Unguarded (4 page)

She had begun to scribble a note about Hollywoodizing the games when a hand fell on her shoulder. Her heart went into instant overdrive as her stomach tightened, painfully. Whirling around, hands clenched into fists, it took her a second to realize Shawn was standing there, staring at her like she'd lost her mind.

“Hey, I'm sorry.” To his credit, he backed up instantly, both hands in the air. “I didn't mean to startle you, Rhiannon. You were off in your own little world.”

The fear that had slammed through her at his unexpected touch slowly dissipated, but she was left feeling awkward and embarrassed. What kind of event coordinator whipped around, looking for blood, the second her client tried to get her attention?

“Hey. You're going back into your head again—stop it.”

Shawn's voice was kind but firm, and this time when he placed a hand on her she didn't flinch away. She just stood there, looking at him, and wondering what she could possibly say to make up for her idiotic behavior. Besides the truth—and the truth was the last thing she wanted to get into right now.

But Shawn was more of a gentleman than he looked.
Instead of pushing her for some explanation, he just waited for her to figure out what she wanted to say.

Determined to get her head back in the game, she said, “Sorry. I was deep in thought about your party. I've come up with a bunch of different ideas.”

“Oh, yeah? Did you come up with any keepers?” He moved a little closer, surveyed the yard much as she had been doing before he'd interrupted her.

“Actually, I think I might have.” Though the fear was gone, her heart was still beating a little too fast and his proximity wasn't making things any better. She took a few casual steps away from him.

“As I mentioned before, I'm not sure a huge, formal party is going to make the impression on these people that you're hoping for. If they're from Hollywood, they've probably been to a million of those. So what about if we do what we talked about the other day? We don't try to compete with what they're used to, but instead give them something else entirely? Maybe something more along the lines of a carnival?”

She spread her arms wide, gestured to all the different attractions he already had in place. “Your backyard is perfect for it. We can set up some big, brightly colored tents on the lawn, have people compete at games of chance for movie-themed prizes. You know, like carnival games—try to get three rings around a bottle, beanbag tosses, that kind of thing.

“And for food, we can set up different stations. Each station can be a takeoff of a famous Endeavor film. You know, like for
Desert Bandits
we can serve kabobs and other Middle Eastern finger foods. For
Broken Vines,
we can do a wine-tasting from some Central Texas vineyards with a bunch of gourmet breads and
cheeses.
Kiss and Tell
can be the dessert tent, with a big chocolate fountain and sweets tables spread out all around it.”

She paused, took a breath. Tried to read his face. She was so excited about the idea that she would be totally bummed if he rejected it. It was his party, of course, but everything inside her screamed that this would be perfect.

Plus, it was only the third big party she'd handled on her own since Logan had given her a job two years before—she'd handled a lot of smaller affairs, but until a few months ago the big ones had always gone through him. About six months ago he'd begun giving her bigger jobs—one of which was the party at which she'd met Shawn the previous Saturday—but she still worried about making mistakes.

About placing Logan in an awkward position, where he'd feel like he had to keep her because she was his friend instead of wanting to keep her because she did a kick-ass job.

About thinking too much like a journalist and not enough like an event coordinator. Old habits—and even some of her new ones—were turning out to be very hard to break.

“You know, I really like the idea.”

“You do?” she whispered, thrilled at the confidence boost his answer gave her.

“Yeah. It's not the fancy thing I had originally planned on, but I can see where it could be a lot of fun. Plus, I know I'd enjoy a party like that a lot more than one where I had to sip champagne in a stuffy tuxedo.”

“Excellent. I'll put some numbers together and work
up a minimum budget for this kind of thing. But before I do that, do you have a basic idea of how much you want to spend? I should have asked you the other day but—”

“But you were so dazzled by my charm and wit that you couldn't remember all the business details?” He grinned. “That's okay, I'm used to it.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was going to say it was because you'd been hassling me incessantly with your God's-gift-to-women persona and I just couldn't work it into the conversation.”

“No, I don't think so.” He tilted his head, as if actually considering the situation, but the expression on his face let her know he was only teasing. “I really do think you were just trying hard not to throw yourself at me. There's no reason to be embarrassed. Like I said, it happens to me all the time.”

“I just bet it does.” She started to roll her eyes, but thought better of it. Hadn't she just decided that she was going to keep things as businesslike as possible between them? Yet here she was, falling into a joking rhythm with him that was far easier to take part in than it should have been.

“Besides, I kind of like it.”

“Like what?”

“The fact that you get all frazzled and nervous around me.”

“Lissa didn't mention that you were delusional when she introduced us. I'll have to talk to her about that.”

“Yeah, well, best friends and their wives don't know everything.”

They stood there, grinning at each other, for long seconds. An owl hooted, followed by the long, lonely
sound of a coyote howling. When she was at her condo in the city, she couldn't hear any of this. Couldn't hear much of anything besides people, despite the abundant greenbelt around her complex. Was it because she hadn't taken the time to listen in far too long? Because she couldn't stand the sound of silence—of her own thoughts—anymore and always had the stereo going?

A gust of wind blew past her and she shivered. Shawn stepped close, blocking the cold air from hitting her head-on. “Are you ready to go in?”

Was she? Rhiannon glanced around the yard she had such high hopes for and tried to recapture the excitement—the warmth—she'd been feeling just a few moments before. But the sad, solitary cries of the coyote echoed within her, reminding her of just how long she'd been alone. Just how long it had been since she'd been able to reach out for or accept any kind of closeness—physical or emotional.

Maybe it was time to change that. She was sick of being alone, sick of always being on the outside looking in. Shawn was nice—really nice—not to mention sexy as hell. Maybe if she took things slowly, if she got to know him while planning the party, she could see where things took them. In six weeks' time, when he was no longer a client, maybe she'd even be ready for a real date. One that ended in a real kiss and not just the glancing of his lips against her own.

It was an interesting idea, one she would have to consider for a while before she decided on it one way or another. But that was okay, because she had some time. Shawn wasn't going anywhere for a while, and neither was she.

“Hey, what's wrong?” He started to reach for her hand, then stopped himself. She could see from the look in his eyes that he was remembering her jumpiness when he'd touched her shoulder. Terrific—now he thought he was saddled with a total freak for a party planner. So much for him wanting to kiss her when this whole thing was over.

The thought jerked her out of her funk and Rhiannon forced herself to concentrate on the present. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just cold.” She managed to work up the same carefree grin she'd used to fool her friends and family for months now.

“There's a cure for that, you know.”

“Oh, yeah? What's that?” He was so close now that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. The air between them was suddenly charged, electric, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Part of her wanted to pull away, to shrink back inside the cocoon she'd built around herself and stay there. But another part of her, one that she barely recognized, wanted to stay right where she was. That part wanted to see what happened next.

But nothing happened next. Instead, he backed away with a relaxed expression that didn't quite reach his eyes. “A race to the house should cure your chills,” he said. “On your mark. Get set. Go.”

S
HAWN TOOK OFF BEFORE
Rhiannon had registered his words, but kept his pace deliberately slow, conscious of her closing the distance between them. When she finally caught up to him, tossing him a cocky grin, he started to lay on the speed, but she looked so sexy with her hair streaming behind her and the navy dress molded to her curves that he let her pass just so he could enjoy the view of her running in front of him.

She hit the stairs a couple of seconds before he did, and shot him a look of mock-disgust over her shoulder. “Taking off without me like that was cheap.”

He shrugged. “You won, didn't you?”

“You let me win—it's not the same thing.”

“Do I sense a competitive spirit here?”

“What, does that surprise you?”

“A little bit. But that's okay—I like surprises.” And Rhiannon was turning out to be the nicest surprise he'd had in a long time.

Tonight had only reinforced the idea he had had at the restaurant when he'd decided she was a contradiction, a puzzle. Rhiannon might look all prim and proper on the outside, but there was a lot more to her than met the eye. The fact that'd she'd taken up his challenge without thinking twice, the way she always had a zippy comeback for him, how she looked when
she didn't know he was watching her—it all added up to a woman who ran a lot deeper than her surface made it seem.

He liked that about her, liked the fact that he had to work to figure her out and couldn't help wondering what she would be like if she ever really let go.

Stepping back, making sure not to crowd her, Shawn studied her for a moment and saw with satisfaction that the haunted look he'd noticed outside was gone from her eyes, and her pale cheeks were now flushed with color. He didn't know what had happened out there, what had turned her so suddenly skittish, but he'd known it was bad—even before she'd drifted away from him. “Come on, let's eat. I'm hungry.”

“You're the one blocking the path to the kitchen.”

“Excuse me.” He moved to the side, gesturing for her to lead the way. Which she did with a flash of her dimple that told him, better than words, that she was trying to recover from what had happened outside.

Dinner was an almost relaxed affair, filled with talk of the party and a little bit of silly banter between them—initiated by him, of course. But Rhiannon kept up her end of the conversation, and he could tell by the gradual warming of her eyes that she was enjoying it almost as much as he was. He kept trying to make her laugh again, but her reserve had kicked in and the best he could get was an occasional quirk of her lips.

It wasn't enough for him, but he made do—especially as sitting across from Rhiannon was no hardship. She looked sexily disheveled—her hair tousled from the run, her cheeks pink, her dress just a little bit askew. It was a good look for her, one that was as far from the
woman he'd first met at Robert and Lissa's party as she could get.

When it was her turn to talk, he got lost in the soft, melodic sound of her voice as she recounted some of her experiences as a party planner—including a few truly hilarious incidents that had him all but rolling on the floor with laughter. She complimented him on the food, again, and though it was one of his favorite meals, he barely paid any attention to it. He was too busy watching that crazy dimple of hers, cataloging the little laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, counting the freckles on her left cheek that formed a tiny star he wanted nothing more than to trace with his tongue.

Watching her, it occurred to him—not for the first time—that people would probably say she was too old for him. He didn't know her exact age, but his best guess put her at somewhere around thirty-six or thirty-seven, years older than his own twenty-nine. But it didn't matter to him, not when he couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed having dinner with a woman this much.

Besides, age had never been an issue to him when it came to women. While it was true that he'd never dated a woman more than one or two years older than him before, the idea didn't bother him as it would some of his friends. For him, it was all about the chemistry, about how he felt when he looked at a woman, talked to her, touched her. If she interested him, that was enough, and Rhiannon—with all of her stops and goes, all of her contradictions and complications—interested him more than any woman had in a long time.

Where else would he find a poised, sophisticated woman who was as interested in watching a slasher
movie as she was in going to an art gallery? A woman who could discuss politics one minute and Willie Nelson and the city's Keep Austin Weird campaign the next? Who cared if she was twenty-seven or thirty-seven or even forty-seven as long as there was a spark between them? And while he still wasn't sure about Rhiannon's side, he knew that on his there was a hell of a lot more than a spark going on.

Now, if only he could get her interested in baseball, it'd be a match made in heaven.

When they were finished eating, she insisted on helping him clear the table before he ushered her into the family room he loved. The back wall was all windows and it had an incredible view of the lake—at the end of a long day of writing, he liked nothing more than sitting on his sofa and watching the sun set over Lake Travis.

“You know, we could set up a bar in the corner over there, along with a couple of food stations.” Rhiannon stood in the middle of the room, turning in a slow circle as she examined every nook and cranny. As she did, he wondered how she could stand there, surrounded by such an incredible view—the lights were still on outside and his entire backyard had a soft, mellow glow—and think only of work. Especially when it was the farthest thing from his mind.

“Maybe a pasta station over here in this corner—very
Mafia Times
—and then in the center of the room, we could—”

“Do you ever think about anything but work?” he interrupted her, simply to see what she would do.

She didn't even break stride. “—have prizes for the games. Or at least a prize booth where they could trade
tickets in. Movie memorabilia, that kind of thing. I'm not sure how much it would cost, but I think it could be doable.” She finally paused for a breath. “How much are you thinking of budget wise? I started to ask you when we were outside, but we got sidetracked.”

“I don't know. What's a reasonable number for this kind of party?”

She named a price that had his eyes widening and his hand clutching at his wallet where it rested in the back pocket of his jeans. Beer and chips weren't sounding so bad after all.

“For a casual party?” he asked incredulously. “How much would the formal party have been?”

“Probably about the same,” she admitted wryly. “If that's more than you were wanting to spend, we can tone things down a bit. There doesn't have to be—”

He cut her off before she could gain any more momentum and launch into another spiel, partly because in the end he didn't care that much—after all, he had the money—and partly because he could think of any number of more interesting things to talk about with her than the virtues of a party with a budget that just might rival the national debt of a small country.

“Work up a budget for our next meeting, like you were planning on, and we'll take it from there. Okay?”

“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “I should probably be going then.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Her brow was furrowed in confusion and he wanted nothing more then to step forward and smooth it out. But, despite the fact that she'd relaxed some over dinner,
Rhiannon still had enough No Trespassing signs around her to stop a blind man in his tracks. “Why do you want to leave? You haven't even opened your present yet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You bought me a present?”

“I did.” He crossed to the bar, pulled out the large, colorful bag he'd placed there earlier in the day, and held it out to her.

She didn't take it, didn't do anything but stare at the gift—and him—like they were cobras poised to strike. In return, he stayed right where he was, not saying anything, not moving, barely even breathing as he waited to see what she would do.

“Why would you do that? You barely know me.”

“True, but I like what I do know of you. And as to why I bought the present—” He dangled it on a fingertip, watching as her eyes followed its back-and-forth motion as if hypnotized. “I saw it at the store today and it made me think of you. Besides, your education is sorely lacking in some areas and I thought this could even it out a little.”

“Sorely lacking?” From the look on her face, he could tell she wasn't sure whether she should be insulted or not. Which was fine with Shawn, as the confusion—and mild insult—propelled her across the room to him.

“What's in the bag?” she demanded, when she was only a few steps away.

He extended his arm so that she only had to come a couple feet closer to look inside it. “Why don't you look inside and find out?”

She didn't move for the longest time, and neither did he, though the waiting was killing him. He loved to give presents, loved to see how the woman in his life
reacted when she got them, but he'd never had anyone react to a gift from him quite like Rhiannon was. Her suspicion made him a little sad—not to mention angry at the bastard who had hurt her enough that a simple foil bag could have her gnawing on her lip until she was close to drawing blood.

“Whatever it is, it better be good,” she said finally, reaching for the bag with a touch of defiance. Her fingers rubbed against his and a little shock of electricity crackled through him, between them, as he felt her skin brush his. Her eyes darkened to a deep, molten chocolate and he waited for her to pull away. But she didn't. Instead, she let her fingers linger for a few seconds, as if—in that moment—she was as curious about the feel of him as he was about her.

And then she was pulling away, the connection between them severed, though heat lingered in the air between them. Shawn stared at her, wondering what she was thinking. What she was feeling. Whatever it was, she had a poker face and projected nothing but a calm serenity he knew she couldn't be feeling, not while the gift bag she now held was rustling with each tremor of her fingertips.

After a minute, she broke eye contact and started rummaging through the bag, pulling out the tissue paper he'd crumpled up and shoved in the top a few hours before. After laying it neatly on the bar, she finally reached in and pulled out his present. For a second, she didn't react at all, just stared at his gift in silence. And then she started to laugh—not a small, tinkling giggle like he'd heard before but a warm, full-bodied laugh that filled up the entire room around them.

He felt himself grow hard at the sound, and at the
sight of her so free and uninhibited. So unselfconscious. He watched her, fascinated by the transformation, and wondered—which was the real Rhiannon? This woman with the big laugh and dancing eyes, or the sedate woman who always dressed in neutrals and rarely made a move she hadn't thought out?

The contradictions were driving him insane, the edges of the puzzle refusing to fit together in his mind no matter how hard he tried to find the right angle. There were too many missing pieces, too many stories left unsaid. Tonight he'd gotten one of those pieces. He'd have to wait and see what other ones showed up in the next few days and weeks.

“You bought me slasher movies?” she asked, a little incredulously.

“Not just any slasher movies. I will have you know that you are holding the Saturday Night Cinema Special in your hot little hands—the trifecta of slasher movies. The greatest slasher movies of all time, bar none.”

“According to you.”

“According to anyone who has taste. I'm telling you, if you're as big a fan of the genre as you say you are, then it is an absolute travesty that you haven't seen those movies.”

“A travesty you just had to remedy?”

“Well, obviously. And look—” He pointed at the large cardboard tub the movies had been resting in. “I even got you popcorn and an extra-large chocolate bar.”

“I'm more of a gummy-worm girl myself.”

“Who isn't? But the store was out of gummy worms, so I had to improvise. Next time, I'll go with the gummy eyeballs.”

“There's going to be a next time?”

He sighed with exaggerated patience, loving the spark that came to her eyes. “Of course there will be. I have an entire wall of horror films and I won't rest until you've seen them all.”

“That's quite a sacrifice you're making there.”

“It'll be tough, but someone's got to do it.”

“I just bet.” Rhiannon leaned back against the bar, more relaxed than he had ever seen her. It made his blood boil and his erection throb and he was seized by a nearly overwhelming urge to kiss her. But he hadn't come this far to blow it when he was so close to the prize.

For Rhiannon was a double-edged sword, one that required a very careful balancing act. Normally that would be enough to make him run in the other direction—after Cynthia had killed herself, he'd made a point of sliding through life with a wink and a smile, steering clear of any major complications or entanglements.

But this was different, this energy that pulsed between Rhiannon and him whenever they got too close. It was sweet yet exciting, sexy yet comfortable—as much a mystery and a contradiction as Rhiannon was herself. Even knowing that she was a risk—that he might very well end up on his ass six weeks from now, watching as she zoomed off into her own sunset—couldn't keep him from wanting her.

“So, I suppose you want to watch these movies with me?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

“I appreciate the gift—I really do. It was incredibly thoughtful. But…” She paused and he waited for
the brush-off he could tell was coming. It upset him, because he knew, deep down, that they could be good together. But she had to know it, too, or at least suspect it. Otherwise, it didn't do him any good to stand around mooning over her.