Читать книгу Almost A Honeymoon - Susan Crosby, Susan Crosby - Страница 6

“Prove it,” she told him. Proof was incidental—Paige recognized his voice, but she needed a little time to let the fear wash away completely.

The distinctive crinkle of leather sounded lightly in the confining space as he slid his wallet from inside his jacket, whisked out his driver’s license and passed it to her. Then he focused a penlight on it, spotlighting the pertinent details.

Bryan Henry Warner. Sex, M; Hair, Brn; Eyes, Brn; Ht, 6-05; Wt, 240. She calculated his age at thirty-five. A pink donor circle clung to the upper left corner above an extremely flattering picture of the man. Bryan Warner, Rye to his business associates. But to her he was—

“Warner the Barbarian,” she intoned as she flipped his license back to him.

“So, Harry, we meet at last.”

Paige settled against the luxurious leather seat, glad that the darkness hid her wince at the obnoxious nickname he’d given her during one of their many phone conversations over the last two years. “Harry, short for harridan, meaning shrew,” he had said pointedly, “although that’s being generous.”

Ignoring his taunt, she crossed her legs and smoothed the fabric of her skirt. “Why does my father think I need a bodyguard?”

“Patrick uncovered a plan to kidnap you.”

She dropped her head back and groaned. “Not again. And you believed him? Look, Warner, my father has hired bodyguards for me three times in my life, each time believing I was ripe for a kidnapping.”

“And?”

“There hasn’t been a genuine threat yet.”

“There is this time.”

Thrown by the absolute assuredness in his tone, she stalled by looking out the window but saw little through the darkly tinted glass as they traveled through the city. She felt his gaze on her.

“Why you?” she asked.

“Probably because I’m the best.”

She couldn’t stop the soft snort of disbelief. “The most expensive, anyway.”

“Now, Harry, we’ve quibbled about this for two years. My fees may be a little higher—”

“Substantially higher.”

“But I do the job in half the time. In the end, you pay the same, probably less.”

“It must be really tiresome lugging that ego around with you.”

“And it must be a real drag following rules all the time,” he countered.

Yes! she wanted to scream. But who would keep her father under control if she didn’t enforce the rules and regulations? Who would keep the company from bankruptcy?

“So, who’s allegedly after me this time?” she asked.

“Seems your fiancé got himself into a bit of financial trouble with the wrong people.”

Paige stiffened. “I do not now have, nor have I ever had, a fiancé.”

“Now there’s a surprise,” he muttered.

“Meaning?” The word skated across ice.

“Does the name Joey Falcon ring a bell?”

Joey Falcon, her fall from grace. She swallowed the embarrassment. “He asked me to marry him. I turned him down.”

“He used you as collateral.”

“How? And why would he?”

“Seems Falcon was on that cruise you took because he was hiding out from his...shall we call them creditors? He had a friend on the ship’s staff who gave him a passenger list. He zeroed in on you.”

“And here I’ve been thinking he fell for my charm and beauty.” Sarcasm coated her words, the self-deprecation genuine and lifelong, as natural to her as breathing and as likely to change as it would be for her to stop breathing.

She didn’t like a lot of change in her life, wasn’t comfortable with it. The only way to keep control was to establish and stay with a routine, physically and mentally. She spent a lot of effort adhering to the structure she enforced on her daily life, starting with a half hour of yoga in the morning and ending with a half hour bubble bath at night.

The only time in her adult life when she hadn’t followed that routine had resulted in disaster; she was sure she’d suffered a personality transformation for that single week recently because she’d substituted a walk on the deck of the cruise ship for her morning yoga, and dancing in the moonlight for her nighttime bubble bath.

Never again. She’d never, ever set aside the meditation and relaxation time she so desperately needed to maintain her inner peace merely for a frivolous moment of pleasure. Joey Falcon had cured her of that.

Paige sighed inwardly. She should have identified her restlessness before impulsively making reservations for a seven-day Caribbean cruise. She should have stopped and taken stock, written down and analyzed her reasons for going, then perhaps she wouldn’t have been susceptible to the very charming Joey Falcon. But for the first time in her life she’d acted and reacted without first weighing the pros and cons. And for the first time in her life she was embarrassed by her behavior.

Joey had leaned his arms against the railing beside her as the ship left port and had rarely left her side in the ensuing days. Usually a woman who didn’t command much notice, she was flattered by his attention, by the way he catered to her every whim. On the sixth day at sea he proposed, but by then reality had intruded. When he hadn’t been exuding charm, she’d seen a glimpse of something else—something that had made her uneasy. At the least, he’d been insincere. At the most? Not frightening, exactly, but not trustworthy, either.

He had refused to believe she didn’t want to continue seeing him and had called her daily for the past two weeks, had showered her with flowers and gifts. Her restlessness had been replaced with exasperation, followed by irritation, even a little fear.

“Actually, it’s a relief to know Joey was only greedy,” she said, breaking a long silence. “If he really was in love with me, I might never be rid of him. I assume he approached my father for the money.”

Rye shook himself to attention. Knowing Lloyd was driving allowed him to relax his guard, but Paige’s silence while she analyzed her situation had threatened to put him to sleep. “When Patrick refused to pay his debts,” he said through a yawn, “Falcon informed him that he’d been given an extension on the loan based on your engagement and the potential money available. Now he’s gone back into hiding, and his creditors want their money. Falcon insists they’ll grab you for ransom.”

“At least he warned us. That’s more than I would have given him credit for doing.”

“The report I saw indicates Falcon has major financial problems. Given a little more time, we should know in more detail what we’re up against.”

She shifted, impatient. “So I’m forced into hiding, too. Doesn’t that make my father a target?”

“He’s using a local security team.”

“How long do I have to stay in San Francisco?”

“Until Falcon’s been flushed out.”

“What if my meetings are done earlier?”

“The meetings were a ruse. You really are in hiding, Paige. You’re not to have contact with anyone but me. I’ll be in touch with Patrick.”

She held herself aloof, cool as a spring runoff, apparently unconcerned with the danger. But Rye knew her blood ran hotter than that. A little garter told him so.

And her “unfortunate adventure” told him that under that cool facade she craved excitement.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “To your home?”

“To a small, discreet hotel.”

“Why San Francisco? I know you live here, but with only a little investigating, anyone could find out you work for us occasionally. If your reputation is as farreaching as you’d like to believe—”

“I’m doing this as a favor to your father. He caught up with me by phone in London and begged me to help, so cut the insults, Paige. I landed at Logan, tracked you, then stayed awake the whole time watching over you. I’m tired.”

“If you flew in from London, you should have luggage. Where is it?”

“Being held at the airport until Lloyd can get over to pick it up.”

“This is idiotic! Why couldn’t we just hide out somewhere near home?”

“Because I have work to do. I can stay with you and also catch up on what’s been neglected while I’ve been gone.”

“You’ll be prorating your bill, I assume,” she said, her voice dripping honey.

“What?”

“Well, it’s only fair. Why should we pay while you work for other people?”

Rye didn’t know whether to laugh or explode at her relentless guardianship of O’Halloran Shipping funds. “I won’t be off the clock with you for a second, Harry.”

Lloyd swung the car into a driveway, negotiated a narrow road around a three-story house-turned-hotel, then stopped in front of a small building. The headlights offered a quick glimpse of a brick cottage sheltered by a profusion of climbing ivy and low bushes before the beams were doused, leaving only a soft yellow glow coming from a porch light.

“Wait here,” Rye ordered Paige before he left the car and followed the driver into the bungalow, which at one time served as a caretaker’s housing. A low fire gleamed from the hearth, the light casting flickering shadows around the impeccably furnished living room. “Everything secure?” he asked Lloyd, who came up behind him and deposited suitcases on the plush carpet.

“As you requested, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

Rye turned to look at the man, seeing past the scarred face and crooked nose to the strength of character beneath. The perpetually bland expression hid a wealth of feeling. “You did a great job, as usual, Lloyd. And on particularly short notice.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Rye shook his head, exasperated, as he inspected the rest of the cottage—a bedroom sporting a huge four-poster bed and a second fireplace, also lit, then a bathroom containing an oversize tub. “Looks good,” he said.

“You may find the couch a bit confining.”

“I noticed. I’m so tired it won’t matter at this point. I may feel differently tomorrow night.”

“Get some sleep. I’ll watch from outside tonight.”

“Thanks, old friend.” He came very close to sighing. “Well, the princess awaits. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long, long assignment.”

“She doesn’t seem to, ah, particularly care for you, sir.”

“Ms. O’Halloran and I have a history of disagreement.”

“She’s quite attractive, if I may be so bold as to say.”

“You think so? Maybe I can’t see past the nitpicking Scrooge that I know her to be.” He pressed a button on a palm-size remote control as he returned to the car, unlocking it.

“How dare you lock me in,” Paige said, low and angry as she ignored his hand and slid out of the car.

“On the contrary, Harry, I was locking others out.”

“Well, you took your sweet time coming back to get me.”

“I wanted to check out the arrangements personally.” He plucked her coat and purse from her hands and tossed them to Lloyd. Before she could take two steps, he swept her into his arms.

“What are you doing? Put me down!” She shoved at his shoulders.

“Nuzzle,” he ordered her.

“Excuse me?” If frost could burn words, it had.

“I said nuzzle me. If you don’t, I’m going to kiss you. Your choice.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We’re being watched.”

Paige glanced around. “I don’t see anyone. Who cares, anyway?”

“A white-haired lady in a pink bathrobe has focused her romantic little heart our way from the main house. Dammit, Harry, nuzzle—”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He tilted her his direction, bringing their faces close.

“Tell me why I should,” she said quickly, restraining him as she hoped the right amount of mutiny rang in her voice.

He turned a triumphant grin on her. “Because we are about to enter the honeymoon cottage.”

“You’re jok—”

He closed the small gap between them, but she jerked away after the merest graze of lips.

“So help me, Harry—”

Paige buried her face against his neck, and she smelled leather and...pure, unadulterated male. He breathed a regular rhythm, apparently unaffected by her. She wished she could say the same for herself. She wanted to cling, although whether from fear or excitement, she didn’t know. Both jockeyed for position. No one had swept her off her feet before, literally or figuratively.

“You can let go.”

His words infiltrated the battle she’d begun to wage within. She loosened her hold as he set her down, her heels sinking into a lush carpet. He continued to hold her elbow as she wobbled briefly.

“You all right?” he asked.

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Her gaze took in the loveliness of the room, with its English countryside motif and warm, deep colors.

“You seemed to enjoy your role, wife.“

Paige ignored his grin. “I’m not stupid, Warner. I know it’s to my advantage to play the game.”

“Do you take that much convincing in bed, too?”

Paige gaped at his audacity.

“Personally, I like a challenge,” he continued.

“You smug, self-centered—”

Lloyd cleared his throat and stepped into the fray. “Miss O’Halloran, I’ve placed your bags in the bedroom. Is there anything I can get you before I go?”

The momentary cease-fire helped Paige find her center of control again. She turned slowly to the driver and extended her hand. “Please call me Paige. And you are?”

He accepted the gesture of friendliness. “Lloyd, Miss O’Halloran. A light snack awaits you, as you can see. I didn’t know your preference of beverage, so you’ll find a variety to choose from. If there’s nothing further?”

“Not unless you can snap your fingers and have this mess disappear.”

“Good night, then.” He touched two fingers to his forehead in salute. “Sir.”

Rye roused himself to say goodbye. He was so tired he could hardly stand. And Paige wasn’t making his life any easier. He watched her lift the cellophane off a tray of fruit and grab a bunch of red grapes before seating herself on the couch. He eyed the sofa hungrily, starved for sleep. His gaze shifted as she crossed one leg over the other. She arched her foot until her shoe fell to the floor, recrossed her legs and rid herself of the other shoe, then bounced her foot rhythmically as she popped one grape after another into her mouth. Her chewing slowed as she caught him staring.

“What?” she asked, the belligerent tone bringing him back to awareness.

Ignoring her, he slid out of his jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. Slowly, he moved to fix himself a plate of fruit, cheese and crackers. He uncorked a bottle of cabernet sauvignon and poured a glass. “Want some?”

No answer. He turned around and found her staring at the weapon tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

She lifted her gaze. “Where did you get that? You couldn’t have had it on the plane.”

“Lloyd passed it to me as I climbed into the car. The holster’s in my bag. Why? Do guns bother you?”

“I’ve never known anyone who had one. I guess it makes everything seem so real.”

“I don’t waste my time on games, Harry. Wine?”

“Umm, yeah. Thanks. I guess I should have offered you some food. Sorry. I can’t quite assimilate all of this yet.”

He passed her the glass. “Just work with me, Paige. I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. Maybe after we’ve spent a few days together, we’ll find a way to—”

“Days?” she repeated. “How many days?”

“I couldn’t even guess.”

“But what about...”

He sat beside her and sipped his wine before placing it on the low table before them. “What about what?”

“Christmas. It’s only four days away.”

Her voice seemed suddenly small and faraway. He wondered at it, and at the expression that settled on her face, worry mixed with hurt. A Scrooge who likes Christmas? Deciding not to taunt her with the observation, he instead held his plate toward her. “Have some, if you want. We may have you back in time for Christmas. I can’t make any promises.”

She absently picked up a slice of Cheddar and nibbled on it. “I have to be home for Christmas,” she said softly, adamantly, after a minute of silence.

Rye shook his head. He really needed sleep. He devoured the rest of the food then stood and returned the empty plate to the table. “I can’t hold my eyes open. I’m going to sleep on the couch. Lloyd will be outside for tonight, so don’t worry about anything.”

“I guess I’m being sent to bed.” She stood, sweeping up her shoes as she did so.

He brushed by her to use the bathroom, and she filled her wineglass and fixed herself a plate of food while he was gone before retreating with it to the bedroom, elbowing the door shut as he dropped a blanket and pillow on the sofa.

“Don’t use the telephone,” he cautioned just as the door clicked shut.

She pulled it open after a few seconds, having divested herself of the food and wine. “Why not?”

“There’s a lot of sophisticated tracing equipment out there. One call, and your location could be pinpointed.”

“I want to call my father.”

“It’s after one o’clock in Boston.”

“So?”

“Don’t you think he’ll be asleep?”

“So?”

Rye opened a suitcase Lloyd had packed for him and pulled out a T-shirt and sweatpants. “This isn’t his fault, Harry. He’s been notified we’re here. Let him sleep.”

She took several long strides into the room. “Why should I? Why the hell should I? He’s treating me like a child! Why didn’t he tell me what was going on? He hired you without so much as a hint to me, his very adult daughter. And you, you dragged out the charade, letting me think I was in danger from you. I’ll bet you got a real kick out of that, didn’t you?”

He stood there listening but not hearing. Promises of sleep buzzed in his ears then rolled in waves down to his toes. He pulled his gun from his waistband and set it on the table beside the couch. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

She lifted her hands and laughed without humor at the ceiling. “I see. Another Patrick O’Halloran, are you? Your timetable. Your rules.”

“Paige—” He dropped onto the sofa.

“Your tone is quite clear, Warner. ‘Pity the poor emotional woman. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.’ I’ve got news for you—I can damn well take care of myself.”

One boot fell to the carpet, then the other. He stood and turned to face her squarely. Her belligerent pose almost drew a smile, but he held it back, figuring she would hurl another accusation at him. “Look, Harry, I’ve had about four hours of sleep in the last forty-eight. I can’t deal with you right now.” He peeled his turtleneck over his head; he moved his hands to his belt buckle. “Now, you can stay here and watch if you want. I’m not particularly modest. But it would kind of shatter our professional relationship, don’t you think?”