Colorado Bodyguard (11 page)

“How do you know what I think about you?”

“It's what everyone thinks about me—that I'm this quiet, plain, serious woman who never steps out of line. I'm responsible and sober and dependable and I never cause any trouble at all.”

“Are you saying you have caused trouble?” he asked.

“More than you can imagine.”

Chapter Eleven

Sophie waited for some reaction from Rand—shock, disbelief, even argument. But all he did was settle back against the cushions and regard her calmly. “Tell me about it,” he said. “I'm not in any hurry. And some people say I'm a good listener.”

She sipped the tea, which had grown cold. What would it hurt to tell him? Maybe it would help him understand the things that drove her. She set aside the half-empty mug and hugged a pillow to her chest. “When we were girls, Lauren was always into mischief,” she began. “She wasn't a bad child, just more daring than I was, more likely to bend the rules.”

Lauren had been beautiful and winsome, even as a toddler, all blond curls and blue eyes and perfect dimples. “She was an angel child, with the personality of an imp,” she continued. “Lauren was the one who climbed to the top of the playground gym and jumped off into a mud puddle, or who decided, when she was seven, that she wanted to drive the car and backed it into a tree. She ran away from home when she was thirteen, and again when she was fifteen. She dated the wildest boys, racked up traffic tickets and curfew violations, got caught skipping school and smoking pot and drinking when she was underage. Our parents dragged her to therapists and summer school and extracurricular activities, in a vain effort to curb an exuberance they didn't yet recognize as mania.”

“And what were you doing while all this was going on?” Rand asked.

“I suppose to make up for all the trouble she caused, I tried to be better, more responsible,” Sophie said. “I was like everyone else—I adored her and let her get away with things. No one could stay angry with her. She was so charming and witty, and really sweet. Not a malicious bone in her body. And maybe we all sensed, even then, that there was something different about her brain that made it impossible for her to fit into the mold everyone else had to conform to.”

“How old was she before she was diagnosed with bipolar disorder?” Rand asked.

“Not until this year. Isn't that wild? But she did a good job of masking her worst symptoms, and after a while we all took it for granted that that was her personality. Whenever she did something a little off, we thought she was just being Lauren.”

“While you were the good, responsible daughter,” he said.

“Yes, but when I was a freshman in college, Lauren was still in high school, and she had the first of what I know now was a major manic episode. She lost control. She ran away and ended up in jail in a town just across the state line, charged with destruction of property and disturbing the peace.” The horror of those days still made a knot in the pit of her stomach—hushed conversations between her parents, angry outbursts followed by tears, everyone tiptoeing around, fragile and furious and fearful. “My dad was able to pull strings and hush up the incident. The charges were dropped and Lauren came home and finished school in a private boarding facility. It cost my parents a lot of money—so much that they asked me to take a semester off college.”

“Ouch!” Rand said. “That must have hurt.”

“Oh, yes. I was furious—not just about having to postpone my schooling, but about all the attention Lauren had taken away from me for all those years. Instead of leaving school and coming home, as my parents asked me to do, I stayed and got a job working at a bar to pay my living expenses. I thought they only wanted me to come home to look after Lauren. They'd expect me to go with her everywhere, to be responsible for her so they didn't have to.”

“Had they done that kind of thing before—made you her caretaker?”

“Yes. And I hated it. I wanted a normal sister, one I could have a normal relationship with. And I was tired of always being the responsible one. During that time, I hardly spoke to my parents, and I cut off any contact with Lauren.”

“I think that's understandable,” he said.

“No, it's not,” she said. “I was being a brat. My poor parents. They were losing one daughter to mental illness, they'd practically bankrupted themselves and I was only making things worse with my little temper tantrum.”

“You were what—nineteen?” he asked.

“I was. But I should have known better.”

“If you say so. But living away from home when you're legally an adult isn't even a minor crime, much less anything you need to ashamed of.”

“No, that's not the shameful part. I'm getting to that.” She hugged the pillow to her chest and wished there'd been something stronger than honey in that tea. She could have used a bit of false courage to get through this next part. “While I was working at the bar, I met a man,” she said. “He was older, a customer who came in fairly often. He was handsome and charming and I was really attracted to him—more than I'd ever been attracted to anyone before. I'd dated a little before then, but never anything serious, and all those guys seemed like boys compared to this man. He made me feel so special.”

“You were starved for attention and he gave that to you.”

She glanced at him, then away. She didn't know whether to be impressed or wary, that he could read her so well. “I guess that was it. But at the time I thought I was in love. We'd known each other only a couple of weeks when I moved in with him. I made a point of telling my parents, of course. They were devastated. I thought they were upset because I'd proved they could no longer control me.”

“What happened with the guy?” He moved closer, his thigh brushing hers. She sensed the heat of him through the denim, and she fought the urge to lean into him.

“He stopped being so nice once we were living together,” she said. “He took my money and accused me of cheating on him—though I found out later he had two other girlfriends. After three months with him I was broke and I'd lost my job at the bar because he'd threatened my boss. I didn't have any choice but to go home to my parents.”

“How did they react to that?”

“They seemed thrilled. It was more relief than anything, I suspect. By that time, Lauren had calmed down and I think they were happy to have both of us back under their roof and seemingly stable. But they'd aged terribly in the few months I'd been away—graying hair and sagging skin. I saw what my running away—and that's what I'd done, really, run away—had done to them.” She swallowed past the hard knot in her throat that was equal parts unshed tears and an unuttered primal scream, and forced herself to go on. “I hadn't been home even a week when they were both killed in a car accident.”

Only the dog's soft snores and the low growl of a big rig out on the highway disturbed the silence that stretched between them. Rand cleared his throat. “Do you really think I'm like that man?” he asked. “The one who used you?”

“No. I'm sure you're not.” She turned toward him, her knees bumping into his. This was the scariest part yet, the words she almost couldn't say. “I...I'm attracted to you the same way I was attracted to him,” she said. “And I'm not sure of my motives. Are the things I feel when I'm around you real, or are they just because I resent having to once again upset my whole life because of something Lauren did? Am I trying to declare my independence from the needs of my family in the only way I know how?” Articulating these questions only raised more doubts; she'd had so little experience relating to men on anything but the most casual terms since that college disaster that she had no idea what it was like to feel a normal attraction to someone.

“You were a kid then,” he said. “The fact that you're even thinking about this shows you've learned a few things.”

“I would hope so, but I don't know.” She smoothed both hands down her thighs, her palms clammy. “I just...I don't trust myself anymore. Especially with everything in such turmoil with Lauren's disappearance.”

“Maybe you're overthinking this.” He took one of her hands in his, cradling it between his palms. “Why can't we just be two people who enjoy each other's company, without any expectations?”

“There can't be any expectations.” She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn't let her. “I'm only going to be here a little while,” she said. “Until we find Lauren.”

“Then you'll go back to Madison.” He kept his voice even, stating a fact.

“Yes...at least I will, unless Lauren needs me.” She hadn't even realized the truth of these words until now. Whatever happened, she wouldn't desert her sister.

“You've always been there for her,” he said.

“She's my sister. And the only family I have left.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is to have you. But maybe it's time someone was here for you.” He leaned closer, and ducked his head to press his lips against hers.

She stilled, startled by the suddenness of the gesture, yet aware that she'd been waiting for it—wanting it—ever since he'd sat beside her on the sofa. He squeezed her hand, a gesture of reassurance, and increased the pressure of his lips slightly. She relaxed, and as the warmth of his nearness engulfed her, she melted against him, sliding her free hand up his chest and over his shoulder to cradle his head in her palm and draw him closer still.

He tilted his head to achieve a better angle and coaxed her lips apart. She opened to him eagerly, almost desperately, pressing against him, nipples beading against the hard wall of his chest. The sweep of his tongue inside her mouth sent little shock waves of pleasure through her that reverberated all the way to her toes. Desire, hot and urgent, flooded her, making her clutch at him when at last he pulled away.

They stared at each other, openmouthed, breath coming in ragged gasps, his gaze a little unfocused, as she was sure hers was. “That was...intense,” he said, his voice rough, like sandpaper across sensitive nerve endings.

“Yeah.” All she could manage was a whisper. She stared at his lips, wanting him to kiss her again, wondering if she had the nerve to insist on it.

He did kiss her again, more gently, a tender exploration of lips and tongue that was just as dizzying, if less urgent. She rested her palm flat between them, not pushing him away, but keeping herself a little apart from him, trying to keep her wits about her. But it was like trying to fight the tide, the pull of him relentless and so strong...

She was the first to pull away this time, withdrawing her hands and looking away, not wanting him to read the turmoil of her emotions reflected in her eyes. “I don't think I'm very good at this relationship stuff,” she said. The best they could hope for, given her circumstances, was a casual affair. A temporary fling. But nothing about her feelings for him felt casual or temporary.

“I don't want to rush you,” he said.

No. She was the one who wanted to rush—headlong into the kind of emotional minefield she'd spent years avoiding. She didn't even know herself anymore when she was this close to him.

He stood. “You look exhausted,” he said. “Let me show you to the bedroom. You can sleep in one of my old T-shirts, if you want.” At her startled look, he chuckled. “Don't worry, I'll sleep on the sofa.”

“I feel bad, taking your bed,” she said as she followed him to the bedroom.

“It's okay.” He left her at the door with a light kiss on the cheek. “Good night. Sleep well.”

He sauntered down the hall, humming softly under his breath. She closed the door and leaned against it, eyes squeezed shut and forehead pressed against the wood. She could still feel his lips on hers, the firm curve of his muscular chest, the grip of his hand in hers. He could give her his bed, but she didn't expect she'd sleep much in it, knowing he was spending the night only a few feet away.

* * *

S
OPHIE
 
WOKE
 
TO
 
BARKING
—sharp, percussive explosions of sound that sent panic spiraling up from her stomach to constrict her chest. She sat up and blinked at the gray light filtering behind the blinds. Nothing in the room looked familiar, yet it clearly wasn't a hotel room.

“Lotte, silence!”

The quiet but commanding voice calmed her as well as the dog, and she remembered she was in Rand Knightbridge's duplex—in his bedroom. She eased back down into sheets that carried the faint scent of his cologne. Lying here alone, listening to him and his dog move about, made her feel that much more isolated. Despite her fears to the contrary, exhaustion had overcome anxiety and within minutes of climbing into bed she'd succumbed to a deep, dreamless sleep. But the escape felt like just that—a fleeing from the consequences of the previous night's events.

What would have happened if she'd asked him to spend the night with her in this bed, instead of sending him to sleep on the sofa? Would things have been awkward between them this morning, or would she have felt more sure of herself, better prepared to face the events of the day?

He tapped on the door. “Sophie? Are you awake?”

She sat up again and pulled the covers up to her neck. “I'm awake,” she called.

The door eased open and his face filled the gap. His hair was tousled and he hadn't yet shaved—probably because all his things were in here with her. “Want some coffee?” he asked.

“That would be great.”

“If you want, you can grab the shower while I make the coffee.

“Sure. What time is it?” She looked around for a clock.

“Early. Just a little after six.”

“Do you always get up this early?”

He grimaced. “Only when I have to. But the captain called and wants us all at the station early.”

“Why? Has something happened?” She sat up straighter, more alert.

“I'll tell you at breakfast. See you in a minute.” He shut the door before she could question him more.

In the bathroom, she examined Rand's shampoo, toothpaste and soap, noting they preferred the same brand of toothpaste. What did a man's choice of toiletries say about him? Rand's seemed to say that he was an uncomplicated man who stuck to basics. He was well-groomed, but not vain. A woman wouldn't have to compete with him for space in the medicine cabinet.