Читать книгу Ridge: The Avenger - Leanne Banks - Страница 9

The irony of this situation was sweet.

So was Dara Seabrook’s smile, Ridge Jackson thought as he observed the crowd of university students surrounding her. Presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter was seducing the younger vote with phenomenal success.

Her unswerving enthusiasm and optimism captured the demographic group that until recently had eluded Montgomery. Both the press and the camera were at her feet. In other words, Dara was pure gold. And like Fort Knox, she had to be protected.

College women admired her independent and intelligent image. And her hairstyle, Ridge added wryly, recalling that Dara’s picture had recently appeared on the cover of a national newsmagazine.

Ridge knew the young studs weren’t admiring her intelligence, however. They were getting lost in her intent blue-eyed gaze and wondering about the curve of her sweet smile. The more daring ones would skip the appeal of her face and concentrate on her body. A body, Ridge suspected, that would look a helluva lot better laid bare on a rumpled bed than wrapped in a classy but demure dress.

She turned, and beneath the brunette fringe of bangs on her forehead, he spotted the white bandage. That white bandage was the reason he was here. For the briefest moment Ridge wondered, as he always did at the beginning of a job, if protecting this person would cost his own life. In the next moment he dismissed the thought, and considered again the irony. He would protect Dara Seabrook with his life, and she would give him what he needed to make Harrison Montgomery pay.

Regional campaign coordinator Clarence Merriman fussed over Dara as they made their way to the limo. “You had no business coming out here today. You should have stayed in bed and rested. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Your face looks like chalk.”

Dara did feel woozy, but she would die before she admitted it. She deliberately misinterpreted his concern and kept walking, the heels of her black pumps sinking into the campus lawn. “Stop worrying. The picture they took for the paper will probably be in black and white, so no one will notice.”

“I’m noticing,” Clarence huffed indignantly. He made a tsking sound and put his hand at her elbow for support. “Your face looks like paste.”

“Paste or chalk?” Dara smiled at the crotchety man she’d dubbed her baby-sitter. “Your declarations of my beauty are going to my head, but my stomach is complaining. Why don’t we get a burger on the way to the hotel? Then you can tuck me into my room, and I can get out of these clothes, and—”

Dara’s voice trailed off as her gaze collided with a tall stranger studying her as he stood beside the limo. With unusual golden brown eyes, he gave her a once-over that seemed to catalog her height, weight and birthmarks within a matter of seconds.

His navy suit didn’t conceal the impressive breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair touched the edge of his collar, and she might have been fooled into believing he was just another handsome man if she had missed the determined set of his jaw.

He gave the impression of masculine power, not the fake-it-till-you-make-it kind she observed in many of the political hopefuls she met every day. This had more to do with a personal power than with the make of a man’s suit or who his daddy was. She admired the rare quality at the same time she felt intimidated by it.

She was accustomed to being watched, but not with this level of intensity. Uncomfortable, she looked at Clarence. He was fumbling through his notebook.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clarence said as the autumn breeze fluttered the pages. “You must be Mr. Jackson with…with—” Clarence frowned at his notes.

“Sterling Security,” the man finished in a voice that managed to mix steel and velvet, and turned his gaze back to Dara. “I’m here for Miss Seabrook.”

Dara’s stomach took a dive.

He pulled out his ID for Clarence and her to glance at, then opened the limo door. “I understand she has a busy schedule this evening, so I thought we could brief each other on the way to the hotel.”

Looking everywhere but at Dara, Clarence cleared his throat. “Well, of course.”

It finally dawned on Dara that she’d just been assigned another baby-sitter, one she was quite sure she didn’t want. “Just one minute.” She glared at Clarence. “I thought we discussed this last night,” she began. “I thought—”

“It’s out of Mr. Merriman’s hands, Miss Seabrook. Mr. Montgomery arranged for my services.”

Clarence shot her a look of apology and shrugged helplessly. “I’ll sit in the front while you two fill each other in.”

“Fill each other in on what?” Dara’s head was beginning to pound. She stared mutinously at the security man and crossed her arms over her chest. If truth were told, all the campaign publicity was beginning to wear on her. She had four more weeks of heavy exposure to the public eye, and it would take all her resources to tamp down her growing impatience with the press’s superficial obsession with her hairstyle, clothing, and manicure. She felt lonely and a little disconnected. A bodyguard at her elbow every minute would likely send her straight over the edge. “Your presence really isn’t necessary,” she said crisply, because she suspected a diplomatic approach wouldn’t work with this man.

Mr. Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “What about the beer bottle one of Montgomery’s detractors threw at you?”

Dara resisted the urge to touch the bandage and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It was a random incident. A few stitches,” she fudged.

“It’s my job to make that kind of random incident nonexistent, and I understand it was fifteen stitches.”

Dara chafed at the invasion to her privacy. Someone at campaign headquarters had probably filled this stranger in on all the details about the “incident.” She shook her head. “This is silly. I’m not in any danger. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

There wasn’t an ounce of give in his stance, but she thought she saw the faintest sliver of understanding pass through his eyes. “It’s out of your hands.”

Frustration rolled through her, but she knew she couldn’t cause a scene. She’d learned the press was everywhere. Dara got into the car, dropped her head back against the leather upholstery, and resolved to call her godfather as soon as she got back to her room. Feeling the man sit across from her as the limo pulled forward, she closed her eyes to block out his presence, but it didn’t work. “I didn’t get a good look at that ID you flashed. You’re not connected with the Secret Service, are you, Mr. Jackson?” she finally asked after a few moments’ silence.

“No. Since you’re technically not a member of Mr. Montgomery’s family, you’re not covered under government protection.” He pressed his ID into her hand. “Call me Ridge.”

Dara’s eyes popped open. She didn’t want to call him anything. “I’m not going to know you long enough to call you Ridge.”

The leather holder was warm from the heat of his body, and his gaze said he knew she was trying to ignore him. And not succeeding. She appraised him again. He was big enough to be threatening, but lean enough to be able to move fast. She wouldn’t want to meet him in an alley.

“We’ll see.” Ridge glanced out the window and narrowed his eyes. “This wasn’t the planned route I discussed with the chauffeur.”

Dara spotted the familiar sight of golden arches and felt an impertinent dart of joy. “Clarence is trying to appease me with comfort food.” The limo pulled into the take-out lane for the fast-food restaurant. Her sense of humor resurfaced, and she smiled broadly. “What do you want on your hamburger?”

Back at her hotel suite, Dara’s eyes glazed over at the list of rules, directions, and precautions Ridge Jackson delivered during the next hour. Her reactions ranged from mild disinterest, to impatience, to an overwhelming urge to tell the man to chill out. She was just about to give in to that urge when sudden, blissful silence filled the room.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” Ridge tried, but failed to keep the impatience from his voice. It amazed him that such a charming woman could elicit such exasperation.

Dara shook her head and stood. “Oh, no. I heard the first fifteen minutes. After that, I was sure I’d been brought to some sort of Nazi torture room, so I started fantasizing about the sixty-minute bath I’d planned to take. At the moment, the only thing I want is to get rid of my campaign clothes, sink into a hot tub, and let my bath oil take me away.”

The picture she drew with her voice taunted his imagination. It was easy to envision Dara Seabrook naked and wet. During the last thirty minutes she’d slipped off her leather shoes and shimmied out of her jacket, all the while nibbling on the straw of her diet cola. Her lipstick was gone, and Ridge couldn’t decide which way her mouth looked better: lined with a provocative red lipstick, or just plain bare. He brushed aside the thought. “You can have your bath in a few minutes. We need to work out a special password for—”

“Later.” She met his gaze. “Due to your discourse, my sixty-minute bath has been reduced to fifteen.” She stepped closer to him. “I’m still not convinced you’re staying. But just in case you are, you’ve given me all your rules and regulations. Now here’s one of mine, Mr. Jackson. Don’t mess with my bath.”

With that, Ridge was treated to the sight of Dara’s shapely derriere just before she walked into her bedroom and firmly shut the door.

“I don’t like him,” Dara said to her godfather, Harrison Montgomery, as she soaked in the tub.

Harrison’s muffled laughter carried through the phone wire. “I don’t believe you. You like everybody.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.” Dara deepened her voice and imitated a well-known senator. “You know it, I know it, and the American people know it.”

Harrison laughed again shortly, then grew quiet. “I want you to humor me on this. You know how Helen and I feel about you. You’re the daughter we never had. If anything happened to you while you’re campaigning for me, I’d never forgive myself.”

Hearing the sincere concern in his voice, Dara sighed. She’d spent so much time reassuring everyone else about the incident that she hadn’t dealt with her own feelings. She had been frightened, but heaven forbid that she should tell anyone else that. “It was just a few stitches.”

“And this is just for four weeks,” he countered. “You can handle anything for four weeks. Then you can take off for some sunny island and forget about politics and bodyguards.”

Dara felt the gentle persuasive pressure in his voice and she knew she was stuck with a bodyguard. “Does it have to be him?”

“Has he been rude?” Harrison’s tone immediately cooled.

Dara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “No, but, couldn’t you have gotten someone more…” She groped for an adequate description and found all her choices were ridiculous. “Maybe I mean less…”

“Less what?”

Less confident? Less domineering? Less sexy?

Dara kicked at her dissolving bubbles in frustration. “Someone more like Clarence?”

Harrison chuckled. “Clarence wouldn’t hurt a flea. You’ve got the best man for the job. I checked around, and Sterling Security’s reputation is formidable. I spoke to the head of the agency and told him to send his best bodyguard.”

Subject closed. Dara heard the door shut on the subject. As she and Harrison concluded their conversation with a few pleasantries, she felt the ominous knowledge down to her bones.

She was stuck with Ridge.

Ridge watched Dara step through the door and felt her blue-eyed gaze immediately latch onto his. Grudging acceptance, but no surrender, her face said. She wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. Underneath all that demure, sweet charm was a kick that would likely land another man on his butt.

The scent and sight of her bombarded his senses. Ridge felt like he was under full frontal assault. Her dark hair was piled loosely on her head, with her fringe of bangs and tendrils framing her face. She smelted like a dark, secret passion and looked like trouble waiting to happen. Her black cocktail dress faithfully and devotedly followed every curve of her body with the same fervor a Boy Scout made a promise.

Ridge, however, had never been a Boy Scout.

Her gaze swept over him as if she were checking his appearance. The moment lasted just a shade too long for his pride, so he called her on it. “Everything look okay? Or do you need a closer look?”

Her lashes lowered, momentarily hiding her eyes from him. “My vision is just fine from here. I’m sure you’ve had more than enough women tell you that you look better than fine.” She glanced up then. “But that’s not the issue, is it? I talked to Harrison, and he insists you’re the best.”

Ridge felt a strange twinge at Montgomery’s acknowledgment of his abilities.

When he remained silent, she sighed. “He also insists that you remain my bodyguard.”

“If you hate the idea of having a bodyguard so much, why don’t you remove the risk and stop campaigning?”

Dara shook her head. “That’s not an option. I owe Harrison. I’m not sure it’s the kind of debt that can ever be paid in full, but I can help him now, in this role.” She shrugged. “Besides, I believe in him. If ever a man was born and bred to be president, it’s Harrison Montgomery.”

At her words, a deep resentment burned in his gut. He knew Montgomery had been raised in a privileged home by two supportive parents, had attended the best schools, and married a wife with a pedigree. On the other hand, Ridge had been raised in near poverty by a drug-addicted single mother and he had barely graduated from public high school. With the help of the United States Marine Corps, however, he’d worked past his anger and made something of himself. Dara’s blind admiration brought every cynical instinct to the surface. “I suppose you agree with all his views.”

Dara paused and looked at him curiously. “No. I wouldn’t say I agree with all his views. But I do think he’ll make a great leader for our country. My opinion may be partly influenced by my personal experience with him. Harrison has been a stable, supportive force in my life since I was born.” Something dark and painful flickered in her eyes, and her voice softened. “Sometimes, he was the only stable, supportive person.”

He wondered at the source of the pain in her gaze, but she cleared her throat and smiled self-consciously. “That’s another story, though. One you’re probably not interested in, so—”

“Don’t bank on it,” Ridge interjected.

“Bank on what?”

“Don’t assume that I’m not interested in hearing anything about you.”

Dara felt the strangest clutch of excitement in her chest. His direct gaze left her floundering. “I, uh, I—” She cursed her stammering tongue. Heaven help her, she’d been coached by one of the best media specialists in the country to deliver a stutter-free speech. Why was she fumbling now?

“Knowing you is part of my job, and as Montgomery told you, I do my job very well.”

Dara blinked. He wasn’t interested in her personally, she realized. He was only interested in her professionally. Humiliation flooded her chest. Anger followed soon after. Why should she care what Ridge Jackson thought of her? He was just an overgrown baby-sitter.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sure you’ve been given all the information you need to do your job.” She fought the edge she felt creeping into her voice. “We really need to be leaving for the dinner with the Chamber of Commerce. I’ve already phoned my escort—” Unable to recall the man’s name, she frowned and reached for her calendar in her purse. “Tom,” she said finally, feeling Ridge’s eyes on her and wondering why he made her feel more nervous than when she stood in front of a crowd of thousands. “Tom Andrews. I told him we’d pick him up on the way. Is that okay?”

“Fine. Do you need your coat?”

“Yes.” She reached for the blue wool cape, but Ridge put it around her shoulders.

“You know you’re safe with me, don’t you, Dara?”

“Of course,” she murmured, but something about his velvet-and-steel voice didn’t make her feel the least bit safe.

Ridge watched the crowd, not Dara. That was his job, after all. Still, he was aware of her every move. While he watched the exits, he heard her give Harrison Montgomery a glowing recommendation. His gaze moving constantly over the crowd, he wondered how she had managed to rouse the conservative group to wild applause after her brief speech. If she was Montgomery’s secret weapon, then she was more effective than the Pied Piper. He could just hear the sounds of levers being pulled on the voting machines, all for Montgomery.

It was enough to make him puke.

Ridge kept his seething temper to himself, as he had for fourteen years. The perfect moment would come, he knew it in his bones, when he could take his vengeance against Montgomery. This consuming grudge Ridge held against the presidential candidate had the potential to destroy him, and the time had come to do something about it.

He had a plan to settle the score. The first step was gaining Montgomery’s trust. If Ridge had wanted to exact his revenge from a distance he could have called one of the rag magazines and spilled his story, but it wasn’t enough just to ruin him. He wanted Montgomery to hurt, to feel a fraction of the betrayal Ridge had felt when he watched his mother die. Maybe then, he could rid himself of the anger that had burned inside him for so long. Maybe then, he could find peace.

Mindful of the woman who would unknowingly help him accomplish his goal, Ridge looked at Dara and saw her check her watch. When she thought no one was looking, she squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Opening them, she glanced in his direction and nodded. That was the prearranged signal for them to leave. Ridge motioned the chauffeur to collect the limo while Dara said her goodbyes.

“It’s been lovely,” she said to the mayor. “I appreciate your including me tonight, and I’ll be sure to pass on your good wishes to Harrison.”

Her escort stood beside her. “Let me walk you to the car. Are you sure you don’t want to go out for a drink? There’s a nice lounge just around the corner.” He placed his hand at her back. “Or if you want to get away from the crowd, we-could go to my place.”

Dara shook her head and smiled, flashing her dimple. “I’d love to, but it’s been a long day. Maybe—”

Tom Andrews turned on the charm. “Aw, come on, just one little drink. I get introduced to a beautiful woman only to have to tell her goodbye three hours later.”

Walking behind the couple, Ridge decided he couldn’t fault the guy for his persistence. He could fault him for other reasons, though. Ridge would bet that Dara’s date was hoping to use her to pump up his own political prospects. Andrews was running for the state senate.

Dara pulled slightly away and folded her hands. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, too,” Ridge heard her say. “But my schedule is just crazy for the next four weeks. Maybe after the election,” she said vaguely.

“Thirty minutes, just thirty minutes so we can get to know each other better,” Tom said in a voice Ridge thought was ten percent desperation, twenty percent seduction, and seventy percent slime.

Either Tom was being deliberately obtuse, or he had the sensitivity of an alligator. Ridge withheld a sigh. There was no way he’d let Dara alone with that guy. They still hadn’t worked out a password. He stepped forward and pointed toward the front door. “The limo’s here, Dara. Remember, you have an early start tomorrow.”

Dara glanced at Ridge in confusion. “Actually, I was planning to sleep—”

“And the doctor said to make sure you got your rest,” he interrupted. “I’m sure you understand,” he said to Tom as he ushered her toward the car.

“You’ve got my card,” Tom called to Dara. “Give me a call.”

“Thank you again, Tom.” She shot Ridge a look of disapproval as he tried to stuff her into the limo. “Will you wait one minute? I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s part of my job to cut down on your exposure time,” Ridge explained. “We’re on a public street.”

Dara rolled her eyes and slid into the car. When Ridge started to close her door, she shook her head and crooked her finger. “I believe we need to talk.”

As soon as he joined her, she turned to him. “Don’t do that again. I won’t have you acting like some overgrown nanny. I had no intention of extending the evening with Tom, but you have no rights over my private life.”

“It’s my job to protect you no matter who you’re with,” Ridge corrected, and could see she was gearing up for a fight.

“And what if I want to go out for a date? Just where do you draw the line, Ridge? Is it part of your job to come into my bedroom, too?”

He narrowed his eyes at that last remark. At another time, in another life, he corrected himself, her insinuation might have prompted a full range of responses, some more satisfying than others. If he were in Dara Seabrook’s bedroom, he sure as hell wouldn’t just be watching her. Ridge ruthlessly stuck to the facts. “According to your file, since you’ve been campaigning, you haven’t begun a romantic relationship or brought a man back to your room to stay the night. Your file—”

Dara’s indignant gasp was more effective than a scream. “My file!” Even in the dim light of the limo, he could see the color in her cheeks deepen. “Who in hell gave you that kind of private information about me? Who—”

“It’s standard procedure.” Ridge kept his voice neutral, recalling that the file had also said Dara cursed only when extremely upset. “The information is gathered so I don’t walk in cold wondering what your habits are.” She looked like she wanted to hit him, and Ridge couldn’t decide if he was irritated or amused. “If you want to see it, I’ll show it to you.”

“You’re damn right I want to see it, but that’s just the beginning.” Her gaze met his, and Ridge felt the punch of her feminine determination clear down to his bones. “If I’ve got to be with you day-in and day-out for the next four weeks, I want to see your file, too.”