Her Man in Manhattan. Trish Wylie

he was dealing with a spoilt princess she would give him exactly what he expected. Covering her eyes, she hit speed dial.

      ‘Good morning, darling, how are you?’ She purposefully spoke loud enough to be overheard. ‘My day has got off to the most dreadful start.’

      ‘The Queen of England called and said she wanted her accent back?’ Crystal sighed dramatically. ‘You’re standing me up for lunch, aren’t you?’

      Miranda smiled smoothly. ‘Absolutely not.’

      It didn’t matter if he was a walking sex fantasy. She planned on ditching her new bodyguard by noon.

      THREE

      ‘I assume Detective isn’t your first name.’

      Tyler glanced in the rear-view mirror. She’d given him the silent treatment since they left the mayor’s residence and he’d have been happy for it to stay that way. He wasn’t there to make small talk. He was there to keep her safe and out of trouble; something the guys on her previous detail could have done with remembering more often.

      ‘I’ll ask Lou,’ her honeyed voice said in a dismissive tone when he didn’t reply. ‘He’s a sweetheart.’

      Somehow Tyler doubted she’d think so if she knew the mayor’s head of security was a big part of the reason he was there. It had been Lou Mitchell’s bright idea to draft in someone who hadn’t been doing the job for so long they took things for granted or was easily distracted by a pretty face. That Tyler wasn’t prepared to be subtle didn’t seem to be a problem, which was just as well considering where he’d been drafted from.

      The next time he glanced in the mirror she’d placed her sunglasses on top of her head and was idly twirling a lock of hair as she read the screen of her BlackBerry. She might have been hot while wearing a disguise but without one she was a stone-cold knockout. Her skin-coloured dress left little to the imagination even with a demure neckline and its hem a respectable couple of inches above her knees. Fitted the way it was—to lovingly follow every curve of her damn-near-perfect body—it had drawn his gaze to her more often than he should have allowed.

      The hair she was toying with was a particular source of fascination: lustrous, tumbling tresses of flame blended with sunlight. He could have said his interest in it stemmed from curiosity—how had she got that much hair under a short wig?—but he’d have been lying. The truth was he didn’t know why he found it so fascinating. He just did.

      But the packaging didn’t make up for her personality.

      A few hours of watching her in action was all it took to confirm what he’d already suspected. What surprised him was how easily she fooled everyone else. When they got to the second hit of the day and she stepped into a community project for the elderly she pulled out all the stops. A flash of her hundred-watt smile, a few carefully chosen sound bites, the brush of elegant hands over selected arms and she was treated like a combination of visiting European royalty and prodigal granddaughter. By the time she left he suspected there wasn’t anyone she came into contact with who didn’t believe she genuinely cared what they had to say.

      The folks out in Hollywood earned a gold statue for that kind of performance.

      His next glance in the mirror revealed she’d shifted her attention from her hair to the pearls around her neck. The fine-boned forefinger tracing them stilled and then she blinked darkened lashes, her hazel-eyed gaze crashing into his before he returned his attention to the road.

      ‘What was your last assignment?’ she enquired after another moment of silence.

      ‘You want a copy of my CV so you can get your friend Lou to pull my jacket?’

      ‘Your jacket?’

      ‘My file.’ He made a turn and merged the Escalade into three lanes of busy traffic when he heard a sound. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘It’s unusually stuffy in here.’

      ‘That’s why they invented air-con.’ Reaching forwards to hit the switch, he frowned when he glanced in the mirror and discovered she was leaning her face towards the open window. ‘And that glass is tinted for a reason.’

      ‘As disappointing as I’m sure it is for you,’ she replied haughtily, ‘I’m not high on anyone’s hit list.’

      ‘You’ve never read any of the letters that land at your father’s office, have you?’ Tyler hit another switch to slide the window shut and waited for the answer he already knew.

      ‘We have people who do that.’

      ‘Course you do,’ he said dryly while he steered into the middle lane of traffic on Fifth Avenue.

      When he drew to a smooth halt at a crossing there was a gasp from the rear seat. ‘What a gorgeous dress!’

      Though he’d been ready for her to try something the sound of a door being opened caught him off guard. He turned around in his seat. ‘Don’t get out of—’

      Too late. She smiled brightly as she grabbed her bag. ‘I’ll meet you back here in an hour.’ Next thing he knew the door slammed and she was skipping her light-footed way to the sidewalk.

      Tyler’s seat belt was unbuckled when the light changed, the honking of horns forcing him to ram the Escalade back into gear. With one eye on the traffic and another on where she was headed, he cut across a lane and swung around the corner. It might have taken five minutes of screeching tyres to get there but by the time she exited the rear of the store he was casually leaning against the side of the vehicle with his arms crossed.

      The victorious smile on her face faded the instant she saw him. ‘How did you—?’

      ‘Clue’s in the word detective.’ He pushed upright and opened the rear door. As she reached him he swung it shut in her face. ‘Which part of our talk this morning wasn’t clear to you?’

      She angled her chin and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Which part of your job description suggested you were the boss in this relationship?’

      ‘Who exactly is it you think I work for?’

      ‘You’re my bodyguard.’

      ‘The city pays my wage.’

      ‘Is there a bonus for being a pain in the ass?’ She smiled sweetly.

      ‘Where were you going?’

      ‘That’s none of your business.’

      ‘Yeah, it is.’ He reached into his pocket for a folded piece of paper and held it up in front of her face. ’Cos if it’s not on here, you don’t get to go there....’

      ‘It’s a free country. I can go where I want.’

      Tyler wondered how much effort it had taken not to stamp her foot. ‘Let’s check the schedule, shall we?’

      She crossed her arms as he shrugged back the sleeve of his jacket to consult his watch. ‘Eleven fifty-seven.’ He glanced over the sheet of paper and shook his head. ‘Nope, can’t see anything on here about playing hide-and-seek. Maybe yours is different from mine.’ His gaze locked with hers again. ‘Since we’ve established other people do the reading for you, maybe I should check that one, too.’

      ‘You carry a gun, right?’ she asked with a completely deadpan expression.

      Two as it happened but she didn’t need to know that. ‘You gonna make me use it?’

      ‘I was going to ask if I can borrow it.’

      Drawing in a long breath, Tyler refolded the paper and put it back in his pocket. ‘If I were you I wouldn’t waste time thinking up ways to cut me loose. This is strike one. Three strikes and you won’t get to visit a restroom alone.’

      ‘Your last assignment was at Guantanamo, wasn’t it?’

      The old Tyler