HER BODYGUARD: Chapter Two


The professor was going to be trouble. Matt knew it the minute he'd walked through the door and got his first look the hot number in the red dress.

It looked like she wouldn't disappoint him.

"Lili," said the sister's sometimes squeeze. "There's no pool at the Drake. And it's too cold for the beach."

"This is Chicago," she said with a shrug, and the glint in her eyes told Matt none of that mattered to her. "I'm sure we can find a YMCA."

Now that was something his usual CEO clientele didn't bother with. The occasional hooker, yes, but never the YMCA.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Hawkins?" She turned on him a look that was a dicey mix of challenge, anger, and shrewdness.

Matt shifted on his feet, suddenly wary. His client dressed with a classy sexiness and wore her hair in a pseudo-secretary bun intended to look demure, but a don't-jerk-me-around intelligence sparked in her sharp blue eyes.

"Assuming you're a YMCA member, then yes, we can find a facility," he said in a carefully neutral tone.

She didn't look like the YMCA type, and something of his skepticism must've shown on his face, because she arched one dark brow and said, "I hate snobs, and I always preferred the Y to those pricey fitness joints. Besides, the Y offers belly dancing classes."

Turning, she headed toward the bedroom area of the suite, hips swinging, the high heels rounding and defining the muscles of her calves.

"I don't think going for a swim in a public pool is a good idea, all things considered," Sayers called after her in annoyance, bringing Matt's gaze back up from his client's legs. "I'm sure Mr. Hawkins will agree."

But Matt said, "If she wants to go swimming, she can go swimming."

Sayers stared. "Are you sure? What about -"

"I'd prefer she stay in the suite for now, but if she doesn't let off a little nervous steam, she's going to make herself sick. I've seen it before. You people are paying me to keep her safe, so you might as well get your money's worth."

"Mr. Hawkins."

Matt turned. His client stood by the wooden room divider separating the bedroom from the parlor, one hand on the divider, the other on her hip--a pose that pulled her red dress tightly across a very nice pair of breasts.

"If you don't talk about me as if I'm not here, I can assure you this next week will pass by in a much more pleasant manner. And by the way, I didn't bring a suit, so we'll have to go shopping first." She smiled. "Bloomie's is just a block away."

He opened his mouth to answer, but she turned away before he had a chance. After a moment's silence, he turned back to Sayers.

"You don't have to take her anywhere," Sayers said quietly. "Go do your plan of attack or whatever, and let me handle Lili."

"Don't bother. She doesn't strike me as the type to be handled."

More like the type who'd grab life by the ears and kiss it full on the mouth.

Sayers shrugged, but his stiff muscles broadcast his feelings of angry helplessness and resentment of Matt's authority. A typical Type A personality response.

"So she's really a professor?" Matt asked, partly to ease the tension, partly to satisfy his own curiosity. From behind the screen came a flurry of slamming suitcase lids and snapping fasteners.

Sayers shot him an insulted look. "Lili has an MFA from SUNY at Stonybrook. That's the State University of New York, in case you didn't know."

Matt nodded, impressed. He might've stayed in high school--and paid attention--if his teachers had looked like Lili Kavanaugh. "That means she's pretty smart, huh?"

As soon as the question was out of his mouth, Matt regretted asking it.

Sayers frowned, hesitating, then said, "Most of the time."

The comment struck Matt as important in understanding his client, but before he could pursue it, a brisk knock sounded and Manny Mendoza called through the door, voice muffled, "Gotta talk to you."

With a last glance at Sayers, Matt walked to the door and opened it to admit Manny and Dal. "What's up?"

"We have a problem," Manny said. "There's no open rooms on this floor until Monday. There's a wedding and some sort of convention going on."

From behind Matt, Sayers said, "I wasn't sure if I'd have to stay an extra day or not, so I booked my room through Monday. I haven't canceled it yet. Your men can stay there. It's a couple doors down, by the elevator. But you'll be sleeping in here, Hawkins."

Matt turned, meeting the challenge in Sayers's gaze.

"Like you said," Sayers continued. "We're paying you a small fortune, and may as well get our money's worth. So you'll stay right in this suite with Lil, and that way, she gets more bang for her buck."

Damn poor choice of words. The image of how she'd looked standing by the room divider flashed to mind: all long legs, high heels, red dress, black hair, and full breasts.

"With my team lodging on the same floor, that won't be necessary," Matt said, his tone cool. "Staying with a client in their room isn't usual policy."

"I don't give a damn about policy, Hawkins. Lili's safety is not negotiable," Sayers snapped. Lowering his voice, he added, "She won't admit it, but she's nervous about staying alone in the room, and I insist you stay here with her."

At that moment, his client emerged from the bedroom area, a thick terry robe draped over her arm, and walked past them to the far side of the room, where the bathroom was located.

"Do you want me to stay in the room with you?" Matt asked, because it was what she wanted--not Sayers--that mattered.

She stopped outside the bathroom door and turned. "I suppose I'd feel safer if you did."

With a quick glance around the suite, Matt added, "You won't have much privacy."

"Somebody shoved a gun against my neck. Privacy isn't a priority right now." She smiled faintly. "And in case you haven't figured it out by now, I'm not exactly the shy sort."

She opened the door and shut it behind her, lock clicking. He heard the sound of running water, soon followed by soft singing: a song about sweet, sweet surrender.

Matt glanced at Manny and Dal, who stared back blankly. Smart boys. Frowning, Matt surveyed the parlor again. The sleeper love seat looked comfortable, and the suite was big enough that he and his client could move around without tripping over each other. The room divider provided a little privacy, and since the client's needs were paramount, and the request wasn't unreasonable--only unnecessary--he decided against further argument.

"All right, I'll stay here. What time on Sunday is Ms. Kavanaugh leaving?"

"She has a three o'clock flight back to New York," Sayers answered.

Turning to Dal, Matt ordered, "Book his room through next Sunday, and tell the front desk I'll need an extra blanket and pillows up here. Get a pass for the cars from George in security. Have them bring up our bags--and put my bags in your room." He glanced briefly at Sayers. "I'll be showering and dressing in that room, not this one."

An hour later, after going over his client's schedule and making phone calls over the whine of a hair dryer--apparently she had to look nice to go shopping--it was time to head to Bloomingdale's, then off to the closest YMCA with a pool.

As Dal waited in the company's armored four-door sedan, with its bullet- resistant glass, Manny stood at the main entrance to the Drake's ornate lobby--all dark wood, gilt bronze detailing, walls and draperies in tones of maroon and gold, its ceiling dominated by a massive crystal chandelier--and signaled that the location was secure.

"Let's go, Ms. Kavanaugh," Matt said quietly, taking her elbow. "Stay close to me."

"I still can't believe you won't let me walk a block...I feel like an idiot with you hovering over me like this," she muttered. "And I told you to call me Lili."

Matt merely guided her through the lobby, past a towering floral arrangement in an Oriental vase. His quick survey took in the registration desk to his left, and the Palm Court Lounge to his right, where water trickled out of the dolphin fountain as piano music played. He nodded as he passed the watchful concierge.

He was alert to every detail of his surroundings and the ever-present threat of danger--or trying to be, anyway. He kept getting distracted by his client's electric-blue knit dress, which looked as if it had been painted on. Its high neck, long sleeves, and short skirt drew attention to how she dipped in and curved out in all the right places.

Her hair briefly brushed against his face, and her shampoo smelled citruslike, and fresh. Under the dim, moody lights of the lobby, her hair gleamed pitch black. Matt figured her true color couldn't really be this dark--not with such fair skin and blue eyes--but it sure was eye-catching. She'd gathered her hair back in a ponytail secured with a large barrette, and the only jewelry she wore was a silver watch and big, square silver earrings.

As she moved ahead of him, Matt trailed his gaze downward, from her swinging ponytail past her curving bottom to her feet. She wore black open-back shoes with thin ankle straps crossing in an X in back, and a big rhinestone secured the straps where they crossed. The flashing rhinestone, and that bit of sexy bare heel, caught his attention.

Irritated at this slip in professionalism--he'd never ogled the asses or feet of any of those middle-aged CEO clients--he looked back up and surveyed the lobby again.

Manny, as the pointman, went through the door first, and Matt followed Lili, sandwiching her safely between them. Exactly on cue, Dal pulled the car up to the curb as they walked out, and the doormen and valets stepped back. While Matt kept her between his body and the car, Manny opened the back door. With a quick efficiency, Matt helped the professor into the backseat, then climbed in beside her. As she slid across the seat, her skirt inched upwards, providing him a great view of her thighs--and the angry red scrapes on her knees.

Radiating barely concealed anger, his client sat as far from him as she could--and in a Lincoln Town Car that left a pretty wide space.

Matt didn't take it personally. It was a typical victim's reaction. She couldn't get angry with the man who'd attacked her and turned her life upside down, but Matt was a convenient outlet, especially since he was now calling the shots and invading her space.

He even understood her demand to go swimming as a knee-jerk attempt to exert some measure of control. He let her think she'd succeeded, because right now she needed to believe that. In a day or so, she'd calm down and be less confrontational.

If going to either the store or the YMCA were dangerous, Matt would've refused to take her. But both were easily secured areas and, whenever possible, he encouraged his clients to go about their normal daily and business routines. They were under enough stress, and didn't need him to go commando on them, too.

Manny climbed into the front passenger seat as Dal, his eyes shaded by dark RayBans, glanced over his shoulder and asked, "Ready?"

"Yeah." Matt suppressed a sigh. "Let's go shopping at Bloomies."

###

After spending forty minutes shopping for a bikini--and an emergency trip to the sixth floor for a box of Godiva chocolates--Lili now sat staring out the tinted car window as the buildings along Clybourn Avenue whizzed past. She was more than a little dismayed to be in this monstrous black car, surrounded by pistol-packing he-man types, and on her way to a place where she really didn't want to go anymore.

At some point, getting out of her room and going for a swim had made sense. She'd needed it. Or, at least, wanted it.

Now she wanted nothing more than to go back to her suite, but couldn't figure out how to wiggle out of events she'd put into motion. It was as if she were standing outside her own body, watching in fascinated horror as she plunged toward a certain crash-and-burn.

All she had to do was casually inform her G-Man in Black that she'd changed her mind. But she couldn't bring herself to do so.

Lili sent a sideways look at Hawkins, who stared straight ahead, face expressionless. For all she knew, behind those dark sunglasses he was taking a snooze--eyes open, like some cold-blooded lizard--while she sat beside him all but crawling out of her skin.

A guy like this would never understand her misgivings, and she hated the idea of showing any fear in front of Matt Hawkins. Somehow, acting like a spoiled brat didn't seem nearly as bad.

Silence reigned in the big sedan, except for the CD playing a retro big band song, with a whiskey-voiced woman jazzing about some man who done her wrong.

Didn't they always?

With a sigh, Lili rested her head against the seat and turned to the window. Most of the time, stubbornness had its advantages. Pride and determination had given her purpose when her family had dismissed her dream of becoming a designer as frivolous and "just a phase she was going through." It also kept her sane and grounded in the cutthroat fashion world, and helped her to stay focused on the positives when she wearied of the traveling, long hours, and intense pressure to outperform herself again and again.

But at moments like this, her stubborn streak was a pain in the butt.

She glanced again at her bodyguard and, after a hesitation, cleared her throat to get his attention. Hawkins turned, and she stared at the tiny double image of her face mirrored in his sunglasses.

"There won't be any problems, will there?" she asked. "With me getting into the Y, I mean?"

"I called ahead. The management is expecting us."

"Oh." Lili looked away. Great. Being trailed by men in suits should cause a nice little spectacle--something else she'd failed to consider earlier.

"Here we are," Mendoza said from the front seat as Farrell pulled up to the New City YMCA at North Halstead. Not exactly a great part of town, but there'd been nothing with a pool closer to the Drake.

Maybe she should've gone to a nearby Hyatt or Sheraton. Lili sighed. Well, she'd have to make the best of a bad situation, and maybe she'd find a swim therapeutic. It might help her forget, for a little while, that somewhere in this city one man patiently waited for another chance to hurt her.

"The manager said to park wherever you want," Hawkins told his driver as he opened the door. "I'll call when we're ready."

Farrell only nodded, his gaze on his mirrors, watching the flow of traffic and pedestrians around the car. Mendoza walked to the Y's front door, scanning the area as if he expected an assault team with missile launchers to pop out of the pavement. After a moment, he gave the all-clear signal.

Lili thought the cloak-and-dagger stuff was a bit of overkill, but all the same, her gaze darted along the busy street scene, seeking out potential terrorists, killers, and kidnappers.

Though she doubted they'd walk around carrying a sign that said: Hi, my name's Bill, and I'll be your deranged stalker during your stay in Chicago...

Lili jumped as Hawkins touched her back and nudged her forward at a brisk pace toward the door. Flustered, she found herself inside the building before she could protest. Glancing back over her shoulder, she glimpsed Farrell still curbside. He waited until they were inside before pulling away.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," she grumbled, but without much heat, staring at Manny Mendoza's black suited back as he walked ahead of her.

"Being a protectee takes some getting used to at first."

"Protectee?" she repeated, offended, her body stiffening. "I don't think I like being labeled as a protectee."

Hawkins released her, but stayed at her side--not crowding her, yet still playing merry hell with her nerves. "It's what you are, and if you want to go out in public, you have to follow a few rules. I have limits, Ms. Kavanaugh."

"Really? And what exactly are those limits?"

His gaze met hers, and a sudden, unexpected hint of amusement warmed his eyes. "I'd tell you, but you're having such a good time trying to figure them out for yourself that I'd hate to ruin all your fun."

Surprised--and a little chagrined--that he'd seen right through her, Lili regarded him narrowly. He was very attractive, with great shoulders, beautiful eyes, and a sexy voice. It was hardly fair to other mere mortals that he was intelligent, too. That had to be breaking some law of biology.

"You think you're pretty smart," she said dryly.

Hawkins smiled, and she nearly gawked at how it transformed his even, regular features, making him look almost boyishly handsome...and downright approachable.

How had she ever considered this man ordinary-looking?

"Smart has nothing to do with it. I read people. It's part of the job."

"And where did you learn to read people?"

His gaze closed, and while his smile remained, it had lost some of its warmth. For a moment, she focused on his chin, its faint cleft--and squelched an irrational urge to rub the back of her hand over his cheeks and chin, and feel the roughness of his dark beard stubble.

"In bodyguard school," he answered at length.

"Bodyguard school," she repeated, looking up again. "Of course. And did they also teach you how to dress like a million bucks in bodyguard school?"

"Yes, ma'am, and which fork to use for each course, so my table manners are decent, too." This time, beneath the wry humor lurked a faint warning.

She reached the pool entrance, and would've walked in if not for Hawkins's hand on her shoulder, holding her back. Startled by the heavy, almost intimate warmth of his hand through her dress, Lili glanced at him.

"Hold on. Manny has to clear the women's locker room first."

She nodded, very aware of him: the scent of his cologne, the brush of his body against hers when he moved, and his almost possessive stance that marked her as off-limits.

A young man walked quickly toward where she stood by the door, and Matt immediately stepped in front of her, forcing the man to take a hasty step back.

"Next door, please," Matt said, his pleasant voice a contrast to his aggressive stance.

"Sorry," the man said, looking startled, and cast a curious glance back at them as he walked through the farthest door leading to the pool.

Though Lili was embarrassed at such aggressive protectiveness, a small part of her found it comforting to know all this muscle and attitude was at her disposal.

Once Mendoza had determined the women's locker room wasn't bursting with wild-eyed maniacs brandishing guns or dynamite, Lili went to change, ignoring the stares of the college coeds, young families, and seniors in the pool.

When she emerged from the locker room and Hawkins and Mendoza turned to her, she wished she'd bought a suit that didn't bare quite so much skin. Not because of modesty--she'd been competing for attention from the moment she'd learned to crawl--but because this one time she wanted out of the limelight.

No chance of that, though. Gathering her composure, Lili stood on the edge of the pool and dived into the water. She concentrated on swimming laps, stealing peeks at her bodyguard. Hawkins was back in bloodless reptile mode, standing still, constantly on the lookout. The other swimmers watched him and Mendoza with unease--even a kid could tell they were hired guns--and the looks they turned on her were plainly curious, speculative.

She surfaced, treading water, and glanced at Hawkins again, where he stood a short distance away. He must be hot, yet showed no discomfort. He should look ridiculous, wearing a suit while everyone else ran about half-naked, but the presence that set him apart from everyone else was working full force here.

He just looked dangerous.

Before long, his relentless calm and control began to irritate her, largely because she was anything but calm. In an effort to redirect her irritation and restlessness, Lili joined in a game of pool volleyball. Even that failed to distract her. Twice, she deliberately hit the ball hard enough and close enough to Hawkins to splash him with water--but he didn't so much as flinch, and merely looked at her as if she were a bug.

Finally, caught in this strange, silent battle for something she didn't quite understand, Lili hoisted herself out of the pool. She walked toward Hawkins, water sluicing down her body. As she squeezed the water out of her hair, his gaze darted toward the small lips-and-tongue tattoo peeking from her cleavage. She caught a flash of emotion in his eyes, but he lowered his lids before she could read it.

Probably she'd just made him mad.

"Why not come in for a swim?" she asked. "You must be getting hot."

It was more a challenge than an actual suggestion, of course, and Lili could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn't take it seriously. He didn't even bother to answer--but she was an old hand at dealing with people who ignored her or didn't take her seriously.

Knowing she at least had his attention, Lili slowly surveyed his body, from his fascinating dimpled chin and powerful shoulders right down to his fine Italian shoes, the leather slightly darkened with water.

"Oh, I know," she murmured, looking back up. "You can't go swimming because there'd be no place to hide your gun."

He frowned, his gaze sharpening, and there--barely visible; she'd almost missed it--a small twitch of his jaw muscle.

Brazenly, she dropped her gaze to his groin. "Of course, you could just put it where everybody expects to find a big bulge. And all that extra firepower would really, really impress the girls."

He caught her gaze and held it. After a moment, he said, "Don't."

Although unnerved--she didn't doubt for a minute he'd shoot a man without blinking--Lili didn't back down.

"What does it take to get a rise out of you, Mr. Hawkins?"

"I don't think you want me to answer that, ma'am."

"Don't be so sure of that."

Stepping closer, Lili pressed her body against him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders as she stared directly into his gray eyes, so close she could see the rim of black around his iris. His heat radiated toward her, the texture of his suit rough against her skin, and the woodsy scent of his cologne chased away the heavy smell of chlorine.

He wasn't as cool as he acted. He eased back, his lids lowered, and tiny beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead. Again, he glanced at her tattoo on her breast, and when his muscles beneath her hands went taut, she knew she had him.

Ah, sweet success. She wasn't a faceless, generic "protectee" to him now. She was a human being. A bothersome, pain-in-the-ass human being he'd be forced to deal with on a personal, face-to-face level.

"I keep thinking I can find something that will liven you up," she said, with an exaggerated tone of thoughtfulness. "Like maybe an 'on' switch."

She slid a hand downward from his chest--and within a split second, anticipating her intent, he'd grabbed her wrist before she'd reached her target.

A bluff, really. She'd have never reached for that if she hadn't been damn sure he'd stop her.

Again, their gazes locked. Anger flared in his eyes, and Lili smiled. "Gotcha, G-man."

Satisfied that she'd made her point, Lili moved to pull away, but he didn't let go of her wrist. He tightened his fingers--ever so slightly, but enough to warn her.

"If you wanted my attention, you got it. And now that I have yours, I'm going to repeat that I have boundaries you will not be allowed to cross."

Her little rush of triumph rapidly faded. His grip wasn't gentle, but she'd rather have her circulation cut off than ask him to let her go.

"You're scared and feeling out of control, and you don't like it. I understand that." Hawkins released her. He hesitated, then gripped her shoulders with the tip of his fingers, as if he couldn't bear to touch her, and moved her away from him. "You came here to prove you're still calling the shots. I understand why you want that, too, and because I judged the risk to be low, I allowed it. I may work for you, but you have to let me do my job and follow my rules. I won't be responsible for your safety otherwise. If this is too much trouble, you can hire yourself another bodyguard, Ms. Kavanaugh."

Hot with humiliation, Lili stared at the damp stain she'd left on the front of his Armani suit. "Why won't you call me Lili?"

"Familiarity with a client is not proper protocol," he answered, his expression closed.

"I've never been much for protocol."

Lili backed away, her gaze touching on dozens of bemused and fascinated stares. Only Mendoza wasn't watching her and Hawkins, instead staring stonily in the opposite direction.

Great. She'd provoked Hawkins, but made a spectacle of herself in the process. Lili sighed. One of these days, she'd learn to look before leaping. Really.

Without giving Hawkins a chance to further chastise her, Lili turned, angled over the side of the pool, and dived again. The cool water muffled sound and distorted her view of everything above her. Hawkins was now only a wavering, gray smear.

The chlorine stung her eyes, and when she surfaced, she wiped away the mingled water and tears. Not the place she'd have picked to have a good, purging cry, but at least she could pretend it was the chemicals making her eyes red and teary.

She swam hard, often kicking deeper below the water, so no one could tell something was wrong. Between the physical exertion and the release of her pent-up tears, her fears faded, replaced by anger and frustration over this unknown, faceless threat. Hawkins was right. She needed his help, and had no choice but to abdicate control over her life and accept that for the rest of this week, she was, first and foremost, a "client" and a "victim."

Gee, just what she'd always wanted to be--a victim.

Lili surfaced, and through the blur of water watched as Hawkins hunkered down beside her. His face was emotionless, but there was something in his manner that didn't seem as cold, or detached. "You ready to go back?"

But he was really asking: Will you behave?

When she nodded, he extended his hand--tanned, strong, and large. She stared at it for a long moment before he said quietly, "Lili, please. Let me help."

Maybe it was only a lingering film of tears, or her sudden weariness, but she thought she glimpsed a hint of sympathy in his eyes that, oddly enough, left her feeling safe and on solid ground for the first time since the attack.

It was all she'd wanted, to know that he cared in some small but personal way.

Lili took his hand, and let him pull her from the pool. They stood close for a moment, an awkward silence between them, before she pulled away and walked, with as much dignity as she could muster, to the locker room to change.

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