*
A.J. knew she’d catch crap for the dress she squeezed into.
She’d spotted it on sale at Barneys, discovered it fit perfectly, and hadn’t been able to resist buying it—if only because every female in New York needed
one
LBD. The thing had ended up gathering dust on its hanger. If she dated, she tended to wear jeans.
She wasn’t certain what possessed whoever her dad had assigned the task to add it to her go-bag. Maybe they’d grabbed it because it was the only nice dress in her closet.
The thing was black, of course. Hemmed halfway up her thighs, it fit her slight curves snugly. Though it wasn’t low-cut enough to qualify as a Fuck Me dress, once she’d dragged up the side zipper, no one could mistake her for anything but a girl in it. The square-cut jacket—which she needed to conceal her holster—took its sex appeal down a notch. The matching four-inch heels: not so much.
She promised herself any man on her team who whistled would get extra PT drills.
As luck would have it, Martin was the first to witness her unusually dressed up state. He was on the front roundabout, going over the armored Chevrolet Suburban they planned to drive to the restaurant in. Though the vehicle hadn’t left Luke’s garage since arriving, Martin was as anal as A.J. about verifying things for himself.
When he spotted her walking stiffly down the steps, his jaw fell like a cartoon.
“Don’t,” she warned before he could start in.
She should have known her boss voice wouldn’t work on him. After he recovered from his shock, a smile spread slowly across his face. “I’m just surprised. And pleased. I wasn’t sure you
had
legs inside those trousers you always wear.”
“Luke wants tonight to be low-key. I couldn’t dress like a bodyguard.”
“You’re dressed like a date.” Though he subdued his amusement, Martin’s eyes still gleamed.
“Whatever. Would you rather hold the light or the angled mirror to check the undercarriage?”
His grin was very fox-in-the-henhouse as he offered her the flashlight.
“Crap,” she said, only then realizing the challenge presented by shining the beam under the SUV in her tight outfit.
“You can cry uncle if you want,” he offered, enjoying her quandary way too much.
Because she couldn’t admit defeat, she took the light with a muttered oath. She stuck it between her legs while she wrestled off her jacket. Without a barrier between her and the asphalt, her hose were sure to tear. Because the drive seemed clean enough, she folded the jacket and dropped it as a pad. Then, with a silent prayer she wouldn’t fall out anywhere important, she got down on her knees and elbows to illuminate the vehicle’s underside.
She might have been imagining it, but she thought she heard her coworker swallow.
“Well, go ahead and check,” she snapped. “I’m not staying like this all night.”
“More’s the pity,” her traitorous pal murmured.
He surveyed underneath the car, seeming to take his damn sweet time. “Tell me,” he said casually. “Are you Channing’s date or mine tonight?”
“Yours. Luke is sharing a table with his agent.” She sounded crabby and knew she ought to try to have a sense of humor. Martin was only teasing, and he teased everyone. “Listen, thanks for not telling my dad about . . . the thing with me and Luke on the plane.”
“That’s not your father’s business. Or mine—as long as you can do your job.”
“I can. I am.”
“That’s what I told Parker.”
He was done and hadn’t found signs of interference. A.J. got up and shook out her jacket. As she brushed bits of dirt off the back, she steeled her ankles against teetering in the heels. Martin considered her.
“You really do look nice,” he said. As if he couldn’t contain it, his grin quivered alive again. “And yet still professional.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky you didn’t whistle. I’m giving anyone who does extra PT drills.”
“I appreciate the warning,” Martin said, straight-faced.
*
Luke didn’t plan to spy, but his deco-style front door was clear glass and wrought iron. No way could he miss the drama transpiring on his front drive.
The scene told a story, that was for sure.
If he’d been directing it for a movie, he’d have told the cameraman to linger on the characters’ expressions. Luke had speculated on what lay between Martin and A.J., and now he thought he knew. The older man might try to hide it with cool-guy jokes, but he had it bad for his partner’s daughter—and probably had for years. That A.J. was
nearly
oblivious was clear from her response.
If she hadn’t been, standing in front of Martin in that short black dress, brushing at her jacket with her long-fingered hands would have qualified as cruel.
She was a stunner. Those legs of hers went on for miles—and never mind what the heels did for her ankles. Luke wondered if she realized how she looked. Every part of her shaped the snugly tailored garment: her hip cradle, her killer ass, the lift of her breasts from her strong rib cage. Hell, her bare arms were worth a fantasy or ten. They were ripped but graceful, like Angelina in her
Mr. & Mrs. Smith
period.
Really, it was no mystery Brad succumbed.
“Need help with that?” he asked, doing his best to ignore the blood swerving toward his groin.
A.J. turned to him and smiled.
Oh he felt that, like a soft hot punch to his solar plexus. A.J. was pleased to see him, and that turned his world golden.
“If you wouldn’t mind,” she said, holding out the jacket. “It’s a little tricky to get over the holster.”
He took it and held it for her so she could slide her bare arms in. Standing that close to her, he caught a whiff of faint sweetness.
“You smell good,” he said without thinking.
She laughed. “That’s my antiperspirant. Sweaty body-guards stand out as much as over-perfumed ones.”
“If you were hoping to blend in, you shouldn’t have worn that dress.”
Dismay flicked across her features. “Really? I thought it was conservative enough.”
“It might be,” he allowed, “if you weren’t the one wearing it.”
“Shit,” she said, genuinely concerned. “I can change if it’s too much.”
“Don’t,” he and Martin chimed.
“Don’t,” Luke repeated with a wry laugh for their male unity. “You can’t help it if you’re a knockout. Anyway, it’s fine for the restaurant we’re going to.”
“You’re sure?”
Her eyes were round. Luke suspected she didn’t ask for reassurance often. He framed her face lightly with his hands. Because her skin was soft and warm, he gave in to temptation to stroke her cheekbones with his thumbs. A.J. gratified his ego when her breath caught and then quickened. She felt their attraction as much as him.
“I’m sure,” he said softly.
When he let go, he noticed Martin frowning. The swiftness with which the other man erased the expression didn’t negate that it had been there.
*
No celebrity hangout, Michelson’s was a pleasant family-owned restaurant a mile and a quarter from Luke’s gated neighborhood. Luke’s agent, Jerry Talon, met them there. Per prior arrangement, A.J. and Martin took an adjacent table with a line of sight to the front and back entrances. Because the parking lot was out in the open, they left the driver guarding the Suburban. Though they’d already eaten—so as not to be distracted by their plates—A.J. and Martin ordered salads and ice water.
A.J. wanted Luke to enjoy a nice, relaxed meal. That meant watching over him but also keeping a low profile.
Thus far she’d gotten her wish. The servers who recognized him didn’t make a fuss. Though celebrities weren’t common here, they also weren’t unheard of. Inevitably, Luke’s famous face drew glances from other diners, but he’d only been approached once for an autograph—which he’d signed good-naturedly. His relationship with his long-time agent was obviously less tense than his with Kevin Reyes. His and Talon’s body language was that of friendly equals who’d known each other forever.
Done discussing business, now they were sharing jokes over cognac and coffee.
Luke’s laugh was quiet but delicious, his smile a megawatt reminder of why the press called him Glamour Boy. Watching his hands play over the snifter made her insides tighten. She knew precisely what sort of magic those fingers made playing over her.
“Don’t stare too hard,” Martin warned in a wry undertone. “We’re not here to admire him.”
A.J. jerked. Shit, she
had
been staring. “Sorry. It’s been so quiet I relaxed.”
“I know,” Martin said. “But you’re gonna have to work on not being distracted.”
“Damn it,” she said, because she knew he was right.
Martin smiled gently. “It takes practice. You’ve never had a thing for a client before. I promise, though, you can learn to keep your focus.”
That raised her mental eyebrows. Was there some Kevin Costner/Whitney Houston episode in his past? Now wasn’t the time to ask, but he’d piqued her interest.
Luke sidetracked her by turning his head to catch her eye. He tapped his watch and mouthed
five minutes
.
Her pulse picked up. She’d asked him to give her notice before he and Jerry left. She tapped her hidden earpiece. “Game time,” she warned the driver.
A.J. had already arranged with the server to settle up their bills simultaneously. Since this went smoothly, A.J. stuck with Luke while Martin checked the area outside the front entrance. Her father always stressed the importance of advance work.
“Some people out here,” Martin informed her. “Eight. College kids, looks like. Mixed but mostly female. Might be a group waiting for a couple more to join their party.”
A.J. could shift their exit to the restaurant’s rear, but Martin didn’t sound alarmed. “Is the car ready?”
“Just pulled up.”
She made a judgment call. “The car’s out front,” she said to Luke. “Stick close but let me go first.”
Michelson’s front entrance had an awning. Maybe ten strides along a bush-lined pavement would take them from the door to the pickup point. Night had fallen while they ate. The open parking lot surrounded the low building on all sides, lit now by tall street lamps. Luke and Jerry Talon exited behind her, still talking casually. She saw the young people Martin mentioned spread out in a scattered group. They weren’t particularly dressed up, but the restaurant was tie-optional. They could have been diners. One tall, athletic looking girl was speaking intensely into a phone. A.J. didn’t like the look of that, but the rest seemed relaxed as they chatted with each other.
Then one chubby guy caught sight of Luke and elbowed the girl beside him.
The whole group’s vibe changed in an instant, their attention shifting en masse to the man following her. Clearly, Luke was the reason for their presence. A.J. couldn’t assume they were innocent autograph seekers, not when they began to close in like wolf pack.
Shit
, she cursed. Her racing thoughts didn’t slow her reactions. She moved in front of Luke, taking his arm to hold him there firmly. Even if he were confused by her action, he wouldn’t easily pull away.
“Stay behind me,” she ordered for good measure. “Martin, clear our path to the SUV.”
He was already doing it—or trying to—the gathering people were getting in his way. Purposefully, it seemed to her. More were showing up, close to a hundred, emerging from parked cars they must have been hiding in. They carried hand-lettered signs. She saw hearts on them and Luke and Christie’s names.
A.J. concluded she was about to meet the Listie shippers up close and personal.
“Luke,” some of them began to call. “Luke, where’s Christie? We miss seeing you together. Luke and Christie forever!”
Luke tried to tug his wrist from her, but A.J. kept her grip on it. “They’re just fans,” he said. “Let me talk to them a minute.”
Fans or not, they were organized and predatory—and growing more so by the second.
“Move out of our way,” she said to the two-deep wall of bodies in front of them.
Her sharpest boss-voice didn’t elicit compliance. The girl directly in front of her, the one she’d seen talking on the phone earlier, grinned broadly in enjoyment. As tall as A.J., she had at least a third more body mass—and all of that muscle. A.J. knew she needed to dissuade her from testing any more limits. “I said let us
pass
.”
Seeing her and Martin struggling, their driver began to get out to help.
“Keep control of the vehicle,” she ordered. “Do not exit.”
He, at least, obeyed her.
“Ditch this bitch!” the tall girl taunted.
The easy way she used her palms to shove A.J. back suggested she played B-ball. Playful though the action looked, she put real strength behind it. The girl was sure of her physical prowess and either considered A.J. no match or realized her position as Luke’s bodyguard required her to avoid violence.
“Our man belongs with Christie!” she clarion-called.
“Hey,” Luke said, clearly hoping to calm her. “There’s no need to—”
“Jesus,” A.J. heard his agent exclaim.
Jerry Talon was responding to a new threat. Bodies crashed through the bushes to either side of them. A.J. spun and drew her gun, intending to grab Luke and use whatever force she needed to power-drag him to the car.
She didn’t get to put the plan in action. Luke had also turned at the sound. A gangly female—
maybe
eighteen—jumped on him like a monkey, forcibly pressing her mouth to his. From the looks of it, she was trying to give him tongue. Taken by surprise, Luke pushed back but not hard enough, no doubt reluctant to risk hurting a teenage girl.
Jerry Talon wasn’t as inhibited. He grabbed the girl by the waist and tugged.
“I want
my
kiss!” yelled a second as he pried off the first.
So much for Christie and Luke forever
, A.J thought cynically.
Fortunately, the kissers’ actions distracted the group who’d blocked their path to the car. Grabbing her chance, A.J. muscled Luke through them, knocking a few off balance as they went. Martin had the rear door open. He helped her push their client in and followed. A.J. was still outside. Luke’s eyes showed white as he leaned past Martin to speak to her.