muted downward step while Miranda tried to pretend she couldn’t feel an intense gaze following her every move. There was no way she could spend every day in the company of a man she’d pictured naked...and sweaty...and as aroused as he’d left her after one little kiss. She had a reputation for being cool, calm and poised in public. She wasn’t about to exchange it for hot, bothered and sexually frustrated. It wasn’t as if the discovery he was—technically speaking—a ‘good guy’ had done anything to dilute her fantasy, either. Even while wearing a dark suit, white shirt and patriotically striped tie he oozed the danger she’d craved since her late teens.
Skydiving, bungee jumping, swimming with sharks—they were all on an ever-growing wish list of forbidden pursuits she’d added to over the years.
Making wild, crazy whoopee with one of her bodyguards had never crossed her mind, until now.
Her heels clicked on the exquisitely refurbished faux marble patterning of the wooden floor in the foyer. In a matter of seconds they would be in the vestibule, away from the constantly moving crowd that never quite managed to make her feel less alone. They could take advantage of the moment and pick up where they’d left off. He would grab her hand and swing her around, press her against the wall with his muscled body, crush her lips beneath his and...
Miranda gave herself a mental smack upside the head. She needed to focus. The brief alone time they had between inner and outer doors should be used to reclaim some of the control over her life she couldn’t afford to relinquish. She hadn’t been fighting for her freedom so someone new could stride in and clip her wings before she had a chance to stretch them. With that in mind, the second the first door closed behind them she turned to face him.
‘As it’s your first day I think we should lay out some ground rules....’
‘I agree.’ He nodded. ‘So shut up and listen.’
Miranda gaped at him in disbelief. ‘You can’t talk to me like that.’
‘What you mean is no one else ever has, right?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I’m willing to bet folks have been kowtowing to you since you were in diapers.’ The forwards step he took seemed to suck all the air out of the vestibule. ‘What you need to learn quick-smart is I don’t kowtow to anyone,’ he said in a low, mesmerizing rumble. ‘I’m here to do a job. Make that more difficult for me than it needs to be, things will get ugly.’ He jerked his brows. ‘You feel me?’
Did she—? She blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No begging necessary,’ he replied with a small shake of his head. ‘Just be a good girl and do as you’re told and we’ll be golden.’
‘You know I can have you removed from this position?’
‘Good luck with that. I’ve been trying to get out of it for a week.’ He reached past her, held open the outer door and inclined his head. ‘After you, princess.’
A dazed Miranda stepped through the door, her gaze locked on broad shoulders as he overtook her on the gravel driveway. While there was no denying part of her buzzed with the titillating after-effects of his forceful tone, another was mildly outraged. No one had ever spoken to her that way. Who did he think he was?
She narrowed her eyes. It didn’t matter who he was. He was about to discover she wouldn’t be easily intimidated. She was a politician’s daughter. Everything she needed to know about hiding her emotions she’d learned from masters of disguising how they felt. Summoning an air of poise, she reached into her bag for a pair of oversize sunglasses and her cell phone. If he thought he was dealing with a spoilt princess she would give him exactly what he expected. Covering her eyes, she hit speed dial.
‘Good morning, darling, how are you?’ She purposefully spoke loud enough to be overheard. ‘My day has got off to the most dreadful start.’
‘The Queen of England called and said she wanted her accent back?’ Crystal sighed dramatically. ‘You’re standing me up for lunch, aren’t you?’
Miranda smiled smoothly. ‘Absolutely not.’
It didn’t matter if he was a walking sex fantasy. She planned on ditching her new bodyguard by noon.
THREE
‘I assume Detective isn’t your first name.’
Tyler glanced in the rear-view mirror. She’d given him the silent treatment since they left the mayor’s residence and he’d have been happy for it to stay that way. He wasn’t there to make small talk. He was there to keep her safe and out of trouble; something the guys on her previous detail could have done with remembering more often.
‘I’ll ask Lou,’ her honeyed voice said in a dismissive tone when he didn’t reply. ‘He’s a sweetheart.’
Somehow Tyler doubted she’d think so if she knew the mayor’s head of security was a big part of the reason he was there. It had been Lou Mitchell’s bright idea to draft in someone who hadn’t been doing the job for so long they took things for granted or was easily distracted by a pretty face. That Tyler wasn’t prepared to be subtle didn’t seem to be a problem, which was just as well considering where he’d been drafted from.
The next time he glanced in the mirror she’d placed her sunglasses on top of her head and was idly twirling a lock of hair as she read the screen of her BlackBerry. She might have been hot while wearing a disguise but without one she was a stone-cold knockout. Her skin-coloured dress left little to the imagination even with a demure neckline and its hem a respectable couple of inches above her knees. Fitted the way it was—to lovingly follow every curve of her damn-near-perfect body—it had drawn his gaze to her more often than he should have allowed.
The hair she was toying with was a particular source of fascination: lustrous, tumbling tresses of flame blended with sunlight. He could have said his interest in it stemmed from curiosity—how had she got that much hair under a short wig?—but he’d have been lying. The truth was he didn’t know why he found it so fascinating. He just did.
But the packaging didn’t make up for her personality.
A few hours of watching her in action was all it took to confirm what he’d already suspected. What surprised him was how easily she fooled everyone else. When they got to the second hit of the day and she stepped into a community project for the elderly she pulled out all the stops. A flash of her hundred-watt smile, a few carefully chosen sound bites, the brush of elegant hands over selected arms and she was treated like a combination of visiting European royalty and prodigal granddaughter. By the time she left he suspected there wasn’t anyone she came into contact with who didn’t believe she genuinely cared what they had to say.
The folks out in Hollywood earned a gold statue for that kind of performance.
His next glance in the mirror revealed she’d shifted her attention from her hair to the pearls around her neck. The fine-boned forefinger tracing them stilled and then she blinked darkened lashes, her hazel-eyed gaze crashing into his before he returned his attention to the road.
‘What was your last assignment?’ she enquired after another moment of silence.
‘You want a copy of my CV so you can get your friend Lou to pull my jacket?’
‘Your jacket?’
‘My file.’
