# Ridge: The Avenger

Leanne Banks

Sons and Lovers "Groundbreaking! The Sons and Lovers series will enthrall you." - bestselling author Suzanne ForsterSHE WAS THE MARRYING KIND… Ridge Jackson's plan was simple: protect lovely Dara Seabrook and get revenge on her godfather at the same time. Ridge was a professional; he knew the dangers of mixing business with pleasure. How then had the voluptuous brunette gotten under his skin?BUT HE WASN'T ABOUT TO GET HOOKED!Dara's sultry blue eyes soon made Ridge forget all about revenge and remember how good a woman's love could be. But now Dara was dangerously close to stealing his heart - and about to discover how she figured in an old score he had vowed to settle… .SONS AND LOVERS: Three brothers denied a father's name, but granted the gift of love from three special women.

## Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About The Author

Acknowledgement

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

## “Good Morning,” Ridge Growled. “Did You Sleep Well?”

Dara smiled. “Like a baby.”

Ridge scowled and turned away. “I’m glad one of us did.”

Her heart tightened, but she made herself remain calm. “You’re not going to give me one of those morning-after I-shouldn’t-have-given-in-to-my-carnal-urges speeches, are you?”

Ridge sighed and met her gaze. “No. I couldn’t regret last night, not one minute of it. But there are some things that last night can’t change—that nothing can change.”

“I wish you would tell me.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Then tell me you’re not going to pretend that we didn’t make love. Or that you’re just my bodyguard. Or that I’m just another client….”

## Dear Reader,

Welcome to the wonderful world of Silhouette Desire! This month, look for six scintillating love stories. I know you’re going to enjoy them all. First up is The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby, a fabulous MAN OF THE MONTH from Dixie Browning. It’s also the second book in her TALL, DARK AND HANDSOME miniseries.

The exciting SONS AND LOVERS series also continues with Leanne Banks’s Ridge: The Avenger. This is Leanne’s first Silhouette Desire, but she certainly isn’t new to writing romance. This month, Desire has Husband: Optional, the next installment of Marie Ferrarella’s THE BABY OF THE MONTH CLUB. Don’t worry if you’ve missed earlier titles in this series, because this book “stands alone.” And it’s so charming and breezy you’re sure to just love it!

The WEDDING BELLES series by Carole Buck is completed with Zoe and the Best Man. This series just keeps getting better and better, and Gabriel Flynn is one scrumptious hero. Next is Kristin James’ Desire, The Last Groom on Earth, a delicious opposites-attract story written with Kristin’s trademark sensuality.

Rounding out the month is an amnesia story (one of my favorite story twists), Just a Memory Away, by award-winning author Helen R. Myers.

And next month, we’re beginning CELEBRATION 1000, a very exciting, ultraspecial three-month promotion celebrating the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire. During April, May and June, look for books by some of your most beloved writers, including Mary Lynn Baxter, Annette Broadrick, Joan Johnston, Cait London, Ann Major and Diana Palmer, who is actually writing book #1000! These will be months to remember, filled with “keepers.”

As always, I wish you the very best,

Lucia Macro

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

## Ridge: The Avenger. Leanne Banks


www.millsandboon.co.uk

## LEANNE BANKS

is a national number-one bestselling author of romance. Recognized for her sensual writing with a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine, Leanne likes creating a story with a few grins, a generous kick of sensuality and characters that hang around after the book is finished. Leanne’s favorite hobbies include hugging her children, dancing with her husband in the privacy of their home and going out to dinner…any night will do.

Acknowledgments to Commonwealth Confidential

Investigations and the Virginia Democratic

Headquarters. Special thanks to my incredibly

talented collaborators Cindy Gerard and

Susan Connell. And to the editor who pulled it all

together, what can I say? Lucia for president!

This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever held

a grudge, and experienced the power and

freedom of letting it go.

## One

The irony of this situation was sweet.

So was Dara Seabrook’s smile, Ridge Jackson thought as he observed the crowd of university students surrounding her. Presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter was seducing the younger vote with phenomenal success.

Her unswerving enthusiasm and optimism captured the demographic group that until recently had eluded Montgomery. Both the press and the camera were at her feet. In other words, Dara was pure gold. And like Fort Knox, she had to be protected.

College women admired her independent and intelligent image. And her hairstyle, Ridge added wryly, recalling that Dara’s picture had recently appeared on the cover of a national newsmagazine.

Ridge knew the young studs weren’t admiring her intelligence, however. They were getting lost in her intent blue-eyed gaze and wondering about the curve of her sweet smile. The more daring ones would skip the appeal of her face and concentrate on her body. A body, Ridge suspected, that would look a helluva lot better laid bare on a rumpled bed than wrapped in a classy but demure dress.

She turned, and beneath the brunette fringe of bangs on her forehead, he spotted the white bandage. That white bandage was the reason he was here. For the briefest moment Ridge wondered, as he always did at the beginning of a job, if protecting this person would cost his own life. In the next moment he dismissed the thought, and considered again the irony. He would protect Dara Seabrook with his life, and she would give him what he needed to make Harrison Montgomery pay.

Regional campaign coordinator Clarence Merriman fussed over Dara as they made their way to the limo. “You had no business coming out here today. You should have stayed in bed and rested. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Your face looks like chalk.”

Dara did feel woozy, but she would die before she admitted it. She deliberately misinterpreted his concern and kept walking, the heels of her black pumps sinking into the campus lawn. “Stop worrying. The picture they took for the paper will probably be in black and white, so no one will notice.”

“I’m noticing,” Clarence huffed indignantly. He made a tsking sound and put his hand at her elbow for support. “Your face looks like paste.”

“Paste or chalk?” Dara smiled at the crotchety man she’d dubbed her baby-sitter. “Your declarations of my beauty are going to my head, but my stomach is complaining. Why don’t we get a burger on the way to the hotel? Then you can tuck me into my room, and I can get out of these clothes, and—”

Dara’s voice trailed off as her gaze collided with a tall stranger studying her as he stood beside the limo. With unusual golden brown eyes, he gave her a once-over that seemed to catalog her height, weight and birthmarks within a matter of seconds.

His navy suit didn’t conceal the impressive breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair touched the edge of his collar, and she might have been fooled into believing he was just another handsome man if she had missed the determined set of his jaw.

He gave the impression of masculine power, not the fake-it-till-you-make-it kind she observed in many of the political hopefuls she met every day. This had more to do with a personal power than with the make of a man’s suit or who his daddy was. She admired the rare quality at the same time she felt intimidated by it.

She was accustomed to being watched, but not with this level of intensity. Uncomfortable, she looked at Clarence. He was fumbling through his notebook.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clarence said as the autumn breeze fluttered the pages. “You must be Mr. Jackson with…with—” Clarence frowned at his notes.

“Sterling Security,” the man finished in a voice that managed to mix steel and velvet, and turned his gaze back to Dara. “I’m here for Miss Seabrook.”

Dara’s stomach took a dive.

He pulled out his ID for Clarence and her to glance at, then opened the limo door. “I understand she has a busy schedule this evening, so I thought we could brief each other on the way to the hotel.”

Looking everywhere but at Dara, Clarence cleared his throat. “Well, of course.”

It finally dawned on Dara that she’d just been assigned another baby-sitter, one she was quite sure she didn’t want. “Just one minute.” She glared at Clarence. “I thought we discussed this last night,” she began. “I thought—”

“It’s out of Mr. Merriman’s hands, Miss Seabrook. Mr. Montgomery arranged for my services.”

Clarence shot her a look of apology and shrugged helplessly. “I’ll sit in the front while you two fill each other in.”

“Fill each other in on what?” Dara’s head was beginning to pound. She stared mutinously at the security man and crossed her arms over her chest. If truth were told, all the campaign publicity was beginning to wear on her. She had four more weeks of heavy exposure to the public eye, and it would take all her resources to tamp down her growing impatience with the press’s superficial obsession with her hairstyle, clothing, and manicure. She felt lonely and a little disconnected. A bodyguard at her elbow every minute would likely send her straight over the edge. “Your presence really isn’t necessary,” she said crisply, because she suspected a diplomatic approach wouldn’t work with this man.

Mr. Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “What about the beer bottle one of Montgomery’s detractors threw at you?”

Dara resisted the urge to touch the bandage and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It was a random incident. A few stitches,” she fudged.

“It’s my job to make that kind of random incident nonexistent, and I understand it was fifteen stitches.”

Dara chafed at the invasion to her privacy. Someone at campaign headquarters had probably filled this stranger in on all the details about the “incident.” She shook her head. “This is silly. I’m not in any danger. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

There wasn’t an ounce of give in his stance, but she thought she saw the faintest sliver of understanding pass through his eyes. “It’s out of your hands.”

Frustration rolled through her, but she knew she couldn’t cause a scene. She’d learned the press was everywhere. Dara got into the car, dropped her head back against the leather upholstery, and resolved to call her godfather as soon as she got back to her room. Feeling the man sit across from her as the limo pulled forward, she closed her eyes to block out his presence, but it didn’t work. “I didn’t get a good look at that ID you flashed. You’re not connected with the Secret Service, are you, Mr. Jackson?” she finally asked after a few moments’ silence.

“No. Since you’re technically not a member of Mr. Montgomery’s family, you’re not covered under government protection.” He pressed his ID into her hand. “Call me Ridge.”

Dara’s eyes popped open. She didn’t want to call him anything. “I’m not going to know you long enough to call you Ridge.”

The leather holder was warm from the heat of his body, and his gaze said he knew she was trying to ignore him. And not succeeding. She appraised him again. He was big enough to be threatening, but lean enough to be able to move fast. She wouldn’t want to meet him in an alley.

“We’ll see.” Ridge glanced out the window and narrowed his eyes. “This wasn’t the planned route I discussed with the chauffeur.”

Dara spotted the familiar sight of golden arches and felt an impertinent dart of joy. “Clarence is trying to appease me with comfort food.” The limo pulled into the take-out lane for the fast-food restaurant. Her sense of humor resurfaced, and she smiled broadly. “What do you want on your hamburger?”

Back at her hotel suite, Dara’s eyes glazed over at the list of rules, directions, and precautions Ridge Jackson delivered during the next hour. Her reactions ranged from mild disinterest, to impatience, to an overwhelming urge to tell the man to chill out. She was just about to give in to that urge when sudden, blissful silence filled the room.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” Ridge tried, but failed to keep the impatience from his voice. It amazed him that such a charming woman could elicit such exasperation.

Dara shook her head and stood. “Oh, no. I heard the first fifteen minutes. After that, I was sure I’d been brought to some sort of Nazi torture room, so I started fantasizing about the sixty-minute bath I’d planned to take. At the moment, the only thing I want is to get rid of my campaign clothes, sink into a hot tub, and let my bath oil take me away.”

The picture she drew with her voice taunted his imagination. It was easy to envision Dara Seabrook naked and wet. During the last thirty minutes she’d slipped off her leather shoes and shimmied out of her jacket, all the while nibbling on the straw of her diet cola. Her lipstick was gone, and Ridge couldn’t decide which way her mouth looked better: lined with a provocative red lipstick, or just plain bare. He brushed aside the thought. “You can have your bath in a few minutes. We need to work out a special password for—”

“Later.” She met his gaze. “Due to your discourse, my sixty-minute bath has been reduced to fifteen.” She stepped closer to him. “I’m still not convinced you’re staying. But just in case you are, you’ve given me all your rules and regulations. Now here’s one of mine, Mr. Jackson. Don’t mess with my bath.”

With that, Ridge was treated to the sight of Dara’s shapely derriere just before she walked into her bedroom and firmly shut the door.

“I don’t like him,” Dara said to her godfather, Harrison Montgomery, as she soaked in the tub.

Harrison’s muffled laughter carried through the phone wire. “I don’t believe you. You like everybody.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.” Dara deepened her voice and imitated a well-known senator. “You know it, I know it, and the American people know it.”

Harrison laughed again shortly, then grew quiet. “I want you to humor me on this. You know how Helen and I feel about you. You’re the daughter we never had. If anything happened to you while you’re campaigning for me, I’d never forgive myself.”

Hearing the sincere concern in his voice, Dara sighed. She’d spent so much time reassuring everyone else about the incident that she hadn’t dealt with her own feelings. She had been frightened, but heaven forbid that she should tell anyone else that. “It was just a few stitches.”

“And this is just for four weeks,” he countered. “You can handle anything for four weeks. Then you can take off for some sunny island and forget about politics and bodyguards.”

Dara felt the gentle persuasive pressure in his voice and she knew she was stuck with a bodyguard. “Does it have to be him?”

“Has he been rude?” Harrison’s tone immediately cooled.

Dara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “No, but, couldn’t you have gotten someone more…” She groped for an adequate description and found all her choices were ridiculous. “Maybe I mean less…”

“Less what?”

Less confident? Less domineering? Less sexy?

Dara kicked at her dissolving bubbles in frustration. “Someone more like Clarence?”

Harrison chuckled. “Clarence wouldn’t hurt a flea. You’ve got the best man for the job. I checked around, and Sterling Security’s reputation is formidable. I spoke to the head of the agency and told him to send his best bodyguard.”

Subject closed. Dara heard the door shut on the subject. As she and Harrison concluded their conversation with a few pleasantries, she felt the ominous knowledge down to her bones.

She was stuck with Ridge.

Ridge watched Dara step through the door and felt her blue-eyed gaze immediately latch onto his. Grudging acceptance, but no surrender, her face said. She wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. Underneath all that demure, sweet charm was a kick that would likely land another man on his butt.

The scent and sight of her bombarded his senses. Ridge felt like he was under full frontal assault. Her dark hair was piled loosely on her head, with her fringe of bangs and tendrils framing her face. She smelted like a dark, secret passion and looked like trouble waiting to happen. Her black cocktail dress faithfully and devotedly followed every curve of her body with the same fervor a Boy Scout made a promise.

Ridge, however, had never been a Boy Scout.

Her gaze swept over him as if she were checking his appearance. The moment lasted just a shade too long for his pride, so he called her on it. “Everything look okay? Or do you need a closer look?”

Her lashes lowered, momentarily hiding her eyes from him. “My vision is just fine from here. I’m sure you’ve had more than enough women tell you that you look better than fine.” She glanced up then. “But that’s not the issue, is it? I talked to Harrison, and he insists you’re the best.”

Ridge felt a strange twinge at Montgomery’s acknowledgment of his abilities.

When he remained silent, she sighed. “He also insists that you remain my bodyguard.”

“If you hate the idea of having a bodyguard so much, why don’t you remove the risk and stop campaigning?”

Dara shook her head. “That’s not an option. I owe Harrison. I’m not sure it’s the kind of debt that can ever be paid in full, but I can help him now, in this role.” She shrugged. “Besides, I believe in him. If ever a man was born and bred to be president, it’s Harrison Montgomery.”

At her words, a deep resentment burned in his gut. He knew Montgomery had been raised in a privileged home by two supportive parents, had attended the best schools, and married a wife with a pedigree. On the other hand, Ridge had been raised in near poverty by a drug-addicted single mother and he had barely graduated from public high school. With the help of the United States Marine Corps, however, he’d worked past his anger and made something of himself. Dara’s blind admiration brought every cynical instinct to the surface. “I suppose you agree with all his views.”

Dara paused and looked at him curiously. “No. I wouldn’t say I agree with all his views. But I do think he’ll make a great leader for our country. My opinion may be partly influenced by my personal experience with him. Harrison has been a stable, supportive force in my life since I was born.” Something dark and painful flickered in her eyes, and her voice softened. “Sometimes, he was the only stable, supportive person.”

He wondered at the source of the pain in her gaze, but she cleared her throat and smiled self-consciously. “That’s another story, though. One you’re probably not interested in, so—”

“Don’t bank on it,” Ridge interjected.

“Bank on what?”

“Don’t assume that I’m not interested in hearing anything about you.”

Dara felt the strangest clutch of excitement in her chest. His direct gaze left her floundering. “I, uh, I—” She cursed her stammering tongue. Heaven help her, she’d been coached by one of the best media specialists in the country to deliver a stutter-free speech. Why was she fumbling now?

“Knowing you is part of my job, and as Montgomery told you, I do my job very well.”

Dara blinked. He wasn’t interested in her personally, she realized. He was only interested in her professionally. Humiliation flooded her chest. Anger followed soon after. Why should she care what Ridge Jackson thought of her? He was just an overgrown baby-sitter.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sure you’ve been given all the information you need to do your job.” She fought the edge she felt creeping into her voice. “We really need to be leaving for the dinner with the Chamber of Commerce. I’ve already phoned my escort—” Unable to recall the man’s name, she frowned and reached for her calendar in her purse. “Tom,” she said finally, feeling Ridge’s eyes on her and wondering why he made her feel more nervous than when she stood in front of a crowd of thousands. “Tom Andrews. I told him we’d pick him up on the way. Is that okay?”

“Fine. Do you need your coat?”

“Yes.” She reached for the blue wool cape, but Ridge put it around her shoulders.

“You know you’re safe with me, don’t you, Dara?”

“Of course,” she murmured, but something about his velvet-and-steel voice didn’t make her feel the least bit safe.

Ridge watched the crowd, not Dara. That was his job, after all. Still, he was aware of her every move. While he watched the exits, he heard her give Harrison Montgomery a glowing recommendation. His gaze moving constantly over the crowd, he wondered how she had managed to rouse the conservative group to wild applause after her brief speech. If she was Montgomery’s secret weapon, then she was more effective than the Pied Piper. He could just hear the sounds of levers being pulled on the voting machines, all for Montgomery.

It was enough to make him puke.

Ridge kept his seething temper to himself, as he had for fourteen years. The perfect moment would come, he knew it in his bones, when he could take his vengeance against Montgomery. This consuming grudge Ridge held against the presidential candidate had the potential to destroy him, and the time had come to do something about it.

He had a plan to settle the score. The first step was gaining Montgomery’s trust. If Ridge had wanted to exact his revenge from a distance he could have called one of the rag magazines and spilled his story, but it wasn’t enough just to ruin him. He wanted Montgomery to hurt, to feel a fraction of the betrayal Ridge had felt when he watched his mother die. Maybe then, he could rid himself of the anger that had burned inside him for so long. Maybe then, he could find peace.

Mindful of the woman who would unknowingly help him accomplish his goal, Ridge looked at Dara and saw her check her watch. When she thought no one was looking, she squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Opening them, she glanced in his direction and nodded. That was the prearranged signal for them to leave. Ridge motioned the chauffeur to collect the limo while Dara said her goodbyes.

“It’s been lovely,” she said to the mayor. “I appreciate your including me tonight, and I’ll be sure to pass on your good wishes to Harrison.”

Her escort stood beside her. “Let me walk you to the car. Are you sure you don’t want to go out for a drink? There’s a nice lounge just around the corner.” He placed his hand at her back. “Or if you want to get away from the crowd, we-could go to my place.”

Dara shook her head and smiled, flashing her dimple. “I’d love to, but it’s been a long day. Maybe—”

Tom Andrews turned on the charm. “Aw, come on, just one little drink. I get introduced to a beautiful woman only to have to tell her goodbye three hours later.”

Walking behind the couple, Ridge decided he couldn’t fault the guy for his persistence. He could fault him for other reasons, though. Ridge would bet that Dara’s date was hoping to use her to pump up his own political prospects. Andrews was running for the state senate.

Dara pulled slightly away and folded her hands. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, too,” Ridge heard her say. “But my schedule is just crazy for the next four weeks. Maybe after the election,” she said vaguely.

“Thirty minutes, just thirty minutes so we can get to know each other better,” Tom said in a voice Ridge thought was ten percent desperation, twenty percent seduction, and seventy percent slime.

Either Tom was being deliberately obtuse, or he had the sensitivity of an alligator. Ridge withheld a sigh. There was no way he’d let Dara alone with that guy. They still hadn’t worked out a password. He stepped forward and pointed toward the front door. “The limo’s here, Dara. Remember, you have an early start tomorrow.”

Dara glanced at Ridge in confusion. “Actually, I was planning to sleep—”

“And the doctor said to make sure you got your rest,” he interrupted. “I’m sure you understand,” he said to Tom as he ushered her toward the car.

“You’ve got my card,” Tom called to Dara. “Give me a call.”

“Thank you again, Tom.” She shot Ridge a look of disapproval as he tried to stuff her into the limo. “Will you wait one minute? I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s part of my job to cut down on your exposure time,” Ridge explained. “We’re on a public street.”

Dara rolled her eyes and slid into the car. When Ridge started to close her door, she shook her head and crooked her finger. “I believe we need to talk.”

As soon as he joined her, she turned to him. “Don’t do that again. I won’t have you acting like some overgrown nanny. I had no intention of extending the evening with Tom, but you have no rights over my private life.”

“It’s my job to protect you no matter who you’re with,” Ridge corrected, and could see she was gearing up for a fight.

“And what if I want to go out for a date? Just where do you draw the line, Ridge? Is it part of your job to come into my bedroom, too?”

He narrowed his eyes at that last remark. At another time, in another life, he corrected himself, her insinuation might have prompted a full range of responses, some more satisfying than others. If he were in Dara Seabrook’s bedroom, he sure as hell wouldn’t just be watching her. Ridge ruthlessly stuck to the facts. “According to your file, since you’ve been campaigning, you haven’t begun a romantic relationship or brought a man back to your room to stay the night. Your file—”

Dara’s indignant gasp was more effective than a scream. “My file!” Even in the dim light of the limo, he could see the color in her cheeks deepen. “Who in hell gave you that kind of private information about me? Who—”

“It’s standard procedure.” Ridge kept his voice neutral, recalling that the file had also said Dara cursed only when extremely upset. “The information is gathered so I don’t walk in cold wondering what your habits are.” She looked like she wanted to hit him, and Ridge couldn’t decide if he was irritated or amused. “If you want to see it, I’ll show it to you.”

“You’re damn right I want to see it, but that’s just the beginning.” Her gaze met his, and Ridge felt the punch of her feminine determination clear down to his bones. “If I’ve got to be with you day-in and day-out for the next four weeks, I want to see your file, too.”

## Two

For a second, Dara wondered if she’d gone too far. The little sensation unfurling in her stomach told her she had.

Ridge stared at her with both masculine challenge and pity for her heated demands. Leaning back in the seat opposite her, he unbuttoned his suit jacket so that it slid back to reveal the stark contrast of his black leather holster and gun against his white shirt. It was enough of a mix of civilized and uncivilized to make her uneasy. His dark trousers stretched taut against muscular thighs spread wide in a typically male pose that somehow made her think of him in anything but a typical way.

“Tell me what you want to know,” he said in that velvet-and-steel voice she was becoming more and more familiar with.

She could imagine him using that same tone with a lover. Only then he would say, “Tell me what you want, baby.” Her stomach tightened.

Dara scolded herself for her outrageous thoughts. Playing with a man like Ridge would just get a woman like her burned. If she were prudent, she’d say forget it and fold her hand of cards with this little skirmish. More than her feminine pride, however, was on the line. She sensed that any shred of autonomy she could maintain during the next four weeks hung in the balance. Pushing back fear and another more vague emotion, Dara straightened in her seat. “Age,” she said crisply.

He lifted an eyebrow. “Thirty.”

“How long were you in the service?”

“How do you know I was in the service?”

She shrugged, gaining back her equilibrium. “Your manner, the way you walk.” She glanced at his feet then back to his face and smiled slightly. “Your well-shined shoes.”

“Ten years, a marine.”

She nodded. “I guess that means you’ve been a bodyguard for—”

“Two years as a civilian. I worked on special assignment in that capacity for four years when I was a marine.”

Dara hesitated only a second. Her natural impulse was to respect another person’s privacy. “Family?”

His gaze turned cool. “None. My mother and grandparents are dead.”

No wife. No mother. No children. No business of hers. “You don’t like answering questions about yourself, do you?”

“I’ve learned that you have to reach a meeting of the minds with your clients. It makes the job work more smoothly.” He glanced away. “Most clients aren’t interested in me, though. They just want me to do my job.”

Dara pictured Ridge’s usual client—a businessman, perhaps a rock musician, someone from a foreign country. They probably all treated him like he was part of the woodwork. She laughed at the ridiculous notion.

He looked at her curiously.

“I guess I’m not like most of your clients, am I?”

His gaze skimmed over her. “No.”

Lord, he was stingy with his answers. She sighed. “What else do you know about me?”

He cocked his head to one side.’ “The regular stats. You graduated with a Liberal Arts degree three years ago and went to work for Montgomery. I’ve been briefed on your close contacts and some of your habits—you don’t last much past midnight if you’ve gone full-speed all day. You’re not usually demanding, but you prefer to feel like you have some say over your situation. I’ll have to agree with that one,” he said, his voice dry.

“And if you were in this situation, would you be any different?”

“No,” he admitted, but he looked as if he would like to argue the point. He loosened his tie. “The file said you have a lot of friends, but you’ve put those relationships on the back burner because of the election. You stay in touch with your mother. You’ve been out with a dozen men in the last several months on outings while you campaign for your godfather, and you’ve politely turned them all down when they asked for another date.”

“And you really wonder why?” she asked. Thus far, Ridge had been incredibly perceptive. She was surprised he hadn’t figured out her reasons on his own.

Ridge shrugged. “The only lethal thing about that guy tonight was his line.”

Dara laughed and shook her head. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

“Right,” he said, his voice full of skepticism.

“I get this all the time. I’m given an escort to most of these functions. It’s part of the job, but these men are all the same. They all want the same thing—and it’s not my heart, not my soul. Or my body.”

Ridge’s gaze flicked over her, lingering on her legs, as if he seriously doubted that last statement.

Dara smoothed her hand over the hem of her dress. “They all want a closer connection with Harrison, and they’re hoping they can get it through me.”

Understanding flickered across his face. “And you want?”

Dara hesitated, wondering how the conversation had meandered back to such a personal topic. “Wasn’t that in my file?”

He held her gaze, shaking his head slowly.

Fighting an urge to fidget she thought she’d conquered years ago, Dara sighed. She still felt a pinch when she remembered how she’d fallen hard for one man’s line, only to learn that what he’d really wanted was an association with her godfather. The experience had made her gun-shy. “It sounds corny,” she said quietly, “but I just want to be wanted for me. I want someone who, for the most part, doesn’t really care that I’m Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter.”

Dara resisted her need to look away from Ridge although she was too aware of him, of how close his knee was to hers, of how his musky male scent mingled with her perfume, of how curious she was about him when she shouldn’t be. Taking a deep breath, she instinctively turned the conversation away from herself. “And what about you? What do you want?”

A charged silence stretched and tightened between them. Ridge leaned forward and placed his hands on either side of her legs. His teeth flashed in a slow, big-bad-wolf grin. “Are you making an offer, Miss Seabrook?”

Her heart hammered against her rib cage. Heat and confusion tangled inside her. “I, uh, I—”

“Because if you are…”

Panic won over excitement. “No!” She pressed her back against the seat. “I was just wondering—”

“I’m wondering, too,” Ridge interrupted in a voice threaded with intimacy. “I’m wondering what’s going on in your mind when your eyelids flutter.”

Her mouth desert dry, she stared at him.

He slid his thumb just under the hem of her dress on the outside of her thigh and her breath hitched in her throat. Watching her with his compelling, golden eyes, he moved his thumb in one slow stroke that made her feel branded. “I wonder a lot more, but if you’re concerned that I’ll take advantage of you, don’t worry. It’s my job to guard your body, Dara, and that’s what I’ll do, even if it means protecting you from me.” Ridge removed his hands and eased away from her. “I make it a policy never to get involved with a client.”

Heaven help her if he changed his mind! She’d been about as threatening as a wet noodle. She should have slapped his inquisitive hands. Next time she would. This time, she just wanted an ice cube. Dara searched for her breath and finally found it. “Good,” she managed to say, nodding emphatically and wishing her hands would stop trembling. “Very good. I think that sounds like a… uh—” She cleared her throat and wondered why she felt like a bomb had gone off inside her. “A wise policy,” she finished, and breathed a sigh of relief when the limo pulled to a stop outside the hotel.

“Here they are. Just what you ordered.” Wearing a dubious expression, Clarence handed the bag to Dara.

Sitting on the plush sofa of her hotel suite, Dara glanced inside the bag and gave a weak smile. “Thank you. They look fine. Did you find anyone who can coach me?”

Clarence adjusted his bow tie. “I asked a couple of people at the local campaign headquarters, discreetly of course, but none of them had any, uh, experience with, uh, rollerblades.”

Ridge watched the interplay between the two of them curiously.

Dara sighed and tucked a lock of her damp hair behind her ear. Fresh from a morning shower, weaning blue jeans that cupped her well-shaped rear end and revealed tantalizing hints of bare flesh from strategically placed tears, along with a Mickey Mouse T-shirt that stretched across her breasts, she looked more like a college coed than the current darling of the press. Her face and feet were bare. With all the polish rubbed off of her, she still exuded a subtle but provocative energy that lured his attention and held it.

The only thing that proved, he told himself, was that his hormones were in working order.

“I don’t want to sound vain,” she said, “but this is something I really don’t want to see on the evening news for the rest of my natural life.”

Clarence nodded sympathetically. “Forrester should have asked you first, but you know how he is when he gets going. I suppose we could attempt to cancel,” he said, his voice full of doubt.

“It would be easier to die.”

Ridge tried to put the pieces of the conversation together. He knew Drew Forrester was Montgomery’s cracker jack media specialist. “Cancel what?” he finally interjected.

Both heads turned toward him. Reservation shimmered in Dara’s eyes. She’d deliberately ignored him since last night. Ridge wondered if that was a result of his actions, and felt the slightest sting of regret. He’d intentionally made her uncomfortable because he’d seen that reckless glint in her eyes, the womanly curiosity. Perhaps he could have let it pass if he hadn’t felt an answering flicker of restlessness inside him. But, hell, the last thing he needed was for Montgomery’s goddaughter to spin her feminine wiles around his head and seduce him.

“Cancel what?” he repeated.

Clarence cleared his throat. “Well, it seems that Mr. Forrester accepted an invitation for Miss Seabrook to participate in an athletic event for the purpose of promoting Mr. Montgomery’s campaign.”

Dara threw Clarence a long-suffering glance. “What Clarence means is that Drew promised the three major television networks and the rest of the free world that I would skate in a parade next week.” She pulled the pair of hot pink and black in-line skates from the bag and spun one of the wheels. “I’m surprised this wasn’t in my file, too,” she muttered darkly under her breath, then tossed Ridge a look of defiance. “I can’t skate, can’t ski, can barely dance. It took me a long time to get used to high heels.”

Her confession amused him, but he restrained himself from laughing. “And you can’t cancel,” he said, confirming her earlier statement.

“Drew doesn’t understand the meaning of the word ‘no,’” she said glumly.

“Quite true,” Clarence agreed. He paused, assessing Ridge. “I don’t suppose you know how to—”

“Absolutely not,” Dara said, rising from the sofa. “It’s not in Mr. Jackson’s job description to teach me how to skate. Besides, I’m sure he hasn’t spent the last few years whizzing around on in-line skates, so—”

“I could teach you,” Ridge casually intoned. “I’ve been on rollerblades a few times. And a fair portion of my misspent youth,” he added cynically, “was spent on skateboards.” There’d been so much darkness when he was a teenager, that sometimes all he could recall of that time was his mother and her addictions. He was surprised by the faint glimmer of his fond memory. “I even won a ribbon once.”

“That doesn’t mean—” Dara began.

“What size skates do you wear?” Clarence asked.

“Eleven.”

Clarence was already on his way out the door when Dara called after him. “Clarence!” She ran to the door. “Wait! I don’t want—” She groaned in exasperation when the door closed behind the campaign coordinator. “Oh, Lord, save me from controlling men.” She turned around to face Ridge. “You really don’t know what you’re getting into. You may carry a gun and know how to go hand-to-hand with the bad guys, but you are really out of your league on this one. This is going to take more than patience.”

Ridge had to confess that Dara was turning this into the most interesting job he’d had in years. “I’m a patient man,” he said in a mild voice.

She waved her hand dismissively. “This is going to take more than skill.”

“I have plenty of skill.”

“You don’t understand. This is going to take a miracle. We are talking about a woman who gets dizzy walking across the beginner’s balance beam. I never could balance a book on my head for my finishing school class. I’m not a balanced kind of person.”

Complete silence followed. Ridge cleared his throat to cover the chuckle he couldn’t contain.

Dara narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Ridge agreed, but couldn’t keep his amusement from his voice.

“I meant that I have a problem with keeping my balance.”

“Right.”

Dara gave him a withering glance. “If I hear you make one crack about my being unbalanced, I’ll—” Tossing her head, she glared at him, obviously trying to come up with a suitable threat. “I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do something rash,” she promised, all heat and bluster.

Something rash. Ridge irreverently wondered what that would be. He’d love to see it. “I haven’t said a word.”

“Yes, you have,” she muttered. “You just didn’t say it out loud.”

Three hours later, in a quiet little park, Dara’s rear end came into intimate contact with concrete for the twentieth time. “That’s it!” She began tugging at the laces to her skates. “I won’t be able to sit down for a whole week.”

“You’re quitting.”

Dara heard the surprise in Ridge’s voice and glanced at him. “I wish. No. This is just a temporary retreat. I’ll try again in a couple of days.” She turned her attention back to the laces and felt her own jolt of surprise when Ridge’s strong, warm hand covered hers.

“One last try,” he said, leaning down beside her. “This time I’ll pull you.”

Dara had rejected this suggestion every time he’d made it. She could handle the instructions, and though he hadn’t made any jokes, she could have handled them, too. She just didn’t want him touching her. He made her feel flustered. “We’ve been over this. You won’t be able to pull me in the parade. I need to be able to do it myself.”

“And you will. This is just one of the steps m learning. C’mon.” He gently urged her to her feet.

Immediately feeling her feet roll in opposite directions, she grasped for Ridge. “I’m going to fall again,” she said, half warning, half plea. “I’m going to—”

Ridge pulled her flush against the front of him. “No, you’re not,” he growled, his voice full of determination, his body a wall of rock-solid strength.

Struggling for a sense of balance that was depressingly elusive, she looked up at him and shook her head. “You’re taking this personally and you really shouldn’t. I warned you it would take a miracle. I told you—”

Ridge’s hard gaze met hers and Dara bit her tongue. “You will learn to skate. I’ll make sure of it.”

She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Have you always been this strong-willed?”

Something flickered in his eyes, perhaps a memory, Dara thought, because his expression relaxed slightly.

“Yeah, I guess I have,” he said. “What about you?”

She was surprised by his assessment. Most people didn’t remark on her will. For the most part, Dara thought she kept that quality well hidden. She glanced down. “No. As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

“Make your skates face forward,” he told her. “And hold on.”

“Don’t worry,” she murmured, concentrating on her feet.

“Look up. If you watch your feet, you’ll end up tripping. You have to watch where you’re going.”

He started skating backward, pulling her gently along. “So when did you develop your stubbornness?”

“I thought we used the term strong-willed.” Keeping her gaze trained over Ridge’s right shoulder, Dara tried not to think about the warm, bulging biceps she was clinging to, the way Ridge’s hands curled around her waist, and the brush of his spearmint-scented breath over her face as he chuckled.

“Okay,” he conceded. “Strong-willed.”

Their speed picked up the slightest bit and Dara tightened her grasp. “My mother raised me, and she was sick a lot when I was growing up. I guess you could say it was a case of what doesn’t destroy us makes us stronger.” She felt his gaze on her and looked up at him to find him regarding her intently. “What?”

He paused. “My mother was sick a lot, too.”

She felt a wave of understanding and saw the same emotion mirrored on his face. In that one moment there was a link between them, a shared experience that had shaped and hurt and left its imprint.

In some corner of her mind she heard a bird chirping and felt the October breeze brush over her, but her senses were dominated by the man who held her in his arms. As she clung to him, she sensed they’d both stepped onto a tiny piece of common ground, and for the first time in months she didn’t feel alone. “How long was she sick?”

Ridge slowed, and the distance between their bodies dwindled from inches to centimeters. “From the time I was born until the day she died. She was a drug addict.”

She heard the grief, and again, identified with it. His gaze flickered between her eyes and mouth, and Dara held her breath. His eyes were tawny, nearly topaz. She’d always thought of them as unusual, and now she knew why. They reminded her of a lion’s eyes, compelling and a bit untamed. A ripple of awareness quivered and quaked inside her.

His closeness was an emotional and sensual seduction more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced. It scraped off the layer of poise she’d hidden behind for months, leaving her bare. His chest was no more than a breath away from her breasts. Her heart pounded, and she didn’t know if she should stop the spell or make it last. But another need surfaced, the need to be known.

“My mother is mentally ill,” Dara confided quietly. “She wasn’t diagnosed for a long time. When she stays on her medication, she does well, but sometimes she forgets.” She took a deep breath. “I always thought it would have been nice to have my dad around, but he wasn’t.” She shrugged, suddenly wondering if she’d revealed too much. “What about your father?”

Ridge’s gaze turned turbulent. “He wasn’t in the picture, either.”

“My father died. He-”

“Mine might as well have,” Ridge said, his tone flat, his eyes giving away the anger.

Dara sensed an immediate distancing from him, and felt upset. It was as if he had teased her by opening the door a crack, then slamming it quickly. Stiffening in distress, she looked down and immediately stumbled, the movement throwing her against Ridge’s chest again. “Oh! I’m sorry. I think-”

“You looked down again,” Ridge said in a low voice that made her too aware of how close his mouth was to her forehead.

Desperately struggling for her equilibrium, she shook her head. “I know, I know. It’s a terrible habit, isn’t it? I think the lesson has lasted long enough.” She pushed ineffectually at his chest. “This sidewalk’s done enough damage to my rear—”

Ridge swore. “Stop pushing me away. You’ll fall again.”

Falling was okay, Dara thought. Falling was easier than being held by Ridge. “Then I’ll just sit down so I can get out of these skates,” she announced, immediately bending her knees.

“Let me help—” Ridge began to kneel.

“No!”

Ridge stared at her.

Dara winced. She lowered her voice and managed a small smile, but she didn’t even attempt looking at him. “I appreciate it, but I can do this much myself. Really,” she insisted when he sat beside her. “You’ve done too much.”

Dara meant that last statement with all of her heart. In more ways than one, and in every way that counted, Ridge had done entirely too much.

After they left the park Ridge gave Dara a wide berth, as much for himself as for her. Quiet and guarded, she kept her conversation with him to a minimum. It was so different from the openness she’d exhibited that he felt a strange sense of loss. He wasn’t totally sure what had happened back there, but he knew it shouldn’t happen again. There was one thing he was sure of, though.

He had wanted to kiss her.

Not just a gentle, friendly brushing of their lips. What he’d really wanted was to taste her, to slide past her lips and teeth and take her breath and let her take his. He’d wanted the tangle of her sweet tongue with his. And if he were honest, he would admit that he wanted to join more than his mouth with Dara.

Stifling an oath, Ridge decided honesty was definitely overrated. He needed Dara for one thing, and it wasn’t sex. He needed her to get to Montgomery.

When they returned to the hotel suite, Dara flipped through her messages and frowned. “I’ve got some calls to make. My mother and Drew,” Dara said, looking worried. She headed for her bedroom.

The expression on her face gnawed at him. “Is she okay?”

Dara glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gaze for the first time since they’d left the park. Caution and need smoldered in the blue depths of her eyes. Ridge wondered how he’d ever thought of her as cool and superficial. “I don’t know,” she said, and hesitated for a moment. Then her lashes swept down, shuttering her eyes from him. “Thanks for asking.”

Two hours later, after Ridge had heard the faint lilt of her voice beyond the wall and the rush of water for her bath, Dara came back into the darkened living room of the suite where he sat watching a ballgame on TV. Dara gave a covetous glance to the two slices of pizza left in the box.

“You can have it,” Ridge offered.

“Are you sure?” Standing in front of the coffee table, she paused, wondering if she should have just stayed in her room the rest of the night. She could have waited until tomorrow to tell Ridge about the change in schedule, but she’d felt restless and hungry.

“I’m sure.” Rising, he took a few steps into the adjoining kitchenette and opened the refrigerator. “Beer or cola?”

Dara nudged the olives off a piece of pizza and took a bite. “I don’t suppose there’s a margarita or two in there.”

Ridge cracked a smile at the wistfulness in her voice. “No, but I’m sure we could get one sent up from the bar.”

“Any Mrs. Fields chocolate-chip cookies?”

Ridge lifted an eyebrow. “Is this a list of Dara Seabrook’s favorite things?”

“A partial list,” she admitted. “But I’ve already indulged myself with a bath.” She shifted slightly. “It’s a good thing I didn’t fall forward on my knees this afternoon. This way, I can hide my misery from the public,” she told him dryly, alluding to the state of her posterior.

“I take it that’s why you’re not sitting.”

Dara smiled grimly.

Ridge allowed his gaze to sweep over that portion of her anatomy. “Should we bring a pillow next time?”

Dara looked at him in horror. “And have the press plaster a shot of that on the comic page? I don’t think so.”

Strolling back into the room, he popped the top on a cola and handed it to her. “I’m supposed to guard your body, and believe me when I tell you, you’ve got a great-”

“I’ll look after that part of my body myself, thank you very much,” she quickly interjected. “I don’t think it’s your job to be quite so concerned with my…” She looked at the pizza, hoping it could provide her with a comfortable term, and waved the crust when she couldn’t find one. “I believe my overall safety is your primary concern.”

Wearing an enigmatic gaze, he crossed his arms and leaned against the sofa. “If you say so.”

“So,” she said firmly. Dara swallowed another bite of pizza and vowed to not let Ridge send her into another frenzy. If this scene was a little too cozy and if Ridge looked too appealing in his worn jeans and partially unbuttoned shirt, then it was just the dim light. In one quick movement, she flicked on the table lamp.

“Is your mother okay?” Ridge asked, watching her curiously as she turned on another light.

Dara nodded. “I’ll call her more often during the next two weeks, though. She sounded a little lonely.”

Ridge waited to see if she would add anything, but the only sound in the room was the muted volume of the TV. It took him a full moment before he realized that Dara was stealing covert glances of his chest. A rush of pure pleasure coursed through his blood. Heat swelled inside him, and fierce masculine pride nearly burst the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Just a couple of glances from beneath her eyelashes, he thought with disgust, and he was ready to rip off his shirt for her. He didn’t even want to think about the state of the front of his jeans.

Inwardly cursing his hormones and ego, he cleared his throat. Twice.

Dara blinked. Ridge watched her cheeks bloom with vivid color. He wondered if the blush covered her whole body and thanked God that in America they didn’t shoot a man for his thoughts.

“Sorry. Guess I’m more tired than I realized.” She looked away and brushed her hair from her face. “I think I’ll make an early night of it. Great pizza. It was nice of you to share.” She moved toward her bedroom. “Good night.”

“You don’t have to—” Ridge stopped himself. Maybe it would be best if she went to bed by herself.

She whirled around quickly. “Oh, there is one other thing. Drew said we’ll be taping an interview with MTV, so we’ll be flying out to meet Harrison next—”

“Harrison,” he repeated, the name a splash of cold water. Numbness spread through his limbs.

“Yes.” Her dimple flashed disarmingly. “Harrison Montgomery, the next president of the United States of America. Our interview’s next week. I guess you can swap horror stories with the Secret Service guys.” She cocked her head to one side and her smile faded. “Let me know if you want to meet him. I’ll introduce you.”

Ridge shrugged, but didn’t say a word. He couldn’t have. Through the roaring in his brain, he watched Dara walk into her room and close the door. If he wanted to meet Harrison, she would introduce him. Her words echoed like a discordant refrain, and he wondered what Dara Seabrook would think if she knew she’d be introducing Ridge to his father.

## Three

“It’s gonna be a three-margarita night,” Dara muttered under her breath as she stepped out of the limo door Ridge had opened for her. A group of Montgomery’s supporters recognized her and gave a loud cheer. Ever mindful of the in-line skates dangling from her hand, Dara pushed her lips into a gracious smile and waved. “Four margaritas,” she corrected herself.

“I don’t want you going to a bar,” Ridge said, walking with her toward the platform.

Dara cast her brilliant smile at him. “Tough,” she returned cheerfully. Since that night he’d shared his pizza with her, he’d been about as warm and inviting as the planet Pluto. She wished she could dismiss him from her thoughts, but to her supreme irritation, Dara found she was aware of him every minute of the day. She was tired of walking on eggshells around Mr. All Business.

His gaze surveying the crowd, he frowned. “It’s my job to keep you safe, and going to a bar—”

“Will give you a fresh challenge. I wouldn’t want you to get bored.”

He flicked an annoyed glance at her, then back to the crowd. “I pick the place.”

Dara shrugged. “As long as they make great margaritas.” And because she felt she’d been pushed just a little too far, she pushed back. “The jeans look great, Ridge,” she said in a husky, taunting voice. “The women won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

She saw him stiffen. When she’d noted his casual clothing and said she was relieved he wouldn’t be carrying a weapon today, he corrected her and displayed the gun beneath his lightweight windbreaker. Although she found the weapon unsettling, she had to confess his jeans molded his masculine contours with breathtaking precision.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked in the same soft yet lethal voice Dara remembered him using in the car when his hands had been on her thighs and his mouth had been too close—yet too far away.

A shiver ran through her, but she ignored it. After all, she was getting ready to make a complete fool of herself on all the major television networks. Dara gave him a reckless smile. “A woman has to take her pleasure where she can get it.”

He’d sure as hell like to be the one to give it to her. Resisting the urge to pull his client into his arms and sling her over his shoulder, Ridge watched Dara sashay up the steps in front of him to the platform. With her feminine curves, the biker shorts and vibrant fitted top she wore were an unholy distraction he could ill afford.

Calling on years of discipline, he tore his gaze from her and back to the crowd. That was his job—to watch the crowd, not Dara. Her body might distract him, but it was her attitude that made him sweat. She was sexy, edgy, and a little careless. He could practically hear the ticking of a bomb ready to explode. She was pushing his hormones into overdrive and turning his hair prematurely gray. What was going on in her pretty, fiendish mind?

If he read her correctly, and he feared he did, Dara was spent. She’d had enough of the campaign. She’d had enough of the press. And she didn’t like having a bodyguard. She’d been pushed one step over the line. Sweet Lord, Ridge wondered exactly how she was going to let it all rip.

It was almost enough to seduce his attention away from the upcoming MTV interview when he would see Harrison Montgomery face-to-face. But the prospect of seeing his father tightened Ridge’s gut every time he thought of it. He’d expected his bitterness to increase, but not his curiosity about the bastard. His curiosity deepened with each passing moment, however, and Ridge hated that. Cramming his thoughts into the back of his mind, he nodded to Ray and ignored a blond woman’s approving gaze.

The mayor greeted Dara, then introduced her over the loudspeaker. “We all know we’re gathered here today to celebrate the renovation of our oldest park, Grayford Commons. The history of this park dates back to the revolutionary war. Your hard work and contributions have made Grayford Commons a place to be proud of again. We’re especially honored today to have presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter—” The mayor grinned. “Dara Seabrook. She will lead our in-line skating parade and present the awards for the races. Please welcome Dara Seabrook.”

Ridge slid a glance over to Dara and saw a trace of desperation she quickly disguised. “I didn’t know I would be leading the parade,” she said into the microphone, and waved her hand over the crowd. “Especially with all these fine in-line skaters ready to skate circles around me.” She smiled. “I’m counting on you to skate circles around me, so someone will be handy to pick me up if I fall.”

The crowd laughed. Dara commended the city on their renovation project and reminded everyone to vote for Montgomery, then made her way down the steps. Ridge took her arm.

“I can’t believe they expect me to lead this,” she whispered. “I’m going to kill Drew Forrester. Remind me of that when I see him, and don’t let him talk me out of it.”

Ridge bit the inside of his cheek in amusement, but kept his gaze on the crowd. Dara sank to the curb and began lacing her skates. “I’ve got a new guard named Ray on the other side of the street,” Ridge reminded her. “Don’t go too fast.”

Feeling her tug at his pant leg, he spared her a quick glance. She shot him a dark glare. “That wasn’t funny. You’ve seen me skate. I’m doing good if I remain vertical.”

Helping her up, he placed a steadying hand at her waist. So, Darlin’ Dara got cranky when she was nervous. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

“Not with these ankles,” she said under her breath, then pushed off into the street. She still felt the warmth from Ridge’s hand. He had a firm touch that, underneath it all, made her feel secure. Squashing the odd urge to turn around and ask him to take her away, she waved to the crowd and smiled brightly. She had a job to do, and comfort from Ridge Jackson wasn’t on the agenda.

Within seconds a banner was thrust into her hand and she was surrounded by a group of elementary school children. To her right a band tuned up, but Dara didn’t look. Keeping her gaze focused straight ahead and a smile plastered on her face demanded all her concentration.

She made it one whole block and unbent enough to exchange a few words with the children. By the end of the second block she was shakily humming to the band’s accompaniment of “This Land is Your Land.” Humming was safer because Dara always got the lines about the redwood forest, gulfstream waters, and the valleys all mixed up.

“Hey, lady,” a little boy just behind her said. “Your knee pad’s slippin’. You want me to get it for you?”

“Where?” Dara immediately looked down. The boy reached for her knee pad and ended up pushing her. Off-balance, Dara careened forward, the pavement coming closer at an alarming rate. “Oh!” Her right knee hit first, then her hands, and absolutely nothing diminished the impact. Pain vibrated through her leg and hands, then somebody fell on top of her.

“Watch out!” at least a dozen voices called as the skaters parted around her.

Mere seconds passed and Ridge was pulling her to her feet. She thought she heard him swearing, but the support from his body felt wonderful.

“Let’s get you out of—”

“I’m sorry, lady.” The little boy who had accidentally pushed her hung back from the rest of his friends.

“We need to move you,” Ridge muttered, and began to guide her toward the curb.

“Wait a minute.” Dara stopped as best as she could.

“I was just tryin’ to help,” the boy said, wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Despite her throbbing knee, Dara’s heart went out to him. No more than seven years old, he looked miserable. “Of course you didn’t.” She felt a trickle of blood run down her shin and bit her lip. “Tell you what. I need to get a bandage. Would you carry the banner for me?”

His brown eyes lit up. “Wow. Can I really?”

She ruffled his hair. “Really.”

Ridge tugged her along. “Time to go,” he said firmly. “I’ll take you back to the limo and—”

Dara shook her head. “I can’t leave yet. I’ve still got to present the awards for the in-line skating races.” She gave a wry smile to the mayor who was bearing down on them, along with a half dozen other people. “Sorry about my little spill. Does anyone have a bandage?”

Within five minutes Dara traded her in-line skates for tennis shoes and had a bandage placed on her knee. While staying by her side for the next two hours, Ridge developed a healthy dose of respect for her. When he’d pointed out that no one would fault her for leaving early, she’d dismissed the option. “They’re counting on me.”

So he watched her smile and laugh even as she favored her right leg, and he thought that perhaps the statement about Dara being pure gold went deeper than the surface after all.

“Who’s your sexy shadow?” Kit Brubaker, a longtime friend from Dara’s alma mater asked as she gestured toward the waiter for a second round of margaritas.

“My bodyguard. Just until the end of the campaign.” Dara licked the rest of the salt off the rim of her glass and sighed. It was such a relief to talk to someone not connected to the campaign. “My godfather insisted,” she added, and glanced around. Ridge had selected well. The elegantly appointed hotel bar had great service and drinks. Of course, Ridge was far more pleased that the hotel had security and the hotel bar had security. Dara was beginning to feel as if Wells Fargo had taken over her life.

Kit’s eyes widened. “A bodyguard. I can just hear Whitney Houston singing something sexy in the background!”

Dara didn’t find that amusing. “Then you’re suffering from delusions. Ridge is no Kevin Costner.”

Kit glanced at Ridge again and nodded. “You’re right. He’s better looking than Kevin Costner.”

Dara tried to affect a stern expression, but the combination of the eventful day and margarita were too much. She giggled past her frown. “You’re right. He is better looking.”

A gamine blonde who’d always been known for her sense of the absurd, Kit grinned. “So, what’s it like having a bodyguard? Has he picked you up and carried you out of a crowd? Is he with you every minute of the day?”

Dara shook her head. “Did you get a part-time job with one of those scandal sheets?” she returned with a meaningful expression.

Kit’s face softened in compassion. “You do have to think about the press all the time, don’t you?” She gave a mild shudder. “I don’t envy you that. But there’s a reason they put you in front of a mike and camera, Dara. You’re good.”

“Thanks. You’re nice to say that, although I’m not always sure exactly what I’m accomplishing.” Dara gave a brief smile of gratitude to the waiter for the drinks. “It’s not always bad, but we’re at the end of the campaign right now, so the pressure to avoid any screwups is incredible.” She took a sip. “That’s why I called you. I knew I could count on my old sorority sister to help me blow off a little steam.”

Kit placed a hand over her heart. “I’m honored, and I do take my duty seriously. But since it’s not likely that I’ll ever need a bodyguard, I hope you’ll take pity on me and give me the dirt on what it’s like to have one.”

Dara sighed, but relented. Briefly glancing at Ridge, she thought about how she was always aware of him. The only respite she got was when she slept, and not always then. “He tells me what I can’t do and where I can’t go, which is just about anything and anywhere not preplanned. We disagree on how cautious I need to be. And you wouldn’t believe the things he checks before I even enter a hotel building.”

Kit looked disappointed. “This isn’t nearly as exciting as I’d imagined,” she confessed. “Have you had any personal conversations with him?”

“Not many. He’s all business.” Feeling a trace of guilt about discussing him, Dara lowered her voice even though she knew Ridge couldn’t hear her. “He hovers—constantly.”

Kit made a face and shrugged. “If he’s that bad, why don’t you ditch him?”

“My godfather won’t fire him, so—”

“No.” Kit shook her head emphatically. “I mean, if it’s driving you nuts for him to hover, why don’t you escape?”

Dara blinked at the suggestion. Alarm and a heady, naughty excitement shot through her. “You mean, sneak away without telling him? Sneak away to go shopping, or buy ice cream, or…?” Her list was endless.

“Or anything you want to do. You deserve it, Dara. You’ve worked like a dog during this campaign.”

Why did she feel like she was talking to the devil himself? “Harrison would never approve.”

“That’s true,” Kit admitted, but Dara also knew that Kit didn’t give a damn about gaining the approval of others. In Dara’s opinion, it was one of Kit’s most admirable qualities.

“Clarence would probably have a stroke.”

Kit nodded. “Yep.”

“And it would infuriate Ridge.” She took a sip of her drink and thought out loud, “The mature, responsible choice would be to continue to allow Ridge to do his job. Then, after the election, I’ll be free to go where I please.”

“Right. So what are you going to do?”

Wavering on her inclination to be mature and responsible, Dara smiled slowly. “That’s a good question.”

Ridge folded the last section of the newspaper, glanced at his watch, then at the door to Dara’s bedroom. She’d mentioned something about sleeping in, but she’d never slept past eight-thirty before. He wondered if those margaritas were slowing her down this morning.

The phone rang, and since she had insisted, he waited for her to pick it up. He waited six rings and frowned. Why wasn’t she answering? Was she sick? He’d put off checking on her because he didn’t think the sight of Dara in bed would do a hell of a lot for his resolve to maintain a professional distance from her. Brushing that thought aside, he crossed the living room and was lifting his hand to tap on her bedroom door when he heard a knock on the suite door. Ridge turned away to answer it.

Newspapers clutched in both hands, Clarence Merriman burst in full of excitement. “How’s our girl this morning? She must have been tired if she canceled our breakfast appointment. Have you seen these papers?” Clarence waved them in front of Ridge. “Drew Forrester is beside himself with joy. Said he tried to call Dara a few minutes ago and couldn’t reach her. He told me to get her on the phone immediately, so he can congratulate her.” Clarence winked knowingly. “I think he’s got his eye on our Dara. Is she in the shower?”

Ridge’s frown deepened. Drew Forrester was starting to get on his nerves, and he hadn’t even met the man. “She’s not in the shower.” He shoved away from the doorway. “I was just getting ready to check on her.”

Surprise crossed Clarence’s face. “She’s not up yet. That’s not like Dara. I hope she’s not sick.”

Ridge tapped lightly on her door and waited a moment. Then he knocked a little more firmly. “Dara,” he called. “Open up. Clarence is here.”

He opened the door a crack, then pushed it the rest of the way open. Surveying her room in a one-second glance, he swore out loud. His chest squeezed tight.

Dara was gone.

His mind racing at the different possibilities, he dashed into the room and snatched up the note on her bed. As he read it, Ridge’s alarm quickly shifted to anger. Clarence was talking a mile a minute. To halt the older man’s panic attack, he shoved the note in his face, then immediately picked up the phone.

And while he dialed, Ridge thought about wringing Darlin’ Dara’s pretty little neck.

Anticipation shimmered throughout Dara. Five minutes to go. She adjusted her sunglasses and tugged the bill of her cap forward. The huge sunglasses were her own; the cap, one of the treasures she’d picked up at the flea market this morning. Her two hours of freedom had left her feeling more intoxicated than the margaritas from the night before.

It wasn’t as if she’d done anything that bad—no illicit sex, no gambling, no criminal activities. She’d just spent the morning by herself shopping. Her final stop was the only ice-cream parlor in town that opened at 9:00 a.m. Dara wanted to eat two scoops of ice cream without being watched by Ridge.

The desire was becoming an obsession. Dara was dealing with a constant craving…which she had decided was Haagen-Dazs ice cream.

If the image of his nearly bare chest was branded on her brain, she conceded that it was just because, physically, Ridge was an incredible male specimen. And if her mind wandered too often to the question of just what it would be like to kiss his mouth and feel the passion rise within him, well, that was just one of the side effects of the stress from the campaign.

Dara smiled as the bell over the door announced the opening of the ice-cream parlor. The short, bald man wearing a wide, cheerful smile welcomed her. “Someone’s been shopping at the flea market and decided she wanted ice cream for breakfast. What can I get for you?”