In Bed with the Bodyguard (7 page)

“You're no dog.” She smiled at him. “And I liked kissing you.”

He winked, then went to sit in view of the front door.

“What are you in the mood to eat tonight?” Ari asked as she crashed on her couch upstairs.

Lance looked up from her computer where he was checking his email. “I don't know. What have you got to make?”

She laughed. “Um, do you see much in the way of a kitchen?”

He looked around. “How did I not notice that before? You have no kitchen here.”

“It's downstairs,” she said.

“You mean the fridge and microwave down in the gallery?” he asked dubiously.

That was all she needed: a coffeepot, a fridge for holding takeout, and a microwave to reheat them.

He looked incredulous. “What about doing dishes?”

Hah, dishes, smishes. “Takeout, Lance. I use chopsticks or I have a few forks I can rinse in the sink, plus wineglasses. Wineglasses are crucial.”

“Tsk, tsk. This from Little Miss ‘I drive a Mini, earth-friendly car.'” He shook his head at her, and she was stricken until she saw the teasing laughter in his eyes. “Well, maybe tomorrow I'll bring you to my place and cook you a real meal.” He made the offer with a warm smile.

“You can cook?” she wondered aloud. She wondered what his definition of cooking was. If it was anything similar to her previous boyfriends', it meant boiling pasta to a soggy mess and dumping a jar of Ragu over it.

“Yeah. Nana taught me the summer I lived with her, and it's a good thing I know how,” he said.

“Why is it a good thing?” Ari asked.

“So I don't starve or kill myself eating pizza most nights.”

“That's right. You have to stay in shape for your job.” She ran her eyes over him appreciatively. “Well, from my perspective, it's working.”

He grinned and playfully flexed his biceps, unabashedly aware of his big muscular body. Did he know its full effect on her, and would it be terrible if she revealed how hot she thought him?

“I work out, too, most mornings or I go to yoga, if you want to join me.”

“I have to head to physical therapy, but heck no to the yoga stuff.” He clicked the browser over to a sports page as if to prove that real men don't do yoga.

“You're being silly. It would help your leg. It's how I maintain my strength and flexibility.” Now she had his full attention. “Lots of professional athletes do it.”

“Show me some moves, and maybe I'll consider it.”

She stood up, aware her short sundress was not ideal for yoga poses, but he'd asked. Who was she not to deliver? She did a fluid sun salutation then moved into downward facing dog, making sure her rear was pointed in his direction.

“Yeah, I can see how it helps your flexibility.” He sounded like he'd swallowed a lollipop whole, stick included.

Ari stood up, loving the burn and flex of the muscles. The only other place she achieved that excellent ache was in bed with a lover. She made up her mind at that moment she was going to sleep with Lance Brown before she sent him packing back to the Secret Service. He was leaving as soon as the hired professionals showed up tomorrow, which meant she had less than twenty-four hours to make her move.

His kiss today showed he was not immune to her charms even if he thought she was a tad spoiled at times. So what? She was. It wasn't her fault her parents showered her with every luxury except their attention. Let seduction begin tonight. Mr. Do-Right Agent wouldn't know what hit him.

L
ance stretched out his long legs as much as possible in her tuna can of a car and glanced in his side mirror. He'd let Arianna drive home from dinner, and he was doing his best not to wince at each car she cut off.

The gray Ford sedan a few cars back caught his attention. He'd seen one like it illegally parked out front of the restaurant. Could be coincidence, but he was trained to look for anomalies and patterns, and he was darn good at his job. The gray car was following them. He'd bet on it.

If he'd been doing his job instead of remembering Ari's tight ass in her yoga pose, he would've noticed if the car had followed them from her art gallery or if it had picked them up at the restaurant.

“Get into the right lane,” he said. “Slowly.”

Arianna turned to him with a questioning expression on her face. “Do it,” he said.

She frowned but signaled and moved to the right. The gray car followed. “Stay in this lane. Keep to the speed limit.” He grinned at her disgruntled look.

“Are we being followed or something?”

“I think so. Don't panic,” he said as her fingers tightened on the wheel and her speed slowed down.

“Should I drive to the police station?” Her voice was quiet but steady.

“Not yet. Let's lead them on a bit of a chase, but not to your house.” He reached behind him to pull out his gun.

“Can't you call your police buddies and have them trace the license plate? If I slow down more, you can read the tags.”

He considered her excellent idea for a minute. If he were guarding her in an official capacity he could. “I can't. It would be illegal for me to trace tags for personal use.”

The car jerked forward as she stomped on the gas pedal. “Personal use? I bet I could find that information on Google in about one second.”

“Probably true,” he admitted. “But I still can't use official government resources for this purpose.”

“Official government resources, hah. Do you mean those spy satellites that could show a geek in a dark office what color underwear I'm wearing right now?”

What color underwear
was
she wearing right now? Was it a thong? Or maybe those sexy boy-shorts. Lance allowed himself a pleasurable distracting moment to contemplate that, then refocused. “I don't know what spy satellites you're talking about, or should I say, ‘I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you'?”

“Get in line,” she said.

He patted her shoulder, then turned to give the car following another look. “Ari, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I promise.”

She took her hand off the wheel to give his a squeeze. “Thanks, Lance. I'm lucky you had time off work to stay with me.”

He couldn't think of a response to her comment. He still itched to get back to work, but if he hadn't been injured he wouldn't be here now with her.

“Ari?” He'd heard Valerie call her that diminutive, and he liked it. It suited her.

“Huh?” She turned back to the road.

“Turn onto the next residential street and find a safe place to park. Someplace I can get out of the car.”

She raised her eyebrows and shook her head but followed orders. Within a minute she slid into a spot on a tree-lined street, and the gray car pulled in behind them. Lance debated a moment, then decided to let them make the first move. He was ninety-nine percent certain the car following them was a government car, not a potential security threat.

He didn't have long to wait. Two men, overdressed in suits on the warm evening, sauntered over to the car and tapped on Arianna's window. She threw a bewildered and frightened glance at Lance, and he smiled to reassure her. “Open the window.” Then he reached deep into his pocket to pull out his Secret Service identification. One never knew if flashing badges could smooth things over.

“Ms. Rose.” One man greeted her, flipping open an FBI badge. “Is there a reason you pulled over?”

“Um.” She pointed to Lance. “He told me to. Why are you following me?”

The federal agent ignored Arianna's question and leaned down to peer in the window at Lance. “Sir. Step out of the car, please. Keep your hands in sight.”

Lance sighed. He'd never been on this end of an investigation before. Slowly, he opened the door and stepped out of the car. Immediately, both suited men's eyes widened when they recognized him.

“Gentlemen,” he said.

“You're Agent Lance Brown, correct?”

“Yes.” He glanced into the window at Ari to give her a reassuring look.

“It's an honor to meet you, Brown,” said one agent. “We'd been working on identifying the man staying with Ms. Rose. This makes our job easier.”

“How's your leg doing?” asked the other. “What are you doing with Stanley Rose's daughter?”

A sinking feeling entered Lance. His hero status for saving the president was in jeopardy if he got caught up in a scandal embroiling Arianna or the Rose family. Up until now, all the media had focused on Stanley Rose. Other than last night, he hadn't seen much of Stanley Rose's daughter in the press.

“Why are you following us?”

“Ms. Rose is a person of interest in her father's absence, but we are not at liberty to say more until we understand your relationship with her.”

“I'm a friend.”

“Just a friend?” One agent raised a brow. “You spent the night last night. You saying nothing happened between you and a pretty thing like her?”

Annoyance flared. “She isn't a thing, and we're friends.” He hoped they hadn't seen inside Ari's office this afternoon. It would be hard to explain away the smoking-hot kiss from earlier if they were truly only friends.

“Well, tell your
friend
we will be keeping her company for a bit to see if she gives us any hint as to her father's whereabouts.”

“She doesn't know,” he said, praying Arianna had told him the truth. He'd be up shit creek if he were caught lying to the FBI, unknowing or not. “I don't think she and her dad are close.”

“How long have the two of you been friends?” the other agent asked.

“We met through mutual friends. Her best friend is married to my close buddy.” He hoped they didn't see through the prevarication. No need for them to know they'd only met last night.

The taller agent pulled out a small notepad from his suit pocket. “Oh, yes. A Mrs. Valerie Moore, married to Jason Moore of McLean.”

He wondered if Jason knew he was now on an FBI list. In a case with the scope of Stanley Rose's, they would leave no stone unturned. “Well, if you're following her, then you know about the break-in. I'm staying close to her to protect her.”

The two agents glanced at each other, obviously confused. “Break-in?”

“Is it related to the case?” the other agent asked.

Lance nodded. “A brick was thrown through the front window of her art gallery and a painting was defaced with a personal threat to her.”

“That explains the boarded-up window. We thought she was protecting her privacy, but we didn't restart the surveillance on her until today.”

“Well, I guess I can go back home, then. If you're watching her, she won't need my protection.” Lance ignored the increased pressure in his chest at the thought of leaving Ari when they had just met.

The agents looked at each other again, having a silent conversation, before they turned back to him. “Actually, if you could stay with her, it could be helpful.”

“How do you mean?” he asked.

“She obviously trusts you. Butter her up, and maybe she'll share something about her father's whereabouts.”

He eyed the two of them for a long minute. “I told you, she knows nothing about her father. Besides, you know I'm on medical leave, right? I can't go start playing ball for another team.”

“You wouldn't be. Haven't you been reading the memos? It's all about interdepartmental cooperation these days. We'll have our supervisory special agent get in touch with your boss to give you the go-ahead.”

Lance was reasonably sure his boss would do no such thing. He shrugged. “I'm not officially agreeing to anything until I speak to my superiors, but for now I'll stick with Arianna.” Inwardly, he rejoiced, and his lower abdominal muscles clenched at thought of officially sanctioned time with her. “See you.”

He got back in the car and turned to Ari. “You're not going to be happy.”

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows. “Why is the FBI following me?”

“They think you know where your dad is and may give them a clue.” He reached out his hand but pulled back when she turned away and rested her forehead against the steering wheel. He let her sit like that for a few minutes. He didn't mention his new role in the situation.

Despite what she'd told him last night, and what he'd told the FBI, he had no real reason to believe her and lots of reasons to doubt her. She could be lying through her teeth about her father. For all he knew, Stanley Rose could be hiding in the Rose Gallery basement with Ari sneaking food to him.

“I don't have a clue where my dad is. You believe me, right?” She lifted her head and turned to face him, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

“I do,” he said, and squashed any guilt he had at the semi-lie. He'd worked on the side of federal justice for eight years; he'd known Arianna eight minutes.

“Do you mind driving?” she asked. “I don't feel up to concentrating.”

“Sure.” They quickly hopped out of the car to switch seats and he sped quickly back to her gallery.

“Phone's ringing,” Lance said as they walked in the gallery and up the stairs to her bedroom.

“I'm letting it go to voice mail. There's no one I want to talk to tonight.” The ringing abruptly stopped without the caller leaving a message.

“No, there's one person we're going to call, and that's Sam.”

“Sam who?” And then she remembered. “Sam Cooper?” she asked, referring to her high school friend who was currently an FBI special agent. “How do you know him?”

“Through Valerie.” He already had his cell in hand and was dialing a number. Numbly, she listened to Lance's side of the conversation, but she could guess he was getting the same message Sam had given her ten months ago. He worked in the cyber-security division, and as an old friend of Arianna's, he was playing CYA—cover your ass—and keeping his fingers, toes, and nose clean.

“He's got nothing,” Lance said, hanging up the phone.

“I know.” She heard the weariness in her voice and hated it, but didn't know how to change it. After nearly a year of doing her best to ignore her father's life in the spotlight, it had caught up to her big-time. Not even the enticement of Lance sleeping in her bed added shine back to her outlook. Her phone started ringing again, but she ignored it to head to bed.

She trudged to her open closet, her steps heavy, but sprinted when a deep, familiar male voice sounded on the answering machine. She raced to the phone and snatched up the receiver. “Daddy?” She was aware that Lance stood up straighter, staring at her intently.

“Arianna?”

“Oh,” she said over the lump in her throat.

“Arianna, it's Eric Wright. I've been trying to reach you all evening.”

She struggled to bring her tone back up to its normal, chipper cadence. “Hi, Eric. I'm here now. How can I help you?” Lance relaxed back on the couch and rooted around for the remote control.

“I saw the news of the gallery yesterday.”

“Oh.” She hurried to reassure him. “Nothing of yours was broken. The front window shattered and one painting was damaged. Your artwork is safe.”

“For today. What about tomorrow or the next day?”

“Eric, now that I am aware of the threat, I have twenty-four-hour security, and the police are on it. The gallery is protected.” She decided not to mention the spanking-new FBI bonus security. That was more of a need-to-know basis, and she judged Eric didn't need to know.

“I'm afraid that's not enough for me. It's not simply the physical security aspect. I don't want my name connected with any hint of a financial scandal.”

Was Lance listening to her end of the conversation? Her steady bodyguard was channel surfing on low volume, giving no indication he was listening to the call.

“Oh, come on, Eric. You know any press is good press.” She tried to cajole and tease before one of her top artists took the conversation in the direction she suspected he was going.

“Not in this case,” he said, disapproval radiating through the phone line. “How are you going to convince patrons to drop a load of money on a painting when some of the money may go to the defense of Stanley Rose?”

She gripped the phone like her hands were made of titanium, wishing she could slam it down to end this horrible conversation with Eric, but she had to remain calm and professional. Even if her stomach threatened to churn up tonight's Thai dinner.

“I guess I couldn't convince you of that,” she said. “I'll take down your paintings tomorrow and have them ready for pickup at your convenience.”

“Arianna.” Now his voice softened. “I'm sorry. It's nothing against
you
, I…got calls last night from people who'd seen the news. They wanted to know if that was where my upcoming show was. I hated telling them yes.”

“Well, now you won't have to.” She was ready to end this conversation and go to bed. Tomorrow would have to be a better day. Only the memory of Lance's kiss brightened what had been a fairly terrible day. She remembered that tomorrow was Monday and the new security company was due to start. Lance would be leaving to go back to his own life. Her stomach sank and she forced her attention back to her traitorous former client.

“Maybe we can work together in the future, after all this scandal has died down.” Eric's conciliatory words didn't fool her. She'd never hear from him again. And good riddance.