The Bodyguard. Sheryl Lynn

but he didn’t like it.

      He especially didn’t like the real reason he’d been stuck with this particular duty. Julius didn’t need a bodyguard. He was too much of a bug to have real enemies. Bottom line, Mrs. Caulfield needed a spy. He suspected that for the first time in her life she’d met her match. Cute little Penny Forrest held the power, as no other woman before her, to drive a solid wedge between Mrs. Caulfield and her darling boy. The old lady wasn’t going down without a fight.

      J.T. understood, somewhat. He’d go to the ends of the earth and back for his son. He supposed every parent was the same. Still, he resented the hell out of having to use his time to gather ammunition for the old witch to use in a war against her daughter-in-law.

      Caulfield asked too much this time. J.T. turned back to the desk and snatched a fresh sheet of resort stationery. He wrote down the date and a polite greeting, then stopped. He could not quit his job.

      He wandered to the wide bank of windows. He pressed his forehead against the icy glass, staring into the darkness below. Resentment deepened, blossoming with spiny petals.

      Money, it always boiled down to money. “No good thing ever comes of anything done solely for money,” his wife used to tell him, usually with a grin while she tried to figure out yet one more way to stretch their already-squeaking budget. Nina hadn’t cared about cars or fancy houses or new clothes. All she’d cared about was loving him and loving Jamie. When she’d been alive, he hadn’t cared about money, either.

      Now money meant everything. Money meant more time to wait for Jamie’s miracle.

      Caulfield paid too well for J.T. to even consider quitting. He had no choice except to resign himself to baby-sitting newlyweds and collecting information for a paranoid woman with no life of her own.

      Shaking away the dour thoughts, he showered, shaved and dressed in jeans, boots and a wool-lined flannel shirt. Despite the early hour he hoped he could rustle up a cup of coffee.

      An employee ran a vacuum cleaner in the lobby’s lounge. A sign on the front desk asked guests and visitors to ring a bell for service. A whiff of coffee aroma caught his attention. He followed his nose to the source. Near the doorway to the dining room a table held a large coffeepot, mugs and a plate of freshly baked muffins.

      The vacuum cleaner stopped. A woman spoke softly. In the dim light he hadn’t noticed the woman seated in the lounge. He recognized the red curls belonging to Frankie Forrest. He paused in the shadows, uncertain if he wanted Frankie to see him. Guilt tightened his gut.

      He still carried a nasty taste in his mouth over the way Caulfield had treated her. In his opinion, Caulfield never had any intention of marrying Frankie. He had played her the way he played all women. He doubted if Frankie knew Caulfield had been seeing other women while supposedly engaged to her. She wasn’t the type to suffer a philanderer.

      And now this. For the second time he’d been party to her humiliation. Self-loathing mingled with hatred for his job.

      Hell with Caulfield, he decided. He had an opportunity, in some small way, to make up for the past. Frankie deserved that much.

      He filled two mugs with coffee. The dark, rich aroma made his belly rumble. He picked up two muffins, too.

      Frankie watched him make his way through the arrangements of potted plants, sofas, club chairs and low tables. “Oh, it’s you,” she said dryly. She looked him up and down, her expression neutral. “I didn’t recognize you without the goon suit.”

      Her insult took him back to the good old days. When they worked together, she used to bait him like a kid poking a stick at a caged bear. He’d liked it. She’d made him laugh.

      He set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Hungry?” He offered a muffin. She shook her head. Slouched on the chair, shoulders hunched, she looked tired. He wondered if she’d slept at all. He peeled the wrapper off a muffin and inhaled the spicy scent of apples and cinnamon.

      “So, how’s Max doing these days?” Her tone was too carefully casual.

      He wanted to make her happy by telling her Caulfield had gained weight, was losing his hair and Belinda was making him miserable. Except, that would be a lie. Caulfield was having the time of his life. “Okay.”

      “I guess...marriage agrees with him?”

      He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He bit into the muffin. Rich and heavy, it tasted as good as it smelled. Head down, he watched Frankie from the corner of his eye. Slashes of eyebrows framed her strikingly pale eyes. Strong cheekbones and a square jaw gave her face interesting angles. Even seated and still she vibrated with energy. He liked her mouth. Some might say it was too wide for her face, her lips too full, but he appreciated the supple mobility and the sensual depth of color.

      He bit into the muffin, savoring the texture. An idle thought clipped the back of his brain—holding Frankie, making love to her, would be as exhilarating as racing down a mountainside. Her body would be long and lean, muscular, but soft in the right places. He’d plunge both hands in that mass of fiery hair and hang on while he ravished that incredible mouth. Disturbed, he wondered about himself. He hadn’t been interested in any woman since his wife died.

      “So, uh, have you...talked to Penny?” Still the too-casual tone as she pulled the coffee mug to her face as if to hide her expression. She stared at the floor.

      “No, sorry. I’m just the hired goon.”

      “Right,” she muttered.

      “What are you doing with yourself these days?” he asked, though he knew the answer already. Two months ago Caulfield had ordered J.T. to find out where Frankie lived and where she worked. He had assumed the boss needed her graphology skills and was conceited enough to think she might come back to work for him. After turning in his report, though, Caulfield never mentioned her again.

      “Just working,” she replied. “What about you?”

      “Just working.”

      She grinned. “A couple of working grunts. Real exciting.”

      J.T. liked her smile. He also liked her bare face. At the office she’d worn far too much makeup for his taste. Her skin was creamy with a light dusting of coral freckles along the ridge of her cheekbones. A funny urge filled him to reach for her face, to test her skin to see if it was as soft as it looked. He broke a piece off the muffin.

      “Why are you here?” she asked.

      “Doing my job.”

      “Yeah, right. Since when does Max give a rat’s behind what happens to Julius?”

      “It’s not my place to ask questions.”

      “ ‘Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do or die.”’

      She leveled a glower at him that struck him as both funny and sexy. Beautiful mouth. He imagined kissing her would be like riding a shooting star.

      “Serious now,” she said. “Is there some kind of threat? Is Penny in danger?”

      Only from her nutty mother-in-law, he thought, unable to hold her gaze. Guilt raced through him again, leaving prickly trails on his nerves. “No danger.”

      “I don’t believe you. Max doesn’t do anything without a reason. Tell me the truth, why are you playing bodyguard? I have a right to know.”

      “I swear,” he said, “no threats, no danger. My presence is nothing more than an ego trip. Julius gets to look like a big shot for his bride.” The not-quite-a-lie tasted sour.

      “Figures.” She set down the coffee mug. “I forgot my watch. What time is it?”

      He turned his left wrist. “It’s 5:47 a.m.”

      “Penny’s an early riser.”

      He lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t doubt for a second that Frankie would go charging into the honeymoon cabin, invited or not. “Don’t disturb them, Miss