Читать книгу Marrying Mccabe - Фиона Бранд - Страница 13

Ben removed his sunglasses as he turned into the underground car park of the Lombard Hotel. The huge luxury hotel and casino complex occupied a piece of prime real estate in downtown Auckland, just spitting distance from the bustling waterfront.

He killed the engine, leaned back in his seat and considered his passenger. She was slumped against the door, her head canted at an uncomfortable angle, hair tousled, her mouth even softer in sleep. For the first time he noticed the shadows beneath her eyes. She looked exhausted.

He should have offered her his shoulder. If it had been any other woman, he would have. He was naturally protective, and he liked looking after women. He loved their soft skin and silky hair, the graceful things they did with their hands, all the differences that made them female. The problem was, Roma Lombard was too tempting. If she’d slept on his shoulder, he would have been too aware of her.

He was going to have to wake her, and he didn’t want to; she needed to sleep. An unexpected wave of tenderness took him by surprise, and he drew back from it, instantly wary. He’d already gotten way too close to his client; he wasn’t about to step any closer if he could help it. Especially not after he’d turned around and seen Bunny holding a strand of her hair and looking at her as if she were a fairy princess out of one of her books. They’d looked like mother and daughter, and warning bells had gone off inside him.

He never brought women home to Bunny, because she’d made it clear she wanted a mother and Ben didn’t want her fixating on a woman who might never fill the job. She’d had enough instability in her life; he would be damned if he’d introduce any more. When he’d finally gotten full custody just months ago, he’d vowed to do all he could to make up for the upheaval of the marriage split and give her a settled childhood.

He called Roma’s name. When she didn’t respond, he reached out and shook her lightly. She stirred but didn’t waken. Reluctantly, he gripped her shoulder again, noting the sleek firmness of muscle beneath his hand, and shook a bit harder.

Roma came out of sleep fast, the abrupt transition from a deep, fathomless slumber to alarmed wakefulness making her heart pound and her breath catch in her throat. For a raw moment she was trapped in a disorienting limbo, caught between dream and reality, the darkness of her surroundings making fear rise in her throat, until she recognised the dim, bunker-like surrounds of the hotel’s underground car park.

‘‘You okay?’’

McCabe’s dark, clipped voice brought her head up with a jerk. Pain shafted up her neck and made the tender spot where she’d hit her head on the sidewalk outside the cinema throb. She blinked and rubbed at her eyes, gradually coming to grips with the embarrassing knowledge that she had fallen asleep while McCabe had been driving and had probably been asleep for a good half hour in his presence. She massaged her neck, tested the kink there with a turn of her head, then reluctantly glanced at the big grim man sitting beside her. ‘‘Fine. Just a little…startled.’’

McCabe regarded her for a moment longer, giving her the impression that he was going to say something more; then he climbed out of the truck and walked around to the rear to get her case.

They picked up the keys from reception and took the lift up to the Lombard family suite. McCabe dropped her bag just inside the door, did a quick tour of the rooms, then came back into the main lounge area.

Roma had already done her own tour of the room she wanted—one of the big airy double rooms with bifold doors that opened out onto a sun-dappled terrace. It was the room she always had when she could grab it. Of course, that depended on how many of her family were in residence. Sometimes the place was a zoo and she’d had to fight for a single bed in the smallest room.

McCabe strolled into the lounge and motioned to one of the comfortable leather couches grouped around a coffee table. ‘‘I know you probably want to take a nap, but before you do that, we need to talk.’’

Roma’s stomach tightened at the curtness of McCabe’s tone, and the fact that she had to share the suite with a man who was little more than a stranger for the next few days hit her forcibly. She had only ever been in this situation with a bodyguard a couple of times, and she couldn’t be comfortable with the necessity. Usually there was family around to act as a buffer against the reality of around-the-clock protection.

She sat down on one of the big, soft hide couches that dominated the lounge and mentally braced herself for McCabe’s list of rules. Gray had said the security would be discreet, but that meant to outside observers only—it had nothing to do with the impact the protection would have on her own life.

McCabe perched on the arm of the couch directly opposite. ‘‘I want to know your version of what happened with the shooting.’’

For a moment Roma’s mind went blank, and she wondered if she’d heard right. This wasn’t the discussion she had expected.

‘‘I gave my version to the police. All the relevant facts are in the report Gray gave you.’’

‘‘I know the facts,’’ he said calmly. ‘‘What I want from you are the things you might not have told the police.’’ His gaze fastened on hers, dark and still, giving the impression of utter coldness. ‘‘Were you scared when it happened?’’

‘‘What do you think?’’ she demanded quietly. ‘‘Lewis was hurt, and there was the possibility of a second shot. I was so scared all I wanted to do was run.’’

‘‘But you didn’t. You stayed and gave your friend first aid.’’

‘‘He was bleeding. If I’d left him, he would have died.’’

He crossed his arms over his chest, his expression neutral, cop-cool. ‘‘Did you think the shooting was random?’’

‘‘There’s no proof it was anything else.’’

He was silent for a moment. ‘‘You were scared when I woke you in the Jeep. Would you mind telling me why?’’

Resentment stirred. Not only did McCabe look like a cop, he was questioning her like one. ‘‘I woke up in an unfamiliar place. I was…off balance.’’

‘‘If you have information about the shooting that I should know,’’ he said softly, ‘‘you’d better tell me. I can’t do my job effectively unless I know all the facts.’’

The sluggish aftermath of her nap and the odd sense of disconnection that went with it evaporated on a hot rush of anger. McCabe thought she was withholding information. Lying. More…he was interrogating her as if she were a suspect in the shooting, not a victim. ‘‘I don’t know anything about the shooting other than that the person I was with got hurt,’’ she snapped. ‘‘Everything there is to know is included in the report in that envelope.’’

Keeping her expression carefully blank, Roma stood up and collected her case, strode toward her room and dumped the case just inside the door. Too angry to leave the conversation hanging, she spun on her heel and almost ran into McCabe’s chest. She stared at the sleek gold skin of his throat and the pulse that jumped there, trying to steady the hard pounding of her heart. ‘‘What made you think I might know anything more?’’

‘‘You were scared when you woke up. And you’re evasive now. I need to know why. I have staff who’ll be involved in your protection programme. Their safety’s important. I have to check out all the angles.’’

All the angles. She took a deep breath, every nerve in her body jangling at his closeness. He was blocking the doorway now, one hand resting on the jamb, muscled bicep gleaming in the sunny glow of the room.

Hurt and resentment warred with common sense. Common sense won out. He was doing his job, asking the questions he had to ask. But if he’d been nicer about it, explained what he was doing, there wouldn’t have been a problem. She would have been happy to discuss the shooting with him. ‘‘I panicked while I was giving Lewis first aid,’’ she said flatly. ‘‘I’m not proud of it, but for a few seconds I did think I was being watched. I did think I was a target.’’ She met his gaze squarely. ‘‘I didn’t put that in the police report for a good reason. It was paranoia, pure and simple.’’

‘‘I’m sorry if I offended you, but you were so jumpy I had to find out if you felt directly threatened.’’ He shrugged. ‘‘Gray doesn’t think there’s a threat, but given your family’s past history, he’s not taking any chances. I’m not taking any chances, either.’’ His voice had dropped, the low, rough register making her tighten up inside. ‘‘If at any point you feel that someone is after you, then tell me. It’ll make a difference to the way I protect you.’’

Roma eyed him warily. He’d used that same dark, honeyed tone at the airport. It was probably the one he used for escaped mental patients. Or for seducing women. Warmth spread through her at the thought of being seduced by McCabe. ‘‘What if it turns out to be my overactive imagination?’’

‘‘It wouldn’t matter. As long as the protection makes you feel safe.’’

The concern in McCabe’s voice startled her, and she wondered if he was actually on the verge of offering her comfort. His face was half in shadow, half out of it, wide mouth distractingly soft, set as it was against the square line of his jaw. His scent filled her nostrils, musky and hot in the warm room.

He was aroused.

The shock of the discovery sent a spasm of heat through her stomach, tightening her nipples in a rush, so that they pushed achingly hard against the soft cotton of her bra. For a long moment, time seemed to stop, become suspended, along with her breathing, while she struggled with that knowledge.

Awareness flashed in those cold wolf’s eyes, shivered down her spine. He held her gaze, seemingly unconcerned that she knew he was aroused.

One part of her wanted to back up a step, confused. After all, they’d been fighting on and off ever since they’d met. But another part of her was irresistibly drawn, attracted and curious. She wondered what it would be like to step up to McCabe and rub herself against him, bury her face in the curve of his neck and taste his skin, wind her fingers in his hair, then reach up and press her mouth against his.

A little shudder ran through her. Dangerous, she decided.

Her brothers had been wild when they’d been single, and they’d run with a wild bunch. Apart from his brief marriage, McCabe had always been in there.

‘‘Did you tell Gray how you felt about the shooting?’’

For a moment Roma had trouble grasping that, despite his sexual arousal, McCabe had coldly switched to bodyguard mode and wanted to talk about the shooting again.

‘‘He knew I was scared.’’

Ben studied Roma’s expression, the defensive way she clasped her arms across her chest to hide the jut of her nipples. Her breasts were round and full against her slim figure. The contrast of feminine lushness with sleek, firm muscle made his mouth water. He wanted to reach out now and cup her breasts, weigh them in his palms, rub his thumbs over her tight little nipples, then have them in his mouth. The mere thought of having her naked breasts in his hands, then sucking her nipples until she moaned, made him achingly hard.

Not that anything like that was about to happen. He was already walking a knife’s edge with his client, and when she heard what he was about to say, it was more likely she would slug him than allow him to touch her in any way.

‘‘There’s just one more thing,’’ he said softly. ‘‘You can’t have that room.’’

Her eyes narrowed. McCabe watched her closely, reluctantly fascinated by every nuance of expression. He knew Roma’s brothers as well as if they were his own family. Gray and Blade were both big, male, muscled—capable of pounding most other men into the dirt without breaking a sweat. Not that they brawled; they didn’t need to. Gray and Blade had always fought with intellect and technical skill as much as with the physical power of their bodies; they were warriors in every sense of the word.

Idly, he wondered how Roma would fight. Dirty, he decided—suppressing a grin. He could see her temper now, simmering just below the surface. Her skin had taken on a luminous glow, and her eyes flashed, dark and slumbrously exotic, as if she would go for the kill in a deceptively lazy feminine way that would flummox most men. They wouldn’t know she’d sunk the knife in until hours later, maybe days.

Then again, maybe not…

Suddenly he could see the resemblance to her brothers in her cheekbones, the strength in the line of her jaw, that fierce Lombard pride.

His lids lowered. No, Roma Lombard wouldn’t bother with manipulation or veiled insults, or even that female version of brawling, a sissy slap. An unholy excitement pulsed through him. She would just out and out slug him.

She didn’t bother to hide her incredulity. ‘‘Did you just say,’’ she said slowly, ‘‘that I can’t have this room?’’

‘‘You heard right.’’

‘‘Which room can I have?’’ she enquired with icy politeness.

He felt like saying ‘‘Mine’’ but pulled back from that precipice. ‘‘You can have the one through the adjoining bathroom. It’s more secure. This bedroom’s wide open in terms of access, with the terrace doors, and the doors leading into the bathroom and living area.’’

For long seconds she didn’t move, didn’t respond in any way, but instead of exploding as he expected her to, her expression smoothed out, becoming as controlled and remote as it had been at the airport. ‘‘All right.’’

She met his gaze coolly, although her cheeks were flushed, then astounded him by running her gaze down over his chest, his belly, stopping at his groin. He felt as though she’d just run her hand over him.