The Bodyguard And The Bridesmaid. Metsy Hingle

one’s asking you to. Just take a little vacation somewhere for a couple of weeks,” Ryan suggested. “I’m sure Aunt Maggie and Uncle James will understand.”

      “Of course, we’d understand,” Maggie said. “In fact, we should have suggested it. Maybe you’d like to go visit one of your sisters or have them come see you.”

      The idea was more than a little tempting. But Lorelei and Desiree both had husbands now, and Lorelei was expecting a baby. She couldn’t burden them with this. “No,” Clea said, feeling suddenly lonely. “I don’t really want a vacation now. And while I may have been frightened tonight, I refuse to let some creep make me run away and hide.”

      “There’s a difference between running away and being smart.”

      “I’m smart enough to know that if I run away now because some jerk gets his jollies by scaring me, then he wins and I lose. I don’t like losing.” She’d worked too hard getting the corporate travel program under way to walk away now when it was coming to fruition. Just as she’d worked too hard at picking up the pieces of her life and putting it back together to risk losing it by falling for Ryan.

      “He did more than scare you with a letter and phone call tonight,” Ryan pointed out.

      A chill spread over Clea, and she fought back a shudder of revulsion. She swallowed hard, refusing to let fear take hold of her again. “Thanks for the reminder. But I’ll depend on the police and you to see that he doesn’t get that close again. That is, if you think you can do the job.”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll find him,” he told her, her sarcasm obviously not bothering him.

      “I certainly hope so. For my sake.”

      James took her hands into his and studied her face closely. “You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked, oblivious to the tension between her and his nephew.

      “Yes, I’m sure,” she assured him. “Thanks again for everything.” She kissed his cheek and then Maggie’s.

      “I’m heading out, too.” Ryan extended his hand to his uncle and gave his aunt a peck on her cheek before opening the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

      She stepped outside and realized the temperature had dipped a good fifteen degrees since she had gone to dinner that evening. But the air seemed to hum with heat as Ryan followed her down the stairs.

      “Cold?” Ryan asked when she hugged her arms about herself.

      “A little,” she admitted, picking up her pace as she headed down the street to where she had parked her car earlier that evening. She fumbled with her car keys, eager to put some distance between them.

      “Here, let me get that for you.”

      “I can manage,” she said and promptly dropped the keys.

      Ryan swiped them up. “You really should reconsider staying at a friend’s place for a while or having someone stay with you.”

      “I appreciate the advice. But I think I’ll pass,” she told him, holding out her hand for her car keys.

      He brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth. “It wasn’t exactly a suggestion.”

      “And I don’t take orders from you,” she told him, her heart pumping harder. “Give me my keys,” she demanded, irritated by his high-handed manner, but even more by her response to his touch.

      Ignoring her, Ryan pressed the remote button on her key chain. The lights went on inside the car and the door locks snicked open. He pulled open the car door.

      She slid into her seat at once and fastened her seat belt, then held out her hand. “My keys.”

      He reached inside, his head dipping close to hers, inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine of her pristine sedan purred to life, but Ryan made no effort to move.

      The confines of the front seat seemed impossibly small and intimate with his head ducked close to hers, crowding her space. She had been chilly only moments before, but now she felt far too warm. “Was there something else you wanted?”

      A slow smile spread across his lips. “As a matter of fact there is.”

      Clea hissed out a breath, chagrined that she’d left herself wide open for that one. “I’m tired, Fitzpatrick. So why don’t you go ahead and get your juvenile come-on out of the way, then get out of my face so I can go home.”

      “You have such a suspicious mind, Duchess,” he countered. “See that little honey of a car parked in front of you?”

      Clea noted the vintage candy-apple-red convertible that was practically touching her front bumper. “Yes. I see it.”

      “It’s mine,” he told her, pride in his voice.

      It figures, she thought. He had crowded her with his car just as he was crowding her with his handsome face and broad shoulders. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll both be happy.”

      “I don’t know what it is, but I just love that smart mouth of yours,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips.

      Clea’s pulse kicked into third gear at the hungry gleam in his eyes. She looked away. “Is there a point to this conversation?” she asked with as much sarcasm as she could muster, given the fact that her nerves were jumping like grasshoppers on a spring day. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s really late, and I’d like to go home—which is a little difficult with your face stuck in front of my windshield.”

      “The point is, I’ll be right behind you, and I want you to make sure you keep my car in sight in your rearview mirror until we get home.”

      Clea glared at him. “We? What do you mean until we get home? I’m going home. If you want to follow me there, fine. Go ahead. But afterwards, you go.”

      “One more thing, don’t get nervous if you see a black Jeep parked in front of your place. I called Sean. He’s bringing me a change of clothes and a razor,” he said, then slammed the car door in her face and started to walk off.

      Shutting off the car’s engine, Clea unsnapped her seat belt and charged after him. “Get back here, Fitzpatrick. What do you mean Sean’s meeting you at my place with clothes? What do you need clothes for?”

      He shot her that devilish smile. “I don’t, but I thought you’d insist. I’ll call Sean and tell him to forget the clothes.”

      Furious with him, and with herself for stepping right into that one, Clea grabbed his arm to stop him from getting in his car. “Don’t make me kill you, Fitzpatrick.”

      “Problem, Duchess?” he asked, his deep voice whisper-soft as it stroked over her nerve endings like a caress.

      An autumn moon hung like a lantern in the night sky, illuminating the shock of black hair that fell across his brow. In the glow of the streetlamp, she could make out the shadow of whiskers along his sharp-edged jaw. His unsmiling mouth looked beautiful and inviting in that chiseled masculine face. He smelled like winter rain and pine forests, Clea thought as she lifted her gaze up to his. His blue eyes glistened dark and determined as he stared down at her. Her nervous stomach clenched and unclenched and she felt that warm tug of desire rippling through her again.

      Suddenly, realizing how close they were, she dropped her hand. “I’ve changed my mind about this protection business. I don’t care what Maggie and James say, I don’t want you.”

      “You sure about that?”

      “Positive,” she tossed back. It was bad enough the man made her hormones act up. The last thing she needed was to have him trailing her back to her apartment, sticking himself into her life. Especially when she was a jumble of nerves and emotions.

      He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pulse skittered at the intimate gesture, but she refused to retreat. As though sensing her reaction, his mouth curved