The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones (16 page)

He stopped in front of her and glared. “You shouldn't leave your back door open and you shouldn't just call `Come in.' What if I'd been a burglar?”

She glanced up at him. Her eyes were a mossy green in the dark gray of the afternoon light, her face pale and devoid of makeup. She wore a white short-sleeved shirt that buttoned up the front and pull-on shorts.

“Only my friends use the back door,” she said. “Burglars don't knock and strangers come to the front.”

“You should be more careful.”

“Yes, Mike. I'll do my best.” She leaned her head back against the sofa and closed her eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“The electricity is out. I came by to make sure everything was all right.”

“Couldn't be better. I love summer storms.” She waved one arm toward the far end of the sofa. “Have a seat. Do you want some wine?”

“Sure.”

He moved around the light oak coffee table and sat down. Lightning lit the sky like a strobe light. Thunder was one long continuous boom. Cindy rose to her feet and collected a few fat candles from the mantel. She set them on the coffee table and lit them. The flickering lights added a soft glow to the room.

When she returned from the kitchen, she was carrying a bottle of red wine, a corkscrew and two glasses. Mike took the bottle from her and opened it. She settled on the sofa, staying in the far corner, but angling toward him.

“To summer,” she said, taking the glass he offered.

“To summer.” Their voices were quiet in the still room, the sound of the clinking glass unnaturally loud.

She sipped the dark liquid, then sighed. “Lovely. I hope the electricity stays out for another hour. Just long enough for us to enjoy the quiet, but not so long that the frozen foods spoil.”

Mike grinned. “Ever practical.”

“I'm a mother. I have to be.”

She took another drink, then leaned forward and set the glass on the table. The front of her blouse gaped slightly. He had a brief impression of pale curves and white lace, then she straightened.

“I haven't seen you in a couple of days,” she said. “What have you been doing?”

“Working out. I seem to be collecting a smaller audience each time.”

“But you still have that core group of devoted fans.”

“Don't remind me.” He took a drink of his wine. The taste was smooth with a hint of a bite. Very nice. “I've been catching up on my reading. Trying to avoid television. Do you know what's on during the day?” He shuddered. “I can't believe people go on talk shows and admit all these personal problems to millions of viewers. And the soaps. Thank God for CNN.”

“And sports.”

“That, too.”

The wind shifted so the rain pelted the tall windows. There were three across the back of the living room. Two slender windows on either side of a wide one in the center. The curtains had been drawn back, the lace sheers pushed aside.

Cindy leaned forward. “Isn't it beautiful?”

“Yes.” He watched jagged flashes cut through the gray clouds. “I didn't realize the weather changed so much here in Houston.”

“It's never boring, that's for sure.” She gave him a quick smile, then turned her attention back to the storm. “Fronts come through quickly. In the winter it can go from sixty-five to below forty degrees in about fifteen minutes. You can run the air conditioner in the morning and the heater that night.”

“I can't believe you ever use the heater,” he said.

“It is a little warm right now.”

“Warm? I've been in saunas that are cooler than this.”

“It will be cool right now, in the rain, but as soon as the storm passes, it will get muggy. But it gets hot back East and in Los Angeles in the summer.”

“Not like this.” He took another sip of wine, then leaned back on the sofa, resting the glass on his belly. “L.A. is a dry heat and it comes and goes in cycles. New York has humidity, but nothing like this. I spent some time in Singapore during the summer. Now
that's
heat.”

She turned toward him. “Where else have you been?”

He shrugged. “Everywhere. It all blurs after a while. You traveled a lot, too, when you were a kid.”

“Not like that. It was military bases and mostly in the States. We never went anywhere fun. That might have made up for moving all the time. If I had my wish, I would never move again.”

He glanced around the room. “It's very nice here.”

“Thanks. I like it. When I was growing up, I used to think about the house I would buy when I was an adult. I used to plan the rooms and how I would decorate them.”

“How close did you come?”

She picked up her wine and chuckled. “Fortunately, I modified my plans as I got older. I can't remember what I would have chosen when I was Allison's age, but I'm sure it would have been awful.” She took a sip, then continued, “I always wanted my home to be welcoming. The sort of place someone would want to stay.”

“Then you've accomplished your goal.” He'd felt welcome in her house from the first moment he regained consciousness. Now, with a storm raging outside, the house felt like a haven.

“Thanks. I'd like to redo this room.” She patted the floral-print sofa. “Maybe get rid of those drapes. I don't like the gray. It's a little cold for me, but Nelson liked it. I've changed the bedroom since he left and I'd like to do more, but it has to be slow. I'm still trying to make it on a teacher's salary.”

She leaned toward the coffee table and set down her wine. As she shifted back in place, she moved closer. Mike told himself it was a completely unconscious action. Cindy considered him a friend. She was relaxed around him. She wasn't coming on to him.

But his body didn't want to listen to logic. From the moment he'd first seen her, he'd thought she was attractive. If he recalled those first few foggy minutes correctly, he'd thought she was a naked angel sent to him from heaven. Now he knew she was even better than that, she was a flesh-and-blood woman. And he wanted her.

He rested his head on the sofa and sipped his wine, all the while listening to her plans about wallpaper and new carpeting. He enjoyed the sound of her voice. It nearly blocked out the blood roaring through his veins. His skin was hot, his groin hard. Just being with her turned him on. He didn't want to think about what would happen if they actually touched. Or kissed. Or made love.

He had a bad feeling it would be pretty damn good—and a complete disaster. He wasn't into commitments and Cindy didn't know any other way to do it. So they would be friends, and when he left here late this afternoon, he would take a cold shower and think pure thoughts.

“Mike! You're not listening to me.”

“Sorry. Men are genetically predisposed not to be able to talk about decorating.”

“That's not true.” She gave him a mocking glare. “Men very much want to live in a nice house, but many of them don't want to be bothered with doing any of the work required to get it that way.”

“That, too,” he admitted. He finished his wine and sat up to put the empty glass on the table. When he settled on the sofa again, he turned toward her. They were definitely closer to each other now. Each of them had about eight inches of space behind them, and less than that between them. Cindy was shaking her head. She hadn't noticed. He wondered if she would.

“I don't know how you stand not having a home,” she said.

“You get used to it.”

“I never did.”

“You never wanted to.”

She sat on her right hip, with her knee nearly touching his thigh and her body resting against the sofa. “What's so great about having nowhere to belong?”

“I wasn't like you, Cindy. I was a bad kid.”

“What makes you think I was a good one?”

He reached out his hand and touched the tip of her nose. “I can see it in your eyes. You sat in the front of the classroom, did your homework every day and got good grades.”

“You were the bad boy in the back of the room. You annoyed the teacher with your smart remarks and tempted the girls with your smoldering eyes.”

Was she tempted? The heat inside him begged him to find out. What kept him in check was the fact that he liked Cindy, and she deserved a hell of a lot better than him.

“I stole cars,” he said.

She didn't act surprised. “Did you go to prison?”

“Aren't you shocked?”

“You once mentioned your being on the wrong side of the law when you were a teenager. No one ends up where you are by taking an ordinary path.”

She was smart. He liked that about her. “I was given the choice between prison and the military. I decided on the military, the judge picked the marines. Looking back, I suppose he figured they'd either straighten me out or kill me.”

“And here you are.”

“I know now that I just wanted attention. My mother had remarried and started a second family. She never cared what I did, anyway, so it was easy to run the streets. But I got caught.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out.

“Why a bodyguard?” she asked. “There are a lot of other kinds of security jobs.”

“I don't have a death wish. That's what some people think. It's not about the dying, it's about being better. When a client hires me, he's usually been threatened. My job is to be smarter and faster than the enemy. Think like him, know him, then beat him. If I do my job right, no one gets hurt. If I don't, someone dies. Those are about the highest stakes around. Every situation is different, but the enemy is constant.”

She'd tilted her head in that way that told him she was pondering something. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

“You might not have a death wish, but you are willing to die. What makes you offer that sacrifice?”

“I don't think of it like that. Death is just another way of finding out I didn't do my job right.”

She leaned forward. Her hair swung down against her cheek and she brushed it back impatiently. “That's why you don't have a place, isn't it? Caring about something, belonging, makes it too difficult to accept that ultimate price. Or do you think that's what you deserve? Is it a punishment? What are you paying for, Mike?”

Her gaze was intense, all her attention focused on him. He stirred restlessly on the sofa, not knowing how to answer her. She'd strayed dangerously close to the truth he'd always tried to hide, even from himself. The specter of not being good enough had haunted him from childhood. He'd always believed the reason he'd been emotionally abandoned by his mother was that there was a problem with him. His stepfather's ambivalence had reinforced that idea. Women came and went in his life with a regularity that convinced him they could all see the truth. It wasn't them, it was him. A flaw he couldn't hide or fix. Once he realized he lacked whatever made a person lovable, he made sure he was in a situation where love was impractical. It was easier than facing the reality of his own shortcomings. So much for hiding behind a facade of confidence. Cindy had seen right through him.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and touched his forearm. “I've had just enough psychology to spout nonsense. I didn't mean to offend you.”

“I'm not offended,” he said, wondering how she'd seen the truth so quickly. He felt exposed, as if he'd walked into a formal event completely naked.

“How long can you keep on doing it?” she asked. “Where do old bodyguards go?”

“I don't ask that question. This is all I know.”

“Are there security jobs available?”

“Sure. Some companies hire bodyguards to train executives to protect themselves, especially when they travel overseas.”

“You'd be good at that.”

“Why?”

She smiled. “You're very patient with the children. That's the mark of a good teacher. Trust me on this, I'm an expert.”

Her fingers still rested on his arm. Her casual exposure of his greatest weakness had destroyed his desire as effectively as sunlight burns a worm. But her equally casual acceptance of the flaw allowed him to breathe normally and stay in his seat. Gradually, her touch soothed him.

She drew her hand back to her lap. “Of course, if you took a different kind of job, you wouldn't be able to seduce women so easily.”

He laughed out loud. “Is that what you think I do?”

“Don't expect me to believe that you haven't used your job to get sex. I've seen what's happened here. The bodyguard thing really pushes some female buttons. I think it's because we assume you can take care of us.”

He wondered if she really meant “us,” as in she was attracted to him, too.

“So, have you?” She blushed.

“Now you sound like Beth.”

“And you're avoiding the question.”

“Yes, I've used my job to get women, but not often.”

She scrambled into a kneeling position, then sank back until she was sitting on her ankles. “Really? What's it like?”

“For one thing, most women don't ask so many questions.”

“But you're not interested in having sex with me,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Come on. Tell me what they ask or say.”

“They want to know about the glamour, the celebrities.”

She wrinkled her nose. “That's boring.”

He shook his head. “You're not like those women. Maybe that's why I'm having such a hard time fitting in here. My job is based on predicting other people's actions before even they know what they're going to do. Here I'm completely at a loss.”

“You don't understand our world, so how can you predict us?”

“Excellent point. For a girl.”

“Now
you
sound like Jonathan.”

He smiled, then he leaned against the sofa back and studied her. “I understand criminals better than suburban women and children.”