Suzanne Brockmann - Hero Under Cover

He pulled his right hand free from his pocket, glancing down at the thick silver-and-turquoise ring he wore on his third finger.

“Do you mind?” Annie asked, letting go of the pendant and taking his hand. She looked closely at the worn silver of the ring, at the delicate ornamentation. “This isn’t quite as old as the necklace,” she said. “But it’s beautiful.”

Her slender fingers were cool against the heat of his. She kept her nails cut short but well-groomed, and wore no jewelry on her hands.

“I thought you were a specialist in European metalworks,” he said. “How come you know so much about Native American jewelry?”

She turned his hand over, looking at the other side of the ring. “When I was a kid, I spent about six years at sites in Utah and Arizona, one year in Colorado. Out of all the places we ever lived, my favorite was the American Southwest. When I went to college, I even considered specializing in Native American archaeology.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “I mean, there were a lot of different reasons.” She looked down at his ring again. His hand was so big, it seemed to engulf both of hers. He had calluses on his palm, and two of his fingers had healing abrasions on the knuckles—as if he’d slammed his fist into a wall. Or a person, she realized. In his line of work, it could very well have been a person.

He was looking down at her, making no attempt to take his hand away. Their eyes met, and for the briefest of instants, Annie saw the deep heat of desire in his eyes. Fire seemed to slice through her as her body responded, and she dropped his hand, noticing with rather horrified amusement that he had let go of her with as much haste. What had he seen in her eyes, she wondered. Was her own attraction for him as apparent?

She looked away, taking a step back from him, once again heading for the stairs. “Good night,” she said, her voice sounding strange and breathless.

But he was in front of her, leading the way up to the second floor. “At the very least, I want to check out your room,” he said. “Make sure all the windows are locked—”

“I can do that,” Annie protested.

“Yeah, I know,” he said as he went into her bedroom. “But I have to see it for myself.”

The bed was still unmade from Annie’s afternoon nap, and she saw him glance at her bright blue and green patterned sheets before crossing to the bay windows on the other side of the big room.

He pulled back the curtains and looked at each window carefully, checking to see that the locks were secure and the alarm system was working.

Annie stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed in front of her as she watched his broad, strong back. With his conservatively short black hair, she wouldn’t have expected him to be wearing jeans with his tweed jacket, but somehow it didn’t look out of place. The jacket was well tailored, fitting his broad shoulders like a glove. His jeans were loose enough to be comfortable, yet managed to show off the long, muscular lengths of his legs. Legs that went all the way up to—

She pulled her eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring at Taylor’s butt. It was exceptional though, she thought, grinning, glancing back at him. Even with his hair cut so short, Taylor would have no trouble qualifying for one of those hunk-of-the-month calendars….

“What’s so funny?” he asked, pulling the last of the curtains closed again and walking toward her.

“Nothing,” Annie said, backing away.

“Look,” Pete said. “I’d really feel a whole lot better if I could sleep in here tonight.” He paused for a moment. “You won’t even know I’m here,” he added.

Oh, sure, Annie thought. And they’re expecting heavy snow this year in the Sahara desert. She forced herself to stay in control of what was rapidly becoming a ludicrous situation.

“No,” she said. “Maybe I’d feel different if I thought I was in any kind of real danger. But I just don’t buy it.”

She walked him to the door. He hesitated before stepping out of the room, but finally he did.

“Feel free to use the spare room,” Annie said. “It’s across the hall. The bed’s already made up.”

He didn’t say anything. He just watched her from behind his expressionless mask.

“See you in the morning,” she finally said, closing and locking the door.

Pete stood out in the hall, listening as Annie got ready for bed. The water ran for a while in the bathroom, the toilet flushed and finally the lamp clicked off.

And still he stood there, just listening and waiting.

ANNIE WOKE UP AT NINE O’CLOCK, before her alarm went off. Regardless of the fact that it was Saturday morning, she had work to do down in the lab. And wasn’t today the day that Jerry Tillit was bringing in his latest finds from South America? That meant that Cara would be downstairs, despite it being a weekend. And there was that pickup she had to make at the airport….

She closed her eyes briefly. Damn, damn, damn. Six hours of sleep used to be enough. Five, really—she hadn’t been able to fall asleep right away last night. She’d been thinking about…work. Yeah, right. Work. She was so far behind schedule, she had absolutely no time to spend thinking about anything or anyone else.

So why did Pete Taylor’s dark eyes seem to penetrate her dreams?

Because his presence was a pain in the butt, Annie decided. And as soon as the sun came up in Texas, she’d give Steven Marshall a call and get this bodyguard business straightened out once and for all.

Rolling out of bed, Annie tiredly pulled her pajama shirt over her head, then pushed her hair out of her face as she walked toward the bathroom.

Oh, Christmas, Taylor was sleeping on her floor.

She quickly covered herself with her flannel top, holding it against her body, slipping the fabric under her arms.

He was fast asleep, on some kind of thin sleeping bag with a blanket over him. He’d taken off his jacket and shirt, and even in repose, the hard muscles in his arms and shoulders stood out underneath his tanned skin. His face looked younger, softer, less fiercely controlled as he slept. Annie stared in fascination at the way his long dark eyelashes lay against his smooth cheeks.

He was a very good-looking man.

And he was leaving this morning, Annie reminded herself. So why the heck was she admiring his eyelashes? She should be angry with him—God, he’d broken into her room while she was sleeping. She wondered how long he’d stood watching her sleep. He had no right….

She reached out a toe to nudge him awake.

It happened so quickly. One moment she was standing up—the next she was on the floor, on her back, with Pete Taylor’s heavy body on top of her, his arm pressed up, hard, against her windpipe, cutting off her air.

Her first instinct was to fight, but he had her so thoroughly pinned down, she could do little more than wiggle against him. He was breathing hard, as if prepared to fight as he pulled his arm away from her throat. Gratefully, she sucked in a breath of air as he stared down at her.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said sternly, his eyes hard, his face harsh.

“Me?” Annie sputtered. “What did I do? I only woke you up. You’re the one who tackled me and nearly choked me to death. You’re the one who was asleep on my floor after I specifically told you I didn’t want you in here, pal.”

She glared up at him, straining against him, trying to get free.

Although he had taken off his shirt while he slept, he had kept his necklace on. Now it hung down between them, the pendant brushing her neck and shoulders and—

Oh, God, she’d dropped her pajama top.

Annie saw from the sudden flicker in his eyes that he realized it the same moment she did. His bare chest was against hers, skin against skin, hard against soft.

They both froze.

She could feel his heart beating against her. Or was it her own heart? Whoever’s heart it was, it was starting to beat faster.

“I think you’d better get off of me,” Annie whispered.

Silently Pete pulled back, sliding away from her. Man, she was beautiful, he thought, watching her grab for her pajama top and pull it over her head. Her breasts were soft and full, with large dark pink nipples that had hardened into firm buds at the tips.

Pete sat on his bedroll, leaning back against the wall, glad that he was wearing his jeans, that she couldn’t see how badly he wanted her. Man, what a way to start the morning.

“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, her cheeks faintly pink. “If that’s all right with you.”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Sure you don’t want to check the bathroom out first?” she asked, standing up and looking down at him, hands on her hips. “You never know—maybe there’s a bad guy hiding in the toilet tank.”

Pete stood up gracefully and walked past Annie into the bathroom.

“I was kidding,” Annie said, following him, trying not to stare at the rippling muscles in his back.

The bathroom was decorated in sea greens and blues. There was a claw-footed tub in one corner. Another corner held a large shower stall. The sink had a marble countertop, and it was cluttered with Annie’s makeup, lotions, soaps and shampoos.

There was a small window in the room, with frosted glass in the panes. Pete glanced at it, then tried the lock. It was secure.

He opened the door to the shower stall and looked inside.

“Oh, come on,” Annie scoffed. “The window was locked. How could someone have gotten into my shower?”

Pete looked at her levelly. “Last night the door to your bedroom was locked. That didn’t keep me from getting in. Hasn’t it occurred to you that if I could do it, someone else could, too?”

She stared at him. Well, actually, no, it hadn’t….

He went back into the bedroom. Annie followed him to the bathroom door and watched him roll up his blanket and sleeping bag. “If that’s the case,” she said, “why should I bother locking the door at all?”

Pete used a piece of string to tie the sleeping bag up. “Locks on doors and windows will keep most people out,” he said. He stood up then, folding his arms across his broad chest. “And as for the people determined to get in…That’s what I’m here for.”

“That’s very good,” Annie said. “You should write that down and use it on your business cards. Just the right amount of macho with a little superhero thrown in. I think it’ll sell. Unfortunately, I’m not interested in buying.”

She went back into the bathroom, not bothering to lock the door behind her.

THE WATER IN THE TEAKETTLE had just begun to boil when Pete came into the kitchen. His hair was still wet from his shower, and he’d changed into a plain black turtleneck that hugged his muscular chest and was tucked neatly into his jeans.

Annie poured steaming water on top of the tea bag in her mug. “I don’t have much to offer you in the way of breakfast,” she said apologetically. “I usually don’t do much more than eat some fruit myself, and even that’s running low—”

“I’m eating on Mr. Marshall’s expense account, remember?” Pete said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “But if it’s not any trouble, would you mind if I kept some supplies in your refrigerator?”

Annie leaned against the counter, holding her mug in both hands. “In theory, I don’t object,” she said. “But remember? After I talk to Marshall this morning, you’re going to be leaving.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said.

“Well, I do think so,” she said.