“Wait.” I block those nearby from spotting her with my body as I lock the door, escort her to the car, then hastily set Oliver in his car seat.
She taps me on the shoulder. “Do you need help?”
I could probably figure out the buckles and straps of this contraption eventually, but I’d hate to do something wrong in my ignorance. “Sure.”
As I step back, she leans in. I try not to leer at her ass. Or any of her, really. Ellie did her best to enlighten me, and I understand how unwarranted staring could be unwelcome. Besides, Amanda isn’t looking for a lover. And when I’m with her, I shouldn’t be, either.
Moments later, she straightens. I escort her to the passenger’s side and open the door. I’m not sure what reaction I expected. I didn’t foresee her eyes zipping up to mine.
“Trying to be a gentleman?”
I’d suspect she was being snide if her face didn’t seem so wary. “No. My ex-wife hated gestures like this. But there are seven visible people nearby, any of whom could see you if I wasn’t blocking their view.”
She tries to peek around my shoulder. “I only saw the family heading to the beach. Who else?”
I grasp her face and hold her in place. “There are others. You’re going to have to trust me on this or we don’t have any business continuing this arrangement.”
“Fine.” She stops trying to peep behind me and slides into the car.
I shut the door and slip into the driver’s seat. When I turn the Mustang over, the engine roars. “What do you want for breakfast?”
We settle on donuts because Oliver isn’t awake yet, and his food would only get cold before he ate it. When we pull away from the drive-through, I notice she only drinks her coffee.
GPS tells me we have twelve minutes before we arrive at Trace’s location. I turned off the music as soon as I started up the car since it’s obvious we’re not going to agree on tunes. And as we stop at a light, Amanda glances out her window at the row of houses beyond a tall fence.
The golden sun illuminates her profile and makes her all but glow. I shift in my seat, but there’s no ignoring her effect on me.
“Would five thousand be enough to make you stay for the week?” she asks suddenly.
That’s more than I expected. It would certainly help me secure a lease and start acquiring equipment I need to open my doors. But we have to be real. “Do you really have that kind of money?”
“Now? No. But I can get it in a couple of days. If I promised you that, would you stay a whole week?”
Grilling her doesn’t seem right after the night she’s had. Besides, I’m dangerously reluctant to leave her side. “Yeah.”
“Would you stay another week for an additional five thousand?”
“Let’s see if you even need me beyond a few days. You may decide that you’re safer after some firearms and self-defense training, then use that money to find another high-security building like you had in LA. That would solve a lot of your problems.”
“Maybe.” But she doesn’t sound convinced.
What is she not telling me? I can’t begin to guess, but there’s something…
Silence descends again, barely punctuated by the rev of the classic car’s engine and the robotic directions my GPS gives. Finally, we turn onto a street cordoned off by an electronic gate. After I punch in the code Trace texted me, I zoom toward a shimmering white villa situated on a picturesque beach. This place is a giant step up from Joe’s apartment.
My occasional beer-drinking buddy ducks out the front door and waves my way as I pull up to the curb.
I turn to Amanda to gage her reaction. She doesn’t seem to have one, but she looks both taut and tired, like she can’t decide whether she’ll crack or needs to escape into the numbness of slumber. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
In my experience, when a woman says she’s fine, she never is. But I’m betting Amanda won’t appreciate me using the lessons I learned during marriage on her. I swallow a curse. “I’ll get Oliver.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze barely skims me.
I climb out of the car, then lean in to pluck up the boy. He takes one look at me with bleary, half-open eyes, then starts to wail.
Fuck, what did I do wrong?
Trace rushes over. “Need help?”
“Pointers, maybe. I’ve never been around kids.”
“Ever?”
“Nope. I’m an only child. But more importantly, I need my hands free…just in case.” Someone violent is lying in wait.
Trace nods like he understands. “Masey and I have been here for a bit. We haven’t seen anyone.”
“Great.” But that doesn’t mean the place is safe. It may mean that whoever’s after Amanda is just good.
She climbs out of the car and dashes around to claim Oliver, cradling him protectively as she shoots me an apologetic glance. “Sorry. He’s still behind on his sleep.”
Does she think I’m going to be angry because he’s fussy? “It’s no problem.”
She sends me a stilted smile, then turns to my buddy. “Hi, Trace. Do you know where I can lay my son down?”
“I don’t. I’ve only been here a few minutes, but my friend, Masey, is inside. Since she knows her way around this place, she’ll help you.”
“Thanks.” She grabs her diaper bag from inside the muscle car, soothes her fussy son with a soft whisper, then shoots me a sidelong stare before she disappears inside.
“How’s that going?” he asks.
I watch Amanda walk toward the house. Every instinct I possess tells me to stay on her ass—not just the bodyguard in me…but the man. The latter is the only reason I’m giving her an inch of space. “Um…interesting.”
“That doesn’t sound good. Shit. Sorry, man. I’ll pay you for your time and headache.”
“No.” I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want Amanda beholden to him in any way. My instinct is stupidly possessive; I think he’s got something going on with whoever Masey is. But I still don’t want him between Amanda and me. “She’s got it. We’ve worked something out.”
He frowns. “But?”
I’m not surprised he’s sensed the undercurrent between us. “She’s wary.”
“Of you?”
“Until now, I didn’t know if it was me or men in general. But she doesn’t have a problem with you.” And that chaps me.
“What do you think is going on?”
“I have some theories.”
Mostly that she’s attracted to me, too. She’s definitely looked. God knows I have. It’s a bad idea all the way around.
Trace nods. “Got any luggage?”
“Yeah. I could use a hand.”
He hauls my duffel and Oliver’s rolling suitcase with the race-car motif inside. I handle Amanda’s enormous bag and my gun case.
The inside of the house is huge and airy, everything seemingly neutral and white. I follow the sounds of women chatting softly, bypassing one suitcase in the middle of the hall, and find them in the master bedroom with a wall of windows open to the morning sun and one-hundred-eighty-degree ocean views. Like the rest of the house, neutrals and whites make a muted statement, letting the paradise all around shout its color and beauty.