Debra Webb - Personal Protector

Ric shook his head. Hell, he thought he’d gotten over that inferiority complex long ago. The past was just that; he couldn’t change it…didn’t want to really. Those tough years had made him a better man. He didn’t like being judged based on how others from the barrio had failed, no more than he was certain Piper would want to be held accountable for what some of her royal crowd had turned into.

The high-pitched tone of the motion detector warned him that the subject of his contemplation had just opened her door. Ric hissed a curse and quickly wrapped a towel around his waist. She wasn’t supposed to make a move for at least another forty-five minutes. Piper’s neighbor had worried that he’d promised to attend some sort of charity function with her tonight. Camp had told him he would take care of informing Piper of the sudden change in plans. It would be just Ric’s luck that Piper had decided she needed a pair of panty hose or something, which would require her to leave early.

Before he could consider what the hell he would say to stop her from going anywhere without him, he had bounded to the door, unlocked it and jerked it open. To his surprise Piper stood directly in front of him wearing a tight little black dress that barely hit midthigh. Very sexy high-heeled shoes and definitely no panty hose. Whatever he’d decided to say left him the moment his brain assimilated all that he saw.

For the second time today, Piper stood gawking at Ric Martinez. Only, this time he wasn’t wearing that slick mix of silk and rayon attire. This time he was naked, save for the towel carelessly slung around his hips. Water droplets clung to his golden skin, some slipping down muscled terrain that did strange things to her insides. His hair was damp too, she noted, when at last she could tear her gaze away from that truly incredible bare chest.

The shower. He’d been in the shower. But she hadn’t even knocked on his door. Had she? Piper shook her head to clear the fog there.

Reality abruptly kicked in. What was he doing in Mr. Rizzoli’s apartment?

And why was he staring at her like that?

When his gaze finally connected with hers, desire flashed in his eyes. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, then flip-flopped when she considered that he must see the same thing in her eyes. Piper blinked and squared her shoulders in an attempt to mask her runaway response to the man.

“What are you doing here? Where’s Mr. Rizzoli?”

Why hadn’t she noticed before the perfect cut of Martinez’s nose in proportion with his chiseled jaw? Or that sexy cleft in his chin?

Her cameraman. They worked together. She wasn’t supposed to notice things like that about a co-worker. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way about a man she had absolutely nothing in common with, and didn’t even like for that matter. Especially one that infuriated her to the extent Martinez did. But those unbelievably wide shoulders and that amazing face…mercy, she was losing her perspective altogether. A plausible excuse bloomed in Piper’s mind, sending relief soaring through her.

Sex. It was about sex. She hadn’t…in, she concentrated hard, in almost a year. Her eyes widened. A whole year? Had it really been that long? No wonder she was drooling over Mr. Latin Lover here. It was nothing personal. Just hormones. She’d been too busy for a social life lately, and her body was simply overreacting to the first attractive man under fifty who got too close.

“Mr. Rizzoli’s in Hawaii on vacation,” Martinez finally responded, jumping into her strange reverie with both feet, his tone tense and slightly clipped as if he’d sensed her epiphany and realized he’d drawn the short straw in her opinion because of it.

Hawaii? A frown knitted its way across her forehead. “Mr. Rizzoli didn’t mention a vacation.”

“It was sudden,” Ric offered. “He won the trip and had to leave right away.”

Suspicion wiggled into Piper’s muddled thoughts. This was too coincidental. Too much had happened in her life during the past few weeks for this sudden turn of events to leave her anything but wary. “That doesn’t explain why you’re in his apartment. And just how do you know Mr. Rizzoli?”

Martinez licked those incredible lips and Piper almost jerked with reaction. Silently she cursed herself. She had to get a grip here. She’d worked with Jones for over three years and he’d never once had this effect on her.

“I’m apartment-sitting.” Martinez lifted one shoulder in the hint of a shrug. “Watering the plants, feeding the fish, you know, holding the fort down. My aunt and Mr. Rizzoli met in a gardening class of some sort.”

Piper felt herself nod, though she didn’t understand at all. Had Mr. Rizzoli ever mentioned attending a class? Nothing came to mind. But even so, this wasn’t like Mr. Rizzoli. He never went anywhere, not since his wife died anyway. The few occasions he left the apartment other than as dictated by necessity were when Piper coerced him into attending some function at which she needed an escort.

Like tonight’s charity art auction.

Oh, God.

Her eyes rounded and this time it had nothing to do with Martinez’s naked body, her hormones or her suspicions. She had no escort for tonight’s function. And it was definitely too late to call anyone else. She’d RSVP’d for two. No one—no one—came unescorted to these affairs. And if she did, it would be the gossip of every local television as well as radio talk show host tomorrow.

“Was there something you needed?” Martinez was watching her closely now, as if he expected her to faint or make some unanticipated move.

Piper felt certain all the blood had drained from her face at the thought of all the possible ramifications of attending the art auction alone. Maybe she would be lucky and faint; then she could claim she’d fallen ill and unable to attend tonight’s goodwill mission.

“Mr. Rizzoli was supposed to be my—my escort at a charity function tonight,” she finally stammered. “I suppose he forgot,” she said.

A devilish grin lifted one corner of Martinez’s sexy mouth. “No problem,” he said smoothly. “I’ll be more than happy to stand in for him.”

She shook her head, then realized he wouldn’t understand unless she said the words. “It’s a black-tie affair. You don’t have time to—” He leaned close, the fresh scent of his soap tickling her senses, cutting off her next words and sending a shiver through her. Mr. Rizzoli certainly never smelled like that.

“Don’t worry, querida. You think I can’t dress the part?” he teased softly. “Give me five minutes.” He winked, then pivoted and strode away, leaving her standing, stunned, in the open doorway.

Any air still remaining rushed out of Piper’s lungs as she watched him stride across the room and disappear down the hall. The white towel hung low on his slim hips, and stood out in sharp contrast to the smooth, dark skin that made him the perfect candidate for a sexy body oil commercial. She could just imagine that muscular body slathered in exotic-smelling oil. Piper sucked in a burst of much-needed air at the unbidden image of her smoothing it over his skin. She shook her head to dislodge the ludicrous picture and forced one foot in front of the other until she’d gotten inside far enough to close the door. She sagged against it. Another deep breath and she felt somewhat rational again. All she had to do was stay composed on the outside. He didn’t have to know what havoc he played with her inside.

Piper swallowed with immense difficulty and surveyed the familiar environment. She had played cards many times with Mr. Rizzoli since his wife died last year. Brought dinner to him even more often. He was a kind, good-hearted man. He would never ask someone to watch his apartment if he didn’t trust that someone completely. And if he knew Martinez’s aunt…