In Bed with the Bodyguard Read online

  It seemed she’d just shut her eyes when the sun blasted through her windows, waking her up. She sat up with a jolt and heard a noise coming from the bathroom. Sounded like someone was in her…shower? What kind of criminal broke in to shower in someone’s home? Then it all came flooding back. Her dad, the gallery vandal, the sexy man who’d spent the night in her bed. She nearly laughed. Never had a man ever slept over and nothing happened, not even a good-night kiss. What a waste. Lance was hot, and he was in her shower. Naked. She should probably go see if he needed shampoo or his back scrubbed. It was the charitable thing to do.

  Before she could act on her impulse, the shower stopped and silence fell as Lance stepped out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped low on his hips. His tousled hair fell in all directions, dripping water down his muscular chest only lightly dusted with light brown hair. He had a full six-pack of abs that spoke to his dedication to staying in shape for his job, and he had those totally sexy hip lines going on.

  Ari swallowed hard as he offered her a small, uneven smile.

  “Morning. I was hoping to be dressed by the time you woke up. I’ll grab my clothes and head back in there to change.”

  “Don’t bother on my account.” Her lust amped up at his appearance, and made her voice take on a throaty, breathy quality. She hoped he’d attribute it to the early morning.

  She swallowed again at the quelling look he shot her.

  “Don’t do that,” Lance said. “I’m a professional, and I have no intention of hooking up because I happened to spend the night in your apartment.”

  Ouch. Toss a bucket of ice on her arousal. She couldn’t remember the last time a male had resisted her flirtatious advances. Not that she should advance anywhere near Lance, no matter how good he looked wrapped only in white terry cloth.

  “I wasn’t going for a hookup,” she said in her sternest voice. “I meant that I see you strictly in the bodyguard sense and not in that way.” Liar, liar Donna Karan pants on fire.

  There. Let him refute that or make her feel like an airheaded flirt. She reached over to her nightstand and grabbed her cell phone, pretending to check for messages. Like anyone had called her between one a.m. and eight a.m.

  “So I could drop my towel, and you wouldn’t even look?” he asked, but his lips quirked and there was a laugh hidden in his words.

  Was he joking? She moved her gaze back to the phone in case he was serious. If she even caught a glimpse of what was hidden under that towel, she couldn’t be held responsible for her actions. “Huh? I’m busy over here.” She kept feigning phone action with her head down, pressing icons until she got to the camera feature. If Lance was dropping the towel, she was documenting it.

  But to her deep disappointment, he grabbed his clothes and headed back into the bathroom. She took advantage of his absence to check her breath against her cupped hand then pick out her own clothes for the day, which was never an easy process. Some people collected books or stamps. Ari collected clothes. Lucky for her, her trust fund could support her habit. Not that she was a designer snob—who cared if an outfit came from Gucci or the Gap? Cute was cute.

  “I’m finished with the bathroom, if you need it,” Lance said, exiting and heading over to her desk. “Mind if I check my email? I can use my phone, but typing long responses on it sucks.”

  “No, go ahead.”

  “Any password to get on?”

  “No.”

  “You should change that,” he said, sounding every inch the security agent. “I bet you have the same password for your email and a lot of your online accounts.”

  “Of course not,” she lied. “And I should do a lot of things, but I lead a charmed life. No viruses yet.” She could almost feel the derision at her carefree attitude boiling off him. Just because he chose to lead a life fighting the threat of militants, hackers, and crazies didn’t mean she had to live to his standards.

  “What are you doing over there, anyway?” he asked.

  Ari continued to stand in front of the loft wall she’d converted into closet space. A metal hanging rack spanned the length of an entire wall, every inch covered in hangers. “I’m picking an outfit. Fashion is more than mere clothing.” She selected a honey-colored trench coat dress and a chunky turquoise necklace. A perfect undercover theme for a day spent in an agent’s presence.

  “Huh? Do I even want to know?” he asked.

  “Probably not. Do what you need to do online, and I’ll be ready to drive you to your apartment soon.”

  A while later she stepped out of the bathroom and slid her feet into strappy heels.

  “Took you long enough,” Lance said from the couch. “The Today show is already at the cooking segment.”

  Ari glanced at the screen, then shrugged. “Did you have someplace you needed to be?”

  Lance stood. “No, but half your morning was wasted getting dressed.”

  She pirouetted in front of him. “You call this ‘wasted’? Stop whining. There’s a method to my madness. By starting out now, we won’t sit in the morning rush hour traffic.”

  Lance bit his tongue in an effort not to shout at her or drool; both were tempting. He felt madness coming on, but whether it was because he’d sat on a couch all morning watching Matt Lauer or because of the woman circling in front of him, he couldn’t say.

  “Fine, it wasn’t wasted, because you look fabulous.” Her wide responding smile was worth conceding the compliment. So much for maintaining professionalism.

  No, her morning efforts weren’t wasted, but he’d thought she was beautiful sleeping in bed beside him this morning, wearing a faded tank top and no makeup. Though the finished product was pretty spectacular. Her funky coat/dress thingy buttoned to just below her breasts, showing enough cleavage to get him salivating.

  His measured steps followed the clack of her heels down the stairs to the alley in back of her gallery, where her Mini Cooper convertible was parked.

  “Thanks for turning off the lights. I always forget.” She turned to smile at him.

  “No problem. I’m doing my part to stop global warming.”

  “Well, this little darling is my solution,” she said, caressing the black cloth roof of the car in a way he wanted to be touched by her.

  “Cute toy car,” he said, folding his tall body into the bucket seat.

  “Isn’t it?” She obviously loved the thing. “If you want to drive your car here, I can park to the right so you have room.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t have a car.”

  “What?” She looked shocked by his admission; she nearly backed into her neighbor’s recycling bins. “How can you not have a car? You live in Virginia.”

  She said “Virginia” as though it were Mars. “What’s wrong with Virginia?” he asked, ready to do battle for his beloved commonwealth.

  “Nothing. It’s not Georgetown.”

  He snorted. “I don’t get what’s appealing about crowds of college and high-school kids invading your neighborhood every weekend. And parking is a bitch.”

  “What do you care? You don’t have a car.” She darted into traffic on 32nd Street with a boldness that put him to shame. Except he usually drove in a full motorcade with all roads cleared of traffic, not dozens of cars zipping by.

  “I take the Metro to work and drive a government-issued car there. For days off, I have my Harley…Watch the road.” He grabbed the door handle bar instead of the wheel as his instincts screamed.

  “You on a Harley. Now that I’d want to see. Do you wear leather? Chaps? Helmet? No helmet?”

  He shook his head at her barrage of questions. “No on the leather. Yes to a helmet. Always.”

  “Of course.”

  “What does that mean?” His defensive hackles rose. Arianna managed to get under his skin faster than any woman in recent memory other than his mother. Except he didn’t want to yank his mother on his lap and kiss the taunts off her lips. The thought had him shuddering.

  “I meant you’re a rule follower. You
even turned it into your career.” She turned onto the Key Bridge, nearly hitting a biker.

  “What’s wrong with being a rule follower, not that I admit to being one? My parents would disagree with you, by the way. I never listened to any of the rules they laid down for me.”

  “Strict parents, huh? Did you run off to the army right after high school? Trade one set of rules for another?” She glanced at him with a sideways grin.

  “Something like that,” he said, thinking of his parents’ high expectations. Standards that he’d rarely met. He hadn’t even managed to go to the right Ivy League. Penn instead of Yale. “Turn off here. My apartment is on the right.”

  Back at her gallery an hour later, Ari hung up with the glass company. “They’ll be here tomorrow morning. They could’ve come today, but it would be a huge extra cost to get them out here on a Sunday.”

  “Um-hm,” Lance said from a corner of the gallery. He’d changed from his worn jeans into chinos and a collared shirt. To look more professional, he’d claimed.

  “So what now?” she asked. “Should we look for clues or dust for fingerprints?”

  He put down his magazine with a picture of sweaty basketball players on the cover. “The police already did that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do your thing. Go about your day as you normally would. By Monday, the security company I called should be able to start around-the-clock surveillance. For now I’ll stay with you until Monday. My job is to fade into the background and protect you.”

  “Fade into the background? Don’t Secret Service agents usually wear dark suits, an earpiece, and stand like statues in front of the person they’re protecting?”

  “Under normal circumstances, yes, but I’m undercover today.”

  “Okay then. I’ll ignore you. Go about my day.” Yeah, that was going to happen when a sexy J.Crew model type was taking up way more than his allotted breathing room in her gallery. “Uh-oh.” Ari stared out the small window in the gallery door and took a hasty step back, then another, until she brushed Lance’s arm with her elbow.

  Without her big picture window, there’d been less warning.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Lance tossed the magazine aside and was in front of her in an instant.

  “Follow my lead,” she said under her breath to Lance. His brow furrowed, but he kept silent. Thank God.

  The gallery door flew open.

  “Mr. Sorenson,” she said with a large false smile plastered on her face as she greeted the silver-haired, dapper man entering the gallery. “Have you come to look at the Ridley piece?”

  “Arianna, I’ve told you to call me Peter. Good friends don’t stand on formalities, do we?”

  “No, of course not,” she said through clenched teeth, trying to avoid his hug and kiss, but only managing to avoid his lips touching her by millimeters. It was the same story every few weeks. Mr. Sorenson stopped into the gallery to flirt, pretend to look at paintings he’d probably never buy, and drop unsubtle hints about asking her out.

  “Mr. Sorenson, may I introduce you to my boyfriend, Lance Brown. Lance, darling, this is Mr. Sorenson, one of my frequent gallery visitors. One of these days, I’ll get to call him customer, right?”

  Take that, Sorenson. Put up or shut up. But the art world was a funny one, and you never knew. Someday Sorenson could walk in and drop a few grand on some pieces from her collection. Until that day, she’d flirt and fend off his advances.

  She grabbed Lance’s hand and pulled him into her side, then wrapped her am around him, rubbing her body against him. Might as well get something out of the sham, and the chance to feel Lance’s strong abdominal muscles through the soft cotton of his shirt was a total bonus. How far could she go with this? Could she get in an ass grab?

  Lance shocked the bejesus out of her when he leaned down to nuzzle her cheek and plant a soft kiss on her ear. Her body went on high alert, instantly craving more of his touch. “Nice to meet you, Sorenson. Any friend of my girl, and all that…”

  Holy moly, was that his hand creeping around her side and grazing her breast? It was. The dirty devil.

  Sorenson totally ignored Lance. “Arianna, I saw the news last night. Vandals in Georgetown. Awful.” He shook his head and tsked. “Do you think it has anything to do with your father?” He whispered father the way people said cancer.

  Lance’s hand froze on her rear and his muscles tensed. “Sorenson, was it?” he asked. “You live in the neighborhood, right?”

  The silver-haired man nodded. “Down the street.”

  Lance removed his hands from her body. “That close, huh?” His voice was all business. “Were you home yesterday afternoon?”

  The look on Sorenson’s face was priceless. Whatever names Ari wanted to call him, idiot was not one of them.

  “What are you implying?” Sorenson asked.

  “I think you know. Did you see anything suspicious?”

  “Of course not. I would have contacted the police straightaway.” He turned to face Ari, and came close to giving Lance his back. “Did they steal anything?”

  “Um, no. They defaced a painting.” Saying the words refreshed the pain of knowing Club Lily was out of commission.

  “No.” He held a hand to his mouth. “May I see it?”

  “Really? Okay.” She led the way to the back office, where she’d placed the painting, its front facing the wall. Sorenson followed at a close distance, speculation and prurient interest rolling off him almost tangibly. Why had she never noticed what a skeez he was before? Sure, he’d always annoyed her, but he’d seemed harmless enough. Now she wanted him out of her gallery, out of her home.

  They reached her office and Lance gave Sorenson approximately five seconds to view the destroyed painting before asking, “What do you think of Arianna including one of her ceramic pieces in the gallery?”

  Not only was she shocked and strangely humbled at his boasting, but she wanted to kiss him for his conversation topic changer. Well, more than she usually did, at any rate. Only now her unwanted elder suitor was only more interested in her than ever.

  “Arianna, you never told me you work with clay.”

  “I don’t,” she said. “It’s a hobby, and my work will never be shown here.” She kept her tone light, not hinting that it had been a lifelong dream to walk into a prestigious gallery displaying her own artwork. That goal was dead and now she had the power to grant the dream to other artists, which was as good. Almost.

  “Oh, don’t be modest. I’m sure your sculpture is as beautiful as you are,” Sorenson said, looking at her as if she were a nude portrait.

  She glared at Lance for putting her in this situation, but he grinned and raised a challenging eyebrow.

  “Mr. Sorenson, Lance promised to take me to lunch. Please excuse us, I need to lock up the gallery,” she said and stepped toward the door.

  Sorenson turned to Lance and focused on him again. “You look familiar. What did you say your name was?”

  “Lance. Lance Brown,” Ari answered for him, wondering why Lance suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “Where do I know you from?” Sorenson wondered aloud, tapping his chin, but Lance swung the gallery door open and more or less pushed Sorenson out the door.

  “Good-bye. Come again,” Lance said. “Next century,” he muttered. “What an ass.” He shut the door, turned the key, and faced her. “Lunch?”

  “Yep, where are you taking me?” Ari asked with a big smile.

  Chapter Four

  Your grandmother’s? You’re taking me to your grandmother’s house for a lunch date?” Arianna asked, totally shocked and a little horrified. Her dating history had never progressed to meeting a boyfriend’s parents, let alone his grandmother. “I was joking about you taking me to lunch, but now you’re the one joking, right?”

  Lance shot her a sharp glance. “Nope, no joke, and I’ve been promising Nana that I’d come check her Internet connection for her. She says it has been running slow.”
/>   “Nana?”

  “My grandmother.” Lance walked to her office, where he’d seen her leave her keys and purse.

  He tossed her purse at her and started out the back door.

  “Your grandmother’s Internet connection is running slow?”

  “Yep.”

  She followed him blindly out the back door. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t grandmothers knit and crochet, not surf the web?”

  “You haven’t met my nana,” Lance said with a grin. He unlocked the Mini and held the passenger door open. For her. The arrogance.

  “I’m driving.” She stepped away from the passenger side.

  “Not this time. You don’t know the way to my grandmother’s. It’s more efficient if I drive.”

  He had a point. “Fine, but don’t get used to it.”

  They drove for about ten minutes in companionable silence, except for Ari’s nagging worry that this lunch meant something. “Won’t she wonder?”

  Lance turned to give her a quick glance. “Who?”

  “Your nana. Won’t she assume we’re something more than friends if you bring me to meet her?” She’d never met a single relative of any of her boyfriends. On purpose. She didn’t do relationships.

  He gave his lip a thoughtful bite. “Don’t know. I’ve never introduced her to any woman other than my fiancée.”

  “Your fiancée?” Ari sat up straighter in her seat. “You’re engaged?” She immediately attempted to squelch any lustful thoughts she’d had toward him heretofore.