, but
she could do it.
She was shy, but the only way to get what she wanted was to stop hiding.
Not from everyone, but at least from Michael.
She trusted him, and it would be worth it.
She got out of the tub and dried off. The first thing she did was check the nightstand. She’d
dated a guy earlier that year for a couple of months until they’d both realized it wasn’t going to work
because he kept getting frustrated with her introversion. They’d come here once for the weekend
before they’d broken up. There was still a box of condoms in the drawer, and she checked the date on
the box to make sure they hadn’t expired.
Since that was covered, she searched through the dresser drawers. She always kept some
clothes here, but she didn’t have anything remotely sexy. She would feel absolutely ridiculous in a
racy outfit anyway, since it just wasn’t her style. She had a lot of baggy pajamas and sweats—but
none of that would work at all.
The only nightgown she had in the cabin was a white cotton one she wore when it was really
hot in the summer. It had thin lace straps and cinched under the breasts with a ribbon. It looked too
young and innocent for her purposes, but it would be better than flannel pajamas.
She pulled it on over her head and lathered on some lotion that smelled like the bath oil she
used.
She brushed her hair and tried to fight back her breathless nerves.
Other women did this all the time. It wasn’t wrong or inappropriate to let a man know she was
interested. Just because she’d never done it before, didn’t mean it wasn’t worth doing now.
She had to be brave.
If she stalled any further, she would change her mind completely, so she made herself walk
out of her bedroom and into the living room.
Michael was sitting on the leather couch, looking at something on a tablet and drinking a cup
of coffee. He’d taken off his tie and the jacket to his suit and had pushed his sleeves up to his elbow.
She’d never seen him so undone, and the sight made her stomach clench in desire. He glanced
up and almost jumped to his feet when he saw her.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, his eyes scanning her body the way they always did,
assessing her condition.
They lingered a little longer than usual on her legs and breasts, and she tried to take heart in
that very small sign of interest.
“Yes,” she managed to say, her voice sticking in her throat.
“What did you need? I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I didn’t.” She suddenly felt absolutely stupid. She’d only ever dated very outgoing, assertive
men who weren’t intimidated by her quietness or her father, so they’d always made the initial moves.
She’d never been in this situation before, and she wondered how other women managed to pull it off
without feeling like a fool.
Of course, she also wondered how women managed to be the center of attention without trying
—talking to people easily and naturally—so there were clearly a lot of social interactions she just
wasn’t cut out for.
Having absolutely no idea what to say, she went to sit down on the couch. Michael sat back
down beside her.
His eyes searched her face. “I thought you might need to be alone, after today.”
She normally would have wanted to be alone. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her
tonight, and she was starting to think her spontaneous decision had been a big mistake. Since she’d
trapped herself by coming out here, though, she managed to say, “I don’t want to be alone.”
“Are you nervous about the stalker?” He was still peering at her as if he were trying to figure
out what was going on in her mind. “If it would make you feel safer, you can stay out here with me.”
She nodded, since at least that got closer to what she wanted.
“You’ll get too cold wearing that. Run put something else on.”
She glanced down at her little gown and saw that her nipples had tightened—from the cold or
something else—and their outline was clearly visible through the light fabric. “I don’t want to put
anything else on.”
She should have been able to make the statement sound sexier than she had. She was a total
flop at being seductive.
“Claire,” Michael began, his voice taking on that thick tone she remembered from earlier. “I
know you have the right to wear whatever you want. But your looking like that makes it very difficult
for me, so I’d appreciate it if you could cover up a little more.”
She stared at him, suddenly hopeful. And now she saw what she’d been too nervous to notice
before—a certain tension in his jaw and shoulders and a delicious smolder in his eyes that he was
dutifully trying to hide. “I didn’t think…I didn’t think you even noticed how I looked.”
He focused down at the tablet he’d set on the coffee table when she’d entered the room. She
could tell he was now trying to keep his eyes from slipping over to her body. “You were wrong.”
She was breathless with something other than nerves. She leaned closer and put a hand on his
chest, the way she had before in the car—when she’d thought he might kiss her. “Well, since you
brought it up, your looking like that makes it very difficult for me.”
He turned his head toward her with a jerk, and she saw his attempt to rein in his desire was
failing. “My looking like what?”
“Looking like…like Michael.” She slid her hand up his chest, raising it to his face. She
stroked the rough skin of his jaw.
“Claire,” he breathed, almost shaking with the visible effort it took to hold himself back. “You
should go back to your room.”
“I don’t want to go back to my room.” She pulled her legs up beneath her so she could get in a
better position. Then she leaned forward until her lips were just an inch from his. “I want to stay here
with you.”
With a rough groan, he pulled her into his arms and into a hungry kiss.
Her body thrilled with pleasure as his arms tightened around her and his mouth moved against
hers with hard urgency. She tangled her fingers in his thick hair and opened her mouth to the teasing of
his tongue.
Trying to get closer to him, to feel his big, hard body more fully, she straddled his lap as the
kiss deepened even more. Her body now pulsing with growing arousal, she pressed her breasts
against his chest and moaned into his mouth when she felt one of his hands slide down to her bottom,
cupping it possessively.
Her head fell back when their mouths finally broke apart, and she gasped loudly as his skillful
mouth traced an erotic line down her exposed neck.
His body was deliciously tight, and she loved how she could sense something deep and
intense coiled inside him, on the verge of releasing.
She wanted to release it.
She couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. She stroked his broad shoulders, the rippling
muscles of his arms, the lean planes of his chest. All of it was Michael. All of it was strong and hard
and hot and absolutely unshakeable.
“Fuck, Claire,” he murmured as he finally raised his head. His skin had broken out in a sheen
of perspiration. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“I want to do this.” She grabbed his head and pulled him into another kiss.
She heard him make a deliciously low sound in his throat as his tongue tangled with hers and
one of his hands found the curve of her breast.
They were both breathing raggedly when they pulled out of the kiss. He leaned his forehead
against hers. “This happens sometimes. It’s a natural response to a crisis situation. You want this
now, but—”
“It’s not the crisis situation. I wanted to do this before I knew there was a real danger.” She
wriggled on his lap, her body desperate for friction.
In her wriggling, she discovered something new. He was just as aroused as she was. He was
hard beneath the fabric of his pants.
She started to grind herself against the bulge in his trousers until he released a helpless groan.
She’d never dreamed a man as controlled as Michael would respond to her that way.
She tried to kiss him again, but she was suddenly dislodged from his lap. He’d picked her up
and rolled her over onto the couch so he could heave himself to his feet.
She stared up at him, panting and disoriented. “Michael?”
“I’m sorry,” he rasped, facing away from her and rubbing his face with one hand. “I’m sorry,
Claire. I should have stopped us sooner.”
“But…but I wanted…” She felt like something heavy had fallen from the sky to flatten her. To
crush her.
“I’m sorry. But it would be a mistake. We can’t do that.”
A hot wave that wasn’t arousal swallowed her up. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry if I… I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about. It was my fault.”
It hadn’t been his fault. It was her fault. She was the one who’d come on to him so
shamelessly. And he clearly didn’t want this to happen.
He was attracted to her—that much was obvious—but he didn’t feel the same way she did.
She should have known better than to hope for it.
She shut down for a few seconds, dropping her eyes, pulling herself inward, hiding.
Then she stumbled to her feet. “I’m really sorry.”
Michael started to respond. She heard him say, “Claire.” But she’d already withdrawn into
herself too much and now had to get away.
She had to be alone.
She had to somehow recover from this.
As quickly as she could, she returned to her room and closed the door with a loud click,
shutting out Michael and the rest of the world.
The walls of the room were a barrier she desperately needed.
She curled up in a ball on the bed, and it was several minutes before she could let go enough
to even cry.
Five
Claire had gotten through her first wave of emotion and was lying on the bed, trying to convince
herself to pull it together—that this wasn’t really so bad—when she heard a knock on her bedroom
door.
Her room was supposed to be safe. Her room was supposed to keep out the world. She
couldn’t bring herself to respond immediately.
“Claire.” Michael’s voice, just on the other side of the door. “Claire, can I come in?”
His voice sounded strange—tired, stretched, not controlled. It upset her unduly, and she had to
fight off another surge of emotion.
“Claire, are you all right?”
She could tell, from the anxious resonance of his tone, that he would barge in if she didn’t say
anything. “I’m fine.”
She thought she’d sounded okay, that she hadn’t given away her state of mind, but evidently
she was wrong.
“Please don’t cry. I’m really sorry. Can I come in?”
She couldn’t speak immediately. Then she sat up straight in bed when she saw the door open.
Her face worked desperately as she tried to hide her emotions from Michael, who stood in the
doorway of the room. “I said I’m okay,” she forced out.
He walked over to the bed, his expression torn with some sort of strong feeling. No trace of
anything stoic or impassive now. “Shit, Claire. I’m so sorry. I totally blew this whole thing. I never
meant to hurt you.”
“It’s okay.” She managed to compose her face and voice. “It’s not your fault. I’m really fine. I
can handle it if someone doesn’t want me.”
It hurt though. Even just saying the words. It hurt so much her chest ached with it.
She’d thought for a short time that Michael might want her—know her—for who she really
was.
His face twisted inexplicably. “You think I don’t want you?” He reached out and took her face
in both of his hands. “Claire, you have no idea how much—”
His words were interrupted by the sound of a high-pitched blaring that filled the whole cabin.
Without hesitation, Michael regained his feet and ran out to the living area. Claire stumbled
after him. He’d already picked up his tablet and his gun when she reached him.
“Someone’s on the north side of the property,” he muttered, checking the screen of the tablet.
He’d shifted in just an instant into crisis mode, completely alert and primed for action, his earlier
emotional distraction forgotten.
Claire couldn’t shift quite so quickly. Confused and disoriented, she hugged her arms to her
chest.
Pete ran in through the front door of the cabin, his gun in his hand.
“Get back in your room,” Michael ordered her curtly. “Call your dad and don’t hang up with
him until I get back.” He turned to Pete. “Stay with her. No one gets in.”
When she didn’t move fast enough, Michael pushed her back into the bedroom. Pete took his
position in the doorway, and then Michael disappeared out the front door.
Claire was shaking all over as she reached for her phone and dialed her dad. It was late, but
he must not have been asleep because he answered on the second ring.
“Hey, is everything all right?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice was wobbly.
Her father’s voice changed immediately. “What’s going on?”
“There’s someone on the property. Michael went to check it out.”
“But Pete’s with you?”
“Yes, Pete’s here with me.” She took an uneven breath, suddenly terrified about the idea of
Michael out there with a psychotic person. He was always meticulously careful about her safety, but
he might not be as vigilant about his own safety.
What if something happened to him?
“Is there something else?”
She swallowed over a knot of fear. “No. I’m just scared. He’s out there all by himself. What
if—”
“No one is as good at this sort of thing as Michael. You know that.”
“Yeah.”
“I picked him out on purpose because he’s the best—so nothing would happen to you.”
“I know.” She lay on her side on the bed and curled up in a ball, the phone at her ear. “But
what about him?”
“He’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.”
“Yeah.”
She couldn’t seem to say anything else, and her father evidently understood. She kept the
phone to her ear as she waited, hearing nothing but her father’s soft breathing.
She wanted to go outside and look for Michael. She wanted to go out and help him. But she
wouldn’t dream of being so foolish. She didn’t have the skill to help in any way and, if she tried, she
would likely only get herself hurt. Or killed.
Or get Michael killed.
She wasn’t sure what she would do if that happened. He’d been part of her life for so long—
and he meant so much more to her than she’d ever realized before.
Even if he didn’t want to have sex with her, she couldn’t stand for him not to be healthy and
safe.
After about ten minutes, her anxiety was shifting into panic. “It’s taking a really long time,”
she said into the phone. She sat up and looked over at the doorway. “Pete, do you think you should go
check and see if he’s all right?”
“Not under any circumstances,” her father exclaimed.
“There’s no way I’m leaving you alone,” Pete said at exactly the same time. He seemed to
notice something on her face and tapped on his earpiece. “He checked in a couple of minutes ago. He
was fine. Still looking. There’s a lot of property here to search.”
“Oh. Good.”
So all Claire could do was wait.
She ended up waiting almost forty minutes. Pete let her know every time Michael check in,
which helped a lot. It was only really bad the last fifteen minutes, when Pete didn’t hear anything from
Michael.
But finally Pete said, “He’s got him. He’s got him.” He left the doorway to walk toward the
front of the cabin.
Claire sat up immediately. Her father must have heard what was happening because he said,
“Don’t go anywhere. Don’t do anything until Michael gets back.”
“I won’t.”
A few seconds later, Michael appeared in her bedroom. Pete must have taken charge of the
stalker because Michael was alone.
She let out a little sob of relief at the sight of his familiar, handsome face and strong body.
There was dirt and sweat on his skin and on his clothes, but she reached out for him instinctively
when he came over and sat on the edge of the bed.
He took the phone from her hand and put one of his arms around her as she burrowed against
his side.
“We’ve got him, sir,” Michael told her father on the phone. “Thomas Waverly. He worked
for the catering company we used for the party last night.”
Her father must have said something, but Claire couldn’t hear what it was. She didn’t even
care at the moment, since Michael’s arm was holding her so tightly she couldn’t breathe.
She wanted it. Needed it.
Michael and her father had a brief conversation. From the side she heard, Waverly must have
worked briefly for the studio before he’d gotten the job with the catering company. Then they made
plans about what to do next.
The next stretch of time passed in a blur. Michael hung up with her father and called the
police to arrange to bring Waverly down to be arrested. They had to wake Roger up, so he could
drive Pete and Waverly into town to the station.
Claire just waited through the logistics, curled up in bed—so overwhelmed with emotion that
she was afraid she might actually pass out from it. All her life, with any strong emotion, she’d felt the
same way—as if she had to pull it in to contain it, since her feelings were too deep to channel, too
powerful to express.
She’d always secretly wondered whether people who could express emotions easily didn’t
feel them as deeply as she did. Rationally, she knew that wasn’t right, but it was the only way she
could understand it.
Finally, after the others left, Michael came back into her room.
She sat up again, trembling with something that wasn’t fear. “I didn’t need to go talk to the
police too?”
He stood next to the bed. “Not tonight. You’ll have to talk to them tomorrow, but we can
schedule a time and you can get a lawyer to go with you.”
“Oh. Okay. So everything is all right for now?”
“Yes. Everything is all right.” He didn’t leave, but he also didn’t move. He stood completely
motionless and kept gazing at her, something unspeakably deep in his eyes.
“Okay.” She was still shaking, and it was visible in her hands, audible in her voice.
“It’s all over now.”
“Okay.”
“Claire, honey,” he murmured hoarsely, “You’re still trembling. Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” It wasn’t. She was just feeling too much—all the emotions centered on the
man in front of her.
“Then tell me what you’re thinking.”
She cleared her throat and made herself say it. “Michael is the warrior angel, standing in the
gap for the hosts of God.”
His face softened with something she knew—she knew—was powerful emotion. Like her, he
couldn’t always express it. “In that little scenario, are you God then?”
She giggled at his dry, fond tone, but her voice broke as she admitted, “No. God would never
have been as scared as I was.”
“I would never have let anything happen to you.”
“I know that. I was scared for you.”
And that was what broke the shuddering tension between them.
With a burst of thick sound, he reached down for her and pulled her up into a kiss. She
grabbed for him urgently, clawing at his shoulders as feeling and sensation overwhelmed her, finally
unleashed.
She managed to pull him into the bed with her, and they couldn’t seem to stop kissing. He was
hot and heavy on top of her, and she tugged at his shirt until she’d managed to untuck it. She slid her
hands along the tight skin of his back.
His mouth devoured her, but hers was just as ravenous, just as needy.
“Fuck, Claire,” he muttered, finally breaking the kiss but only to mouth his way along her jaw
and down to the throbbing pulse in her neck. “You’re so sweet. So beautiful.”
She whimpered in pleasure—at both the words and the sensations—and then she arched up
helplessly when he lowered his head even further and took a nipple in his mouth through the fabric of
her gown.
Already aching with arousal, she tried to wrap one of her legs around his hip, writhing
beneath him as he fondled and teased.
When the sensations were almost too much, she tugged at his hair until he lifted his head. His
skin was damp and his blue eyes intensely hot.
He just stared down at her, as if he couldn’t look away.
She used his distraction to grab his shirt and start undoing the buttons. He helped her with it
until she could drop it over the side of the bed, and then he pulled his t-shirt off over his head, letting
her rub her palms over the delicious texture of his chest.
He wiped at his face with the back of his forearm. “Shit. I’m going to get you all sweaty and
dirty. I should have taken a shower first.”
A ripple of amusement overtook her, a needed relief from the intensity, and she laughed
helplessly and pulled him into a hug. “I definitely couldn’t wait for you to take a shower. I can’t wait
at all. I want you now.” To prove her point, she rubbed her arousal shamelessly against his hip.
He kissed her again, holding her head in place with one hand. When their lips parted, he
murmured, “I want you too. You have no idea how much.”
“I can feel a little bit of how much.” She managed to get her hand between their bodies and
press against the bulge of his erection.
“Just a little bit, huh?” Despite his ironic tone, his breath hitched audibly as she caressed him.
“Maybe a little more than a little bit.”
He chuckled as he kissed her, but their embrace quickly spiraled out of control again.
As urgency took over, she fumbled with his trousers until she’d undone them and then tried to
push them down over his hips. He was too distracted by trying to kiss her and pull her gown over her
head simultaneously to help her very much so she had some trouble getting his clothes off. She
managed eventually.
Both of them naked at last, their embrace grew even hungrier, hotter, the feel of his skin
against hers a delicious form of torture. When he lowered his mouth to her breasts again, she gasped,
“Please, I need you now, Michael.”
“But you won’t be ready for me yet, will you?” He lifted his head to look down at her, a slight
concern shading the desire radiating off him. He reached down between her legs and slid his fingers
across her aroused flesh, testing her readiness.
She huffed with laughter and arousal both as he stroked her. He would feel just how wet she
already was, despite their brief and somewhat clumsy foreplay. “I need you now,” she repeated,
clawing at his ass in an attempt to pull him into place.
He started to settle between her legs when he jerked without warning. “Condom.”
She couldn’t believe she’d almost forgotten. She’d never been so completely overwhelmed
with need and feeling before. She’d always enjoyed sex very much, but it had never taken over
everything else. “In the drawer,” she said, nodding at the nightstand.
He grabbed a condom and rolled it on quickly. Then he repositioned himself and used his
hand to line up his erection at her entrance.
She’d parted her thighs to make room for him, and now she rocked her hips up to meet him,
desperate to feel him inside her.
“Are you sure about this, honey?” he asked hoarsely, his eyes meeting hers, just on the cusp of
connection.
“Yes, yes, please. I want you so much.”
He slid in slowly, pulling back once to reangle the penetration. She arched from the pleasure
and pressure as his hard length sank deeper inside her.
When he’d finished his thrust, Michael braced himself above her, breathing heavily. She could
tell he was trying to compose himself, but she couldn’t wait for him to catch his breath. She started to
move her hips eagerly, trying to ride him from below, already feeling the sensations intensifying.
“Fuck, Claire. Hold on—“ Michael’s voice was thick and breathless, and he jerked his head
to the side, trying to hold himself still with so much effort that his body shook visibly.
“I can’t,” she gasped, “I need…I need…” Her body felt out of control—from emotion as much
as physical sensation.
With a low groan, Michael gave up the fight to control himself. All the tension he kept coiled
tightly inside him let go in that moment. He began to thrust hard, fast, urgent.
She cried out as she felt him let go, since it was exactly what she wanted. She matched his
motion as the world narrowed down to nothing but this rhythm, this hunger, this heat, Michael’s
intense blue eyes holding hers without wavering.
This was what she wanted—Michael stripped of his stoic mask and fully with her, with her, at
last.
He grunted as he moved above her and inside her, and she clawed lines down his back and on
his ass as she felt an orgasm tighten improbably soon. Their motion was carnal, primitive—a perfect
expression of feelings they were finally allowed to channel.
She heard herself making sobbing sounds as her body shook with her approaching climax. Her
mouth opened with a soundless cry as the pleasure broke in intense waves of pleasure.
Michael froze for a moment as her channel clenched hard around him. Then he lost it, his hips
jerking against hers in a few fast, tight thrusts as he choked on a broken exclamation.
She’d come down enough to see his face twist in pleasure. Witnessing his release was just as
powerful as her own orgasm.
He was always so controlled. Knowing he’d lost his control—with her—knit something
together in her heart.
When the last wave of his release worked itself through him, his elbows buckled, and he
barely caught himself before his weight landed on her. But she pulled him down on her anyway,
wrapping her arms around him and wanting to feel him now just as much as she had before.
He panted against her neck, pressing little kisses against her skin. She hugged him, loving how
his body softened in her arms.
When he lifted his head at last, she saw something soft and ironic both in his eyes.
She smiled in response to the expression and in response to the overflow of affection in her
chest.
“Well, that lasted all of two minutes,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss the corner of her
mouth. “Rather pathetic performance, really.”
She smiled against his lips. “No, it wasn’t. I loved it.”
“I did too. But give me a minute or two, and I promise I can do better.”
She laughed and hugged him again, and warm delight washed over her as she heard him laugh
too.
Before she wanted to let him go, he pulled up and away until she had to release him. “I need
to take care of the condom,” he explained.
She watched as he got up to dispose of it, admiring the strong, masculine lines of his naked
body. He must have seen her looking at him because he arched his eyebrows as he got back into bed.
“You’ve got a very nice ass,” she told him when he stretched out beside her and propped his
head up on his hand to look down on her.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Thanks. At the moment, it has a few scratches on it.”
She felt her cheeks warm, since she knew he was speaking the truth. She’d been very
enthusiastic earlier. “You’ve got no one to blame for that but yourself. You were moving too slow.”
“I’ve never been accused of that before, but I’ll work on it.” He gently pulled back the sheet
she’d covered herself up with, his eyes lingering on her bare breasts, belly, and groin. “You’ve got
very nice everything,” he murmured.
The hot look in his eyes made her cheeks warm even more. She would have felt self-
conscious if not for the obvious appreciation in his expression. Before she could think of anything
witty to say in response, he leaned down to brush his lips against hers.
The kiss was soft, almost sweet, and she felt a little melty as he raised his head a few inches
to gaze down on her. When he lowered his face for another kiss, she reached up and combed her
fingers through his wavy, dark hair.
He stroked the insides of her lips with his tongue. She opened her mouth for him instinctively
and sighed in pleasure as he deepened the kiss. It lasted a long time, not growing needy so quickly
this time, but eventually he pulled away from her mouth so he could kiss his way down her body.
He took his time, caressing and teasing her with his skillful lips and his strong hands. By the
time he’d reached her belly, Claire was pulsing with arousal again and tossing her head restlessly on
the pillow.
He parted her legs and stroked her intimately with his fingers. She gasped when he slid his
fingers into her wet channel. Then he lowered his mouth to her clit, teasing it with his tongue. She
gave a little huff at each jolt of pleasure.
Soon the sensations had coalesced into a growing climax. She couldn’t stay still and she
couldn’t stay quiet as they intensified, so she clutched the bedding with one hand and with the other
she held Michael’s head in place between her thighs.
He was stroking her with two fingers and sucking on her clit, and soon she came so hard she
had to stifle a loud cry by biting her bottom lip.
Her body relaxed deliciously as the waves of pleasure finally eased, and Michael raised his
head, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Oh God, thank you,” she breathed, reveling in the physical satisfaction and the thrill of
Michael’s having done that for her. “That was incredible.”
“I told you I could do better.” He was smiling as he kissed his way back up to her mouth. She
could still taste herself on his lips, and she didn’t even care.
He was hard again. She snuck a hand between their bodies so she could massage his erection
as they kissed. His body was tightening, although not as intensely as it had before. He wasn’t going to
lose control yet.
After a few minutes of kissing, she reached over for a condom and made him roll over so she
could put it on. Then he pulled her on top of him until she was straddling his hips, and he held his
erection in place and helped her lower herself over him, sheathing his hard length in her body.
She moved over him slowly, trying to find a pleasing angle and rhythm. She was usually self-
conscious on top, but she loved the way he gazed up at her, his eyes caressing her hot face, her naked
breasts, and the place farther down where they were joined.
He lifted a hand to cup her face, and his expression held such tenderness it took her breath
away.
She’d never known—she’d just never known—that this passionate man existed beneath the
stoic Michael she’d always seen before.
“Can you come, honey?” he asked, when she’d slowed down because her thighs were getting
tired.
“Not like this.” She rubbed his chest—the firm muscles, the ripples of his ribs, the coarse
dark hair that she loved to feel beneath her palms. “But I’m good. You can come if you need to.”
He shook his head. “I told you I could do better this time.” He lifted her hips until he’d slid
out of her, and then he turned them both over, so she was on her back and he was on top of her. He
spread her legs a little wider and bent one of them up toward her chest. Then he entered her again.
She moved with him as he started to thrust, and soon the tender look in his eyes shifted into the
hungry, urgent one. It seemed to spur her on too because the friction caused her nerve endings to fire
off in quick succession.
She’d been holding onto his shoulders, but now she started to claw at him again. She wrapped
her legs around his middle, hooking them on the second try. He slid in a little deeper, and she choked
on a cry in response.
“Good,” he grunted, “Good, honey. Come for me.” His hips were working hard and fast, and
the tension was just on the verge of releasing.
She came, shuddering and crying out as the climax swept over her. He kept thrusting against
the contractions, extending the duration as she rode out her orgasm.
Then he finally let himself come too, letting go on another broken exclamation that sounded
almost like her name.
Again, she was able to watch as climax hit him. Again, she reveled in the sight of his familiar
face so completely overwhelmed with what he was feeling.
She wrapped her arms around him when it was over, and this time neither of them needed to
speak.
She was exhausted and completely sated when he took care of the condom and got back into
bed with her. He gathered her in his arms and held her close.
She snuggled against him, feeling like she should say something but just not finding the energy.
She was wiped out from the very long day and night, but she didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want
to leave his arms.
After a long time, Michael shifted against her and stroked her hair. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m good. So good.” She caressed his flat belly and listened to his heart beat under her
ear. “What about you?”
He lifted his head enough to kiss her hair. “I’m good too.”
It wasn’t long until she’d fallen asleep.
***
When Claire woke up an hour or so later, she was still pressed up against Michael’s side. She could
sense him trying to move away, even in her half-conscious state, so she grabbed at him and tried to
hold him in place.
“Don’t go,” she mumbled. “I want you here.” She burrowed against his strength and heat.
His arm—the one that was still around her—tightened palpably. “I’m here, Claire. I’m here.”
She sighed in relief when she felt his body relax, and she drifted off to sleep again.
***
The next time Claire woke up, Michael was gone for good.
Six
It was after nine when Claire woke up.
She never slept so late, but she hadn’t gone to sleep until almost four, so she was still groggy,
disoriented, and a little sore when she finally rolled out of bed.
Her first thought was to look for Michael, but he was obviously not in the bedroom. His
clothes, which had littered the floor last night, were gone as well.
He’d probably gotten up and dressed early. She pulled on her gown and then found a robe to
put on over it, since Michael might not be the only one in the cabin this morning. She padded out
barefoot into the living area to see Pete in the easy chair, reading a newspaper.
“Good morning,” he said with a smile, putting down the paper.
“Morning.” She returned his smile, but her eyes scanned the kitchen and living area, hoping to
see Michael. He wasn’t there. “How is everything?”
“Just fine. Your father asked if you’d call him when you woke up.”
She nodded to acknowledge this piece of information and then went into the kitchen to pour
herself a cup of coffee. As she sipped it, she walked from window to window, checking to see if
Michael was outside somewhere but not wanting her search to be too obvious.
She didn’t see him, but the property was big. Maybe he was taking care of something out of
sight.
She took her coffee into her bedroom to shower and dress. A half-hour later she reemerged
and came out to get a second cup of coffee. Pete was still there, and Michael was still nowhere in
sight.
Unable to hold back the question, she asked casually, “Is Michael lurking about somewhere?”
Pete looked vaguely surprised, as if she should have known. “Oh, no. He went down to the
police station early.”
“Oh.” She let out a breath of relief. Maybe he thought he’d be back before she woke up. “So
he’ll be back soon then?”
Pete shifted, slightly uncomfortable. He still looked a little surprised, like he’d assumed she
would have known all this information. “I don’t think so. He decided to take a couple of weeks off,
since we finally got this guy. He hasn’t had a vacation in years.” He offered that last comment almost
gently, like a peace offering.
“Oh.” Claire’s chest started to hurt. “Okay.”
She went into the bedroom and checked the bed, nightstand, and dresser, looking for a note
she might have missed. She picked up her phone and checked for messages, but there was nothing
there.
The pain in her chest was dropping to her stomach, but she went to check the kitchen and
living room for a note—although she couldn’t imagine he would have left it there.
But she also couldn’t imagine he would have left her without a word. After what they’d
shared last night.
She even pulled up her email, in case he’d wanted to compose a longer message. But there
was no word of any kind from Michael.
She sat on the bed, trying to think, trying not to overreact.
But there was no way this could be good.
Unable to process it yet, she called up her dad. He told her that he’d arranged for his personal
lawyer to meet her at the police station that morning so she could explain the little she knew about the
incidents of last night. He said that Roger and Pete would take her, since Michael was on vacation.
He didn’t sound surprised or seem to think that Michael’s absence was strange.
He asked if she would mind coming to his place later and spending a couple of days with him.
He’d been worried about her. He didn’t say so, but she could tell.
She told her father she’d be happy to stay at the house for a while, and then she hung up the
phone.
She checked her phone again, but still no message from Michael.
Maybe he was planning to meet her at the police station.
She didn’t share herself lightly or jump into anything without feeling safe. She’d been sure of
Michael. She’d trusted him completely.
She just couldn’t believe he would have left her like this.
Still hoping things weren’t as they seemed, she went to the police station. Taking the report
moved slowly so she was there for a couple of hours.
Michael never made an appearance.
Finally, she was on her way back to L.A., Roger driving the car and Pete in the front seat.
Claire was alone in the back, and she hadn’t heard a word from Michael.
He wasn’t a thoughtless or an insensitive man. He wouldn’t have done this to her without
realizing how she would feel. He would know she’d expected to hear from him—hear something
from him after last night. Which meant he was giving her a silent message.
He’d taken a couple of weeks off so he wouldn’t have to see her or talk to her. To give her
time to get over things.
He was trying to let her down easy—to spare them both a painful conversation.
It hurt so much she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t cry.
It felt wrong. It just felt wrong. She couldn’t have been so mistaken. She didn’t know exactly
what was between them, but their lovemaking last night had been real. Both of them had been real, not
hiding anymore.
She just couldn’t believe it had meant so little to him.
On that thought, she dialed his number on her phone, which she’d been holding in one hand.
She was shaking as she heard it ring, and she was also a little nauseated. She hated making calls,
especially if she wasn’t sure whether the other person wanted to hear from her.
She had no idea what she would say when Michael answered, but she knew she needed to try.
It rang until it went to voice mail, and then she just hung up.
An hour later, she tried to call him again. This time, it went immediately to voice mail.
No more doubts or questions. Michael didn’t want to hear from her. Even if there had been an
emergency with his mother, he still would have sent her a quick text.
His silence was clearly the message.
She felt painful sobs rising in her throat. For a moment, it hurt so much she couldn’t take a full
breath.
She’d tried so hard. She resisted the urge to hide. She’d shown him her true self, no matter
how vulnerable it made her.
And he just hadn’t wanted her.
It was too much to handle on her own, no matter how much that was her instinct. Since she
couldn’t talk to Michael, she called her dad.
“Hi, pumpkin.”
“Hi.” It was just the one word, and she thought it sounded normal enough.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she lied.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen at the station? Oscar said everything went fine.”
“It was fine. Nothing’s wrong.” She had to swallow over the words in order to hold back the
rising emotion.
She couldn’t hold them back. Her shoulders shook and her face twisted as she released a few
silent sobs.
Her father was quiet for a minute. Then he said gently, “Please tell me what happened.”
She tried desperately to compose herself. When she thought she had herself under control, she
began, “It’s not that big a deal. It’s just that…Michael…”
Saying his name was too terrible, admitting how foolish she’d been was too terrible. She
couldn’t continue. She choked on a few more sobs.
Her father didn’t push her. He just waited in silence until she’d stopped crying.
But then she still couldn’t say anything. Talking was just too hard. Words could never embody
her feelings, and they didn’t want to be spoken.
“I’d never expect you to give me details about your personal life,” he said at last. “And I
know it’s hard for you to share things that run deep. I know it might be easier if you had a mother you
could talk to. But, if something has hurt you, you shouldn’t try to carry it alone.” He cleared his throat.
“I’m your family, pumpkin. I’m the one you tell.”
She fell apart completely, sobbing loudly, helplessly.
It was still so hard for her to talk about it, but this was her father. He loved her invariably.
He’d never left her. He’d never let her down. He’d never not answered when she called.
“What happened with Michael?” her father asked. He must know she was now trying to tell
him.
She was still crying, but she managed to choke out, “He didn’t…he didn’t want me.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Just let her cry until she managed to pull herself together.
Then he asked, almost mildly, “Okay, I’m going to ask you a question, and I promise it’s just
because I want to help.”
“I know,” she told him, wiping her eyes.
“Because you’re so quiet, sometimes people don’t know what you’re thinking and feeling.
They don’t understand that you just haven’t expressed it in words.” He paused for just a moment.
“Are you sure he knows how you feel?”
She dissolved again but didn’t totally lose it. “He does know. I was good. I was…I was
brave. I really tried. I was brave.”
“Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry.”
She wiped away the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her father didn’t say anything for a
minute or two. She knew he was thinking, trying to work things out in his mind, finding a way to fix
what was absolutely unfixable.
Finally, he said, “I’m not sure you have the real story.”
“I really do, Dad. I don’t think I’m overreacting. He sent me a very clear message.”
“I believe he sent you a message, but I don’t believe it means he doesn’t want you. That
doesn’t sound right to me.”
“You’re just saying that because you’re my dad.” His rationale in thinking that every man must
be crazy about her touched her, though.
“No, no. I mean, obviously no man in the world is good enough for you, but that’s not what I
mean.”
“What do you mean?” Despite everything she knew to be true, she couldn’t help but feel a
little spark of hope.
“I mean it doesn’t fit with what I know of Michael. I make a point of never getting involved in
my staff’s personal lives, but I do accidentally notice things and am capable of putting details together
into a reasoned conclusion.”
She tightened a fist in her lap. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’d believe he’s a stubborn bastard who’s too thick-skulled to take what he wants,
and I’d believe you’ve muddled things a bit and your efforts to share your feelings weren’t quite as
obvious as you think. But what I can’t believe is that he doesn’t want you.”
Claire swallowed hard. “Why would you think that?”
“Because I have eyes in my head and the man has worked for me for six years. I’ve actually
felt bad for him sometimes in the last year or two, since he’s so completely gone on you and you’ve
always been so oblivious.”
“But, if that’s true, then why would he...why would he leave…”
“I don’t know. Men are stupid a lot of the time. Michael’s always at the top of his game, so
I’d imagine he can be stupider than most.”
Her throat was aching again, but it was with bewildered hope rather than grief. “So you think
maybe…maybe it’s not as bad as it seems?”
“I really don’t know. Sometimes these things just don’t work out, even if both people want it
to. All I’m saying is that the message you’ve gotten from him isn’t the whole story. It might be worth
figuring out what the story really is.”
“But he’s taking a vacation. And he won’t even answer my calls.”
“I don’t expect it will be simple. Especially not for you.” He paused before he added, as if he
had to consider whether he wanted to say it, “He’s never going to be an easy man, pumpkin.”
“I know. I never wanted an easy man.”
“Then be brave.”
“I will.”
When she hung up, she sat for a long time in silence, trying to figure out what to do, what
Michael might have been thinking, and where he might be right now.
She had an idea, but it terrified her. It would stretch her beyond the boundaries of her nature,
making her more vulnerable than anything she’d done the night before.
She would have to find someone who didn’t want to be found, approach someone who was
hiding from her, express feelings that were far too deep to express.
She took a shuddering breath and rolled down the window to the front seat. “Roger,” she said,
leaning forward, “Can we make a stop before we go to my dad’s?”
“Sure thing. Where are we going?”
“Rivercrest. Same place as last night.”
Pete gave her a quick look, but Roger didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Sure thing, miss.”
She rolled up the window and tried to plan some things to say—assuming Michael was there
at all.
She was quite sure that was where he would be.
Seven
A half-hour later, when Roger pulled to a stop at the entrance of the nursing home, Claire was so
terrified she was almost numb from it.
Michael might reject her. To her face. He might break her heart after she laid it on the table.
She was in a strange, blurred trance as she walked into the building and ascended to the fourth
floor. She made it down the hall to the corner bedroom and saw the door was halfway open.
She stood in the doorway and looked inside.
Michael was there, just as she’d expected.
His mother was in a recliner near the window, but she was stretched out and sound asleep.
Michael sat beside her. He had his phone in his hand, but he wasn’t using it. His head rested
on one of his hands, hiding his eyes. He looked like he was rubbing his temples, and even his
shoulders were slumped.
Claire suddenly knew her father was right. Whatever the reason Michael had left her without a
word, it wasn’t because he wanted to.
He looked battered.
He dropped his hand from his forehead but didn’t look up. He held his phone in both hands
and just stared at it.
Her heart went out to him, and she was hit with an overwhelming urge to go comfort him.
He was strong and solid and competent and professional. But he wasn’t unbreakable.
He needed someone.
He needed her.
She was about to respond to the compulsion to walk over and put her arms around him—
forgetting her nerves, forgetting everything she’d been afraid of just the minute before—but he looked
up just then and saw her.
He blinked for a second, obviously processing her appearance. Then he stood up with an
awkward jerk.
He strode toward her, his expression tightening. “What are you doing here?” Despite his low
voice out of consideration for his sleeping mother, his tone was rough and almost angry.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Well, you can’t be here. You need to leave.”
“I’m not going to leave. I need to talk to you.”
Evidently realizing he wasn’t going to get rid of her, he took her arm and walked her into the
hall. When someone passed by and glanced at them curiously, Michael looked around—obviously
searching for somewhere more private to talk. He ended up pulling her into a large, cinnamon-scented
hall bathroom.
When he shut the door, he said, “So talk.”
To anyone else, his face might have appeared detached and impassive, but she could see the
exhaustion, the strain in so many different signs. She lifted her hand to cup his cheek tenderly. “Are
you okay, Michael?”
He swallowed so hard she could see it in his throat, and for just a moment he leaned into her
hand. Then he said, “I’m fine. I thought you would have understood when I left this morning.”
“I did understand what you were trying to say, but it was the wrong thing to say.”
His brows drew together as he studied her face. “You’ve been crying.”
She sucked in an outraged breath, briefly distracted from what she needed to say to him. “Of
course, I’ve been crying, you big idiot. You left me this morning without a word.”
His expression softened and he wiped the lingering trail of one tear with his thumb. “I’m so
sorry, Claire. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Well, you did hurt me, and I deserve to know why.” Her heart was racing again, but no
matter how hard this was for her to do, to face, she was now sure this was the right thing.
He turned his head to the side and took a few breaths, obviously thinking or steeling himself
for whatever he planned to tell her.
She didn’t let him. She didn’t want to hear whatever he thought was best for her to hear.
“You promised you’d never lie to me,” she murmured, her voice breaking as she remembered
him saying that. Just yesterday morning.
He cut his eyes back to her. “I’ve never lied to you.”
“Yes, you have.” She shifted from foot to foot, forcing herself to hold his gaze, even though
she was tempted to shut down for a few seconds. “You told me that, if I let someone see the real me,
they would…they would adore me. You promised me it was true.”
He just stared down at her, something coiled tensely inside him the way she’d seen in him
before.
“And I let you see me. For real.” It was so hard for her to say the words, despite everything.
Her voice was cracked and breathless.
He made a rough sound in his throat and rubbed his face with his big hand, looking away from
her. “Damn it, Claire.”
She knew he didn’t want her to say it, but she did anyway. “And you still left me.”
“You’re going to make me spill it all, aren’t you?” He took one more thick breath and turned
to meet her eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you everything. I didn’t lie to you, Claire. I do adore you. I adore
you beyond all sense and reason. I’ve adored you for years, even though I knew I shouldn’t. I’ve
always adored you, even though I knew you weren’t allowed. I can’t help it. I just can’t help it. I
adore everything about you. I just adore you, Claire.”
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected—maybe some sort of initial expression of interest. She
certainly didn’t expect this, and the wave of feeling drowned her. It was too much. She hid her face in
his chest and clutched at his shirt.
His arms went around her automatically, tightening with strength and comfort she needed.
“I just need a minute,” she managed to gasp, still unable to raise her head but afraid he would
think she was withdrawing from him.
“I know.”
It was a less than a minute when she was able to straighten up, capable of meeting his eyes
and speaking again. “If you feel that way, then why did you leave me this morning?”
He dropped his arms from her waist and his expression changed. “Because it’s just not as
simple as that. Being with you—even in the initial stages of a relationship—would completely change
my life. I would have to quit my job and find a new one. Your father pays for this place for my mother
—did you know that? It’s one of the benefits of the job. I could never afford it myself. I would have to
find somewhere new for her, and it would never be so good for her. Do you understand? It wouldn’t
be a normal dating relationship for me. It would change everything.”
She stared at him, the hope she’d been feeling suddenly crashing into heartache again. “I…I
understand. I hadn’t thought about all that, but I understand. That’s asking too much. I would never be
worth all that for you.”
He choked on a rough sound. “Of course, you would be worth it. But we’d just be starting out.
I’m not foolish enough to expect you to feel the same way I do. I know we’d have to begin casually.
I’d never put pressure on you to make it serious so soon. Last night was incredible, but I never should
have let it happen. I just don’t know how I can upend my entire life—and my mother’s life—and at the
same time risk…risk my heart that way.” He lifted a hand to stroke her cheek with his knuckles. “I’d
never get over it. I just can’t take that risk.”
She stared at him blindly, trying to process what she’d just heard.
“You understand, don’t you, honey?” Michael asked hoarsely. “I never wanted to hurt you. I
get that you might think it would be crazy for us not to have more nights like last night. But it would be
so much more for me than just dating you. I don’t think I can do it.”
She was almost panting now as so many different powerful emotions vied for control inside
her. Finally, frustration won out. She grabbed his shoulders and tried to shake him—although he was
so much bigger than her it was a futile effort. “You idiot! You absolute idiot!”
He grabbed her wrists and pulled them down as she tried to shake him some more. “Claire,
what’s gotten into you?” He was stronger than her, so he managed to stop her flailing. “Believe it or
not, I’m not inclined to share my personal feelings and that wasn’t exactly easy for me to say. You’re
really calling me an idiot?”
“Because you are an idiot. What if I want more from you too?”
He took her face in his hands. “I know we’re really good together. And, after last night, you
know it too. But didn’t you understand about how much more there is at stake for me?”
“Yes, I heard you. You’re not hearing me. You’re so caught up in your doomed saga that it
never even occurred to you that I might adore you too.”
“What did you say?” He’d frozen, all the tension inside him shuddering in his tight posture, in
his blue eyes.
She pulled her wrists out of his grip and took his hands instead, so their clasped hands were
held between their bodies. “You heard me. I adore you too. Speaking of things that are hard for one to
do, do you have any idea how hard it was for me to come here to talk to you, after you’d rejected me?
I…I almost couldn’t do it. There’s no other man in the world I would have gone against my nature for
—no one except my dad. But I thought…I knew…you were worth it. Even though you’re an idiot.”
“So what are you saying?” He was always so quick that she knew how hard this had hit him,
since he couldn’t seem to keep up with the conversation.
“I’m saying that this wouldn’t be casual for me. It would be just as serious as it is for you. I’m
in it all the way too.”
“You are?”
She peered up at him, trying to read into the stunned awe on his face. “Why is that so hard for
you to believe?”
“Because you’re…you’re you. And you could have any man you wanted.”
Her mouth twisted in emotion as she realized he actually believed such a thing was true.
“Even if that nonsense is right—which it isn’t—it still wouldn’t matter. Because the man I want is
you.”
“Are you sure? I’m not romantic, charming, or particularly forthcoming about my feelings.”
Something had changed in his demeanor, though. He wasn’t doing such a good job holding himself
back. He’d slid an arm around her waist and was combing the other hand through her hair. “Plus, I’m
way too old for you.”
“I don’t want a charming, romantic talker. Too much talking makes me crazy. You know that.”
Feeling like her battle had already been won, she let herself give him a sweet smile. “And I don’t
think you’re too old. You can’t be much more than forty.”
He made a choking sound. “Forty? I’m not even thirty-fi—“ He must have suddenly realized
she was teasing him. She hadn’t been able to sustain her innocent smile. “Damn it, Claire.”
She laughed helplessly, and he pulled her into a tight hug.
“Please stop making up ridiculous excuses,” she said, muffled by his shirt. “If you don’t want
me, then I would accept it. But I’m not going to accept anything else. So just tell me the truth. Do you
want me?”
“More than anything.”
“Then we’re fine. Because I want you too.”
He eased her head back so he could look down into her face, and she saw everything she
needed in his eyes. No stoic mask. No reluctance. No hiding anymore.
She reached up and pulled his head down into a kiss.
He responded immediately, taking over the initiative with strong hands and hungry mouth. She
was breathless when he finally drew back and gathered her into another hug.
“So it’s all right?” she asked at last, clinging to him because she was feeling too much to even
stay on her feet. “I know it’s asking a lot for you, so if you really don’t want to—“
“Of course, I want to. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long. I just didn’t think it would ever
happen.”
“Well, that’s because you’re an idiot.”
He laughed, and his arms tightened around her even more. “I’m not about to argue with you
about that.”
She straightened up, although she was still holding onto his shirt. The fabric was damp and
hopelessly wrinkled. “Do you think we could maybe leave the bathroom now? I’d kind of like to sit
down.”
They were smiling when they left the bathroom, both of them looking a little worse for wear.
A passing nurse raised her eyebrows sky-high when she saw them.
They went back into his mother’s room and sat down. Claire was so exhausted from the
intensity of the last twenty-four hours that she was almost incapable of talking. Michael seemed to
understand that she needed silence to restore her equilibrium, and he didn’t try to engage her for a
long time.
She thought he probably appreciated the silence too.
After about a half-hour, his mother started to wake up. She was disoriented at first, but she
accepted the cup of hot tea Michael made her and she seemed very pleased at the unexpected pleasure
of his visit in the middle of the day.
She seemed more lucid than when Claire had seen her last night, and eventually her eyes
landed on Claire.
Her gaze cut from Michael to Claire and then back again. “Is this the one?” she asked softly.
Michael met Claire’s eyes briefly before he answered. “She’s the one.”
“Everything is good?”
“Yes, everything is good.”
For a moment, Claire was sure the woman knew exactly what was going on and what her
son’s words meant. But then she drifted into disorientation again because she muttered, “I’m so sorry
about the bike.”
“What’s the bike?” Claire asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because his mother was
looking at her when she said the words.
“It’s nothing. Just an old story from the past.” Michael had glanced away diffidently.
“It’s not nothing,” his mother said. “He was only ten years old, and he wanted a beautiful
blue, ten-speed bike. We couldn’t afford it, so he worked all summer mowing lawns to save money
for it. Weeks and weeks and weeks he worked. Way too hard for such a little boy.”
Raising a hand to her chest at the thought of Michael as that boy, Claire asked, “What
happened?”
“Someone stole his money. An older boy in the neighborhood.”
“Oh, no,” Claire breathed, her voice cracking. She glanced at Michael, who wouldn’t meet
her eyes.
“He knew who it was, and he tried to get it back. He came back black and blue with a cracked
rib. He wouldn’t tell us who had done it to him.” The memory hurt his mother so much that one of her
eyes streamed with tears. “He was only ten. My poor little boy.”
“Oh, no,” Claire said again, swallowing over the emotion. “He never got the bike?”
“We tried to save enough to buy it for him, but we just couldn’t scrape out enough. He never
got the bike. I’m so sorry, Mikey.”
“It’s not your fault.” Michael’s voice was rougher than normal. “Please don’t worry about it,
Mom. It was a long time ago. I never needed the bike.”
If she hadn’t understood before why he’d left her that morning, she understood perfectly now.
In some ways, Michael was still that boy—working so hard and expecting to never really get
what he wanted. So much so that he wasn’t comfortable asking for it.
Even with the quiet time for recovery she’d had earlier, it was still too much for Claire. She
had to leave the room.
She walked the halls for a few minutes, trying to pull herself together, telling herself she was
just emotional because it had been such a long twenty-four hours, that she’d return to her normal quiet
composure soon.
Very soon.
She’d wandered into a small reception area and was looking out the window at a pleasant,
grassy lawn when she felt a warm arm wrap around her middle from behind.
Michael pressed himself against her back.
“Hi,” she managed to say.
He’d tilted his head, trying to see her expression. “It was a long time ago, Claire. It was no
big deal.”
She shook with suppressed emotion. “It was a big deal. It was…it was terrible.”
“My mom is just hung up on it, but it really wasn’t any sort of tragedy. Please don’t get upset
about it. It was just one of things.”
She lost her fight for control. She turned around and sobbed a few times into his chest.
“Damn it, Claire,” he said, holding her very tightly. “Please don’t cry over such a silly thing.”
“I can’t help it,” she choked out, pulling back and gazing up at him “I just love that little boy.”
His face softened. “That little boy hasn’t existed in a really long time.”
She sniffed. “I love the man too.”
He grabbed her face so suddenly she gasped. “Do you mean that?”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you love me too?”
He leaned forward and kissed her, still cupping her face like it was precious. “Of course, I
love you.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She shifted from foot to foot. “I hate to break the romantic moment, but if I
don’t get some alone time soon I’m literally going to pass out.”
Michael laughed. “I’ve got some things to do anyway. We can go ahead and leave. Let me just
say goodbye to my mother.”
When they went back to the room, his mother was out of it again. She must be getting tired,
since she didn’t seem to know who they were or what was going on.
But she mumbled out a question to Michael, “So you finally got the bike?”
Michael paused for a moment before he answered. But then he said, “Yes. I got the bike.”
***
Claire woke up feeling pleasantly groggy and much less emotionally strained.
She’d gotten to her father’s place and had gone immediately to take a two-hour nap. It didn’t
matter how completely in love she was or how exhilarated she felt about getting together with
Michael. She still needed some alone time if she wanted to function.
But she felt good as she stretched on the bed of the room she’d grown up in. She was lying on
top of the covers, with just a cashmere throw pulled over her.
She wondered what Michael was doing. He’d come to the house with her, but she assumed
he’d left to go home afterwards.
On that thought, she reached over to grab her phone and dialed his number.
“Hey,” he said when he picked up, his voice warm in a way that made her want to melt into a
sappy puddle.
“Hi. Where are you?”
“In the office downstairs.”
She gave an outraged huff. “It’s supposed to be your vacation.”
“I was just clearing out some loose ends. I didn’t have anything else to do.”
“Well, you could just take it easy.”
“I’m happy to take it easy now. Are you ready for some company?”
“Sure. What did you want to do?”
Instead of an answer, she heard a tap on her bedroom door.
She laughed and called out, “Come in.”
Michael stepped into the room with a smile and closed the door behind him. He looked
absolutely adorable in his wrinkled trousers and dress shirt, but he also looked really tired. She could
see it in his eyes and in his posture.
Her smile fading, she said, “You should have taken a nap too.”
Since she made no move to get off the bed, he came over to sit on the edge. “I’m not inclined
to nap in the middle of the day.”
“Well, you should reconsider that inclination. You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you?”
“No.”
“Even after you caught that guy?”
He gave a half-shrug.
“Why not?”
He glanced away.
“Michael, why not?”
“I thought it would be my only night with you. I wasn’t going to miss any of it sleeping.”
She was pretty sure her face reflected the surge of emotion she felt as she reached out her
arms to pull him into a hug. When they finally pulled apart, he was stretched out on the bed beside
her.
“Don’t get sappy on me,” he murmured dryly. “One of the things I love about you is that you
don’t always feel compelled to talk.”
She made a face. “I didn’t say a word.”
“Uh huh.” He turned on his side to face her.
“Did you talk to my dad about your job?”
“Yeah. I have a month’s worth of vacation days built up, so he told me to take them. Then he
said there’s a position in security at the studio that’s going to open up next month. The one he offered
me a few years ago. He said there wouldn’t be any conflict of interest with my working that job.”
She perked up at this piece of news. “Really? What about your mom?”
“He said she should stay where she is. I tried to argue, but he wouldn’t budge.”
“He prides himself on taking care of his people. He’ll just get offended if you don’t let him.”
“He’s pretty great.”
She bloomed, as if he’d given her a personal compliment. “I know he is.”
Michael leaned over to give her a little kiss. “He’s got a pretty great daughter too.”
She smiled against his lips, but she was frowning as she pulled away. “You turned down that
job before. Are you sure you’ll be happy doing it?”
“Of course. It’s a great job and right up my alley.”
“Then why did you turn it down before?”
He glanced away from her again, the way he always did when he didn’t want to answer.
She didn’t want to force him to answer if he was uncomfortable, but she also really wanted to
know. “Did it have something to do with me?”
“Maybe.” When she just kept looking at him, he finally admitted, “I never would have seen
you if I took that job. I didn’t think I could have you, but I still wanted to see you.”
Her face twisted slightly.
“Don’t,” he warned. “Remember what I said about getting sappy.”
She choked on a little laugh. “Well, you’re really pushing my ability to resist. I’m a girl, you
know.”
“I am well aware of that.” His voice sounded a little thick in a way that gave her very
particular ideas. As if he was reading her mind, he asked in that same tone, “So how are you
feeling?”
“Good.”
“You had enough alone time?”
“Yeah.”
“So what did you want to do this afternoon?”
She knew what he wanted to do. She could see the hot tension smolder in his eyes. But he
hadn’t made any move on her, holding himself back the way he’d always done. “What did you want to
do?” she asked.
“I’m flexible.”
Slightly concerned that he was going to continue his old habit of self-denying restraint, she
frowned at him. “This is never going to work if you don’t let me know what you want.”
“You’re putting a lot of pressure on making plans for the afternoon, aren’t you?”
She ignored his dry tone. “You know what I mean. We’re in a relationship now, aren’t we?
I’d never expect you to spill your guts, but you need to let me know what you want and need. This is
about you as much as me.”
He didn’t respond, but his eyes met hers and she knew he understood what she was trying to
say.
After a minute, she asked again, “So what did you want to do?”
“I’d like to have sex, if it’s not too much trouble.”
She burst into laughter and rolled over on top of him, loving the feel of his big, warm, strong
body beneath her. “I guess I can muddle through such a thing, but it will be a real sacrifice on my
part.”
His hands slid down to cup her bottom, and he was smiling with only his eyes. “If you’d
rather be alone…”
“Certainly not. I’m shy, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like to have a lot of sex.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They were both smiling when they started to kiss and, even when they both got hungry and
urgent, they didn’t really stop smiling.
Neither of them had transformed into new people, but everything had changed just the same.
And it had happened in only one night.
About the Author
Noelle handwrote her first romance novel in a spiral-bound notebook when she was twelve, and she
hasn’t stopped writing since. She has lived in eight different states and currently resides in Virginia,
where she teaches English, reads any book she can get her hands on, and offers tribute to a very
spoiled cocker spaniel.
She loves travel, art, history, and ice cream. After spending far too many years of her life in
graduate school, she has decided to reorient her priorities and focus on writing contemporary
romances. For more information, please check out her website: noelle-adams.com
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