Читать книгу The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid - Metsy Hingle - Страница 10

Two

“I don’t need a private investigator or a security specialist, or whatever it is he calls himself,” Clea told his aunt several hours later.

“Either one works for me. Take your pick,” Ryan offered from across the Donatellis’ living room. He earned himself another glare. Clea had gone all stiff and prim the moment she had discovered she was the case he had been working on. And she had been spitting mad ever since.

“You shouldn’t have hired him without consulting me.”

“Someone had to do something,” Maggie countered.

“I was...” She hissed out a breath. “I am doing something. I’m letting the police handle it. You heard the officer. They’re working up a profile on the type of...on the type of person who does this sort of thing.”

This sort of thing. She made it sound so civilized, Ryan thought, observing the exchange between Clea and his aunt. He took another sip of scotch and leaned against the bar. There wasn’t anything remotely civilized about being terrorized by some sicko who got his kicks from frightening women. Every time he thought of how close he had been when that creep had... He bit back an oath and tightened his fingers around the glass. Whatever it took, he intended to make sure the guy never got another chance at Clea.

“And what have the police come up with so far?” Maggie argued, her Irish temper showing. “I’ll tell you what they’ve come up with. Nothing.”

“She does have a point,” James added. “It doesn’t look like Chicago’s finest are getting anywhere fast on this case.”

“And you’re not going to be safe until that madman who attacked you is caught and locked behind bars,” Maggie chimed in. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if you have a professional, someone who knows how to hunt down that kind of vermin.”

“I already have an entire group of professionals looking for him,” Clea pointed out. “They’re called the Chicago Police Department.”

Maggie sighed. “I have the utmost respect for our police officers, but I’m afraid in this case, you just can’t afford to rely on them to find that creature. Things are not the way they used to be when my father and brothers were on the force. Back then, the police would have had that...that cretin in custody right after you received the first letter.

“But things are different now. Now a police officer has to be concerned about things like overtime and budgets, instead of just making sure the streets are safe and the criminals are behind bars. There’s not enough time or money to spend on real police work anymore. Why do you think so many officers are leaving the force? Why I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it’s the reason both Ryan and his brother Connor decided to get out.”

His aunt’s little speech brought Ryan up short, reminding him that his departure from the LAPD two months ago marked the first time in four generations that no Fitzpatrick was serving in law enforcement somewhere. Of course, there was always the chance that wherever Connor was, he’d gone back to being a cop. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine his oldest brother doing anything else. But then, he’d never been able to imagine his father and brother nearly coming to blows five years ago, or the angry silence that had followed since Connor had packed up his things and left town.

“Maggie, I understand everything you’re saying, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’ve made up my mind on this. It’s bad enough I have to deal with the police poking their noses into my personal life. I refuse to have someone else snooping around in my affairs and watching my every move.”

At the sharpness in Clea’s tone, Ryan brought his wandering thoughts back to the present. The look she leveled at him probably made most men shiver, he decided. Fortunately, he didn’t have an aversion to cold—not when he knew there was heat banked just below the surface of that frosty disdain of hers. And he intended to sample that heat again, he promised himself.

Clea picked up her coffee cup, then set it down again untouched. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Fitzpatrick. But I won’t be needing your services after all.”

So, they were back to Mr. Fitzpatrick. “No need to apologize, Duchess. I’m being compensated for my time.” Pushing away from the bar, Ryan ambled over to the couch where Clea sat looking cool and regal in her ivory cocktail dress and pearls. He could still spot the nerves she was trying so hard to hide. She was scared down to her pretty little toes, and just didn’t want to admit it.

He snagged an oatmeal cookie from the tray in front of her and devoured it in two bites. Taking his time, he skimmed his gaze over her face, down her body and back up again. “Besides,” he said, reaching for another cookie. “The fringe benefits have certainly been worth it.”

Her eyes snapped with green fire, anger overriding the fear, just as he had hoped it would. Suppressing a grin, he held up another cookie and said, “Great cookies.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aunt Maggie said from behind him.

He nodded, but held Clea’s gaze. “So, you want me to follow you home, or are you going to stay here tonight?”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Your assignment where I’m concerned is over.”

“Oh, you made yourself perfectly clear ” He polished off another cookie, then dusted his hands. “But you’re not the one giving the orders. Aunt Maggie is. She’s the one who hired me.”

Clea’s hands tightened into fists, but her voice remained surprisingly even as she said, “Well, I’m unhiring you. Consider yourself fired, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

Ryan merely smiled. “Afraid it doesn’t work that way, Duchess. Since you didn’t hire me, you can’t fire me.”

“Maggie, I’d appreciate it if you would explain to your nephew that his assignment, or whatever it is he chooses to call spying on me, is over.”

“Ryan, you stick to her like glue until that...that man is caught and thrown into jail.”

“Yes, ma’.”

“Maggie!” Clea protested.

Despite her fragile appearance, Margaret Fitzpatrick Donatelli was anything but, Ryan mused. Clea Mason was another story. She projected as tough, fearless. And her expression and voice gave no indication of the tangle of nerves working inside her. But she didn’t seem able to keep her hands still. Right now they were gripping the cup of iced coffee she had picked up again, but had yet to taste. She was strong, determined, not used to relying on anyone. He had learned that within days of meeting her. But he suspected that Clea Mason wasn’t half as tough as she pretended to be, or as she wanted everyone to think she was. An urge itched at him—to take her into his arms, hold her and promise to keep her safe. But if he followed through on that urge, she would probably sock him in his gut.

“Enough arguing, Clea. If your family was here, they’d insist you get some sort of protection. But since they’re not here, it’s up to us to see that you do. You’re still welcome to move in here—”

“Maggie, I can’t. I’m not going to let him run me out of my home.”

“I understand. But until the police find that man, Ryan will make sure you’re safe.”

Clea released a frustrated sigh and turned to Ryan’s uncle. “James, please talk to your wife. Tell her this isn’t necessary.”

James shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in thirty years of marriage to Maggie, it’s that once she makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it. Besides, she’s right, Clea. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Come on, Duchess. How bad can it be to have me around for a while?”

She arched her eyebrow in that regal way and somehow managed to look down her pretty, straight nose at him, even though he was the one standing. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

“Ouch!” With her wary green eyes and that smooth black hair framing her face, she reminded him of a beautiful, sleek kitten—with very sharp claws. “Since I’m not sure my poor ego can handle the answer, I’ll just pass on it for now.”

“Wise decision.”

Ryan eased onto the arm of the couch and caught a whiff of her scent. Roses...and something exotic and elusive—like her. He couldn’t help wondering if her skin was as petal-soft as it looked. Realizing the dangerous direction of his thoughts, he dragged himself back to the problem at hand. Finding Clea’s sick fan. “But I do have a few other questions that I’d like to have answered.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of questions?”

“Oh, just routine stuff about the letters and calls you’ve been getting.”

“I’ve already told the police everything.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’d like you to tell it again—to me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I need as much information as you can give me so I can catch this guy. And I am going to catch him, Clea. You can bank on it. It would just be a lot easier if I had a little more to go on.”

Some of the tension went out of her, and he could see the fatigue setting in. “All right,” she said, her voice weary. “What do you want to know?”

Fifteen minutes later, in the privacy of his uncle’s study, Ryan still had little or nothing more to go on. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “What about boyfriends?”

“I date men, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Not boys.”

“Ryan,” he corrected. “Then what about your men friends?”

“What about them?”

“Are you seeing anyone in particular right now?”

She stiffened, clearly uncomfortable. “Is that really any of your business?”

“Everything about you is my business. Now, how about the names of those men?”

“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And if things worked out as he planned, the only man she’d be seeing in the near future would be him. “What about the last guy...uh, man friend?”

“What about him?”

“For starters, his name.”

“Andrew.”

Ryan wrote the name down in his book and waited. When she said nothing more, he looked up from his pad. “Does Andy have a last name?”

“Davidson. And it’s Andrew. No one calls him Andy.”

“Figures,” Ryan muttered as he jotted the name down. “When was the last time you saw Andrew?”

Clea paused. “It’s been a while.”

“Define ‘a while’ for me.”

“Two years,” she said, the words little more than a whisper.

“Two years?” he repeated, lifting his eyes up to meet hers. “You expect me to believe you haven’t been involved with anyone for the past two years?”

“I don’t care what you believe. You asked me a question and I’ve answered it. If you don’t like the answer, then that’s your problem.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like the answer. But we’re being honest here. You’ve got a mirror. You don’t need me to tell you that you’re a beautiful, sexy and desirable woman because you already know it. Which means you’re either lying, or the men in this town are all blind.”

“Gee. You really have a way with compliments, Fitzpatrick. It’s enough to turn a woman’s head.”

Ryan let her sarcasm roll right off him. “I call them like I see them. So which is it? Are you a liar, or are the men around here blind?”

“Neither. I haven’t been interested and neither have they.”

Ryan paused, curious about her reply. “How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come you haven’t been in a romantic relationship for more than two years?”

“Because I haven’t wanted to be in one. All right?” She made an exasperated sound. “Look—Destinations and its success is a high priority in my life. The bookings have more than doubled in the past six months. That means my workload has doubled, too.”

At the arch of his eyebrow, she continued. “Listen, I’m not saying I’m the only one who’s been putting in a lot of hours. Everyone’s been working hard. But the corporate travel program is my baby. I intend to make it a success.”

“And success means spending all of your time planning overpriced travel packages.”

“I spend a lot of my time creating profitable sales packages. I’m also responsible for managing the agency and its operations. Which means researching and selecting a new computer system to handle the increased client base created by those expensive travel packages I design. I also hire all the new agents and make sure everyone is trained on the new equipment. So, yes, I guess I’ve allowed Destinations to take up a lot of my time lately, which means I haven’t had much time to worry about whether or not I’m dating enough.”

“Trust me, you’re not. Haven’t you ever heard that saying about ‘all work and no play’?” he asked, pleased and at the same time disturbed at the workaholic life-style she had just described.

“I didn’t say I haven’t gone out with anyone for the past two years. I said I haven’t been involved in a serious relationship for two years.”

“Want to explain the difference to me?”

“The difference is that I can go out to dinner, the ballet or a charity event with a man without being emotionally involved with him.”

“What about physically involved?”

He could practically see the steam rising from her on that one. “I’m not even going to answer that.”

But she already had. No lovers, he concluded, more than a little pleased. “So who are these men you go to dinner, the ballet and charity things with?”

“Friends.”

Ryan sighed. Getting answers from her was like pulling teeth. “Names, Duchess. I need names. No matter how remote they may seem to you, anyone you’ve gone out with or come into contact with could be the man we’re looking for.”

Her hands curled into fists and she looked at him scornfully as she said, “Patrick Evans, Donald Markson, Harry Peters. And stop calling me Duchess!”

“Anyone else?”

“Your uncle. I believe he escorted me to a black-tie fund-raiser where the agency was donating a cruise when your aunt was out of town about two months ago.”

He added his uncle’s name to the list.

“You’re putting James’s name down on that list?”

“He’s a man.”

“He’s your uncle.” Furious, she shot to her feet. “This is crazy. You’re crazy. None of those men are even capable of doing anything like this.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” She reached for the brandy he’d poured her earlier, swirled it around in her glass.

“You’d be surprised what a man will do when he finds himself obsessed with a woman.” What disturbed him was that after kissing her and sampling that sweet heat of hers himself, he could almost understand a man being driven mad with the need for more of her.

“Not them. I told you, those men are my friends.”

“How about defining friend for me.”

“Just what the word implies—a friend, a companion, a pal.”

“Any of those pals ever graduate to being your lover?”

She slammed the glass down onto the table. “No,” she said, her voice like chipped ice.

“Any of them want to be?”

“That’s it! I’m not listening to any more of this. You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

Ryan caught her by the arm before she could storm off. “What I’m trying to do is find out if the guy who’s after you could be a former lover, or someone who wanted to be your lover, that might have gone nutso when you rejected him.”

“I haven’t rejected anyone.”

“You rejected me,” he reminded her.

Clea blinked. “I—That was different.”

“How? I haven’t made any secret of the fact that I’m attracted to you. I’ve asked you out several times. I’ve kissed you, and I’ve even asked you to marry me.”

“You weren’t serious.”

“How do you know?” Her scent reached out to him, tangled around him. Still holding her wrist, he rubbed his thumb across her pulse, felt the rapid beat beneath that smooth, soft skin.

“Because...because you’re not,” she told him, defiance and desire in her eyes as she looked at him. “Men like you aren’t interested in marriage.”

“What if I was?” Desire licked through him. He lowered his head a fraction, until his mouth hovered just above hers. “What if I told you I wanted you the first time I laid eyes on you? That I decided right then and there that we would be lovers. What if I told you that I thought there was a chance we might even work ourselves right up to marriage and a half-dozen kids?”

Shock—and something else—flashed across her face for a moment, and then she made her expression go blank. “Then, I’d say you really are crazy because that isn’t going to happen.” She pushed against his chest.

Reluctantly, Ryan released her. He rubbed a hand down his face. She was right. He was crazy. Crazy not to realize that a woman who had avoided involvements for two years would run like a rabbit at the mention of anything sounding remotely like a relationship. And why in the devil had he said that stuff about marriage and kids?

“If you’re finished with this third degree, I’d really like to go home.”

“All right. We’ll call it quits for tonight.” Ryan picked up his pad and pen, jammed them into the back pocket of his jeans. “We’ll finish up in the morning.”

Clea didn’t say anything, didn’t even spare him a parting glance. And even though she walked out of the study, Ryan couldn’t shake the feeling that she was running scared, not from her sick admirer, but from him.

Clea slumped against the closed door of the study. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, trying to cut off the emotions Ryan stirred up inside her. She didn’t like feeling this way—scared, needy, wanting. It had been a long time since she’d experienced that tug of desire for a man. She didn’t like feeling it for Ryan now. An old ghost of pain, dulled by time, wrapped around her heart, reminding her of that piece of herself that she’d lost so long ago because of her foolish choices.

She opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps near the door, and started down the hall. She had worked too hard putting her life back together again, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t let some crazy attraction for Ryan Fitzpatrick jeopardize it now.

“You and Ryan all finished?” Maggie asked as Clea entered the living room moments later.

“Yes.”

“We’re finished for now,” Ryan answered from behind her.

As far as she was concerned, they were finished. Period. Feeling more in control, Clea walked over to where Maggie was placing a fresh tray of coffee and snacks on the polished wood table. “I want you to know that I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Both of you,” she added with a glance at James.

“I just wish we had been able to do more.”

“You did too much as it is,” Clea told her, her heart swelling with affection. She kissed the older woman’s cheek. “And I’m sorry for coming so unglued tonight.”

“It was perfectly understandable. You had every reason to be afraid,” Maggie told her.

“I’m just glad we were there,” James added.

“Me, too,” Clea said, remembering how frightened she’d been, and the relief that had washed over her when she’d seen Ryan’s stern face, fire and determination burning in his eyes, as he’d battled through the crowd to reach her.

Glancing up, her pulse raced as she found his eyes fixed on her again. Only now, there was a different type of fire burning in them. Desire. She recognized it because an answering heat flowed through her veins. She jerked her gaze away. “It’s really late. I need to be getting home.”

“You sure we can’t persuade you to spend the night?” Maggie asked.

“Thanks, but I think I’d really just like to go home.” She walked over to the table near the doorway and picked up her evening bag.

“You know, staying with a friend or even going away for a while until this guy is caught might not be such a bad idea,” Ryan offered as he swiped a fresh cookie from the newly filled tray his aunt had placed on the table.

“That’s not an option,” she told him, but wished that it were.

“Why not?”

“I have a job...responsibilities. I can’t just walk away from them.”

“No one’s asking you to. Just take a little vacation somewhere for a couple of weeks,” Ryan suggested. “I’m sure Aunt Maggie and Uncle James will understand.”

“Of course, we’d understand,” Maggie said. “In fact, we should have suggested it. Maybe you’d like to go visit one of your sisters or have them come see you.”

The idea was more than a little tempting. But Lorelei and Desiree both had husbands now, and Lorelei was expecting a baby. She couldn’t burden them with this. “No,” Clea said, feeling suddenly lonely. “I don’t really want a vacation now. And while I may have been frightened tonight, I refuse to let some creep make me run away and hide.”

“There’s a difference between running away and being smart.”

“I’m smart enough to know that if I run away now because some jerk gets his jollies by scaring me, then he wins and I lose. I don’t like losing.” She’d worked too hard getting the corporate travel program under way to walk away now when it was coming to fruition. Just as she’d worked too hard at picking up the pieces of her life and putting it back together to risk losing it by falling for Ryan.

“He did more than scare you with a letter and phone call tonight,” Ryan pointed out.

A chill spread over Clea, and she fought back a shudder of revulsion. She swallowed hard, refusing to let fear take hold of her again. “Thanks for the reminder. But I’ll depend on the police and you to see that he doesn’t get that close again. That is, if you think you can do the job.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him,” he told her, her sarcasm obviously not bothering him.

“I certainly hope so. For my sake.”

James took her hands into his and studied her face closely. “You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked, oblivious to the tension between her and his nephew.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she assured him. “Thanks again for everything.” She kissed his cheek and then Maggie’s.

“I’m heading out, too.” Ryan extended his hand to his uncle and gave his aunt a peck on her cheek before opening the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

She stepped outside and realized the temperature had dipped a good fifteen degrees since she had gone to dinner that evening. But the air seemed to hum with heat as Ryan followed her down the stairs.

“Cold?” Ryan asked when she hugged her arms about herself.

“A little,” she admitted, picking up her pace as she headed down the street to where she had parked her car earlier that evening. She fumbled with her car keys, eager to put some distance between them.

“Here, let me get that for you.”

“I can manage,” she said and promptly dropped the keys.

Ryan swiped them up. “You really should reconsider staying at a friend’s place for a while or having someone stay with you.”

“I appreciate the advice. But I think I’ll pass,” she told him, holding out her hand for her car keys.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth. “It wasn’t exactly a suggestion.”

“And I don’t take orders from you,” she told him, her heart pumping harder. “Give me my keys,” she demanded, irritated by his high-handed manner, but even more by her response to his touch.

Ignoring her, Ryan pressed the remote button on her key chain. The lights went on inside the car and the door locks snicked open. He pulled open the car door.

She slid into her seat at once and fastened her seat belt, then held out her hand. “My keys.”

He reached inside, his head dipping close to hers, inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine of her pristine sedan purred to life, but Ryan made no effort to move.

The confines of the front seat seemed impossibly small and intimate with his head ducked close to hers, crowding her space. She had been chilly only moments before, but now she felt far too warm. “Was there something else you wanted?”

A slow smile spread across his lips. “As a matter of fact there is.”

Clea hissed out a breath, chagrined that she’d left herself wide open for that one. “I’m tired, Fitzpatrick. So why don’t you go ahead and get your juvenile come-on out of the way, then get out of my face so I can go home.”

“You have such a suspicious mind, Duchess,” he countered. “See that little honey of a car parked in front of you?”

Clea noted the vintage candy-apple-red convertible that was practically touching her front bumper. “Yes. I see it.”

“It’s mine,” he told her, pride in his voice.

It figures, she thought. He had crowded her with his car just as he was crowding her with his handsome face and broad shoulders. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll both be happy.”

“I don’t know what it is, but I just love that smart mouth of yours,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Clea’s pulse kicked into third gear at the hungry gleam in his eyes. She looked away. “Is there a point to this conversation?” she asked with as much sarcasm as she could muster, given the fact that her nerves were jumping like grasshoppers on a spring day. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s really late, and I’d like to go home—which is a little difficult with your face stuck in front of my windshield.”

“The point is, I’ll be right behind you, and I want you to make sure you keep my car in sight in your rearview mirror until we get home.”

Clea glared at him. “We? What do you mean until we get home? I’m going home. If you want to follow me there, fine. Go ahead. But afterwards, you go.”

“One more thing, don’t get nervous if you see a black Jeep parked in front of your place. I called Sean. He’s bringing me a change of clothes and a razor,” he said, then slammed the car door in her face and started to walk off.

Shutting off the car’s engine, Clea unsnapped her seat belt and charged after him. “Get back here, Fitzpatrick. What do you mean Sean’s meeting you at my place with clothes? What do you need clothes for?”

He shot her that devilish smile. “I don’t, but I thought you’d insist. I’ll call Sean and tell him to forget the clothes.”

Furious with him, and with herself for stepping right into that one, Clea grabbed his arm to stop him from getting in his car. “Don’t make me kill you, Fitzpatrick.”

“Problem, Duchess?” he asked, his deep voice whisper-soft as it stroked over her nerve endings like a caress.

An autumn moon hung like a lantern in the night sky, illuminating the shock of black hair that fell across his brow. In the glow of the streetlamp, she could make out the shadow of whiskers along his sharp-edged jaw. His unsmiling mouth looked beautiful and inviting in that chiseled masculine face. He smelled like winter rain and pine forests, Clea thought as she lifted her gaze up to his. His blue eyes glistened dark and determined as he stared down at her. Her nervous stomach clenched and unclenched and she felt that warm tug of desire rippling through her again.

Suddenly, realizing how close they were, she dropped her hand. “I’ve changed my mind about this protection business. I don’t care what Maggie and James say, I don’t want you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive,” she tossed back. It was bad enough the man made her hormones act up. The last thing she needed was to have him trailing her back to her apartment, sticking himself into her life. Especially when she was a jumble of nerves and emotions.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pulse skittered at the intimate gesture, but she refused to retreat. As though sensing her reaction, his mouth curved in that familiar smile. “That’s too bad. Your not wanting me, I mean. It would have made us being roommates a lot more interesting.”

“Roommates?” she repeated “We’re not going to be roommates.”

“Sure we are. Because from now on, Duchess, wherever you go, I go. That’s what a bodyguard does.”