The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid. Metsy Hingle

Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

      Ryan merely smiled. “Afraid it doesn’t work that way, Duchess. Since you didn’t hire me, you can’t fire me.”

      “Maggie, I’d appreciate it if you would explain to your nephew that his assignment, or whatever it is he chooses to call spying on me, is over.”

      “Ryan, you stick to her like glue until that...that man is caught and thrown into jail.”

      “Yes, ma’.”

      “Maggie!” Clea protested.

      Despite her fragile appearance, Margaret Fitzpatrick Donatelli was anything but, Ryan mused. Clea Mason was another story. She projected as tough, fearless. And her expression and voice gave no indication of the tangle of nerves working inside her. But she didn’t seem able to keep her hands still. Right now they were gripping the cup of iced coffee she had picked up again, but had yet to taste. She was strong, determined, not used to relying on anyone. He had learned that within days of meeting her. But he suspected that Clea Mason wasn’t half as tough as she pretended to be, or as she wanted everyone to think she was. An urge itched at him—to take her into his arms, hold her and promise to keep her safe. But if he followed through on that urge, she would probably sock him in his gut.

      “Enough arguing, Clea. If your family was here, they’d insist you get some sort of protection. But since they’re not here, it’s up to us to see that you do. You’re still welcome to move in here—”

      “Maggie, I can’t. I’m not going to let him run me out of my home.”

      “I understand. But until the police find that man, Ryan will make sure you’re safe.”

      Clea released a frustrated sigh and turned to Ryan’s uncle. “James, please talk to your wife. Tell her this isn’t necessary.”

      James shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in thirty years of marriage to Maggie, it’s that once she makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it. Besides, she’s right, Clea. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

      “Come on, Duchess. How bad can it be to have me around for a while?”

      She arched her eyebrow in that regal way and somehow managed to look down her pretty, straight nose at him, even though he was the one standing. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

      “Ouch!” With her wary green eyes and that smooth black hair framing her face, she reminded him of a beautiful, sleek kitten—with very sharp claws. “Since I’m not sure my poor ego can handle the answer, I’ll just pass on it for now.”

      “Wise decision.”

      Ryan eased onto the arm of the couch and caught a whiff of her scent. Roses...and something exotic and elusive—like her. He couldn’t help wondering if her skin was as petal-soft as it looked. Realizing the dangerous direction of his thoughts, he dragged himself back to the problem at hand. Finding Clea’s sick fan. “But I do have a few other questions that I’d like to have answered.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of questions?”

      “Oh, just routine stuff about the letters and calls you’ve been getting.”

      “I’ve already told the police everything.”

      “Yeah, I know. But I’d like you to tell it again—to me.”

      “Why should I?”

      “Because I need as much information as you can give me so I can catch this guy. And I am going to catch him, Clea. You can bank on it. It would just be a lot easier if I had a little more to go on.”

      Some of the tension went out of her, and he could see the fatigue setting in. “All right,” she said, her voice weary. “What do you want to know?”

      Fifteen minutes later, in the privacy of his uncle’s study, Ryan still had little or nothing more to go on. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “What about boyfriends?”

      “I date men, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Not boys.”

      “Ryan,” he corrected. “Then what about your men friends?”

      “What about them?”

      “Are you seeing anyone in particular right now?”

      She stiffened, clearly uncomfortable. “Is that really any of your business?”

      “Everything about you is my business. Now, how about the names of those men?”

      “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

      And if things worked out as he planned, the only man she’d be seeing in the near future would be him. “What about the last guy...uh, man friend?”

      “What about him?”

      “For starters, his name.”

      “Andrew.”

      Ryan wrote the name down in his book and waited. When she said nothing more, he looked up from his pad. “Does Andy have a last name?”

      “Davidson. And it’s Andrew. No one calls him Andy.”

      “Figures,” Ryan muttered as he jotted the name down. “When was the last time you saw Andrew?”

      Clea paused. “It’s been a while.”

      “Define ‘a while’ for me.”

      “Two years,” she said, the words little more than a whisper.

      “Two years?” he repeated, lifting his eyes up to meet hers. “You expect me to believe you haven’t been involved with anyone for the past two years?”

      “I don’t care what you believe. You asked me a question and I’ve answered it. If you don’t like the answer, then that’s your problem.”

      “I didn’t say I didn’t like the answer. But we’re being honest here. You’ve got a mirror. You don’t need me to tell you that you’re a beautiful, sexy and desirable woman because you already know it. Which means you’re either lying, or the men in this town are all blind.”

      “Gee. You really have a way with compliments, Fitzpatrick. It’s enough to turn a woman’s head.”

      Ryan let her sarcasm roll right off him. “I call them like I see them. So which is it? Are you a liar, or are the men around here blind?”

      “Neither. I haven’t been interested and neither have they.”

      Ryan paused, curious about her reply. “How come?”

      “How come what?”

      “How come you haven’t been in a romantic relationship for more than two years?”

      “Because I haven’t wanted to be in one. All right?” She made an exasperated sound. “Look—Destinations and its success is a high priority in my life. The bookings have more than doubled in the past six months. That means my workload has doubled, too.”

      At the arch of his eyebrow, she continued. “Listen, I’m not saying I’m the only one who’s been putting in a lot of hours. Everyone’s been working hard. But the corporate travel program is my baby. I intend to make it a success.”

      “And success means spending all of your time planning overpriced travel packages.”

      “I spend a lot of my time creating profitable sales packages. I’m also responsible for managing the agency and its operations. Which means researching and selecting a new computer system to handle the increased client base created by those expensive travel packages I design. I also hire all the new agents and make sure everyone is trained on the new equipment. So, yes, I guess I’ve allowed Destinations to take up a lot of my time lately, which means I haven’t had much time to worry about whether or not I’m dating enough.”

      “Trust me,