Читать книгу Deep Focus - Erin McCarthy - Страница 11

2

IT HAD BEEN a mistake to lie on Hunter’s legs. Melanie kept her eyes closed, but not to sleep. It was to avoid looking at him. She was very aware of how close she was to his crotch, and how firm his body was under hers. His hand resting on her side was enormous, heavy, warm. She felt surrounded by him, protected.

And he smelled like the woods. As if he’d chopped a cord of firewood, thrown on a suit and jumped on a plane, all without skipping a beat. It was appealing.

There was something dangerous about this. She was vulnerable. Hurt. Embarrassed. Hunter was sexy and very masculine. She didn’t want to fall into that trap of needing to prove she was feminine and desirable by having rebound sex. Not that Hunter wanted to have sex with her. Despite saying he found her attractive, he’d been looking at her like he was in pain since the minute he’d met her. She was sure he’d simply been tossing out a compliment because he felt sorry for her and she’d backed him into a corner.

So even if she wanted to make the massive mistake of using Hunter to make her feel better about herself, it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t interested. Though he was being very nice in a pained, aloof sort of way. He was patient and he was trying to offer sympathy. Despite her deep humiliation, she needed to pull herself together and not make Hunter pay for Ian’s sins. Ian was back at the airport blithely doing what he loved to do and leaving a total stranger to clean up his mess. She hoped Hunter was being adequately paid for his time.

Shifting slightly on his lap, she evened out her breathing and reflected. She was ashamed to realize that she had been trying to salvage a union that had never stood a chance in the first place. Sure, she cared about Ian, but how well did she really know him? There had been compatibility, yet no connection. Why had she been so willing to settle for that, and why did it still hurt so much? She’d never thought of herself as having a fragile ego, but apparently she did.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so painful if Ian had taken her out to dinner and told her face-to-face. They could have discussed it, mutually agreed that something was off, given each other a mature and slightly sad kiss goodbye and gotten on with their lives. This was different. This was bullshit. This was her only vacation for the year and Ian had ruined it summarily, without cause or concern. Hunter was right. Ian was a dick. Sad to think she’d devoted a year to a dick, and not even the good kind.

Which suddenly made her aware of how long it had been since she’d had sex. And how close she was to Hunter’s penis. Her thoughts went full circle.

She decided to sit up.

Hunter gave her a look of surprise. “You okay?”

“I have to go to the restroom.” It was a lie. She just needed to evacuate his lap before her thoughts took a turn into the gutter. It was as if her body had been all primed for booty on this vacation, and her hormones weren’t about to back down now that plans had changed. Even though Hunter couldn’t read her mind, she felt self-conscious.

“That’s right, you had to go before we boarded.” Hunter unclicked his seat belt and stood up in the aisle so she could scoot past him.

“Thanks.” She eased out of the seat and started down the aisle. Locking herself in the microscopic restroom, she glanced in the mirror and almost passed out. Good gravy, she looked like hell in a handbasket. Her face was swollen and splotchy and her hair was a disaster from running her hands through it nervously. There was no way Hunter was going to be attracted to her now that she’d taken a ride on the Hot Mess Express.

After splashing water on her face, she tried to pat her hair down, but it was hopeless. She hadn’t brought her purse with her, so there was no real way to repair the damage. Not that lip gloss was going to change the fact that her eyes were swollen and her nose was stuffy. She rolled her neck and shoulders and tried to swallow the reality that she was winging her way to Mexico with a man who was a total stranger. There was no turning back, no getting out of it.

She would literally be paying for this vacation for the next six months at least, so she could either lock herself in her hotel room and cry, or she could reset her idea of what the trip was going to be and try to enjoy it. She was still leaving winter behind. She didn’t have to work. There would be dessert buffets and salsa dancing. And while Hunter wasn’t going to be kissing her naked body, he was far better company than, say, her mother. Or a crying baby. Or a baboon. All of those would be worse options for travel companions.

A sexy stranger should not be a hardship.

Opening the restroom door with the violent shove it required, she went back down the aisle carefully, determined to make the best of things and to try to get to know Hunter a little better. The poor man was saddled with an awkward work assignment, aka her, so the least she could do was try to make the whole thing less awful for both of them.

He began to stand as she approached so she could reach her window seat, but she waved him back down. “I can squeeze past. Don’t worry about it.” She felt guilty enough about falling apart on him.

But right as she started to maneuver her way by, they hit a pocket of turbulence and the plane jumped. Knocked off balance, Melanie gave a small cry of alarm and tried to grab the seat in front of her. Too late. She fell against Hunter with all the grace of a hippo doing ballet. She didn’t land in his lap. That would have been better. No, instead she basically shoved her butt right on up against his chest.

Scrambling and stumbling, she pulled her body away from him and tried to throw herself at her seat. Hunter put his hands on her hips.

“Steady,” he said.

Right. Steady. That was her. Hair in her eyes, she shifted to the right. But he had shifted as well, and somehow she managed to knock her hip into his arm. “Sorry,” she said, breathless. She turned to face him and blew her hair off her face. “These seats are really narrow.”

He looked more amused than irritated. “I could have just stood up.”

“I didn’t want to inconvenience you,” she said, bracing herself as the plane lurched again. She stood between his legs, his hands still on her waist. “Shall we dance?” she joked.

“The only kind of dance I know that starts out like this is a lap dance,” he said wryly.

Oh, jeez. Her cheeks burned. She did not want him to think she was flirting. “I was thinking more along the lines of the rumba. Clearly we spend our weekends in different ways.”

Hunter laughed.

It was the first time he had, and it was a deep, rumbling, pleasant sound.

Melanie smiled at him. For the first time since Ian had told her he wasn’t getting on that flight with her, she didn’t feel as though she was on the verge of losing it.

“Lap rumba?” he asked. “It’s all about compromise.”

“Because I’m so graceful.” She made another move toward her seat and, as if to prove her point, managed to bump his arm on the way by.

He winced.

“Oh! Sorry.” Now she was causing him pain. “Are you okay? Did my butt pop your arm out of the socket or something? I’ve always been something of a klutz.”

Back in her seat at last, she turned to see him shaking his head.

“It’s just an old injury. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? How did you hurt yourself?”

“I fell out of a Humvee after we hit a mine and broke my arm in four places.”

She wasn’t exactly well versed in vehicles but she was pretty sure that was what they drove in the military. “Wow, that sounds painful. So you were in the service? How long have you been out?”

“Three months.”

That was way more recent than she would have expected. “Oh! So you had a long career, then. What made you decide to leave—your injury?”

He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “Are you calling me old?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But you’re clearly not twenty-two, either. I just meant it wasn’t as if you did a few years and got out. It was a commitment.”

“It was. Twelve years. I would still be serving if it wasn’t for my injury. I realized it was time to pack it in. I just turned thirty.”

There was the rub. Not her comment, but his own fear of aging. Of starting a new life and career and feeling superfluous. “Thirty is the new twenty.”

“Now you’re calling me immature.”

But the corner of his mouth turned up.

“I’m trying to get to know you,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “Stop being difficult about it.”

“Why the hell would you want to get to know me? I’m your bodyguard.”

“You’re my only company for the next seven days.” The look he gave her was so pained she laughed. “Thanks for being so thrilled.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait, you are staying the whole time, aren’t you?”

The thought of him leaving after just a couple of days upset her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yes, I’m staying. But I thought you said you weren’t afraid of Ian’s stalker.”

“I’m not. I’m afraid of being...bored.” Alone. She was afraid to be alone.

That was an unnerving thought to have. Was that why she’d been willing to settle for the half-assed attention of Ian Bainbridge? Because having a boyfriend, even one who was never around, was better than not having one at all? God, she wasn’t in middle school anymore.

She wasn’t that needy. She knew she wasn’t. But she was a woman who thought that she could organize everything in her life, including romance. She lived by lists, and Ian had ticked all the boxes on her checklist of what her ideal partner should be.

“How can you be bored when you have zip-lining to try?”

There was that. She wasn’t even going to mention that she’d also signed up for exploring Mayan ruins and horseback riding on the beach. Her credit card must be on fire.

“You shouldn’t go zip-lining with me with your injury, by the way. I can go by myself.” She didn’t want to guilt her bodyguard into doing something that would set his recovery back.

“I can go freaking zip-lining. I’m not paralyzed. Hell, even paralyzed I could still do it.”

Uh-oh. She’d pierced his male pride. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I was trying to let you off the hook, not imply you’re incapable.” She couldn’t help but add, “And you could reinjure yourself.”

“I’m fine.” He undid his seat belt and leaned forward.

“Where are you going?” Melanie asked, suddenly panicking. Was he leaving? Not that he had anywhere to go. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with her thoughts now any more than she wanted to be alone on tourist excursions.

“I’m taking my jacket off. It’s hotter than hell in here.”

He sounded irritable.

“Oh. Here.” She reached up and turned his airflow on.

“Thanks.” Hunter did his best to shake off his jacket in the tight space.

It was tempting to help him as he struggled out of it, but she figured his balls might shrivel up and fall off if she did. Why did men feel so emasculated by accepting help? And good God, how tempting was it to touch those arms? He was wearing a light blue dress shirt, so she didn’t have the greatest view of his biceps, but without the jacket it was clear that despite what he’d said, he’d brought the guns. Jeez Louise.

“So...you didn’t bring any swimwear?” she asked, striving for casual. Any heterosexual woman past puberty and under the age of, oh, death would want to take a gander at him without a shirt. It was just reality, and she wasn’t about to feel guilty about it. Much. It might fall under the category of objectifying him, but at least she wasn’t paying his salary. No boss-employee conflict of interest here.

Not that she was doing anything other than looking. She was getting to know him. As a potential friend. That was it. She had to remember that and not throw herself at his hard, gorgeous body.

Damn it. Where was the flight attendant with the service cart? She needed some water.

* * *

HUNTER REALLY NEEDED a glass of water. Between the small confines of the plane and the fact that Melanie didn’t seem to understand how attractive she was or what she was doing to him every time she brushed against him, he was burning up. When her ass, perfectly cupped in those tight jeans, had bumped against his chest, it had taken all of his willpower to keep from pulling her down onto his lap for a more enjoyable plane ride for both of them.

He shifted his jacket over his erection and put his seat-back tray down, as well. Anything to hide his embarrassing state of arousal. This was a job. She was a client. It wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t gotten laid in fourteen months. Fourteen long, celibate, lonely months. He’d been pumped to get home from Afghanistan despite the arm, because he didn’t need two functioning arms to take his girlfriend to bed. All those months he’d been fantasizing and waiting for the moment when he could nail Danielle again, and he’d gotten home with his cast off and his libido primed. But instead of a weekend sex fest, he’d gotten dumped.

“I brought a pair of trunks, sure. I have to blend in and look as though I belong on the beach.” He was going to be sitting in a beach chair watching Melanie in her bathing suit. He was praying for a bikini. It just had to be a bikini.

“Good point.” She smiled at him. “Is applying sunscreen part of your official duties? I can never reach that spot right here.” Twisting, she tried to reach between her shoulder blades. “Here.” She twisted again, her chest pushing out toward him, breasts taunting him. Laughing, she added, “See? It’s a problem. I don’t want to burn.”

It was then and there that Hunter decided that this was bullshit. Ian Bainbridge had only hired him for one week, and hadn’t even paid him yet. He didn’t owe the guy total professionalism, not when Ian hadn’t been completely up front with him about the situation. Fourteen months was too long to go without sex, and Melanie was probably equally disappointed at the prospect of a celibate vacation. There was no way he could be expected to spend a whole week alone with her and not die of sexual frustration.

That left him two choices: he could settle her into the resort then turn around and go home, or he could convince her that what they both needed was a no-strings-attached week of sex and sunshine.

The first choice seemed unethical, since Ian believed there was a possibility Melanie was in danger. Hunter wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to her, no matter how remote the possibility. The second option was maybe just a little sketchy and inappropriate, but they were both adults and he wasn’t going to twist her arm too hard. Just...coax.

What would Melanie be like in bed? He had a feeling she would approach sex without guile, but with a certain amount of efficiency. She would want the right location and the right time, and she would have a checklist. Foreplay, oral sex, penetration, orgasm, done. Maybe he was wrong—he’d only known her an hour—but it was a gut feeling, a hunch. He had a sudden visual of her approaching his cock with a look of purpose.

It made him hard, and it made him want to show her that sex didn’t need an order or a plan. “I can be your cabana boy,” he told her. “I’ll rub anywhere you want.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Thanks. Um. So...tell me about yourself. Are you married? Children?”

He almost grinned, but held it back. “No and no.” Pride had him instinctively withholding the information about Danielle, but then he realized it could work to his advantage. “When I got home from my deployment, my girlfriend ended things.”

There it was. Her face softened and her hand came to rest on his knee. “Oh, I’m sorry. It must have been hard to make a long-distance relationship work.”

“Lots of people manage to,” he said truthfully. “So I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” Though she could have told him that before he spent months anticipating a happy homecoming.

“You are very stoic, then.”

She didn’t ask it as a question. “No. I wouldn’t say that. I just go to the rifle range and shoot things to work it out.”

“That sounds healthy.” She made a face at him. “Maybe you need a creative outlet instead.”

“Maybe I need sex.” See what she did with that.

“Oh!” Her cheeks turned pink. “Well. True. There’s that.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the cheerful flight attendant asked, locking her cart into place next to Hunter.

It was perfect timing. Let Melanie ponder what he’d said for a while.

“I’ll take a coffee. Black. And a water.” He turned to Melanie. “What would you like?”

“Just a club soda,” she said. “With a lime. And vodka.”

Oh, really? “Somebody’s ready to party,” he said, amused.

“It is kind of early, isn’t it?” she said. “But hell, I’m from Kentucky. I know how to hold my liquor. I stand by my choice.”

“That’s eight dollars,” the flight attendant said discreetly. “Only credit cards.” She bent over and pulled out a tiny liquor bottle.

Hunter got out his wallet and handed her a credit card while Melanie was still wrestling her jumbo purse out from under the seat.

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.

“Honey, if the man wants to buy you a drink, let him,” the flight attendant said, handing over both glasses. “You’ll never see him again, so there’s no expectation.”

“We’re going to Mexico together for a week,” Melanie told her.

The flight attendant made a sound and waved her hand. “Well, in that case, he should be buying all your drinks. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a couple.” She turned to Hunter. “I thought you were a business traveler.”

“I’m her bodyguard,” he said, because he felt as if he needed to explain his suit. Plus it would drive Melanie crazy.

“Are you serious?” The woman eyed Melanie more carefully. “Are you famous?”

When Melanie started to shake her head no, Hunter touched her knee. “She’s not famous to the average person. But those who know who she is are such rabid fans she’s accumulated some stalkers. I’m here to protect her.”

“Oh. My.” The flight attendant unlocked her cart and started to push it. She asked Melanie in a low voice, “Can I ask what industry you’re in?”

Hunter didn’t expect Melanie to play along. He thought she would bluster and apologize and say it was really her boyfriend the famous photographer who had a stalker. But she stunned him by nodding solemnly and saying, “Sure. I’m an adult-film star. Maybe you’ve seen some of my work? Poke Her Haunches? Or maybe Romeo, Juliet and Juliet?”

The curious smile disappeared. “No, I haven’t.” The cart moved rapidly three feet down the aisle.

Coughing to cover his laugh, Hunter looked at Melanie in amusement. “I wasn’t aware of your history.”

“I don’t like to brag,” she said breezily.

“Home videos? Or can I download them online?” He knew she was joking, but without warning an image of Melanie in a corset and touching his sword ambushed his thoughts.

She smacked his leg. “Neither. You goof.”

“I’m a goof, am I? You’re the one messing with the flight attendant.” He eyed her carefully. “Be honest, you wouldn’t even make a home video. That’s not your style.”

“Hey! What do you know about my style?”

“You don’t seem like an impulsive person. Making a sex tape at home is usually for couples who are spontaneous. Or daring.”

“I could be daring.”

His assessment seemed to have annoyed her. Or at least made her slightly defensive.

“I mean, I have posed naked, you know,” she said.

“Your boyfriend is a photographer. I don’t find that particularly daring.”

“My ex-boyfriend is a photographer. Past-tense boyfriend. Not my boyfriend anymore.”

Hunter felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t just pose for him at his place alone. I took part in all his shoots. It was like our private joke. I had to travel with him anyway for work, so there I am, in every photo he’s done for the past year.”

“Really? You’re like Where’s Waldo? Only naked?” That was a tantalizing thought. Holy hell. The chick had guts. And was clearly comfortable in her own skin, which was incredibly hot.

Melanie laughed, and took a sip of her drink. “Sometimes I wore a disguise.”

“How do you wear a disguise when you’re naked?” His mind ran in directions that were so dirty he was glad his jacket was still lying in his lap.

“Glasses. A wig.”

“Right.” Because she wasn’t a total pervert like he was. “Fascinating. Here’s to you getting naked.” He raised his plastic coffee cup and offered her a toast. “For posterity and for art.”

“For art.” She lifted her own tumbler and clicked it gently against his, giving him a soft, sexy smile.

The minute the plane landed he was going to search the shit out of Ian Bainbridge’s photographs online. Wig or no wig, he was certain he would recognize Melanie’s sexy curves anywhere.

Thank God for the internet and both Ian’s genius as an artist and his stupidity as a man. This assignment was turning out to be a whole lot more exciting than Hunter had anticipated.