a man,” he said harshly. “I have hormones. But I also have a brain, thank God, and I’m not stupid enough to get it on with Muffy Patterson’s daughter.”
“She would never know,” Sonya said in a last-ditch effort to salvage the situation. And it almost worked. Seeing her standing there, more sober now than drunk, her blond hair mussed, her lips full from kissing, he’d almost grabbed her and kissed her again. And he wouldn’t have stopped with kissing.
Savagely he turned his back on her and opened the passenger door of her BMW—her high school graduation present from Muffy. “Get in the car. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked, sounding devastated at the thought.
“That’s none of your business.” He hoped she would think that meant yes.
“I’ve never seen you with a girl.”
“No girlfriend of mine is going to watch while a child orders me around.”
He hadn’t had a girlfriend. When would he have had time to find one? He’d spent every hour either watching over Sonya or dealing with the disasters his father created. But his ploy had worked. Sonya didn’t say another word. And she never again tested her feminine wiles on him.
Back in the present, he took one final swing at the bag. He was out of breath and dripping with sweat, more so than the easy workout should have caused. Time hadn’t lessened the intensity of his memories one bit.
Unfortunately, his formerly easygoing friendship with Sonya had been a casualty of that ill-begotten evening. She’d never forgotten, or forgiven, his rejection. For almost ten years, he’d had to endure her coldness and hide the desire he felt for her, a desire that had only grown fiercer as she’d matured into an intriguing woman.
He’d tried to resign, and Sonya had tried to fire him—numerous times. But gradually, John-Michael had come to understand the complex dynamics of his job. If he wasn’t employed in a position that kept him constantly on hand to handle Jock, then Jock would have to go.
And to send Jock away from the Patterson estate, the only home he’d ever known, would kill him.
SONYA HADN’T REALIZED how tired she was. When next she woke, it was dark outside. She checked her clock and was horrified to discover it was after two in the morning.
Her first thought was that they’d been protecting her from bad news—“they” being John-Michael; Tim, the chauffeur; June, the secretary; and possibly Matilda, the housekeeper. Muffy’s staff had always sheltered Sonya from all unpleasantries.
She sat up, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and switched on a lamp. Her cell phone was right there next to her, with no messages. Grateful that she’d had the foresight to put the ICU’s phone number into her cell’s memory, she dialed.
“Your mother is actually doing much better,” the night nurse told her. “The new antibiotic therapy is working. She’s been drifting in and out of sleep, but she did wake up long enough to drink some water. She asked about you.”
Sonya was already on her feet. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“No, you don’t have to do that,” the nurse said firmly. “I asked your mother if she wanted me to call you, and she said no, absolutely not, that you needed your sleep.”
That sounded like Muffy, Sonya thought with a frown. The benevolent dictator, issuing orders from her sick bed.
“She’s fine, really,” the nurse insisted. “In fact, they’ll probably move her out of ICU tomorrow.”
That news brought a flood of relief. Sonya hesitated, then decided it probably would serve no good to rush to the hospital in the middle of the night if Muffy was sleeping and in no immediate danger. “If she wakes again, tell her I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” she said. “Unless she needs me sooner.”
After the call, Sonya felt better, but there was no way she was going back to sleep. She was, in fact, hungry. She’d hardly eaten a bite since Muff’s surgery several days ago. She threw on a robe and wandered downstairs to the enormous, restaurant-grade kitchen, certain there would be several tasty dishes in the fridge. That was something she could always count on.
As she entered the huge white-tile-and-chrome room, she flipped on a light so bright it hurt her eyes. The stainless steel appliances gleamed with a recent polish, and the room smelled faintly of fresh-baked bread. As top dog among Houston society mavens, Muffy often gave elaborate dinner parties, for which she had Eric, a Cordon-Bleu-trained chef, prepare gourmet delights that were sure to be written up on the society page and in the food section. And for every day, they had Eric’s mother, Matilda, a traditional Southern cook down to her bones.
The glass-fronted refrigerator was crammed with dozens of ceramic storage dishes, neatly stacked and labeled with the contents and the throwaway date. Sonya perused the labels, wrinkling her nose. She was not in the mood for Eric’s dill-crusted sea bass with Parmesan cream sauce, or marmalade-glazed pork medallions and shiitake mushrooms. Then she spotted something that appealed to her—Matilda’s macaroni and cheese. Pure comfort food and a guilty indulgence she and her mother sometimes ate when they were dining alone.
She pulled it out and stuck it in the microwave.
Slowly she realized she was no longer alone in the room. John-Michael stood in the doorway, looking adorably rumpled in gym shorts and an old T-shirt bearing the logo of Close Protection, Inc., where he’d gotten his bodyguard training.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He had this uncanny ability to know whenever she stirred at night. He always noticed when lights went on or if anyone made the slightest noise. She wondered if he ever slept or if he sat up all night, ever vigilant.
“I got hungry,” she answered. “I don’t think that’s any reason to call out the National Guard.” She immediately felt guilty for sniping at him, though. “Sorry. It’s been a rough few days. You want some macaroni and cheese?”
“Sure.” He went to the fridge and poured himself some milk. Without asking, he pulled out a bottle of her favorite cherry-flavored mineral water, uncapped it and set it out for her.
He knew her so well, probably better than her own mother did. And it irked her. She’d actually been looking forward to escaping his knowing eyes once she was married. Now that wasn’t going to happen. She saw herself in twenty years, thirty years, fifty, still single, still living in Muffy’s house, McPhee still watching over her with his eagle eyes. Still waiting for those few moments when he could escape her and go to whatever girlfriend he would undoubtedly have. He’d probably still be shadowing her every move when they were both in the nursing home. Gawd, what a depressing thought.
“I called the hospital,” she said. “Mother’s doing better. She drank some water and told the nurses not to call me.”
“Already back to her bossy self, huh?” But McPhee’s smile was of pure relief. She didn’t blame him. Muffy was a kind employer, if a tad inflexible. She paid her staff far more than the going rate to inspire their loyalty, and it worked.
But McPhee was genuinely fond of Muffy, too. As hard as Sonya was on McPhee, she knew he wasn’t completely self-serving.
When the microwave dinged, Sonya took out the dish and
