Bodyguard. Lori Foster

      HE HADN’T SLEPT a wink. The combination of worry and excitement from his vivid dreams of Emily worked to keep him tossing all night. But the knock on the apartment door sounded insistent, so he reluctantly forced himself out from under the sheet, then wrapped it around himself to cover his nudity.

      “Just a damn minute!” On his way out of the room, he picked up his watch and saw it was only eight-thirty. Just dandy.

      Carrying his pistol, he looked out the peephole, then cursed. He stuck the gun in a drawer, just before jerking the door open. He managed to startle Emily, who nearly dropped a large basket she was holding in both hands. “Are you one of those perverse people who rises with the sun?”

      Emily didn’t look at his face. She was too busy staring at his body. Judd sighed in disgust. “I’m showing less now than I did last night, and you didn’t faint then, so please, pull it together, will ya?”

      That moony-eyed look of hers was going to be the death of him. A man could take only so much.

      And she was looking especially fetching this morning in some kind of light, spring dress. It was just as concealing as the one she’d worn last night, but there was no tie at her throat, only a pearl brooch that looked as if it cost a small fortune. This dress nipped in at the waist, and showed how tiny she was. He could easily span her waist with his hands. His palms tingled at the thought.

      “What the hell are you doing here, Emily? It’s still early.”

      “I…actually, I thought we might have breakfast. You did say we would talk this morning.”

      “Eager to get started, are you?” Turning away, Judd stared toward the kitchen, then back to Emily. “I wasn’t up yet. If you want coffee, you’ll have to make it.”

      Emily seemed to shake herself. “Ah, no. Actually, I thought…you know, to thank you for everything you did for me last night…taking me home and all that, well…I cooked for you.”

      She ended in a shrug, and Judd realized how embarrassed she was. Or maybe she thought he’d mock her again, ridicule her for her consideration.

      He raked a hand through his hair, still holding the sheet with a fist. “What have you got in there?”

      He indicated the basket with a toss of his head. Emily’s smile was fleeting, and very relieved. She glanced around the room, taking in the apartment’s minimal furnishings: a couch, a small table with two chairs, a few lamps, a stereo, but no television. His bedroom sat off to the right, where the open door allowed her to see a small night table and a rumpled bed. The kitchen was merely a room divided by a small, three-foot bar.

      He liked the place, even though the neighborhood was rough and the tenants noisy. It wasn’t home, but then he’d never really had a home, at least not one of his own. He’d lived with Max Henley a while, and that had seemed as close as he’d ever get to having a family. But that was before Max died. Ever since, his life had been centered on nailing Donner. Where he lived was a trivial matter.

      He waited to see Emily’s reactions to the apartment, but she didn’t so much as blink. After a brief smile, she set the basket on the wobbly table, then opened it with a flourish. “Blueberry muffins, sausage links and fresh fruit.” She flashed him a quick, sweet smile. “And coffee.”

      He was touched, he couldn’t help it. “I can’t believe you made me breakfast.”

      “It’s not fancy, but you didn’t strike me as a man who would want escargots so early in the morning.”

      He grimaced, then ended with a smile. “And you didn’t strike me as the type who would cook for a man.”

      “I like to cook. My mother thinks it’s some faulty gene inherited from my ancestors. But since I’m not married, I don’t get to indulge very often.”

      “What about dates? You could do some real nice entertaining in your house.”

      She busied herself with setting out the food. “I don’t go out much.”

      He wasn’t immune to her vulnerability. He reached out and touched her hand. “No woman has ever cooked for me before.”

      She stared at him, shocked. “You’re kidding.”

      Feeling a little stupid now for mentioning it, Judd shook his head. “Nope.”

      “What about your mother?”

      “Left when I was real little. My father raised me.”

      “Oh.” Then she tilted her head. “The two of you are close?”

      He laughed. “Hardly. Dad stayed drunk most of the time, and I tried to stay out of his hair, ’cause Dad could get real mean when he drank.”

      “That’s awful!” She looked so outraged on his behalf, he grinned.

      “It wasn’t as bad as all that, Em.”

      “Of course it was. I think it sounds horrid. Did you have any brothers or sisters?”

      “Nope.”

      “So you were all alone?”

      That was the softest, saddest voice he’d ever heard, and for some fool reason, he liked hearing it from her. “Naw. I had Max.”

      “Max?”

      “Yeah. See, I wasn’t all that respectable when I was younger, and Max Henley busted me trying to steal the tip he’d left for a waitress. With Max being a cop and all, I thought I’d end up in jail. But instead, he bought me lunch, chewed me out real good, then made me listen to about two hours’ worth of lectures on right and wrong and being a good man. I was only fourteen, so I can’t say I paid that much attention. When I finally got out of that restaurant, I didn’t think I’d ever go back. But I did. See, I knew Max ate his lunch there every day, so the next day, when he saw me hanging around, he invited me to join him. It became a routine, and that summer, he gave me a job keeping up his yard. After a while, Max kind of became like family to me.”

      Emily was grinning now, too. “He was a father figure?”

      “Father, mother, and sometimes as grumpy as an old schoolmarm. But he took good care of me. I guess you could say he was a complete ‘family figure.’” And Donner had robbed Judd of that family.

      “He sounds like a wonderful man.”

      “Yeah.” Judd looked away, wishing he’d never brought up the subject. “Max was the best. He’s dead now.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      Judd bit his upper lip, barely controlling the urge to hug her close. She had spoken so softly, with so much sincerity, her words felt like a caress. Somehow, she managed to lessen the pain he always felt whenever he thought of Max. God, he still missed him, though it had been nearly six months since Donner had killed him.

      Judd nodded, then waited through an awkward silence while Emily looked around for something to do.

      She went back to unloading her basket. As she opened the dishes, Judd inhaled the aromas. “Mmm. Smells good. Why don’t you get things ready while I put on some pants. Okay?”

      “I’ll have the table set in a snap.” Then she grinned again. “I hope you’re hungry. I made plenty.”

      Judd shook his head. She was wooing him with breakfast, a ploy as old as mankind, and he was succumbing without a struggle. If he was ever going to keep her safe, he’d have to keep his head and maintain the control. The only way to do that was to make certain some distance existed between them. He couldn’t be moved by every small gesture she made.

      When he emerged from the bedroom two minutes later, Emily had everything on plates. He noticed there were two settings, so obviously she planned to eat with him. He also saw that, other than coffee mugs, she’d found only paper plates and plastic cutlery in his kitchen. But she didn’t seem put off by that fact. A tall thermos of coffee