Bulletproof Bodyguard. Kay Thomas

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      “Yes.” Cally smiled, completely unaware of where his thoughts had been. “That would be the potpourri.” She nodded at a silver bowl on the captain’s desk to his right.

      “The bathroom’s through here.” She pointed toward the small hallway to his left; straight ahead was a queen-size bed flanked by small antique tables. “We just moved the armoire in today.”

      He reassessed her as he took in the large cabinetry opposite the window. “You moved that yourself? Up those stairs?” He studied her slim build and tried to imagine her lifting the heavy antique. Even with a man helping her, it was a formidable job.

      “Well, Bay and I did. I couldn’t have done it on my own. I can’t imagine doing any of this without the Wigginses. You’ll meet him and Luella tomorrow. River Trace simply couldn’t run without them. They’re amazing.”

      “I’d say so.” He mentally struggled to get focused again.

      “Let’s see. I need to get you more towels, and you need a brandy decanter.” She ticked the items off on her fingers.

      “Excuse me?”

      “It’s a gift when you check in. Our special label. Homemade peach brandy. Not to be missed.” She stared straight at him—open and friendly, but it wasn’t a come-on. He knew that.

      Facing him, she wasn’t holding the kid. Marcus locked his eyes on hers and willed himself not to look below her neck at that transparent shirt.

      “Now…what else. Oh, yes. Since you’re up three stories here, the fire marshal insists I tell you how to get out in case the stairway is blocked during a fire.” She headed for the window seat.

      Marcus swallowed hard when she bent over to pick up Harris and lifted the lid on the built-in seat. Her shirt rode up again revealing more of that creamy skin that he was suddenly very curious to touch.

      “There’s a ladder here,” she said over her shoulder.

      She reached for the jumble of metal and rope, and he realized he was staring again. He was going to get busted if he didn’t stop. He reached around her, accidentally brushing against her shoulder.

      “Sorry,” he muttered.

      She startled. “Thank you,” she murmured, stepping aside. “You attach it by those handles to the window and then you can ease down to the roof.”

      “Where do I go from there?” he asked, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. Touching her had been a bad idea, a really bad idea.

      Cally turned to look at him with a sober face and sparkling eyes. “You jump.”

      He barked a laugh.

      “Actually, you shimmy down to that sunroof on the second floor, and then you jump.”

      “Does every room have one of these?”

      “Oh, no. Yours is special. It’s the only one on the third floor. There are two staircases up to the second floor and a window in every bedroom. The fire marshal figures if worse comes to worst, everyone else can get out.”

      Obviously she was struggling to keep a straight face.

      “I see.”

      “River Trace is the only residence to be converted to an inn in the county. The fire marshal had never done this before. I’m afraid he went a bit overboard. We barely talked him out of a sprinkler system. But I feel confident you will be safe during your stay.” The dimples were back. “I think the worst thing that would happen if you had to jump is a broken leg.”

      “Hmm. We’ll hope it doesn’t come to that.”

      “Absolutely.”

      A man could get lost in a smile like hers. Harris yawned widely as Marcus shut the ladder back into the window seat. “Someone is getting sleepy,” he said.

      Harris was snuggling into her chest and clutching one of her ringlets. “Yes, I’d better put him to bed. I’ll be glad to get you something after I get him down.”

      She was looking at Marcus again with those incredibly blue eyes, totally oblivious of the effect she was having.

      “What would you like? A snack of some kind? Or I can fix you a sandwich? Whatever you want.”

      She had no idea what she’d just said. Marcus swallowed. God, he didn’t usually get turned on by unintentional double entendres. “A sandwich would be great if it’s not too much trouble. But there’s no hurry. I realize you’ll have your hands full for the next few minutes.”

      “It’s no problem at all. I’ll just put Harris to bed and bring up your sandwich. And those towels and that brandy.” She started toward the stairs before turning back. “How does roast beef on whole wheat sound?”

      “Delicious.”

      “It’ll be about fifteen minutes.”

      Downstairs the deep gong of the doorbell echoed through the house.

      “That’ll be my other guests. Let’s make that thirty minutes on the sandwich?”

      “No problem.”

      Cally nodded and headed down the steps. When the door closed, Marcus’s smile faded. He looked around the room, taking in the rich red walls and antique four-poster.

      This was not the set-up he’d been expecting. Oh, it was quite a place all right. But it was not the proper way for this to go down. What in hell was he going to do about the widow and the kid?

      Chapter Two

      As Gregor Williams pulled his rented Suburban into the drive of River Trace, the weight of the week pressed down on him. If his lawyers were to be believed, a hearing and indictments were in his future. But he shook off their dire predictions and took in the view before him. Starting now, Gregor had other plans.

      The bed-and-breakfast was beautiful, although not to his taste. Surrounded by empty cotton fields, it looked like something out of Gone with the Wind—with three stories, red brick, white columns, black shutters and wrought-iron balconies. But what really interested him was how the house backed up to a lake. A setting sun bled along a drive lined with thirty-foot magnolia trees and live oaks that were closer to fifty feet. The secluded plantation home was absolutely perfect for his “project.”

      “Let’s get inside. I’ve had all the fun I can stand today.” His tone invited no argument.

      He glanced over his shoulder at the men he’d brought with him. Peter Sams, his second-in-command, was tall, rawboned, in his late forties and completely bald with a goatee. A bodybuilder and frighteningly strong, Peter had worked with him in some type of capacity for twenty years. First in the military, now for their private security company. Gregor knew Peter Sams almost as well as he knew himself.

      A smaller but equally lethal black man was sitting beside Sams. Rob Johnson had joined their security team in Iraq right before the ill-fated mission that had landed СКАЧАТЬ