The Bodyguard. Sheryl Lynn

town. I’m wasting my time hanging around. Thanks for the coffee.” She jumped to her feet and snatched up the parka that lay across another chair.

      He pondered the particulars of his job description, uncertain as to whether guarding a body meant preventing the bride’s agitated sister from barging in on the honeymooners. Frankie might take a swing at Julius. She’d done it before, after he’d made a crack about what kind of wedding present she ought to give Belinda. She’d given him a bloody nose. He wondered if part of the reason Julius married Penny was to get even with Frankie. Julius’s capacity for spitefulness rivaled his mother’s.

      He watched her long-legged stride carry her across the lobby to the rear entrance. At the office she’d always worn suits with tailored jackets and short skirts that showed off a pair of world-class legs. He missed looking at her legs, though her pert backside in the tight jeans made a worthwhile show.

      He grinned at his unruly thoughts and the stirring low in his groin. It occurred to him, with some discomfort, that he hadn’t harbored lustful thoughts in a long time. Despite being only thirty-five years old he lived like a prissy old man. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything even resembling fun. Between Caulfield’s demands and taking care of Jamie he didn’t have much of a life at all.

      He downed the remains of his coffee in one long smooth swallow and rose to follow her.

      As soon as he stepped outside, icy air slapped his face. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and back, itching against his woollen shirt. Noting the speed with which Frankie traveled the gravel path to the Honeymoon Hideaway, he decided to forgo running upstairs for a coat.

      The path between the hideaway and the lodge was well tended and well lit. In the predawn darkness, the trees along the path formed a black, blank wall. He caught up to Frankie at the fountain between the four honeymoon cabins. Drained for winter, the fountain glistened under a dusting of snow. Each cabin was angled so its entrance had privacy from the others. Pinkish lights glowed next to the doorways, but all the cabin interiors were dark.

      Frankie tossed him a look askance. “I’m surprised they don’t have you sleeping in front of the door.”

      He realized her dilemma: she didn’t know which of the cabins housed her sister. He shoved his cold hands in his pockets. “I’ve thought about it, Miss Forrest. If you want to wake up your sister I won’t stop you. That is, if you can assure me you aren’t carrying a weapon.”

      The pinkish light agreed with her, turning her eyes large and dark and softening the lines of her face. She looked like a creature stepped from the forest who would soon disappear back into the trees. “I don’t have a weapon.”

      “I better frisk you to make sure.”

      She put up her fists. “Touch me and die, McKennon.”

      Dying might be a fair price to pay to find out what she had underneath her clothes. Cold seeped through his jeans. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to muster some heat. “I’m kidding. Go ahead.”

      Even in the darkness, he saw her thoughtful frown. “Uh, maybe I shouldn’t startle Julius. Why don’t you knock for me so he knows it’s okay.”

      She was good, he thought admiringly. “You won’t startle him. He sleeps heavy. You won’t even wake him up.”

      She threw up her hands and huffed loudly. White plumes marked her breath. “Which cabin are they in?”

      “You don’t know?”

      She growled. He bit back a laugh.

      “I don’t and you do. So tell me.”

      He thought his natural bent toward devilment had died with Nina, but orneriness flexed its rusty wings. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell you. But, you have to kiss me first.” That he said such a thing aloud shocked him. He swallowed laughter.

      “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”

      He shrugged. “You’ve got a twenty-five-percent chance of choosing the right cabin on the first shot. Or, you can go back to the lodge and see if the night clerk will give you the cabin number. Or, you can wait until your sister is awake.” He smiled. “Or, you can kiss me.” She wouldn’t, he knew, but he liked the flashing fire seeming to shoot from her every pore. Any second now she’d get the joke and laugh. Making her laugh seemed a small step toward easing some of the pain he’d inadvertently caused her.

      Glaring daggers in his direction, she took a step toward the nearest cabin. Years of training had taught him to control his body language. If she hoped for a clue she wouldn’t get it from him. She abruptly switched direction. He tensed instinctively, prepared for battle. She grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands, jerked him forward and kissed him fully on the mouth.

      Chapter Three

      Frankie meant to give McKennon a noisy smack on the lips. Then she would shove him and hope he slipped on the icy gravel and fell on his butt so he would end up looking like the big jerk he actually was. Then she’d laugh in his face and prove his idiotic kidding around had absolutely no effect on her whatsoever.

      That’s what she’d meant—

      Electricity sparked from his lips to hers, melding her to his heat. He wrapped both arms around her shoulders and hugged her to his chest. Breath deserted her; thought deserted her. She clung to his shirtfront as if she drowned and only he could save her. Mingled aromas of soap and shaving cream and healthy male swirled through her brain like an intoxicating drug. He smelled so good. His lips were so supple, so warm. When he slid a hand through her hair and grasped the back of her head in a possessive hold, she became lost in the erotic feeling of his fingers against her scalp.

      This kiss superseded all other kisses in her life. She’d kissed him a thousand times in her dreams, but this was better. McKennon touched her soul. She parted her lips and greedily accepted the thrust of his tongue. Noises slipped away one by one, the rustle of her jacket, their boots crunching gravel, the faraway whisper of a breeze through the pines, until all she could hear was her pounding heart. She kissed and kissed him, tasting, testing, no longer present, but lost in her dreams, submersed in the solidity of his big body, entrapped and enthralled by the power of his embrace.

      When he broke the kiss, a cry rose in her throat. A cry of protest, of yearning. Her eyelids flew open, and she stared into his eyes. They were black, fathomless, smoldering. His hot breath fanned her cheeks.

      Dizzy now, she tried hard to muster outrage. Unable to do that, she settled for indignation, but even that wan emotion failed her.

      He slid his hand from beneath her hair. Released from his hold, if not from his spell, she dropped her hands from his shirt. In her head she saw herself flinging her hair in a haughty gesture and sniffing in disgust; she swiped her mouth; she laughed in his face.

      In her head.

      In reality she backed a step and lowered her face. Her cheeks burned, but she shivered inside the parka. A single kiss had never set her on fire before. She’d never lost her head like that. Bemused and troubled, she peered warily at him.

      “Cabin B,” he said, and pointed. His voice sounded suspiciously gruff.

      Oh, yeah, Penny, she thought. She took a step in the direction he indicated and paused. She half expected him to take her arm, to stop her and kiss her again. He jammed his hands in his jeans pockets and hunched his shoulders. Annoyance tweaked her.

      Resisting the urge to look over her shoulder at him, she strode determinedly to Cabin B. She knocked softly on the door, then listened. She raised her hand to knock again, but hesitated. All night long she’d rehearsed conversations with her sister. Angry words, loving words, forgiving words and spiteful words. She doubted now that anything she said could change the situation.

      Forget speeches and arguments, then. She would assure Penny that no matter what happened they were still sisters, but she’d never be able to accept Julius. Then she’d say goodbye.

      She