Shit. I felt for the kid.
When the tall gates opened on an artfully paved driveway about twenty minutes later, I felt myself get dizzy and it had nothing to do with vertigo. The scale of the gates spoke of the wealth hidden at the top of the driveway, and I suddenly realized I was out of my depth.
I knew how to invade and neutralize enemy forces without ever being seen. I knew how to speak multiple dialects, and communicate with hostile strangers in many different lands. I knew how to broker peace negotiations and lay the groundwork for diplomacy. I had medical training that allowed me to assess and treat wounds while under fire.
What I was completely unprepared for was the lavish lifestyle in front of me, and the people who lived in such a world.
The house was a silver screen mansion covered in a bright Technicolor display of flowers. Lush bougainvillea covered the stone walls and spilled over the archway to the garage courtyard. The driver pulled into the circular drive and stopped the car in front of a splashing fountain.
I'd just landed on a fucking movie set.
I got out before the driver could open the door for me, and I grabbed my duffel bag as soon as the trunk lid popped up. He smiled and led the way to the house.
I thought about the hundreds of hostile villages I'd walked into without feeling as unsure as I did approaching the mansion. Lost in the differences between my past and my present, I ran into a tangle of low-hanging flowers. I brushed my hair roughly and hoped no blossoms still clung to my head. The feel of hair under my fingers was one more reminder of how far I was from home. It'd grown out over the last few months.
I ducked underneath the bright pink flowers and followed the driver to the servants' entrance.
“Most of Mr. Pope's household staff lives on the property. I heard a rumor this morning that you've got one of the guesthouses. Big time.” He grinned, dark eyes dancing with humor.
“Mr. Pope probably just wants me closer to the house to keep an eye on his granddaughter,” I muttered.
“Still damn lucky. That place is luxurious with a capital L.”
I stopped walking and took a deep breath. I so wasn't ready for this.
“I'm just joking, man,” he said, quickly. “Everyone's got luxe accommodations. You should see the butler's place. I've got an apartment above the garage that's bigger than the house I grew up in. Stop by some night if you ever get to stay in.”
He laughed at his own joke and left me in the kitchen. A surly-looking chef pointed at me with her knife, and I went through a wide set of double doors. One thing the army had definitely taught me was not to piss off the people who made the food.
I hadn't gone more than two steps when a tidy man in a gray suit appeared. Butler?
“Mr. Welch, I presume? Mr. Machus is waiting for you in the front parlor.”
I stepped carefully across the gleaming floor of the foyer and took a wide path around a delicate table that held a large flower arrangement. I was more comfortable walking in minefields than trying not to knock over anything in the mansion. Everywhere I turned, I was sure my duffel bag was going to knock over some million-dollar piece of artwork.
It was a relief when I reached the door the butler indicated. It was the size of the renovated barn's entire first floor, and I got the impression that it was about average here. Arched windows were open to the warm breeze, and I saw the bright bougainvillea flowers drifting in and out.
“Sergeant.” A young man I hadn't seen snapped to attention when I walked through the door.
“At ease, kid,” I said automatically.
Then I stopped and gave the young man a second look. His auburn hair and bright green eyes caused a bright flash in my memory. A rapid-fire replay of the events went through my head, making my stomach clench and my mouth go dry.
The young man blinked at me, and I knew the same thing had just happened to him.
“Ian Machus.” I'd known Mr. Pope's grandson had been the reason I'd been hired, but I hadn't expected to see him here.
“Yes, sir, Sergeant Welch, sir,” he said.
“You can stop all that.” I grabbed for his hand as it started to go up into another salute. I shook it. “Please, call me Haze.”
“I can't, sir,” Ian said, his cheeks bright. “You saved my life, sir.”
“Just my duty,” I said and grinned. “And stop calling me 'sir.' Every time you say it, I think my father's in the room. You're making me jumpy.”
Ian's lips quirked up in a smile, and he relaxed. “Was your father in the army, too?”
“He still is, training officers at Fort Riley,” I said. “Captain Welch even makes his golf caddy call him sir. I think my mom was the only reason us kids didn't.”
“He must be proud of you,” Ian said.
I thought of my father's furiously clamped jaw when I'd told him I was leaving for Los Angeles. He'd asked why I wanted to be a bodyguard to some spoiled rich kid. I knew I couldn't tell him that I needed some space, so I tried to keep it simple and told him it would keep me moving. He saw it as some sort of personal comment on the fact that he had a desk job, even though that hadn't been how I'd intended it, and then he said that I was killing my mother by choosing to move away.
We both knew it had been a low blow, and after that, there was nothing more to say. My mother hugged me tight, but hadn't shed a tear or second-guessed my decision. She'd said goodbye to all four of us boys through the years, sending us off to dangerous parts of the world. Sending me on a plane to sunny California hadn't been enough to shake her quiet strength. All she'd said was to send her postcards, which had been the same thing she'd told me when I'd left on my last tour.
The difference in my assignments burned in my chest, but I shook it off as young Ian Machus watched me closely.
“Sorry,” I said. “I'm still adjusting to being off active duty.”
The look of relief was painful, and for a moment, I thought he might hug me.
“Me too,” he said. “I'm almost fully recovered. There's still a couple things I need to work on before I can be re-evaluated, but the only permanent damage is some scars.”
I felt a stab of jealousy go through me, immediately followed by guilt. Still, the unfairness of it wasn't lost on me. He had permanent reminders of what happened written on his body, but would most likely be able to return to the life he wanted. Looking at me, no one could tell I was in anything less than peak physical shape, but I was the one being forced into a life I didn't want.
“How about you?” Ian asked.
“I'm going to work for your grandfather,” I said, trying not to let any of my bitterness seep into my words. I wasn't angry with either Ian or his grandfather.
The young man tipped his head and studied me. I knew he was trying to figure out what injury I'd sustained that would've brought me here. He was subtle, sizing me up the way soldiers did without really looking, but I felt it. Ian knew his grandfather had paid for expensive private care for me, but I knew he didn't know why. Dr. Bouton had made it clear that he hadn't discussed my injuries with anyone, and the disclosure form I'd filled out for Mr. Davis had been for Mr. Pope's eyes only.
“Mr. Welch, I trust the flight was no problem,” Devlin Pope said, striding into the room.
One look at his bright blue eyes and I knew he'd done his research on my injury. He held out his hand.
“The flight was comfortable,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Thank you,” he said in return. “For everything.”
Ian's cheeks brightened.
“I appreciate the opportunity,” I said.
“Ian will show you to the guest house. Once you've had a chance to settle in, we'll meet in my office to go over the details of your job description. I've asked my chef to make a special luncheon to welcome you. You'll meet my granddaughter then.” His tone made it clear that it wasn't a request.
I nodded and hoisted my duffel bag back onto my shoulder. Ian led me across a marble-floor foyer and through a wide hallway to a
sunny room. French doors made up the entire back wall, and we stepped out into the warm L. A. afternoon.
“The guest house is just behind the pool house,” Ian said.
The pool house was larger than the barn I'd been living in back home. We walked around it through a carefully pruned garden, and at the end of a curving walk there was a wide pergola covered in wisteria. Ian ducked under it and opened the door to the guesthouse.
He left me at the door and headed back to the house, barely stopping himself from saluting me as he went. I watched him go and noted the slight twist to his ankle as he walked. He'd easily be able to get back on active duty if his grandfather wasn't dead set against it.
I took a slow breath and walked into the guesthouse that I was going to call home for the time being.
What am I doing here? I thought.
I'd wanted to get out of Kansas, get back up to full speed. I was just like Ian. I wanted to show I was fine, get reevaluated, and return to active duty. I just had to make it through this assignment first, and I was starting to think it was going to be a lot harder than I expected.
A couple of hours later, my head was still spinning from the thorough review of my job description, the discussion of pay scale and bonuses, the activation of my expense account, and the lavish luncheon spread. I wasn't stupid, but there'd been a reason I'd gone into Special Forces and done medical training there instead of being a doctor. I was definitely more about the hands-on than the reading and discussing.
“We're not usually this formal,” Devlin said. “But I thought it was fitting to welcome you.”
“Thank you,” I said. “This is, ah, wonderful.”
I studied the wide array of shining silverware on either side of my bone china plate. Disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling service weapons in a sandstorm seemed easier than choosing the right utensil for the salad course. I never imagined I'd need to be prepared for something like this.
“And normally we have better manners than being late for meals,” Devlin said. His tone had changed, and I looked up to see him looking to the doorway behind me.
I turned, grateful for the distraction, and felt all the breath leave my body. Standing in the wide archway of the dining room was the vivid redhead from my memory, her bright blue eyes cutting into me the same as they had the first moment we'd met.
Bright blue eyes that were the same as Devlin Pope's.
“Mr. Welch, I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Leighton Machus. Leighton, this is your bodyguard, Sergeant Cormac Welch,” Devlin said.
Bodyguard, I thought, my mouth going dry.
Her lithe body arching back in my hands, her hips against mine, the hotel bed rocking underneath us. The heat of her scorching me, burning me as I buried myself deep inside her.
I had thought about her, imagined her so many times, but never like this.
“It's nice to meet you, Ms. Machus,” I said, my voice shockingly calm. Automatically, I held out my hand.
She tipped her head to the side and gave me that delicious smile I remembered so well.
“Hello again,” she said as her hand slid into mine, sending sparks racing along my nerves.
Shit.
Chapter 12
Leighton
This wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. I could barely breathe, and the sensation threw me into a memory.
I stood in the quiet hotel room and tried to breathe. The jagged inhales outnumbered the exhales, and I felt the pressure building in my chest.
He'd left.
My mysterious savior, the man who'd pulled me from the pool and stemmed the bleeding cut on my head, had promised to watch over me all night. The already warm LA sun was reaching into the hotel room, so I tried to tell myself I was fine. Haze had promised to watch over me. He'd carried me into the hotel, and he'd stayed until morning, just like he'd promised.
That had been all he'd promised.
It didn't matter that I'd seduced him and now I was the one feeling used. I'd known exactly what I was doing. I'd known what I'd gotten myself into. It had been clear that this had never been anything more than physical.
The problem was, all I could think about was him, us, our bodies fitted tight together, my hollow thoughts filled by those dark brown eyes…
Now, that same gorgeous man with those chocolate brown eyes was sitting at my grandfather's table. The hands that held me so completely were poised over the polished silverware as if he'd been reaching for something when I'd entered. I heard his hands drop to the lace tablecloth with a dull thud.
“Mr. Welch, I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Leighton Machus. Leighton, this is your bodyguard, Sergeant Cormac Walsh.” My grandfather's voice sounded like it was coming from far away.
Cormac?
Bodyguard?
What the hell was going on here?
His body was stiff, and I wondered if he could still feel the rocking fusion of our bodies, if he remembered the hard, aching connection of him deep inside me.
If he'd thought about me at all since that night.
“It's nice to meet you, Ms. Machus,” he said.
“Hello again,” I said, giving him my best smile and my hand.
The flicker in his eyes could have been confusion, fear...or a flash of remembered passion. There was no way to be sure with my grandfather watching us both like a hawk.
Trying to act like I hadn't felt electricity shooting up my arm when I'd shaken his hand, I sauntered to the table and sat down. Despite the mask I had in place, my head was spinning.
Ever since the first moment I'd met Cormac – Haze or whatever the hell his name was – I'd been at a disadvantage.
In a flash of memory, I remembered everything. The party in the Hollywood Hills. Ricky acting like a drunken idiot. My deep sadness and grief that night. Falling into the pool. Waking up to Paris and…him.
I remember how I refused to go to the hospital or to let anyone take me home. He was my savior. Taking me with him. Protecting me until the morning.
Years later, I realize how foolish I’d been. I'd never considered how absolutely stupid my actions had been or how lucky I'd been that Haze had been a gentleman.
Or, at least he had been until the moment I decided that he was the perfect distraction. The perfect way to make myself forget the anniversary of my parents' death. I'd only meant it to be that…a distraction. Maybe a way to piss off Ricky for his wandering...dick. Instead, the passion between us had swallowed me whole. I'd still been quaking when I'd gone to the bathroom to clean up. When I'd opened the door, he was gone.
As wild as I was, I'd never been much for one-night stands, but I'd been with Ricky long enough to have racked up a long list of sexual encounters, most of which were pretty much unmemorable. Yet, four years later, I licked my lower lip and swore I could still taste Haze's kiss.
The idea he'd been able to walk away from me had pissed me off, offended my competitive spirit. And, if I was honest, the rejection had stung. In LA, hordes of women wielded their looks like weapons, and even though I rarely followed through with actual sex, I much preferred that playing field to money.
If I admitted knowing him, and shocked my grandfather with the details of what happened that night, I was certain Haze would be out the door in a matter of seconds. Which meant Grandfather would have to take the time to find another bodyguard, giving me a few more days of freedom.
But he'd saved my little brother's life. Ian was three years younger than me and had only been in the army a short time when he'd nearly been killed. It had been a Special Forces Sergeant who had saved him...and gotten himself injured in the process. According to the little my grandfather told me, the sergeant had been honorably discharged due to his injury and needed a job.
I could turn on the man who'd saved my life, fucked me, and walked away. I could sell him out to my grandfather and barely blink.
I couldn't do that to the man who'd saved Ian. This man.After our parents died, Grandfather and Ian were the on
ly family I had left. I knew I had plenty of faults, but I loved Ian more than anything. The person who'd saved him deserved my gratitude.
I'd leave it up to Haze, then. I'd pretend I didn't recognize him. It'd been a long time, and there was no way our abbreviated time together meant anything. The simple lie would be a seal over what still felt like a crack in my confidence. Haze could never know what that night had meant to me. Or how hurt I’d been by his leaving. Unless he spoke up, he'd keep his job, and I could salvage my dignity.
“Have you two met?” Grandfather asked, pulling me out of my thoughts
I made my face carefully blank and let my eyes rove over Haze. He was taller than I remembered, easily six three, and a wide pillar of a man with muscles like carved marble. His light hair was longer than before, like he'd given up cutting it after being discharged. As my eyes moved over his broad shoulders and chest, I wondered if he had any new tattoos. Then my gaze reached his chocolate brown eyes and they were guarded, almost bored.
“This the guy who saved your life?” I turned to my brother who nodded in answer to my question. “He's never been here before, right?”
“No,” Ian said. “Sergeant Welch got in this morning.”
I tipped my head to the side, pretending to think. “Then I guess I haven't met him before. Who knows? I meet a lot of guys.” I tossed my red curls over my shoulder. “Cormac, was it?”
“Leighton.” Grandfather's voice was sharp.
“I prefer Haze,” he said quietly, “to Cormac. Only my mother calls me by my first name.”
Grandfather nodded at Haze, and then his bright blue eyes narrowed in on me. Our eyes were the same color, and I wondered for the hundredth time if that was what I looked like when I got mad.
“You'll have to excuse my granddaughter, Mr. Welch. She's a bit put out with me at the moment.”
“I'm not trying to be rude,” I said as I leaned forward to start putting food on my empty plate. “Besides, he should get used to who I am if he's going to be guarding my body.” I smirked at the way Grandfather's face darkened. “Is there coffee?”