My Bodyguard. Dana Marton

well as big, luminous green eyes shining out of her face. She had no shortage of guys coming over to meet her on the beach.

      She played along, even flirting on occasion, although he was pretty sure that was all bravado and she couldn’t have followed through if her life depended on it. She was uncomfortable around men with hunger in their eyes, but was good at hiding that fact and never let her unease stop her from doing her job.

      He made a point of sticking by her as much as he could. He would have thought the two of them coming together, rooming together, sent a message to the others, but it seemed the standard rules of society were not strictly kept on private beaches.

      “So what have you got?” he asked, returning to the business at hand. He tossed himself into the armchair by the window, slumped deep, arms and legs open, his body language as easygoing as he could make it.

      She seemed to relax in response, leaning against the counter. “He showed me around downstairs.” She grinned, looking pretty pleased with herself.

      “Pictures?”

      “I got everything.” She licked some thick sugary cream off her bottom lip. “You sure you don’t want one?” She extended the plate of goodies toward him.

      He shook his head.

      “Okay, almost everything.” She stuck the plate back into the fridge. “There were a couple of closed doors he didn’t elaborate on.”

      “We’ll start our search there. You should put on more sunscreen.” Her shoulder was getting a pink tinge to it. She was fair skinned. He looked away.

      “I should try to get back in. I could pretend to need extra towels.”

      “The guesthouse has its own linen closet.”

      “I’ll say I couldn’t find it.”

      They’d been shown around a couple of hours ago, upon their arrival, but the place really was big enough to forget some of it. Still, if she kept coming up to the mansion, someone might think it suspicious.

      “We do it together. Tonight,” he said.

      THE DRINKING PICKED up as the sun went down. Cavanaugh had brought in a local band to play Caribbean tunes mixed with popular French music. He spent a fair amount of time with his guests, but disappeared inside his house now and then.

      Was he conducting business? Did he have something big going down? Was it connected to Tsernyakov?

      Sam glanced across the sand and her gaze met Reese’s. He nodded slowly. It was near midnight. Time for them to get started.

      She walked up to him and stepped behind him as he chatted with a small group, put her arms around his waist and leaned against his back. She was comfortable with this much.

      He covered her hands with his own. “Hi.”

      She tugged on reflex, expecting to feel trapped, then caught herself and went still. “Want to go for a walk on the beach?”

      He turned and smiled at her. “Sure.” He extricated himself from the conversation and grabbed on to her hand as he led her toward where the waves met the white sand glowing in the moonlight.

      “Have you seen Cavanaugh?” she asked. She’d been wandering around the property, trying to spot him for the last hour.

      “He went out on the speedboat with a couple of women a while ago.”

      So that had been him. She’d been too far away at the time to see.

      The breeze was gentle and still warm, the sand soft under her bare feet. Now and then she had to jump to get out of the way of an overreaching wave. The flower print, wrap-style skirt hung to her ankles, stroking her skin with each step.

      That she would feel comfortable in clothes like these surprised her, having dressed for years in nothing but black, accessorizing with chains, spiking her hair, building an armor around her from clothes and attitude. She didn’t miss the whole Goth look. Odd that she couldn’t remember when she’d begun feeling comfortable without it.

      The breeze blew the material of her skirt against Reese’s legs from time to time. She adjusted her hand in his. Now that she was more comfortable around him, she didn’t mind the physical contact as much. She could see why some women thought it nice.

      A sense of contentedness filled her without warning. Then, self-consciousness. Was this how normal people felt when they were out on a moonlit night? The thought brought a sudden, breathtaking need for life, her life, to be as normal as that. Could she ever achieve it? What would it take to make it happen?

      “Let’s start walking up.” Reese led her toward the line of palm trees that separated Cavanaugh’s property from his neighbor’s ostentatious palace.

      The trees widened into a little grove with a few hammocks strung between the trunks. If anyone was watching them, a man and a woman heading that way would look anything but suspicious.

      Another couple had thought of utilizing the area already, it seemed. One of the hammocks was occupied and swaying suggestively. They passed in a wide arc around it.

      A stone path began at the other end of the grove, leading to the pool. They took it.

      “Should we spend a few minutes here?” she asked, nervous all of a sudden.

      He put his arms around her and turned her in a circle, pretending to pay attention only to her, while effectively surveying their surroundings. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Nobody seems to be watching.”

      They rounded the pool and reached the terrace attached to the main house. It was circled with stone columns and potted palms and was set up for dining, with elegantly carved teak chairs and tables.

      “Let’s settle down here for a second.” Reese pulled a chair out for her. “See any of Cavanaugh’s men?”

      She scanned the area. “No.”

      “Good. Me, neither.” He nodded toward the French doors upstairs, which opened onto the balcony. Sheer white curtains moved in and out in the breeze. “Point of entry?”

      She glanced to the downstairs entrance and the camera above it. There was nothing above the upstairs door. They probably figured anyone trying to get up there would be recorded by the downstairs system anyway.

      Reese reached over the table and took her hand, rubbed his thumb over it before he stood. She got to her feet and let him pull her against him.

      “So, what’s the plan?” she asked into his neck.

      “We’re going to make out behind that column.” He turned her a little then was moving that way already.

      Even knowing he didn’t really mean it, her blood sped to a rush. She swallowed and tried to act nonchalant, knowing that she could fool the cameras, but she wasn’t fooling him.

      He began by rubbing his lips along the side of her cheek. She stopped in her tracks from the shock of sensation and realized that was just what he wanted. He nudged her against the column gently, keeping his gaze on hers, making sure he wasn’t pushing her panic button. And she couldn’t be scared knowing just how much energy he spent on making sure she was comfortable.

      He looked up then stood still for a second, seeming to be plotting something.

      “The column and this potted palm are keeping us from view of the camera,” she said.

      “Right. You’re going to climb me to get up to the balcony.”

      She closed her eyes for a moment. She didn’t mind the breaking-and-entering part. Climbing Reese Moretti was another matter. A couple of seconds passed before she could say, “Okay.”

      “Be careful,” he said and put his hands on her waist, then he was lifting her.

      The wraparound skirt opened conveniently, giving her plenty of room to maneuver with her legs, using her feet for support on Reese’s