Cathryn Parry - Scotland for Christmas

“I always check credentials,” she murmured.

With a slight exhale, he reached for his wallet, removing a card, which he handed to her.

She took it. The plastic was still warm from being in his back pocket, close to his, well... She willed herself not to blush. He was a good-looking man, beneath all his gruffness. And anger, too—there was definitely an undercurrent of anger in there.

She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes, but he was looking away from her. Checking in all directions, like a working bodyguard.

She studied his identification card, which was a New York State driver’s license. Jacob Ross. New York City. A West Side address. A November birthday. He was two years older than her—early thirties—and he was five feet eleven inches tall.

“Everything copacetic?” he said in a somewhat testy voice.

“Lovely, Jacob.” She smiled tersely and passed him back his identification card. She was used to “testy” men—the trait seemed to run in her family. He didn’t scare her one bit. “Please don’t take it personally. I’m trained to be careful.”

“Any other questions?” he asked. It was...interesting how everything he was feeling showed in his face, his voice, his posture. He hid nothing from her. He had a smoldering intensity that was completely unnerving, like she had never seen before.

And right now, it was very clear that he didn’t approve of her. She felt a twinge just realizing it.

Ah, well, she would work to change his opinion. But first, the most important thing was to help him understand that she needed him to accompany her to the street discreetly, as if he was a friend here to visit her, rather than a paid bodyguard.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer that when we go out there again, you take care not to appear to be my driver,” she said as pleasantly as she could. “And I’d prefer to sit up front in your car, in case anyone is watching us out the window.”

“That isn’t protocol,” he snapped.

“It’s my protocol.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure you won’t mind.”

“I do mind, actually.”

She didn’t know what to say. His response was just rude.

They were silent for a moment, sizing each other up. He had the advantage with his dark sunglasses. But she was no lightweight either—she could handle anything.

“Look,” he said finally, “it’s not personal. I’m trained not to talk to or be familiar with my protectees. But I’ve got to say something.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m listening.”

He glanced around her room. “Why are they letting you live here? This place is a security nightmare. I would never let my protectees stay here. See that window?” He pointed. “It’s sniper bait. And this building only has one way in and one way out. With your money and your profile, you should be living in the Ritz-Carlton. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“That would go over well in my study groups, Mr. Ross,” she said calmly. “I’m surprised you don’t see the danger in your suggestion.”

Jacob’s mouth opened and then closed.

She stood patiently. Waiting. From this position, she could see the corners of his eyes behind those dark glasses. He was gazing at her warily. His expressive eyes were a clear blue, as intense as he was. As if he had a hidden banked fire, burning within.

He expelled a breath. “Like I said, it’s my training.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly moved her away from the open window. “It’s what I do.”

Then he walked over and lowered the blinds. “I get people door to door safely. That’s what you can expect from me this weekend. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

This was an interesting situation for her. Maybe she should consider it another of her tests, the steps she’d been taking in working toward becoming the leader of her family’s personal-care products business.

At least she didn’t have to pretend with him.

“Can you do so and still act low-key?” she asked, rubbing her arms. “You know, not broadcast that the person you’re with—me—finds it necessary to hire a bodyguard just to drive a few hours, the way most people do every day as a matter of course?”

“You’re not most people, Ms. Sage,” he said between his teeth. “You know this, don’t you?”

He could be a big problem to her. Rajesh was right—Jacob, in his intensity, stuck out. He also didn’t care that he stuck out.

She cleared her throat. “What I do is stay low-key, Mr. Ross. You’ve heard the phrase ‘fly beneath the radar’?”

His frown intensified.

“ That’s what we need to do today.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “You don’t know all the bad things that can happen to a person,” he said in a low voice.

She didn’t like to hear this kind of talk. “Do you feel uncomfortable with this job the way I’m describing it?” she asked bluntly.

He nodded. “Yes, I have to admit that I do. Your safety is my highest concern. We can’t just waltz out there and—”

“Would you feel better if we canceled altogether?”

His brows flew up. “No, not at all.”

Still looking flustered, he removed his sunglasses. Held them out to her, and then placed them on her dresser. “Okay, fine. Against my better judgment, we’ll do it your way. Here, look...”

He took off his suit jacket, shook it out and folded it. “I’m not a Secret Service agent anymore. I’m just your friendly limo driver. Satisfied?”

But that only accentuated the gun and the handcuffs at his waist. He looked so flustered at the realization that she had to smile.

She placed her hand to her mouth to cover it, but it didn’t stop her feeling from coming out.

He gazed helplessly at her. Without the glasses on, his eyes were so blue...a naked blue, with naked, desperate emotion shining within.

“It isn’t funny,” he said.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I was just wondering what you’re like when you’re not on the job. Though I suppose you’re never not on the job, are you?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. Beneath his gruff surface, he seemed...barren and bleak and out of his element.

Maybe she had completely misread him.

“This is what we’ll do,” she decided. “I’ll walk downstairs with you to the car. I won’t touch your arm—your gun hand will be free. It’s all right, you can put your jacket on if you’d like. But I really would be more comfortable without the sunglasses. Can you live with that?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sheepishly, he shrugged his arms into the jacket. “You’re lucky. Usually we carry a radio, too. Sometimes an earpiece.”

“Then I’m glad I’m a CEO-in-the-making, and not a head of state under your protection.”

He smiled the barest hint of a smile, and then glanced at her again. He seemed to be seeing her through a new perspective.

It pleased her. She wanted him to know that she had big dreams she was acting on. It was the reason she put herself through this loneliness in New York. To her, her goals were important, even if she sometimes needed to play down who she was in order to succeed with the people she lived and worked amongst.

“I behave discreetly,” she explained, “because I need to make a good impression on my classmates. I need this degree in order to be successful in my uncle’s—in my family’s—company and this is the simplest way to achieve it. If I walked about telling people who I am, open about the fact of who we are, it could be a problem. People react to my family in strange ways, Mr. Ross. Some are angry or envious. Some think about the favors they might gain if they befriend us. It’s akin to winning the lottery, you see. You can only really trust the people you knew before you hit it big, and even then, money changes people.”