Protector (7 page)

Livia tugged his arm and his attention, leaving the poolside DJ to entertain the late-night crowd that veered between overtly sleazy and pleasantly intoxicated. The scent of seawater and grilled tapas hung in the air as the next shift of wait staff took over food services. “Why not have the surgery, the uh, Lasik?”

“It’s only recently been approved and I haven’t gotten on the list. Before that PRK was okayed about ten years ago, some studies say it’s more resistant to ejection trauma… But I would have to take time off work.”

Giving up those glasses was obviously difficult for him, like letting go of the past. “You’re making those changes with infant steps.”

“Baby steps.” He gave her a half smile. “Right.”

He looked younger without his glasses, but over fifteen years separated them and she knew it bothered him. Still, after being around Rex, she found men her own age— immature.

Rex stopped outside her suite. She slid her room card from a pocket in the folds of her gown.

“Grazie,”
she repeated, unable to meet his eyes. “I will see you tomorrow.”

His hand flattened against her door. “I should look over your room and check for any overzealous fans.”

She wished he wanted to come in because he ached for her desperately— needed to have her in his life no matter the case. But his implication in the invitation was clear. Things weren’t as they seemed here. She had to be careful.

She swept past him into the corner suite. The curved
window overlooked the dock and come tomorrow would offer a to-die-for ocean view, a perk of being A-list entertainment by cruise ship standards. Closing the door behind her, she watched Rex move around the heavily gilded furnishings with stealthy grace. Her body couldn’t have him but she couldn’t resist indulging her eyes. He oozed confidence and knowledge and power, his moves sure as he checked out every corner of her cream-and-espresso-colored sitting area— of her bedroom. He paused beside a photo of a Roman statue of Hercules, and she couldn’t help comparing her ideal to the epitome of Roman manhood. Colonel Scanlon won that battle as far as she was concerned, his muscles heated from within, unlike the smooth marble.

Finally, he stopped in front of her, resting his cheek just beside hers, speaking softly in her ear. “Your room is clear and my people haven’t detected any listening devices or cameras.”

The crisp scent of his aftershave, the heat of his breath against her ear sent her sagging against the door. Attraction wasn’t smart or reasonable. Or timely.

They weren’t here for each other. She focused on his words about her surveillance-free room his “people” had checked over.

People. Plural. She knew about Chuck Tanaka, a military man she called a friend after having visited him as a morale booster for a wounded soldier. As a part of the operation, she’d vouched for him— as Charles Tomas— when he applied for the job as a blackjack dealer. Why hadn’t she gone to Chuck instead of Rex with her worries?

A moot point now. “Rex?”

“Yes?” His hand flattened on the door. The lean length of him was so close.

The urge to slide her hands up his chest was almost irresistible. Her breasts ached with the need to press against him, to deepen their dating cover with some reality.

Just a kiss. A simple turn of her face toward his and their mouths would meet. She could claim it was accidental and maybe even convince herself, too.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand move toward hers. Her heartbeat hammered harder in her ears as she held still. His knuckles skimmed her wrist, upward along her bare arm until goose bumps prickled her skin, her nerves alive. Higher, higher still he stroked silently until his fingers curved around her bare shoulder.

Her eyes slid closed.
Mio Dio
…

“Livia.” His American accent, his Texas roots gave her name such a foreign and distinctive sound. “I’ve missed you.”

Missed her? He had a damn strange way of showing it, considering he hadn’t so much as called in two years. Yes, she had walked away from him, but if he wanted her, really wanted her…

She opened her eyes and gripped his chin. “No.”

He stared back, his gaze so intense without glasses diluting the power. How was it that the stroke of his eyes over her face stirred her more than anyone else’s tangible touch?

This was so, so dangerous.

“No,” she repeated, stronger this time and adding a shove to his chest before she weakened. “I understand my role in helping you with”—she lowered her voice again—“whatever covert operations you have in the works. I realize it will help both of our countries, and in spite of rumors about my vanity, I do love my country more than myself.”

“I never doubted that for a moment.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his half smile grating on her already ragged nerves. Damn his condescending ass.

“Good.”
She whipped past him and into her suite. “You need to go now. Bad things happen to me when I am around you. In Turkey, I was almost blown up. In your country, a serial killer kidnapped me. And I survived it all just to have you fracture my heart. I believe you will understand if I do not want to spend any more time around you than necessary.”

His smile widened.

“What?” she demanded, her hands flaying the air. “Did I get another of your American idioms incorrect?”

“It’s nothing.” His smile eased. “You are just so damn magnificent when you’re fired up. Good night, Livia, and do not forget to lock the door.”

He turned to leave, and it was all she could do to keep from tossing an ice bucket at his head. And yes, her Latin heritage was showing, but she couldn’t help herself around this man.

Rex Scanlon loved his dead wife, and Livia did not intend to compete with a ghost or settle for second place in any man’s heart. She’d patched her life, her body and heart back together, a long and painful process.

She had eight days to restrain herself from the colonel’s undeniable appeal. Eight days holding strong as they traveled from Italy to France, down the Italian shore to Greece, then back to Italy. Eight days, she could handle.

The seven nights, however, worried her all the way to her toes.

Staring up at the night sky, Jolynn felt the need to explode swell with each mile of foaming waves and Italian countryside that sped past. Emotional and physical exhaustion inched toward frenzy.

Charles downshifted the Mazarati, slowing, veering toward a waterside rest area near three crumbling stone columns beside an arch. Ruins were a dime a dozen around here, yet her American mind-set still gasped at the ancient ruins around every corner.

She felt small and insignificant in comparison.

The pillars cast long, fat shadows across the small paved lot lit only by the moon and a lone lamppost humming in the night. A few straggler tourists strolled in the distance, snapping photos with weak camera flashes that would never capture the majesty of this land.

The Maserati’s motor idled, a soft purr. Charles shook his black hair into place.

He turned to face her. Something wild and mysterious
lurked in his dark eyes. “You’ve had a long day with the transcontinental flight… then seeing your dad. We should head back.”

Maybe the day didn’t have to be a complete disaster.

Sure, she didn’t know Charles very well, but he seemed to have insinuated himself into her life in a hurry. He’d been so thoughtful to stay with her at the hospital, so kind to drive when she’d been too emotional to steady her thoughts. Was it all just because he worked on the ship? Did he remain with her to stay in the family’s good graces? It surprised her to realize how much she resisted that idea, but she would be foolish not to take that into account. Still, something drew her to the blackjack dealer who seemed so competent. So… hot.

And bottom line, she’d had the day from hell.

“Not yet. I’m not ready.” She unsnapped her seat belt and flung herself from the car, twirling in the abandoned lot, waves foaming lap after lap against the rocky beach. “Let’s walk, Mr. Charles Tomas.”

She spun away without waiting for his answer and scrambled down the stony embankment to the narrow shoreline, grabbing hold of an olive tree on her way, branches rustling, seeming to whisper caution. Would he leave her to walk alone? Unable to bear the thought of another rejection so hot on the heels of her father’s, she sprinted into the gritty wind, embracing the friction of sand against her skin.

The Maserati silenced, and she heard Chuck’s steady progress until he eased beside her with quiet grace. Hands stuffed in the pockets of his black work pants, he kept pace, his shoulder close, but not brushing hers. But he might as well have. She could feel him near her all the same.

Comfort— distraction— waited a few inches away. Did she dare take it? She certainly couldn’t imagine hurting worse than she already did.

“My
father wants me to go back to Dallas first thing in the morning.” She punted a small rock, weaving her way along smooth, worn stones, broken in places by the determination of many generations of weeds coming up through them, a testament to the stubborn.

Ache and anger twined as she wove around a small boulder, past a tide pool. After her father had sent her away that last time, after college, she’d vowed never to set herself up for the rejection again. She was a grown woman, damn it.

“Maybe you
should
leave.” Charles nudged the small rock farther along with a brush of his foot.

So much for him offering her consolation. Jolynn snatched the rock and flung it into the sea, before spinning to face Charles. “I was considering going home, but now? Who knows? I go where I choose, when I choose. Maybe you don’t know it, but I’m an overindulged only child. Like my father, I don’t do well with the word
no
.”

She studied his brown eyes, searching for some indication that he might be different, a man to trust. His hands clenched visibly in his pockets. Silently, he tipped his head from side to side, working away a kink in a gesture she was beginning to recognize as habit.

“Why doesn’t he want me in his life?” Her voice sounded pathetic, even to her own ears, and she hated herself for the weakness.

Chuck blinked, unveiling eyes more guarded than when they were closed. “Anyone who would send you away is a fool and doesn’t deserve you. Go back where you belong, Jolynn.”

Could she have heard him right? Was he somehow as tempted as she was? Staring back, she savored the edge of danger. Maybe she was her father’s daughter after all. “What
if I already am where I belong? Could be it’s time to quit running.”

“And if running keeps you safe?” His hand lifted, jerky, as if weights tried to tug him back until it steadied just beside her face. He brushed her cheek lightly.

His hands were scarred and calloused. Hands that had grabbed hold of life up close.

His touch soothed, healed— excited. He cupped her cheek and she swayed toward him. She didn’t even bother trying to resist. She wanted this. Wanted to find out if he could deliver on the promise in his molten dark eyes, in his surprisingly gentle touch. Her whole body ached to feel him closer.

The scent of his soap and a hint of perspiration from the warm night mingled on the salty breeze with each breath that seemed to come faster and faster until her eyes fell to his mouth. Her lips parted in anticipation. She arched up onto her toes, her arms rising—

He clamped his hands around her wrists and backed away. He shook his head once, sharply. Either to say no or to clear his head, but either way he dropped her hands and turned away.

With long, no-nonsense strides, he walked back along the shore, up the rocky incline toward the crumbling pillars.

No.
“Wait just a minute, Charles Tomas.” She left men. They did
not
leave her. “You can’t look at me that way, touch me that way, and just walk off. You insisted on coming with me tonight. A man doesn’t throw around signals all evening the way you have without feeling something. You’re damn right I deserve better, from my father and from you.”

He braced his shoulders and continued walking. His
leaving, after a day too full of disappointments, pierced her bubble of frenzy.

“Do not turn your back on me,” she shouted after Charles and, yeah, maybe at her father, too. “I won’t follow you. I mean it. I am not moving from this spot.”

He kept walking, not missing a step, as if he hadn’t even heard her.

Her chest tightened, and she gulped in heaving breaths of the humid night air. “Do you know what they’ll do to you if you show up at the
Fortuna
with that car without me in it? You won’t be in any shape to deal cards for quite a while.”

That stopped him. The roll and retreat of pounding waves filled the silence. Her threat may have been mean and small, but she didn’t care. Any reaction was better than being ignored.

Her heart had been pretty much yanked out of her chest while still beating this evening, so if she was operating now without it, she had a damn good excuse.

He pivoted back toward her, slowly, looming above her in the stone archway. Moonlight slashed across his scowl. “Finished with your temper tantrum?”