Kitabı oxu: «Deep Focus»

Muchas gracias to Celso, Danny, Gil and Cuauhtemoc and the other guys at Fly High Adventures for always making my zip-line excursions and pit stops at the Three Amigos in Cozumel a blast.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

Extract

Copyright

1

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Nearly everyone in the airport was naked.

Melanie Ambrose glanced around and frowned before rounding on her boyfriend. Dang it, he had broken their deal. “You said you were done working! We’re on vacation, Ian, as of midnight last night. Our flight to Mexico is in an hour.” She flung a finger out to point at the group of men and women sitting bare-assed on the hard plastic chairs in O’Hare’s Concourse B. “This looks like work.”

She shouldn’t have trusted him to get to the airport on his own. She should have swung by his apartment and scooped him up, but it was out of the way and Ian hadn’t wanted to stay at her place because he hated her bed. She’d agreed to arriving separate and now this. So annoying. Absolutely and utterly annoying. The whole reason their relationship was crumbling was because Ian worked all the time. She understood that his photography business was commercially successful beyond his wildest dreams, and that there were responsibilities and expectations, but this vacation was supposed to give him a much-needed rest. And her, a much-needed orgasm.

He held up his hands and gave her an apologetic shrug. “Mel, baby, I couldn’t resist. I’ve not shot at the airport before, and what a perfect opportunity to capture the shuffling of humanity. It’s brilliant. And I owe the idea to you.”

She was not falling for that, or for his sexy New Zealand accent. “Whatever.” She let go of the handle of her carry-on and looked down at her toes. The fifty dollars she’d just spent on a pedicure better not have been wasted. “We’re not missing our flight,” she told him flatly.

“Don’t be so churlish,” he reprimanded, pushing his glasses up. He looked past her, flagging someone down.

She turned and noticed one man in a suit, looking absolutely out of place amongst all this exposed flesh. The poor guy was probably just trying to catch a business flight and had wandered into Art. In the form of breasts and butt cheeks.

Melanie turned her attention back to Ian, giving him a glare. “It’s nine in the morning! Our flight is supposed to leave at ten.” She considered herself incredibly reasonable. She never complained about his schedule or questioned him about the company he kept. She respected his art, and as the PR rep for his company, Bainbridge Studios, she worked hard to make sure his climb up the ladder of success was smooth. But they’d been planning this trip for two months.

Escaping Chicago in December for the beach was bliss enough, but she’d been looking forward to the opportunity to rekindle a bit of romance.

Apparently, he wasn’t in as much of a rush to drink wine and knock boots as she was. It was a bit deflating. A lot deflating.

“I’ll find a later flight. You go ahead as planned. Hunter will go with you.”

Um. “Who the heck is Hunter?” Melanie’s Southern accent was resurfacing as she became agitated. “And why on God’s green earth would I want to fly to Mexico with him?”

“This is Hunter.” Ian gestured behind her. “He’s your new bodyguard.”

Melanie turned and saw the man in the suit standing a discreet distance behind them. He nodded briefly. She was officially confused.

“Ian, why do I need a bodyguard? You’re the one being stalked.” Some woman who had never even met Ian fancied herself in love with him and had been bothering him for over a year. At one point, Savannah the Stalker had been charged and Melanie had thought that would be the end of it, but a jury had found her not guilty and almost immediately she’d gone back to sending alternating love letters and threatening emails. “She doesn’t even know about us. That’s part of why we’ve kept our relationship on the down low.”

Another source of friction between them. It sucked having to pretend you were primarily your boyfriend’s employee in public. She was over it.

Looking uncomfortable, Ian bent closer to her. “It seems she’s found out about you, because I got a disturbing email a few days ago. I didn’t want to tell you and spoil the trip. But I don’t think it’s safe for you to be without some protection.”

Great. She was at risk of being attacked by a random crazy person. “You can protect me. Come with me.”

He frowned. “I have this shoot set up.” He briefly touched her hand and kissed her forehead. “Go with Hunter. Go on. For me, so I don’t have to worry about you.”

Melanie felt like a five-year-old being sent off to kindergarten against her will. There was no arguing with him. He wouldn’t change his mind, not with a terminal full of nude volunteers. Sometimes she wondered if she were cut out for the role of Artist’s Girlfriend, because the whole slave-to-the-muse thing got old really quickly. But it was flattering that he was worried about her safety. She sighed. “Call me when you board your flight. Have a good shoot.”

“Thanks, Mel. You’re the best.” He turned and left, going over to Sam, his assistant, and leaving Melanie standing there feeling incredibly defeated.

But there was no sense crying over it. She turned and gave Hunter a smile. “Hi, I’m Melanie. Nice to meet you.”

“Hunter.” He shook her hand. No smile.

Which ticked her off a bit. Sure, he was on the job, but the man was going to Mexico to sit on his butt and watch her splay her body out on a beach towel. It was a cake job—she wasn’t really in danger. That was total paranoia on Ian’s part. Even if Savannah knew who she was, she wasn’t likely to hop a plane to Cancún to track her down. That required cash and a passport, and the average stalker wasn’t going to add international travel to their bag of harassing tricks. So why did Hunter look so sour?

“This might be the most boring assignment you’ve ever had,” she warned him as she retrieved the handle of her carry-on and started walking toward their gate.

“Possibly. But I’ve had a lot of less-than-exciting assignments.”

Excuse me? She shot him a sideways glance. He didn’t look as if he was making a joke, which led her to the conclusion that he might simply be a jerk. A good-looking jerk, mind you, but a jerk nonetheless. What, as if it was her fault she wasn’t a celebrity or a political figure surrounded by pushy paparazzi and people with agendas? She was just a PR rep from Kentucky. Who didn’t need a bodyguard, plain and simple. Then again, the man was just doing his job, and she could respect that. “Well, I hope you packed your trunks, since we’re going to Mexico. It’s better than being stuck here, that’s for sure.”

“I have to agree with you.”

She had a thought. “Do you have a gun on you? Is that legal?”

“I have a license to carry concealed, but no, I did not bring a gun.”

“Good.” That was reassuring. She didn’t want to be detained and body probed by TSA at any point on this trip. That was not the kind of probing she’d had in mind at all. “You do know this is all totally ridiculous, right? My boyfriend is being overly protective.” Ian had never been like that in the past, but it was warming her girl bits now, she had to admit.

Hunter gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. Lord, the man was attractive. If she were single, she’d want a piece of that. He was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome. Smoking hot. Like five-alarm, sweet and spicy Texas barbecue hot. Finger-licking good.

He must hit the gym every day, because the man had muscles that were no accident. He’d gotten those biceps by sweating, hard. Melanie began to perspire just picturing it, which was startling and completely inappropriate. She wasn’t normally one who went for bulked-up manly men, but Hunter’s physique paired with that suit was quite a winning combination. His jaw was strong, his eyes an intriguing shade of green. Not that fake contact-lens green you sometimes saw, but a true mossy shade, with flecks of gold.

Yes, the man had been whacked with a sexy stick, and she could appreciate looking without wanting to touch.

Too bad he had zero personality.

And why did she care anyway? She had a boyfriend. A distracted, moody boyfriend, who had stuck her with this hunk of hotness for the next twelve-plus hours. It was nice to know Ian trusted her, she supposed. She wasn’t sure she would have if their positions were reversed. But then again, he had no reason to be insecure. Melanie frequently worried that maybe she was more into Ian than he was into her. That was a thought she quickly banished, though.

“If you say so,” Hunter told her.

What was that supposed to mean?

He glanced down at his phone, then gestured to their right. “This is our gate. Perfect timing. We’re boarding.”

“Okay.” She started to veer off in the direction of the restroom for a preflight potty break, but squawked when Hunter grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Melanie blinked up at him, giving a pointed glance down at his hand, still holding her arm. “To use the toilet,” she said bluntly, hoping that would make him back off.

It didn’t.

“You can go on the plane,” he told her.

“You think someone would buy a plane ticket to get past security just so they could assault me in the ladies’ room?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Then you live in a sad little world,” she told him. But she obediently got into the boarding line with him. Once Ian arrived in Cancún, there would be none of this nonsense. They were going to hole up in their hotel suite and bang like bunnies, Hunter nowhere in sight.

She hoped anyway. Things hadn’t been stellar in the bunny-banging department lately. Or any department, for that matter. It was worrisome. She wasn’t ready to pack it in on her relationship with Ian, even if he was often distracted. Even if it had to be a secret. That would be like admitting defeat, and she didn’t do defeat, even when she felt defeated.

Fifteen minutes later she was settled in her seat next to her stony-faced bodyguard. A bodyguard. It made her feel pretentious and ridiculous. Not to mention somewhat like a prisoner. While she struggled to stuff her very large purse under the seat in front of her, Hunter sat and watched. She could feel his eyes on her as she heaved and hoed, her blond hair falling in her eyes. When she finally sat back up, he just silently handed her an envelope.

“What is this?” she asked, confused yet again.

“I don’t know. I was told to give it to you once the cabin door closed.”

A wisp of fear slithered up her spine. That sounded sketchy, but she instantly dismissed the thought. The envelope was the kind that greeting cards came in. Maybe it was a romantic note from Ian, a gesture to make up for his complete failure to understand how important this vacation was to her.

Turning her back slightly on Hunter so he couldn’t read over her shoulder, she opened the envelope and pulled out a card. Not a pretty vellum paper card, but the cards they used at the office to send personal notes. It was one of Ian’s mass nudes depicting a dozen people in a tree. Decidedly less promising. She recognized Ian’s handwriting inside.

Dear Melanie,

I think we both know this isn’t working. To delay the inevitable in Cancún doesn’t make any sense. We’ve had a good run but it’s time to move on, and consciously uncouple. Enjoy the beach, and I’ll see you at work when you get back.

Best,

Ian

Melanie read it three times, her heart racing as she tried to convince herself there was another meaning to it. But there wasn’t. Ian was breaking up with her. On work stationery. After putting her on a plane with a bodyguard.

“Oh, my God,” she said before she could stop herself. She grappled for her seat belt, unbuckling it. “I have to go.” She couldn’t sit here; she couldn’t go to Mexico. She needed to get off this plane, away from all these people. She needed to breathe deeply somewhere in private, getting control of her emotions. After she tracked down Ian in Concourse B and asked him how he could be so damn insensitive as to dump her in a Dear Melanie letter.

Then punched him in the no-nos.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What are you doing?” Hunter asked her. “We’re about to take off. Put your seat belt back on.”

“I have to get off this plane,” she insisted.

“Are you sick? Afraid of flying?”

She shook her head, panicking, unable to speak. Ian had purposely waited until she was trapped on board so she couldn’t even discuss it with him. It was mind-blowing and insulting and vomit inducing.

Hunter’s hand settled on the back of her neck, big and warm, gently urging her head forward toward the seat-back tray. “Breathe,” he commanded. “Take a deep breath, nice and slow. You’re okay.”

He had a deep voice, smooth. It commanded obedience, so she did as he said, sucking in a lungful of air and letting it back out through her nose.

“Again,” he said.

After a few breaths, she felt marginally better. And like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry.”

The plane was backing up off the tarmac and heading for the runway. She was going to Mexico whether she wanted to or not.

“Don’t apologize. A lot of people are afraid of flying.” His hand massaged the back of her neck. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and sat up again, hoping he’d take his hand off her. While it felt good to have him kneading the knots out of her neck, she was acutely aware of how unfitting it was. He got the hint and dropped his hand. Bracing herself, she turned to look at him, still clutching the stupid note from Ian in her sweaty palm. Those green eyes were gazing at her calmly, and with concern. Maybe Hunter wasn’t such a jerk after all.

“What did Ian tell you?” she asked. She needed to know if Hunter had been aware of Ian’s plan, so she would know if she needed to die of humiliation or not. “About this trip?”

“That he has a stalker and you’re in danger. I got the file on her so I know what she looks like. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried about Savannah.” She wasn’t. Savannah would be where Ian was, not where Melanie was. “I think you coming with me is pointless. No offense.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “None taken. But I’ve been hired to do a job, whether you think it’s necessary or not.”

“Ian’s not coming,” she told him flatly. There was no way to cover it up. If he didn’t know now, he’d figure it out by nightfall.

But there was no reaction. Just a blank stare. “Was he supposed to come with you? I was under the impression you were taking the trip solo for R & R.”

Excellent. Wonderful. This was officially the vacation from hell. And the ironic thing? She had paid for it. She had put the whole goddamn tab on her credit card as a grand gesture to let Ian know she valued him and their relationship. Even though he was a millionaire and she made thirty grand a year, she had taken on the bill. For love.

Now she was going on vacation with a total stranger who was witness to Ian consciously uncoupling them. Which was about the douchiest way to say “dumping you” ever recorded in the history of relationships. Had cavemen done this? Sent a wooly mammoth with a stone slab and a broken heart on it to their significant others? She wouldn’t be surprised.

A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “He broke up with me. In a note.”

She wouldn’t have chosen Hunter as a confidant, but she was torn between embarrassment and the need to vent. Since there was no girlfriend convenient and she couldn’t use her cell phone on the flight, he was her only option. The disgust and hurt couldn’t be contained. “Can you believe that? After a year. A stupid note. One small paragraph.” Shaking the note, she added, “And he wrote it on the inside of naked people. It just adds insult to injury.”

Then without meaning to, she began to flat-out sob.

* * *

HUNTER RYAN WATCHED with horror as Melanie’s face screwed up and she started sobbing silently, lip trembling and chest heaving. Oh, God. He really hated when women cried. But hell, he couldn’t blame her. What kind of an asshole dumped his girlfriend in a note? He wasn’t sure what she meant about the naked people, but given what the guy did for a living, he assumed it had something to do with his work.

A quick note. Jeez.

Not only was it beyond cruel to do that to Melanie, it was rude to do to him, too. Hunter was a bodyguard, not a counselor. He’d been in the marines, where the official motto was Always Faithful, and the unofficial ones were Ignore Your Feelings, followed closely by Don’t Talk About It. And yet somehow he found himself in these situations again and again. He was resisting the urge to unclick his own seat belt and bolt. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go. They were speeding down the runway at that very moment, and as they took off into the air, he put his hand on Melanie’s knee and patted her because he didn’t know what else to do.

He valiantly tried to defuse the situation.

“I guess he wanted to avoid confrontation.” Hunter figured just about every guy had been there a time or two, not wanting a crying woman on their hands. Or worse, a raging one. He certainly had, but that was when he was sixteen, though. Not thirty. Even he, who—by his ex-girlfriend Danielle’s account—was emotionally stunted, was always straightforward with women.

“Avoid confrontation? Do I look confrontational?” she asked, her voice rising higher with each word. “I kept our relationship a secret for a year! I let him travel all over the country without me. I didn’t say anything about the fact that his entire job revolves around seeing women naked!”

She had a point or three, and he’d made it worse. There really was no justification for what Bainbridge had done, because clearly he had planned it at least a week in advance, which was when he’d hired Hunter.

Okay, retreat carefully. Make it clear he was on her side. He knew how to do this. He’d spent his entire childhood negotiating the land mines of his mother’s lousy relationships. “You don’t look confrontational. At all. Personally, I think it’s disrespectful to break up with someone in a note. Only a real dick would do that.”

But she balked. “I wouldn’t say he’s a dick. That seems harsh.”

Proving yet again that no matter what he said, it was always the wrong thing. Why did women contradict everything, even when the guys were agreeing with them? Then wonder why men didn’t want to communicate? He looked at her, unsure how to proceed. “He told me he wasn’t coming, but I thought you knew. I did not know he was going to do this or I wouldn’t have agreed to be the messenger. As far as I’m concerned, what he did to you and what he did to me, essentially making me a party to his dirty work, makes him a dick.”

Her lip trembled. Shit. But then she nodded. “You’re right. He is a dick. I was dating a dick and didn’t even know it. I’m such an idiot.”

Hunter’s face hurt. He was the last person in the world to be giving anyone advice on relationships. Before Danielle he had dated Lynn for four years, but for three and a half of those he’d been deployed to another hemisphere. He had no business doling out advice, but really all Melanie needed was some reassurance she was not in the wrong, which she wasn’t.

“You’re not an idiot. You couldn’t have known he was going to do this. It’s his issue that he’s too wimpy to speak to you face-to-face, not yours.”

And that was all he was going to say about it. He was done with this conversation—stick a fork in him. It made him uncomfortable and reminded him of many nights as a kid watching his mother cry and eat ice cream straight from the container after yet another failed attempt at happily-ever-after. There was no happily-ever-after, end of story. So while he didn’t want to be a dick himself, he wanted Melanie to phone a friend when they got to Mexico and leave him out of it.

He had sworn off relationships himself since Danielle. Before her had been Lynn, and before Lynn there was Allison. All three had left him, and he figured after three strikes, he was out. It wasn’t his game. He was determined that short-term hookups would be his new reality, and if Melanie wanted honest advice, that was what he would tell her. But she wouldn’t. No one wanted to hear his cynical thoughts on love.

She nodded, still sniffling. When she bent over to root around in her bag again, her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her back and the curve of her backside. Hunter cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. The one thing he definitely had not bargained on was finding his client attractive. Melanie was beautiful, even when she was crying. She had delicate features and plump pink lips that lured his thoughts straight into dangerous territory. Her tight jeans and loose-fitting shirt called attention to the fact that she was petite and feminine and curvy in all the right ways.

When he’d taken the assignment, he’d been led to believe Melanie was going alone by choice, and he’d anticipated being treated like an employee. That was fine with him, because it was a job, and he needed the work. But this scenario was far worse, hands down. There was no buffer. No way to remain remote and silent in the background, which was what he preferred. He was stuck making awkward conversation and poor attempts at comforting her broken heart. This was worse than Afghanistan. Okay, not really, but it was worse than the time he’d gotten heat rash on his jock. He was squirming just as badly.

Melanie sat back up, having retrieved a tissue, which she was using to dab at her eyes. Makeup was streaked on her cheeks. Hunter decided that if it had been him, he would have waited until after the vacation to break things off. What the hell was wrong with Ian Bainbridge that he didn’t want to spend a week with Melanie in a bikini? That prospect was the only redeeming thing about this work assignment. She was sweet, though, too, so what was Ian’s problem? Why would he let this woman get onto a plane without him?

The guy clearly had issues.

Hunter had issues, too, but according to his exes, his were more along the lines of inability to communicate his feelings and failure to be romantic. He wasn’t a commitmentphobe. Nor was he a dick. He would be perfectly happy to spend a week on a beach with a sexy girlfriend, if he had one. Which he did not.

“I mean, am I that stupid?” Melanie asked him, still dabbing at her eyes. “The truth is, I knew things weren’t great between us. The whole point of this stupid vacation was to fix the problems in our relationship. That really worked. Not. And now I’m out a ton of money.”

“At least you didn’t get pregnant,” he said. “That’s a really expensive way to save a relationship.” He meant it as a joke, but she gave him a look that indicated he was in no way funny. He mentally kneed himself in the nuts. He knew better than to tease a woman who was crying. Years of his mother’s dating had taught him that, but maybe he had been in the desert too long.

“Don’t joke about being pregnant. That’s like tempting fate.” But then her face screwed up. “Not that I can possibly be pregnant, given it’s been six weeks since we had sex.”

Oh, no. This was not information he wanted. Because now he didn’t know what to do with it.

“I’m sorry. What I said was in poor taste.” He yanked a magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him and handed it to her. “Why don’t you read something and try to distract yourself?”

She blinked and eyed the magazine he was holding out to her without taking it. “Skymiles? You think vibrating massage chairs and cat condos for sale are going to distract me from the fact that I mean absolutely and utterly nothing to the man I care about?”

“You’ll never know unless you try.” He was damn hopeful she would.

Shaking her head, she gave a watery laugh. “No, thanks. I’d rather wallow.”

Not him. He’d rather be eaten alive by piranhas than sit in his own misery. He’d perfected the art of avoiding grief and disappointment. “Well, you wallow away, then, without me interfering. I’ll read the magazine.” He opened it up and stared blankly at an extensive gate system that was for...dogs? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he didn’t want to talk anymore.

He felt for the girl, he really did. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sympathize, but he knew how this went. She would lament and rail and sink into self-doubt and he would nod and express sympathy and tell her she was worth so much more—which she was—and he would be exhausted and she wouldn’t believe him anyway. He’d done this. He was that guy, the one every woman went to for advice, which they all subsequently ignored. But the last thing he wanted to talk about right now was relationships, when he was determined to give up on the concept altogether.

Melanie was silent for a whopping sixty seconds before she sighed loudly and said, “Maybe when we get to Mexico I should turn around and go home.”

As much as Hunter wanted to end this conversation, he couldn’t let that go. “Can you get a refund on your trip?”