Ridge: The Avenger. Leanne Banks

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      “I don’t want you going to a bar,” Ridge said, walking with her toward the platform.

      Dara cast her brilliant smile at him. “Tough,” she returned cheerfully. Since that night he’d shared his pizza with her, he’d been about as warm and inviting as the planet Pluto. She wished she could dismiss him from her thoughts, but to her supreme irritation, Dara found she was aware of him every minute of the day. She was tired of walking on eggshells around Mr. All Business.

      His gaze surveying the crowd, he frowned. “It’s my job to keep you safe, and going to a bar—”

      “Will give you a fresh challenge. I wouldn’t want you to get bored.”

      He flicked an annoyed glance at her, then back to the crowd. “I pick the place.”

      Dara shrugged. “As long as they make great margaritas.” And because she felt she’d been pushed just a little too far, she pushed back. “The jeans look great, Ridge,” she said in a husky, taunting voice. “The women won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

      She saw him stiffen. When she’d noted his casual clothing and said she was relieved he wouldn’t be carrying a weapon today, he corrected her and displayed the gun beneath his lightweight windbreaker. Although she found the weapon unsettling, she had to confess his jeans molded his masculine contours with breathtaking precision.

      “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked in the same soft yet lethal voice Dara remembered him using in the car when his hands had been on her thighs and his mouth had been too close—yet too far away.

      A shiver ran through her, but she ignored it. After all, she was getting ready to make a complete fool of herself on all the major television networks. Dara gave him a reckless smile. “A woman has to take her pleasure where she can get it.”

      He’d sure as hell like to be the one to give it to her. Resisting the urge to pull his client into his arms and sling her over his shoulder, Ridge watched Dara sashay up the steps in front of him to the platform. With her feminine curves, the biker shorts and vibrant fitted top she wore were an unholy distraction he could ill afford.

      Calling on years of discipline, he tore his gaze from her and back to the crowd. That was his job—to watch the crowd, not Dara. Her body might distract him, but it was her attitude that made him sweat. She was sexy, edgy, and a little careless. He could practically hear the ticking of a bomb ready to explode. She was pushing his hormones into overdrive and turning his hair prematurely gray. What was going on in her pretty, fiendish mind?

      If he read her correctly, and he feared he did, Dara was spent. She’d had enough of the campaign. She’d had enough of the press. And she didn’t like having a bodyguard. She’d been pushed one step over the line. Sweet Lord, Ridge wondered exactly how she was going to let it all rip.

      It was almost enough to seduce his attention away from the upcoming MTV interview when he would see Harrison Montgomery face-to-face. But the prospect of seeing his father tightened Ridge’s gut every time he thought of it. He’d expected his bitterness to increase, but not his curiosity about the bastard. His curiosity deepened with each passing moment, however, and Ridge hated that. Cramming his thoughts into the back of his mind, he nodded to Ray and ignored a blond woman’s approving gaze.

      The mayor greeted Dara, then introduced her over the loudspeaker. “We all know we’re gathered here today to celebrate the renovation of our oldest park, Grayford Commons. The history of this park dates back to the revolutionary war. Your hard work and contributions have made Grayford Commons a place to be proud of again. We’re especially honored today to have presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter—” The mayor grinned. “Dara Seabrook. She will lead our in-line skating parade and present the awards for the races. Please welcome Dara Seabrook.”

      Ridge slid a glance over to Dara and saw a trace of desperation she quickly disguised. “I didn’t know I would be leading the parade,” she said into the microphone, and waved her hand over the crowd. “Especially with all these fine in-line skaters ready to skate circles around me.” She smiled. “I’m counting on you to skate circles around me, so someone will be handy to pick me up if I fall.”

      The crowd laughed. Dara commended the city on their renovation project and reminded everyone to vote for Montgomery, then made her way down the steps. Ridge took her arm.

      “I can’t believe they expect me to lead this,” she whispered. “I’m going to kill Drew Forrester. Remind me of that when I see him, and don’t let him talk me out of it.”

      Ridge bit the inside of his cheek in amusement, but kept his gaze on the crowd. Dara sank to the curb and began lacing her skates. “I’ve got a new guard named Ray on the other side of the street,” Ridge reminded her. “Don’t go too fast.”

      Feeling her tug at his pant leg, he spared her a quick glance. She shot him a dark glare. “That wasn’t funny. You’ve seen me skate. I’m doing good if I remain vertical.”

      Helping her up, he placed a steadying hand at her waist. So, Darlin’ Dara got cranky when she was nervous. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

      “Not with these ankles,” she said under her breath, then pushed off into the street. She still felt the warmth from Ridge’s hand. He had a firm touch that, underneath it all, made her feel secure. Squashing the odd urge to turn around and ask him to take her away, she waved to the crowd and smiled brightly. She had a job to do, and comfort from Ridge Jackson wasn’t on the agenda.

      Within seconds a banner was thrust into her hand and she was surrounded by a group of elementary school children. To her right a band tuned up, but Dara didn’t look. Keeping her gaze focused straight ahead and a smile plastered on her face demanded all her concentration.

      She made it one whole block and unbent enough to exchange a few words with the children. By the end of the second block she was shakily humming to the band’s accompaniment of “This Land is Your Land.” Humming was safer because Dara always got the lines about the redwood forest, gulfstream waters, and the valleys all mixed up.

      “Hey, lady,” a little boy just behind her said. “Your knee pad’s slippin’. You want me to get it for you?”

      “Where?” Dara immediately looked down. The boy reached for her knee pad and ended up pushing her. Off-balance, Dara careened forward, the pavement coming closer at an alarming rate. “Oh!” Her right knee hit first, then her hands, and absolutely nothing diminished the impact. Pain vibrated through her leg and hands, then somebody fell on top of her.

      “Watch out!” at least a dozen voices called as the skaters parted around her.

      Mere seconds passed and Ridge was pulling her to her feet. She thought she heard him swearing, but the support from his body felt wonderful.

      “Let’s get you out of—”

      “I’m sorry, lady.” The little boy who had accidentally pushed her hung back from the rest of his friends.

      “We need to move you,” Ridge muttered, and began to guide her toward the curb.

      “Wait a minute.” Dara stopped as best as she could.

      “I was just tryin’ to help,” the boy said, wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

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