His Kind of Trouble (3 page)

Chance didn’t want to ever hold back, and if he thought he could cause anyone the kind of pain that Jillian had suffered, he would have to quit living his adventurous lifestyle. And then, well, what would be the point?

Better to keep things loose. A woman in his bed but not in his life was what he often said.

Logan was going to be okay. He might never be able to extreme ski again, but he’d recover. He’d live to be with Jillian. Chance never told her what Logan had said on the plane. It hadn’t been necessary, but it was in his head for good.

Now Chance needed to do something to stabilize that place inside him that had tilted off its axis. The accident had happened to Logan, not to him, right? He was fine. He was on a job doing work he loved. By the sound of it, the threat was local, and once they were in Mexico, it was likely that he would largely be on a babysitting vacation. Given the principal and the location, he wasn’t complaining.

But they weren’t there yet.

Breaking into the studio and getting by security had been a breeze. Locating and picking the lock on Ana’s dressing room, again, easy. Why did they just let anyone in the door to see her? A stalker or anyone else could practically walk right in if they had just a few social-engineering or lock-picking skills.

Checking the status of her current security was his first job. Playing the role of the attacker, trying to see what barriers were in place.

Ana didn’t like being held back, either, or caged in. She wanted to move around her life freely, without fear, and she resisted any real security they had wanted to implement. She still lived in her own apartment, drove her own car to work and refused to be limited in any way. Ana didn’t think she needed a bodyguard; he’d decided this was an effective way to change her mind.

Chance could respect her need for freedom, except that now he would be the barrier, the enforcer of limits. He was the one who stayed at her back and who would stand between her and anyone who wanted to harm her.

He’d been warned that she wasn’t going to like it.

The firefighters dispersed, and Ana smoothed the front of her blouse as if readying for something. The motion brought his attention to her ample breasts, very delicious cleavage still peeking out from where she modestly buttoned up her red silk blouse.

She turned, facing him, and he waited, unmoving. Her hair was loose, black curls cascading everywhere, and his fingers itched for a handful.

Only in his imagination, he cautioned. Or maybe they could loosen the limits when they got south of the border and left the threats far behind.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said with an apologetic smile. She had shadows under her eyes. She was tired. Worked hard, still smiled. Trying to charm him. Gone was the wildcat who had trapped an unwanted guest in her room, faced off, threatened him for possibly hurting her friend the security guard.

“For what?” he countered.

She shrugged prettily. She knew her effect on men. How many beautiful women didn’t?

“For all of it. The thing in the room, keeping you here so late and making you wait while I signed things for the firemen,” she said easily. “You could have gone. I’m heading home now. But I am glad to have had the chance to apologize for the chaos and for wasting your time.”

“You’re not wasting my time. I’m on the clock, bought and paid for,” he said just as easily. “This is what I do. I watch you,” he said and saw a flicker in her eyes. That had affected her.

Color infused her cheeks. Maybe it had affected her in a few different ways, he mused.

“Well, what I mean is, I don’t need a bodyguard, and I’m really not interested. I appreciate you pointing out the holes in the security that you have, but honestly, the studio is overreacting. This simply isn’t necessary.”

“Yet you seemed to think it was necessary when you found me in your dressing room. I could have been anyone. I could have been
him.
”

“I panicked, but I also got the firemen here, didn’t I? I can take care of myself.”

“The studio thinks differently.”

“They’re only worried about their bottom line, making sure everything is okay until we get the finale taped and I’ve chosen our winner. But seriously, the harassment isn’t that big of a deal. I’m also leaving town the day after tomorrow, and that will make any protection unnecessary,” she explained. “I doubt very much whoever is bothering me will follow me to Mexico.”

Chance shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe, maybe not. We’ll see.”

Pretty, dark brown eyes fringed with thick lashes that were completely natural as far as he could tell, not cosmetic, narrowed.

“What do you mean, we’ll see?” she demanded.

“We’ll see if they follow you to Mexico. And if they do, I’ll be there.”

“You’ll...what? No, you can’t go to Mexico with me. Absolutely not.”

“The studio has paid for my time for the next two weeks, until you return, and possibly after, to provide your protection. They have also paid for my ticket to Mexico, on your flight,” he said, pulling the ticket from his pocket and showing it to her. “My seat is right next to yours, as you can see.”

She actually tried to grab it away from him but wasn’t fast enough.

“I refuse,” she said, planting her hands on her hips, her eyes snapping. “This is ridiculous! I am going
home.
To my
family.
For the
holiday.
This is not the time nor place for this, this...intrusion. They have no right, and you have no right to thrust yourself in on my private time with my family,” she spat angrily, stepping up close to him.

Wow,
he thought, heat shooting through him. After this job was over, he had to have Ana Perez in his bed or anywhere else she’d have him. But for the moment, he kept his cool.

“Sorry, Ana, but apparently your contract says differently. Don’t worry. I’m good at what I do, and parents tend to like me,” he said cheekily, knowing it would annoy her. He liked watching her color rise and her eyes snap. Sexy as hell. “It’ll be fun,” he added just for kicks.

She looked as if she might hit him.

“You may be used to intimidating people or winning them over with that cocky charm,” she said, clearly seething.

“Thanks,” he interrupted. “Cocky charm. I like that.”

She bit her lip as if holding back, and it just made him want to kiss her.

“Listen, I know they hired you, and you have a job to do, but this isn’t going to happen,” she said, changing tactics and appealing to reason, as much as her temper would allow. “How would I even explain you to my family? Have any of you thought of that?”

He pursed his lips, letting his eyes fall on hers. Her mouth was drawn tight, and he felt the challenge of wanting to kiss it into softness.

“Well, they can’t know who I am, that’s rule number one. You can’t let anyone know I’m your protection detail—that gives us the edge. So make something up. Tell them we’re lovers,” he suggested with a shrug.

Ana swallowed hard and took a deep breath that released in a frustrated growl as she turned away, striding back down the hall and into her dressing room, slamming the door behind her. Inside the room, Chance made out a litany of extremely colorful curses in a skillful blend of Mexican and English.

As she emerged, keys in hand, and headed for the exit, he waited a few seconds, giving her some space before he followed.

This
was
going to be fun.

2

A
NA
STEPPED
INTO
THE
COZY
entryway of the brownstone that she rented down in Brooklyn and made her way up the stairs and down the narrow hall to her apartment, letting herself in with a sigh of relief. Her landlady had decorated the place for the holidays, and the holly and poinsettias were still healthy and lovely, cheering her a bit as she passed them. She loved this place.

Closing the door, however, she stopped short. There was an envelope on the floor and it had Ana’s name on it, but it was handwritten. Perhaps she had dropped it earlier? She tried to control the fear that was already choking her, but she knew she hadn’t. She’d never seen this. Maybe her landlady had left it for her—but why on the floor?

Picking up the strange envelope, she opened it, and something fell out all over her hands, along with a piece of paper.

Ana’s heartbeat raced as she stared down at the polished hardwood floor, her mind spinning as she focused and realized what had fallen out of the envelope—it looked like rose petals. Dried and black, they decorated her feet. Bending, she retrieved the paper that had fallen out with them.

Have a safe trip, Ana. I’ll be waiting for you when you come back.

Ana shoved the note into her pocket with shaking hands, her thoughts momentarily drowned out by the liquid fear that blanked her mind.

He’d been in here. There was no space under the door to shove anything, so whoever had left this had to have been inside her apartment.

He could still be here.

She had to get out, call the police and have them check the place for her. Making her way back out to the stairs as quietly as she could, she rushed outside into the freezing-cold darkness. Frantically, she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

A firm hand stopped her from dialing, and Ana almost screamed as she realized someone was right there, right next to her, until she looked up.

Chance Berringer.

Everything inside of her seemed to melt in relief, and she forgot to be scared or agitated. She’d checked him out; he was indeed her bodyguard, and right now, that was okay with her.

“Hey, what happened? Talk to me, Ana,” Chance said, supporting her with one strong arm as he directed her to his car.

“What are you doing here?” she had the presence of mind to ask, but answered her own question before he could. “You followed me home.”

“That is my job. Now, tell me what scared you so much,” he said, his eyes perceptive and hawklike.

If he had been impressive back at the studio, Chance was ten times more so inside the small, intimate space. He wasn’t wearing cologne, but Ana could smell his soap, and she was close enough to study the strong line of his jaw and note the way the hair at the nape of his neck laid curled slightly against his skin. The muscles in his upper arms were impossible not to admire as he laid an arm along the back of the seat.

Swallowing hard, Ana quickly looked away.

“So what happened?” he asked smoothly.

“Just a note from my...fan,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Where?”

“In my apartment. On the floor when I walked in. He had to have been there. He might still be there.” She shoved the note at him.

Ana hated feeling weak, something she didn’t experience too often, but fear had nearly paralyzed her. Very few people knew where she lived; she kept her private life as separate from work as she could. No one should have found her here.

Chance cursed under his breath. “Any previous indication he or she knew where you lived?”

Ana shook her head. “No. Everything so far was through the studio.”

He read it quickly, and she watched his pursed lips draw into a tight, flat line. He didn’t like what he saw.

Would she have to move? She dismissed the thought as soon as it rose in her mind. Drug gangs had terrorized her village in Mexico for years, trying to use it as a path to the coast, and never made her people back down. She certainly wasn’t about to do so now because of some stalker fan who got their kicks out of trying to scare her.

“In Mexico, it won’t be any problem—clearly he’s not following me there. The note even indicates that,” she said, returning to her first instinct that she didn’t need his services. “And now that I am less panicked, I can see he’s probably not still in my apartment, either. He just left this there.”

Though maybe when she came back she wouldn’t argue about having some protection until this was settled. And maybe she would stay with one of her friends for a while.

“Give me your keys,” he said, and she did.

“What are you going to do?”

“You wait here, lock the doors and do not open them for anything. If there’s trouble, hit the horn. I’ll be right back down,” he said, exiting the car.

Ana watched as one light after another was turned on in her apartment until the whole place was lit. Chance’s tall silhouette moved slowly past some of the windows, stalking.

Checking.

Ana waited, as she was told. It was too late, and she was too tired and too relieved to have someone making sure her home was safe.

Minutes later, Chance came back down, opened the car door and ushered her out, beeping it to lock the car behind him.

“Everything’s clear. I couldn’t find any other signs of intrusion, though maybe you’ll notice something. Good thing you were wearing gloves—maybe we’ll find some prints on the letter or the rose petals. Those were pretty creepy. No wonder you freaked out,” he said easily, making her feel less stupid about her fear as they headed up the stairs together.

“Thank you for checking the place out. I was calling the police to do just that,” she said, taking her key from him.

“No need to give them more work to do. That’s what I’m being paid the big bucks for,” he said lightly with a smile as she opened the door.

She looked at him furtively from the door; the rose petals had all been picked up. He probably only did that to save them as evidence, but it still made her feel better.

“Thank you, Mr. Berringer. I’ll be fine now. Good night,” she said, starting to close the door.

“Call me Chance. If you need me, I’ll be right downstairs,” he said, turning away.

Ana paused. “Downstairs? Aren’t you going home? I understand you followed me home to make sure I got here safely, and I appreciate it, but I’m fine now. Safe and sound,” she said. “My landlady lives right below me, and I doubt whoever left this will be back.”

Chance nodded. “You’re probably right about that, but no, I’m not going home. I’m your bodyguard, and that’s 24/7. No going home until the job is done. I checked out your building earlier, and the front entrance is the most viable entry point. The windows on the lower floor are barred, and the back door is hooked up to an alarm. Mostly likely your landlady inadvertently let in your stalker, or he picked the front lock. I’ll talk to her in the morning.”

“So you’re going to stay in your car? All night?” Ana asked incredulously.

“It won’t be the first time. Comes with the job. Let me see your cell phone,” he said, and Ana found herself handing it to him. “My number is the first one on your quick dial if you need me. ’Night,” Chance said as he left.

She stood in the doorway for another stunned second and then shook her head.

“Well, if he wants to sit in his car all night, in the dead of winter, then fine,” she said aloud to no one, closing the door. She hung her coat and tried to recapture the peace and happiness that she always felt when she came back here every night.

The apartment was small, not even the entire second floor of the building, but that appealed to her. She liked the cozy space with its freshly painted gold walls and bright hardwood floors. She had layered hand-loomed rugs from Mexico all through the apartment, had decorated it with as many things from the Yucatán as she could. Dense plants and large potted palms and ferns stood underneath warm lights and in front of the windows in every room, giving the apartment a lush, warm presence. Family pictures and art from a small gallery in Merida that she supported hung on the walls. Ana felt her muscles relax as the panic subsided, the threat gone.

She tried not to think about a stranger being in her home—two of them in one night, if she counted Chance Berringer. She surveyed the space carefully as she moved through it, checking to see if anything had been tampered with or touched. Nothing that she could tell. Somehow, that was even more disturbing. If not for the note, would she have even known someone had been here?

Changing into a soft nightgown and a matching robe, she poured a glass of wine and paused at the window, looking down at where Chance’s car was still parked. Lights off, there was no exhaust. Had he shut the ignition off completely? How would he stay warm?

Ana stepped back from the window, closing the curtain. Not her problem. He was the one who insisted on camping out in front of her building, so it was his problem.

She grabbed a book she had been meandering through for several evenings before bed and shut off the lights in the rest of the apartment, heading to bed to read, finish her wine and hopefully to sleep.

She pulled the large quilt that her mother had made up over herself and settled in, comfortable and warm, and opened her book.

Still, minutes later, she found herself reading the same page. Her mind wouldn’t adhere to the words, her eyes drifting to the window as she noticed through an opening in the curtain that snowflakes were falling; they danced in the light that streamed down from the nearest streetlamp.

It was supposed to be extremely cold tonight.

But Chance Berringer was a big boy. No doubt he had done this many times before. She didn’t need to worry about him. Maybe he’d get cold enough to finally give up and go home.

Ana dropped the book with a frustrated sigh. No. She didn’t know him well, but she was astute enough to know that men like Chance Berringer didn’t give up on anything. He’d sit out there all night and freeze, but he’d stay and watch. Making sure she was safe.

She felt the weight of disapproval from her upbringing. Her parents would be ashamed of her lack of hospitality for someone who had helped her.

Ana knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she at least made the offer, and she did have a comfortable sofa. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sitting out in his car on the street. She wrapped herself in her robe again and headed back downstairs. She’d offer Chance her sofa, and if he turned her down, then her obligation was fulfilled.

Somehow, she knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

* * *

H
OT
COFFEE
AND
EQUALLY
HOT
thoughts kept Chance awake, but they didn’t mean he was comfortable as he shifted in his seat again. Every now and then he stretched his legs by getting out of the car and checking the perimeter of the building. This wasn’t his first rodeo, and as he worked through the stash of chocolate and extra-strong coffee he’d brought along for the night, he couldn’t help but think of Ana, upstairs, sleeping.

He’d followed the progression of lights on and off in her windows, until only one soft light stayed on. Her bedroom. It was still on. Had she fallen asleep that way, with the light on? Still afraid.

He didn’t blame her. She was a strong, gutsy woman, but having a stranger in your house was enough to shake anyone up. Chance almost hoped that the creep came back so he could settle this here and now. He’d like nothing better than to end this for Ana.

Well, there might be a few things he’d like better. Like knowing what she wore to bed, if anything, and how firm her mattress was.

He’d had a peek when he’d checked out the apartment, and liked her sense of decor, obviously inspired by her home country. She loved strong colors, textures, and everything about her screamed
passion.

The entertaining thoughts were simply a way to keep himself occupied while he watched and waited. Sipping his coffee, his tired brain suddenly perked awake and took notice as he saw another light come on and then one more in the hall. Two seconds later, Ana was standing in the doorway of the brownstone, waving to him.

Chance was out of the car and by her side in the blink of an eye, his eyes searching behind her.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” he asked, standing close, protecting her with his own body, though he couldn’t figure out what he was protecting her from.

She sighed. “I was just coming down to get you, to tell you to come in. I can’t believe you’re still out here. It’s freezing!” she said, stepping back into the warmth of the hallway.

Chance looked at her, absorbing what she’d said. “You’re okay?”

She nodded impatiently. “Yes, I’m fine, but close the door and come on up. You’re letting all the cold in,” she said and went to climb the stairs.

Chance’s gaze honed in on slim calves and ankles exposed as she moved up the stairs, holding the flannel robe around her curvy form. His pulse had spiked from the adrenaline, and it wasn’t settling down any as his eyes took in the nice curve of her behind.

He shook himself out of it, looking away, beeping his car lock and closing the door, as she’d instructed.

She was asking him upstairs.

Not a romantic invitation—in fact, she looked more irritated than anything—but Chance wasn’t going to say no, anyway. Taking the steps two or three at a time, he was by her side as she opened the door.

It was considerably warmer inside, he had to admit. Even his jangling caffeine-and-sugar-fed nerves were settling once he stepped into the refuge of Ana’s apartment.

“Thanks. This is a lot nicer than the car.”

“The couch is yours. I’ll get you some blankets and sheets. You know where the bathroom and the kitchen are from when you looked around earlier. You can use the bath out here. I have my own. Help yourself to anything you want,” she said, her tone coolly polite, but as her eyes met his and locked on for a second, a flicker of heat betrayed her. She felt it, too.

Chance ignored it. This was difficult for her, he could tell. Her apartment had been invaded by some stranger, and her life was being invaded by, well, him. To take advantage of that, of her vulnerability, that wasn’t just against his professional reputation—it wasn’t his style. He was here to make her feel safe, and that was what he intended to do.