Erin McCarthy - Deep Focus

There was the rub. Not her comment, but his own fear of aging. Of starting a new life and career and feeling superfluous. “Thirty is the new twenty.”

“Now you’re calling me immature.”

But the corner of his mouth turned up.

“I’m trying to get to know you,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “Stop being difficult about it.”

“Why the hell would you want to get to know me? I’m your bodyguard.”

“You’re my only company for the next seven days.” The look he gave her was so pained she laughed. “Thanks for being so thrilled.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait, you are staying the whole time, aren’t you?”

The thought of him leaving after just a couple of days upset her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yes, I’m staying. But I thought you said you weren’t afraid of Ian’s stalker.”

“I’m not. I’m afraid of being...bored.” Alone. She was afraid to be alone.

That was an unnerving thought to have. Was that why she’d been willing to settle for the half-assed attention of Ian Bainbridge? Because having a boyfriend, even one who was never around, was better than not having one at all? God, she wasn’t in middle school anymore.

She wasn’t that needy. She knew she wasn’t. But she was a woman who thought that she could organize everything in her life, including romance. She lived by lists, and Ian had ticked all the boxes on her checklist of what her ideal partner should be.

“How can you be bored when you have zip-lining to try?”

There was that. She wasn’t even going to mention that she’d also signed up for exploring Mayan ruins and horseback riding on the beach. Her credit card must be on fire.

“You shouldn’t go zip-lining with me with your injury, by the way. I can go by myself.” She didn’t want to guilt her bodyguard into doing something that would set his recovery back.

“I can go freaking zip-lining. I’m not paralyzed. Hell, even paralyzed I could still do it.”

Uh-oh. She’d pierced his male pride. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I was trying to let you off the hook, not imply you’re incapable.” She couldn’t help but add, “And you could reinjure yourself.”

“I’m fine.” He undid his seat belt and leaned forward.

“Where are you going?” Melanie asked, suddenly panicking. Was he leaving? Not that he had anywhere to go. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with her thoughts now any more than she wanted to be alone on tourist excursions.

“I’m taking my jacket off. It’s hotter than hell in here.”

He sounded irritable.

“Oh. Here.” She reached up and turned his airflow on.

“Thanks.” Hunter did his best to shake off his jacket in the tight space.

It was tempting to help him as he struggled out of it, but she figured his balls might shrivel up and fall off if she did. Why did men feel so emasculated by accepting help? And good God, how tempting was it to touch those arms? He was wearing a light blue dress shirt, so she didn’t have the greatest view of his biceps, but without the jacket it was clear that despite what he’d said, he’d brought the guns. Jeez Louise.

“So...you didn’t bring any swimwear?” she asked, striving for casual. Any heterosexual woman past puberty and under the age of, oh, death would want to take a gander at him without a shirt. It was just reality, and she wasn’t about to feel guilty about it. Much. It might fall under the category of objectifying him, but at least she wasn’t paying his salary. No boss-employee conflict of interest here.

Not that she was doing anything other than looking. She was getting to know him. As a potential friend. That was it. She had to remember that and not throw herself at his hard, gorgeous body.

Damn it. Where was the flight attendant with the service cart? She needed some water.

* * *

HUNTER REALLY NEEDED a glass of water. Between the small confines of the plane and the fact that Melanie didn’t seem to understand how attractive she was or what she was doing to him every time she brushed against him, he was burning up. When her ass, perfectly cupped in those tight jeans, had bumped against his chest, it had taken all of his willpower to keep from pulling her down onto his lap for a more enjoyable plane ride for both of them.

He shifted his jacket over his erection and put his seat-back tray down, as well. Anything to hide his embarrassing state of arousal. This was a job. She was a client. It wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t gotten laid in fourteen months. Fourteen long, celibate, lonely months. He’d been pumped to get home from Afghanistan despite the arm, because he didn’t need two functioning arms to take his girlfriend to bed. All those months he’d been fantasizing and waiting for the moment when he could nail Danielle again, and he’d gotten home with his cast off and his libido primed. But instead of a weekend sex fest, he’d gotten dumped.

“I brought a pair of trunks, sure. I have to blend in and look as though I belong on the beach.” He was going to be sitting in a beach chair watching Melanie in her bathing suit. He was praying for a bikini. It just had to be a bikini.

“Good point.” She smiled at him. “Is applying sunscreen part of your official duties? I can never reach that spot right here.” Twisting, she tried to reach between her shoulder blades. “Here.” She twisted again, her chest pushing out toward him, breasts taunting him. Laughing, she added, “See? It’s a problem. I don’t want to burn.”

It was then and there that Hunter decided that this was bullshit. Ian Bainbridge had only hired him for one week, and hadn’t even paid him yet. He didn’t owe the guy total professionalism, not when Ian hadn’t been completely up front with him about the situation. Fourteen months was too long to go without sex, and Melanie was probably equally disappointed at the prospect of a celibate vacation. There was no way he could be expected to spend a whole week alone with her and not die of sexual frustration.

That left him two choices: he could settle her into the resort then turn around and go home, or he could convince her that what they both needed was a no-strings-attached week of sex and sunshine.

The first choice seemed unethical, since Ian believed there was a possibility Melanie was in danger. Hunter wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to her, no matter how remote the possibility. The second option was maybe just a little sketchy and inappropriate, but they were both adults and he wasn’t going to twist her arm too hard. Just...coax.

What would Melanie be like in bed? He had a feeling she would approach sex without guile, but with a certain amount of efficiency. She would want the right location and the right time, and she would have a checklist. Foreplay, oral sex, penetration, orgasm, done. Maybe he was wrong—he’d only known her an hour—but it was a gut feeling, a hunch. He had a sudden visual of her approaching his cock with a look of purpose.

It made him hard, and it made him want to show her that sex didn’t need an order or a plan. “I can be your cabana boy,” he told her. “I’ll rub anywhere you want.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Thanks. Um. So...tell me about yourself. Are you married? Children?”

He almost grinned, but held it back. “No and no.” Pride had him instinctively withholding the information about Danielle, but then he realized it could work to his advantage. “When I got home from my deployment, my girlfriend ended things.”

There it was. Her face softened and her hand came to rest on his knee. “Oh, I’m sorry. It must have been hard to make a long-distance relationship work.”

“Lots of people manage to,” he said truthfully. “So I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” Though she could have told him that before he spent months anticipating a happy homecoming.