“I Don’t Care What Anyone Says, I Don’t Want You Protecting Me,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

“I Don’t Care What Anyone Says, I Don’t Want You Protecting Me,”

said Clea.

“You sure about that?” Ryan asked.

“Positive,” she tossed back. It was bad enough the man made her hormones act up. The last thing she needed was to have him trailing her back to her apartment, sticking himself into her life.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s too bad. Your not wanting me, I mean. It would have made us being roommates a lot more interesting.”

“Roommates?” she repeated. “What are you talking about? We’re not going to be roommates.”

“Sure we are. Because from now on, Duchess, wherever you go, I go. That’s what a bodyguard does.”

Dear Reader,

MEN! This month Silhouette Desire goes man-crazy with six of the sexiest, heart-stopping hunks ever to come alive on the pages of a romance novel.

Meet May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, love-wary secret agent Daniel Lawless, in The Passionate G-Man, the first book in Dixie Browning’s fabulous new miniseries, THE LAWLESS HEIRS. Metsy Hingle’s gallant hero protects an independent lady in danger in the last book of the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid. Little bitty Joeville, Montana, has more tall, dark and rugged ranchers than any other town west of the Mississippi And Josh Malone has more sex appeal than all of ’em put together in Last of the Joeville Lovers, the third book in Anne Eames’s MONTANA MALONES senes.

In The Notorious Groom, Caroline Cross pairs the baddest boy ever to roam the streets of Kisscount with the town virgin in a steamy marriage of convenience. The hero of Barbara McCauley’s Seduction of the Reluctant Bride is one purebred Texas cowboy fixin’ to do some wife-wranglin’—this new groom isn’t about to miss a sultry second of his very own wedding night. Yeehaw! Next, when a suddenly wealthy beauty meets the owner of the ranch next door, he’s wearing nothing but a Stetson and a smile in Carol Grace’s The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy.

Silhouette Desire brings you the kind of irresistible men who make your knees buckle, your stomach flutter, your heart melt...and your fingers turn the page. So enjoy our lineup of spectacular May men!

Regard,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.. 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

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

The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid

Metsy Hingle

www.millsandboon.co.uk

METSY HINGLE

is a native of New Orleans who loves the city in which she grew up. She credits the charm of her birthplace, and her own French heritage, with instilling in her the desire to write. Married and the mother of four children, she believes in romance and happy endings. Becoming a Silhouette author is a long-cherished dream come true for Metsy and one happy ending that she continues to celebrate with each new story she writes. She loves hearing from readers. Write to Metsy at P.O. Box 3224, Covington, LA 70433.

To Sandra and Michael Brown.

Two very special people, two very special friends.

Prologue

She hated weddings, Clea Mason decided, scowling at the bridal bouquet of white roses and lilies that had managed to land in her hands. Silently she cursed Ryan Fitzpatrick. If he hadn’t distracted her, she never would have caught the blasted bouquet.

“Oh, Clea, you’re going to be the next bride!”

“Not if I can help it,” Clea muttered to her newly-married assistant, Gayle. There was no way she intended to get married—ever.

“You’ll change your mind when you meet the right man. Just like I did when I met my Larry,” the other woman replied dreamily before being ushered off for the garter toss.

Relieved to relinquish the spotlight, Clea glanced at her watch and frowned. Just how long does the maid of honor need to remain at these things? Recalling her two sisters’ weddings, she nearly groaned. If memory served her correctly, she’d have to stay at least until the newlyweds left, and they didn’t look like they would be going anytime soon.

Resigned to being stuck a while longer, Clea studied the guests who had turned out for the wedding of her assistant at Destinations. Most were employees of the travel agency, Clea noted. Not surprising, since the bride and groom had no family in Chicago and the agency’s owners had insisted on hosting the reception. Clea paused as her gaze fixed on Ryan Fitzpatrick.

Even huddled with the tuxedo-clad groomsmen, he stood out, and not simply because of his height. The man was flat-out gorgeous, Clea admitted. With his sharp-edged features, deep blue eyes and wicked grin, he reminded her of a fallen angel. His dark hair brushed the collar of his shirt in a way that made a woman itch to run her fingers through the wayward curls, she thought, and tightened her fingers around the stem of the bouquet. As though sensing her scrutiny, Ryan looked up and flashed her that lady-killer smile.

Her traitorous pulse jumped. Blast the man, she thought. Turning away quickly, she barreled right into Sean Fritzpatrick. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back to steady herself.

“I’m not. You can run into my arms anytime,” Sean informed her with a grin. He shifted his gaze to the flowers in her hands. “I was going to ask you to dance. But what do you say we just skip the dancing part and get married instead?”

“Ignore him,” Michael Fitzpatrick said, shouldering his younger brother aside before she could even catch her breath. “Marry me. I’m a much better catch.”

Clea laughed at their outrageous proposals, the tension inside her evaporating. Amused, she relaxed as the brothers bickered over which of them she should marry. Nephews of the owners of Destinations, the pair were familiar faces at the agency she managed and the source of more than a few fantasies among her female staff. Given their good looks and reputations with the fairer sex, Clea was grateful she’d never been tempted to engage in anything more than friendship with either man. Too bad she couldn’t say the same thing about their brother Ryan. Ryan disturbed her in a way no other man had for a very long time.

“Clea, tell my thick-headed brother here that he’s wasting his time,” Sean insisted.

“You’re both wasting your time,” came Ryan’s deep voice from behind her. “Clea isn’t going to marry either one of you clowns. She’s going to marry me.”

Stunned, Clea whirled around. Her pulse hammered furiously as she stared at him. Mischief sparkled in his eyes as he twirled the bride’s garter on his index finger. A smile played across his lips. “Marry you?” she repeated, her temper spiking at his arrogance. “Why I—”

“Can hardly wait. I know, darling. I feel the same way.” And before she could utter a word of protest, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her.

One

“I want Clea Mason’s case,” Ryan said firmly. Folding his arms over his chest, he stared across the desk at his brother Michael and prepared to do battle.

Michael disengaged the speakerphone, severing the telephone connection with their aunt. He leaned back in his chair. “There is no ‘case,’ little brother.”

Ryan bit back the temper that had been building inside him from the moment his Aunt Maggie had come on the line and told them some nut had been pestering Clea. “I may be the new kid on the block here as far as being a private investigator goes, but as a former cop I can tell you that some pervert sending Clea twisted love letters and calling her on the phone makes for a good case of harassment.”

“Which is what I tried to tell Aunt Maggie,” his brother replied, looking more like a lawyer than a detective in his neat white shirt and tie. “We’re security specialists, Ry, not bodyguards.”

“The office manager at Destinations being harassed by some guy doesn’t warrant some specialized security?”

“You and I both know this isn’t a security matter. It’s a police matter—which is why I didn’t want to take this job to begin with.”

“But you did take it,” Ryan pointed out.

Michael scowled at him. “When’s the last time you came up against Aunt Maggie and won?” Not waiting for an answer, he continued, “Besides, what chance did I have when you sat there agreeing with everything she said?”

“I happened to think she was right. Clea needs protection.” At his brother’s snort, Ryan said, “Come on, Mike. You heard Aunt Maggie. This has been going on for a couple of months, and the cops haven’t gotten anywhere. That’s why she wanted to hire us, and it’s the reason you let her bamboozle you into accepting the job. And since you did accept the job, someone needs to keep an eye on Clea. I’m volunteering.”

“Seems to me you’ve been keeping your eye on Clea for quite some time.” Michael pitched down his pen and eyed Ryan closely. “Hell, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she was the reason you decided to leave the LAPD and move back here to join Sean and me at the agency.”

It was pretty close to the truth, Ryan admitted silently. Clea had played a role in his decision to come home. But as the youngest of four boys, he’d learned a long time ago not to give his brothers that kind of ammo. They’d rag him to no end if he did. “My reasons for coming home aren’t the point here. Clea’s safety is. I’m offering to do the job and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“The ‘job’ would be a lot easier if we could tell Clea we were going to keep her under surveillance.”

“I agree. But since she balked at the idea when Aunt Maggie suggested it, we can’t. I’ll just have to protect her without her knowing it.” And while he was keeping her safe, who knew what would happen? A smile tickled his lips as he remembered meeting her for the first time six months ago. He had stopped in at the travel agency to visit his aunt and uncle. While he had waited, he’d been admiring the rear view of the feminine curves and legs of the woman whose back was to him.

Then she’d turned around. And wham! It hit him—that quick-fire flash of awareness. One look into those cat-green eyes, and he’d been a goner. Sure, there was lust. A man couldn’t look at Clea and not want her. But it was more. There was something endearing about the swift way she moved around the office, the way she dealt with the young mother trying to stretch her travel dollars for a visit home. It touched something inside him.

He hadn’t expected it, and certainly hadn’t thought it would happen with her. He’d heard all about the efficient Clea. Ambitious corporate women held no appeal for him. He liked his women soft, fragile—the Suzy-Homemaker types who would be happy being a wife and producing a team of little leaguers. No way had he imagined falling for a career woman. And he certainly hadn’t imagined that the woman he did fall for would take so much convincing that he was the right man for her.

“—besides, you’ve only been with the agency a few weeks. Hardly enough time to get your feet wet in this business.”

Ryan jerked his attention back to Michael and realized he had missed half of what his brother had said to him. “Sorry. What was that you were saying?”

“I said tailing someone who knows you can be a tricky business. Both Sean and I have had more experience at it. It might be better if one of us handled this.”

“No way.”

“Ryan—”

He shot to his feet. Flattening his palms on the desk, he leaned in, bringing his face within inches of his brother’s. “I’d say twelve years on the police force with eight of those years working under cover in vice and homicide gives me a lot of experience. So don’t pull that garbage about you and Sean being older and more experienced. I’m telling you I want this case.”

“What case?” Sean asked, breezing into the room and looking as though he had just tumbled out of bed. Some female’s bed no doubt, Ryan decided, given the sleep-hungry, but sated expression on his brother’s face. Making himself at home on the edge of Michael’s desk, Sean drank deep and long from the steaming cup he held in his hands.

“Clea Mason’s case,” Michael replied.

Sean glanced up from his cup, his eyes sharp with interest. “Clea The Dish is a client?”

“Not exactly,” Michael informed him as he shoved back from his desk. He went over to the coffee setup and poured himself a cup from the pot. “It seems some guy’s been sending her twisted love letters. Last night he phoned her. Aunt Maggie was with Clea when she got the call, and from what she heard, the fellow’s verbal skills leave something to be desired.”

Sean swore and crushed his empty cup. “I’d like to get my hands on the creep.”

“You’ll have to wait in line,” Ryan informed him.

“No one’s going to get a shot at the guy unless the cops catch him,” Michael replied. Until they do, Aunt Maggie wants someone from Fitzpatrick Security to keep an eye on Clea.”

“And that someone is going to be me,” Ryan insisted.

“Hey, wait a minute! Why do you get to have all the fun?” Sean countered. “Besides, I think Clea has a thing for me. Did you see the way she looked at me at that wedding reception last week? The woman’s nuts about me. I certainly wouldn’t object to keeping her company. I’m your man, Mike. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.”

“The hell you will,” Ryan said through gritted teeth. “If anyone’s going to take care of Clea, it’s going to be me.”

Sean practically beamed at the outburst. “Face it, little brother. The lady’s not interested.” Pitching his empty cup into the trash can, Sean scored a ringer and pulled his fisted arm down in a victory sign before turning back to Ryan. He grinned. “Now what was it she said in answer to your proposal? Oh, yeah, I remember. Something like, ‘not if you were the last man on earth.’ Guess you’re just not her type.”

“And you think you are?” Ryan shot back.

“As a matter of fact, I do. And you know, now that I think about it, she never did turn down my proposal.” Amusement gleamed in his eyes. “I guess that means she and I are engaged. In that case, I definitely should be the one assigned to keep her safe.”

At thirty-two, he would have sworn he’d outgrown the habit of rising to his siblings’ baiting, Ryan told himself. Obviously, he hadn’t, because he was itching to pound his fists against his brother’s grinning face. “Like hell you will,” he repeated with a snarl, clenching his fists at his side.

“You know, Sean does have a point,” Michael said, failing miserably to hide the smile tickling his lips. “From the look on Clea’s face when you kissed her at that wedding, I’d say you’re not exactly her favorite Fitzpatrick.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Ryan told him. Clea’s response to his kiss may have been brief, but there had been no mistaking that flash fire between them before she’d caught herself.

“Guess you got shortchanged on the Fitzpatrick charm, little brother,” Sean needled. “Now, me on the other hand—”

“Didn’t get any,” Ryan fired back, then turned to Michael. “I want this case, Mike. We agreed I’d be an equal partner when I joined the agency. Well, I’ve been with the firm nearly a month and all I’ve done is shuffle papers.”

“Shuffling papers is part of the job.”

“But it’s not all of it,” Ryan argued.

Michael sighed. “Give yourself a break, Ry. From what I heard, you were handling some pretty heavy stuff before you turned in your badge.”

“Handled is the right word. It’s done, and now I’m ready to move on. I want to go to work.”

“Kids,” Michael said as though his extra three years made him ancient. “I’d think you would appreciate having some time to get used to not being a cop before having cases dumped on you.”

“I don’t need any time. I’m finished being a cop.” He had done the best he could at the job, but the system had gotten to him. He would no sooner bring in a bust, than the criminals were back on the street. But it hadn’t just been the job. He had felt something was missing in his life and realized it was family. So, he had turned in his shield, packed his bags and come home. “What I need is to work—and I don’t mean more desk-jockey duty. Besides you and Sean are already tied up on other cases. It only makes sense that I get Clea.”

“Hold on a second,” Sean countered. “You take the check fraud case I’m working on, and I’ll guard Clea’s body.”

Michael shook his head. “Sorry, bro. No can do. Sylvia Miller specifically requested you head that investigation.”

“Ah, yes, the lovely Sylvia,” Sean said, his eyes brightening at the mention of the shapely bank president. “So much for me not having any charm.”

Ryan snorted. “Then it’s settled. I get Clea.” Standing, he decided to get going before anyone objected.

“Ry, hold on a second,” Michael said.

Ryan paused, then frowned at his brother’s serious expression. “Yeah?”

“Chances are this nut who’s harassing Clea is harmless. That type usually is. But if he’s not—if he decides he wants more of a thrill than he can get from a letter or phone call—she could be in real danger. She can’t afford to have someone who isn’t completely focused on the job protecting her.”

Ryan stiffened. “You think I can’t handle the job?”

“I’m saying I know you’ve got a thing for Clea.” Michael held up his hand when Ryan started to protest. “We both know becoming involved with a client screws up your judgment. You lose focus because you’re no longer thinking with just your head. If that happens on this case, it’s Clea who’s going to pay the price. I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

I’m not going to let anything happen to her and I’m not going to screw up.”

“Maybe not intentionally, but—”

“Hey, come on, Mike,” Sean cut in as he retrieved a candy bar from his pocket and began unwrapping it. “Clea’s got better taste. Why would she fall for this guy when she can have me?”

Ryan swiped the candy from Sean’s fingers, grateful for something to wrap his fist around. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you, big brother.”

“She turned down your proposal, remember?” Sean teased.

“Haven’t you heard, women often change their minds. She’ll change hers.”

“Right,” Sean quipped, giving him a disgusted look and reclaiming his half-eaten chocolate bar. “I got a hundred bucks that says the lady turns you down flat—again.”

“You’re on,” Ryan told him. “Let’s see your green.”

Sean reached into his wallet and pulled out two fifties. He slapped them on the desk. “What about you, Mike? You want a piece of this?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” He threw a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the desk. “I’m with Sean. I say Clea tosses you out on your can.”

Ryan dropped his own C-note onto the stack. “Six months from now when I slip a wedding ring on Clea’s finger, I’ll be back to collect that.”

A chill chased its way down Clea’s spine. She spun around, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched. Clenching and unclenching the strap of her evening bag, she glanced at the faces of the people around her. Normal faces. Just people in a crowd. And not one of them seemed to be the least bit interested in her.

It’s just nerves, Clea told herself. No doubt brought on by working too many hours and not getting enough sleep. In fact, she should be at home now, making it an early night—not standing on a Chicago street comer in a crush of people waiting for the theater doors to open. She should never have agreed to accompany the Donatellis on this dinner-and-theater outing. Especially not after receiving that last phone call.

Clea shuddered, recalling that eerie whispered voice at the other end of the phone line a short while ago.

“You looked so beautiful today. I liked that red dress you were wearing. I wish I could see you right now. I need to see you. I want to be with you tonight. I want to—”

Stop it, Clea ordered herself, fighting against the panic bubbling inside her as she remembered the letters, the sound of that menacing voice telling her all the despicable things he wanted to do to her. No one was watching her. She was just edgy, she told herself, drawing in a calming breath and releasing it. Nerves. That’s all it was. She had been running on overload for too long. Who wouldn’t be a little tense under the same circumstances?

Of course, spying Ryan Fitzpatrick in the restaurant tonight hadn’t helped. She frowned as she considered the unlikely meeting. The third time in as many weeks that the man had turned up in the same place where she was. Ever since that day at the wedding....

The wedding. Clea squeezed her eyes shut, mortified every time she thought of his behavior at the reception and, even worse, her own shameful response to him. For a brief moment when he kissed her, sanity had deserted her. She had been unable to resist the warmth of his arms around her, the feel of his mouth moving seductively, expertly over hers. Color climbed her cheeks as she recalled how she had melted into the kiss.

It didn’t matter that her loss of control had been only momentary or that no one else seemed to have noticed. Ryan had noticed. She’d seen it in the deep blue of his eyes when she’d jerked free of his embrace. And it had still been there in the satisfied curve of his lips when she’d stomped off.

How could she have been so foolish? She knew Ryan Fitzpatrick’s type—the easy charmers who turned a girl’s head with sweet talk and empty promises. She knew the type, and she had no desire to become involved with him or anyone like him. She had learned the hard way just how expensive and painful a relationship with a man like him could be. She still bore the scars to prove it. And she didn’t care if he did kiss like a champ and made her heart stutter with just a look. She had no intention of becoming involved with him.

Suddenly she stiffened, feeling that uneasy prickle at the base of her neck again. She hugged her arms about herself and slowly turned around. She scanned the faces in the crowd again, not even sure who or what she expected to find. Her gaze skipped over face after face—some young, some old. Just people. Strangers waiting, as she was, to see the play. No one face, no one person stood out as anything but normal.

Frustrated, Clea shifted her gaze across the street. She narrowed her eyes at the sight of a dark-haired man leaning against a building. He seemed familiar, she thought. Then he turned his head and looked right at her. For a split second, their eyes met.

Ryan? Someone walked in front of him, blocking her view. And when the man had passed, he was gone. So what if it is Ryan? The man’s a security detective for pity’s sake. He’s probably working on a case.

“Oh, look. I think they’re about to open the doors,” the woman next to her said.

Dismissing Ryan from her thoughts, Clea cut a glance to the glass doors of the theater entrance where a uniformed employee stood fitting a key into the lock.

“About time,” someone grumbled.

The crowd stirred as the doors opened. Clea braced herself against the gentle nudge of bodies and murmured apologies as they made their way slowly toward the theater doorway. Wishing again that she had declined the Donatellis’ invitation, she realized that she hadn’t even seen Maggie or James since they had all left the restaurant. They must be at the front of the line waiting for her and their other guests, she decided. An errant strand escaped her upswept hairstyle, and Clea tucked it into place as she inched forward with the others.

A warm breath tickled the back of her neck, sending a chill down Clea’s spine. Heart pounding, she started to turn around when the crowd shot forward again.

“I’ve been wanting to touch you all evening.”

Fear tightened her throat, paralyzing her for long seconds, at the sound of that voice. She tried to whip around, but found herself trapped, unable to move amid the crush of bodies pushing her toward the theater entrance. Panic raced through her. “Please. I need to get through,” Clea choked out the words and shoved at the man in front of her, struggling to break free.

“You’ll have to wait your turn like the rest of us, sister,” somebody snapped.

“You don’t understand, I have to—”

“You can’t escape. I’ll never let you go.”

The blood in her veins turned to ice as he began telling her what he wanted in that throaty whisper. She started to shove again, but a hand reached from behind her and fingers closed tightly around her breast.

Clea screamed, a bloodcurdling cry of outrage and fear that echoed in her ears. She whipped around, her elbows striking against chests, shoulders and arms. Heedless of the grunts and protests her frantic movements incited, she stared into a sea of strange faces. “Who are you?” she demanded, hating the note of hysteria climbing in her voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Who are you yelling at?” an elderly gentleman asked.

She registered the cap of snow-white hair gleaming in the evening light. “Someone...someone just said something to me.” She couldn’t bring herself to admit that the monster had also touched her.

“Harry, did you say something to the young lady?” the woman beside him asked.

“Not me.” He eyed her as though he thought she were ill.

“Then it must have been someone else,” Clea insisted as people began to step around them. “You must have seen him. A man. He was standing right behind me.”

The couple looked at one another and shook their heads. “Sorry. Didn’t notice anyone in particular. Hard to with this kind of crowd.” Draping his arm protectively around the shoulder of the woman beside him, he said, “Come on, Josie. We want to see the play.”

“But wait—”

“Clea.” Ryan shouldered his way to her side. “What is it? What happened?”

Relief flooded through her at the sight of him. “There was a man. He—”

“It’s all right,” he said, pulling her into his arms. He stroked her back, made soothing sounds, then slowly steered her away from the dwindling crowd.

“Clea! Ryan!”

Margaret Donatelli rushed over to them. “What’s going on?”

Clea stepped out of Ryan’s arms and went to her friend. “He was here, Maggie. At the theater.”

“Who?” Margaret asked.

“The...the man who’s been sending me the letters and calling me.”

“What happened?” James Donatelli asked as he rushed over to join them. “I was buying theater programs, and then the next thing I knew I couldn’t find Maggie or you.”

“Poor Clea’s had a terrible fright. Apparently the man who’s been sending her those letters followed her here tonight.”

“Where is he?”

“He ran away when I screamed,” Clea explained.

“My God!” James exclaimed.

“Did you get a look at his face?” Ryan asked, his gaze fastening on hers. The look in his eyes was dark, determined, and not even remotely flirtatious. His cop face, she decided, remembering that he had been one. Given his fierce expression, she almost pitied the criminals who had crossed his path. The serious, focused Ryan Fitzpatrick was even more unsettling than Ryan Fitzpatrick the charmer.

“Did you get a look at his face?” Ryan repeated.

“No. He was behind me, and the crowd was too thick. I couldn’t turn around. All I could do was listen.”

“Did you recognize his voice?” he asked, his voice sharp, his eyes sharper, reminding her of a wolf on a hunt.

“No. He...whispered.”

“What did he say?”

She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, trying to shake off the chill inside her as she remembered what he had told her. “Things... things that he wanted to do.” Clea trembled. No way could she repeat to Ryan the things the man had said when he’d touched her.

“Enough with the questions,” James snapped. “Can’t you see she’s upset?”

“It’s all right. I’m sure Ryan’s only trying to help.” Regaining a grip on herself, Clea straightened her shoulders. “If you two don’t mind, I think I’m going to skip the theater. I just want to go home.”

“You need to call the polite,” Ryan told her.

“I intend to. After I get home.”

“You should call now so they can take your statement while everything’s still fresh. Here, you can use my cell phone.”

Clea ignored the phone in his outstretched hand. “I said I’ll call when I get home.”

“I’ll give you a ride home. You can call from my car.” He cupped his hand under her elbow.

Clea dug in her heels, feeling as though she were being railroaded. “What about your case?”

“My case?”

“The one you’re working on. That is why you were across the street earlier, isn’t it? Because you’re working on some type of investigation?”

Ryan paused. His eyes darted from her to his aunt and back again. “I’m finished for tonight. So, I can take you home. While I’m there, I’ll check out your apartment for you. Make sure your locks and alarm system are up to snuff.”

Clea swallowed. She hadn’t even considered that he could be waiting in her home for her. It had never once crossed her mind. But then, she hadn’t expected him to be here at the theater tonight either.

“Heavens! You’re shaking like a leaf,” Maggie told her. “You’re in no condition to be by yourself tonight. You’re coming home with James and me.”

“Uh, Aunt Maggie. I’ll see that she gets home safely. And she really should file that report with the police.”

“The police will just have to wait. They haven’t done anything so far.” She turned to her husband. “Can you finish up things here with the marketing people from Taylor’s without me?”

“I’ll make our excuses. You take the car, and I’ll take a taxi home.” He kissed his wife. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. Ryan, would you mind walking them to the car?”

“Glad to.”

Maggie led her to the parking lot at a brisk pace, but she was conscious of Ryan behind them, speaking to someone on his cellular phone.

“Now when we get home, I’m going to draw you a nice hot bath, and then I want you to—”

“Aunt Maggie,” Ryan cut in, his voice deep and tight. As they reached the car, he took the key from his aunt’s fingers and unlocked the door. “I called the police. They’re sending a unit out to speak to Clea.”

“Then you’ll have to call them back and tell them to come to my house, because that’s where she’ll be.” Maggie ushered Clea into the back seat and climbed in beside her.

Ryan ducked his head inside the car. “You intend to drive from back here?”

She patted Ryan’s cheek as though he were a child. “No, my dear boy, I intend for you to drive us home, and then I want you to come back here to pick up your uncle.”

“I’m a security specialist, not a chauffeur,” Ryan argued, but he slid into the driver’s seat anyway and started the engine.

“You’re also my nephew, Ryan Fitzpatrick. And you might want to remember that at least for the time being, you and your agency are on my payroll.”

Stunned, Clea asked, “Fitzpatrick Security is working for you?”

Maggie made a face. “Yes, but given Ryan’s performance here tonight, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m getting my money’s worth.”

Two

“I don’t need a private investigator or a security specialist, or whatever it is he calls himself,” Clea told his aunt several hours later.

“Either one works for me. Take your pick,” Ryan offered from across the Donatellis’ living room. He earned himself another glare. Clea had gone all stiff and prim the moment she had discovered she was the case he had been working on. And she had been spitting mad ever since.

“You shouldn’t have hired him without consulting me.”

“Someone had to do something,” Maggie countered.

“I was...” She hissed out a breath. “I am doing something. I’m letting the police handle it. You heard the officer. They’re working up a profile on the type of...on the type of person who does this sort of thing.”

This sort of thing. She made it sound so civilized, Ryan thought, observing the exchange between Clea and his aunt. He took another sip of scotch and leaned against the bar. There wasn’t anything remotely civilized about being terrorized by some sicko who got his kicks from frightening women. Every time he thought of how close he had been when that creep had... He bit back an oath and tightened his fingers around the glass. Whatever it took, he intended to make sure the guy never got another chance at Clea.

“And what have the police come up with so far?” Maggie argued, her Irish temper showing. “I’ll tell you what they’ve come up with. Nothing.”

“She does have a point,” James added. “It doesn’t look like Chicago’s finest are getting anywhere fast on this case.”

“And you’re not going to be safe until that madman who attacked you is caught and locked behind bars,” Maggie chimed in. “And the only way that’s going to happen is if you have a professional, someone who knows how to hunt down that kind of vermin.”

“I already have an entire group of professionals looking for him,” Clea pointed out. “They’re called the Chicago Police Department.”

Maggie sighed. “I have the utmost respect for our police officers, but I’m afraid in this case, you just can’t afford to rely on them to find that creature. Things are not the way they used to be when my father and brothers were on the force. Back then, the police would have had that...that cretin in custody right after you received the first letter.

“But things are different now. Now a police officer has to be concerned about things like overtime and budgets, instead of just making sure the streets are safe and the criminals are behind bars. There’s not enough time or money to spend on real police work anymore. Why do you think so many officers are leaving the force? Why I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it’s the reason both Ryan and his brother Connor decided to get out.”

His aunt’s little speech brought Ryan up short, reminding him that his departure from the LAPD two months ago marked the first time in four generations that no Fitzpatrick was serving in law enforcement somewhere. Of course, there was always the chance that wherever Connor was, he’d gone back to being a cop. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine his oldest brother doing anything else. But then, he’d never been able to imagine his father and brother nearly coming to blows five years ago, or the angry silence that had followed since Connor had packed up his things and left town.

“Maggie, I understand everything you’re saying, and I appreciate what you’re trying to do. But, I’ve made up my mind on this. It’s bad enough I have to deal with the police poking their noses into my personal life. I refuse to have someone else snooping around in my affairs and watching my every move.”

At the sharpness in Clea’s tone, Ryan brought his wandering thoughts back to the present. The look she leveled at him probably made most men shiver, he decided. Fortunately, he didn’t have an aversion to cold—not when he knew there was heat banked just below the surface of that frosty disdain of hers. And he intended to sample that heat again, he promised himself.

Clea picked up her coffee cup, then set it down again untouched. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mr. Fitzpatrick. But I won’t be needing your services after all.”

So, they were back to Mr. Fitzpatrick. “No need to apologize, Duchess. I’m being compensated for my time.” Pushing away from the bar, Ryan ambled over to the couch where Clea sat looking cool and regal in her ivory cocktail dress and pearls. He could still spot the nerves she was trying so hard to hide. She was scared down to her pretty little toes, and just didn’t want to admit it.

He snagged an oatmeal cookie from the tray in front of her and devoured it in two bites. Taking his time, he skimmed his gaze over her face, down her body and back up again. “Besides,” he said, reaching for another cookie. “The fringe benefits have certainly been worth it.”

Her eyes snapped with green fire, anger overriding the fear, just as he had hoped it would. Suppressing a grin, he held up another cookie and said, “Great cookies.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aunt Maggie said from behind him.

He nodded, but held Clea’s gaze. “So, you want me to follow you home, or are you going to stay here tonight?”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. Your assignment where I’m concerned is over.”

“Oh, you made yourself perfectly clear ” He polished off another cookie, then dusted his hands. “But you’re not the one giving the orders. Aunt Maggie is. She’s the one who hired me.”

Clea’s hands tightened into fists, but her voice remained surprisingly even as she said, “Well, I’m unhiring you. Consider yourself fired, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

Ryan merely smiled. “Afraid it doesn’t work that way, Duchess. Since you didn’t hire me, you can’t fire me.”

“Maggie, I’d appreciate it if you would explain to your nephew that his assignment, or whatever it is he chooses to call spying on me, is over.”

“Ryan, you stick to her like glue until that...that man is caught and thrown into jail.”

“Yes, ma’.”

“Maggie!” Clea protested.

Despite her fragile appearance, Margaret Fitzpatrick Donatelli was anything but, Ryan mused. Clea Mason was another story. She projected as tough, fearless. And her expression and voice gave no indication of the tangle of nerves working inside her. But she didn’t seem able to keep her hands still. Right now they were gripping the cup of iced coffee she had picked up again, but had yet to taste. She was strong, determined, not used to relying on anyone. He had learned that within days of meeting her. But he suspected that Clea Mason wasn’t half as tough as she pretended to be, or as she wanted everyone to think she was. An urge itched at him—to take her into his arms, hold her and promise to keep her safe. But if he followed through on that urge, she would probably sock him in his gut.

“Enough arguing, Clea. If your family was here, they’d insist you get some sort of protection. But since they’re not here, it’s up to us to see that you do. You’re still welcome to move in here—”

“Maggie, I can’t. I’m not going to let him run me out of my home.”

“I understand. But until the police find that man, Ryan will make sure you’re safe.”

Clea released a frustrated sigh and turned to Ryan’s uncle. “James, please talk to your wife. Tell her this isn’t necessary.”

James shook his head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in thirty years of marriage to Maggie, it’s that once she makes up her mind about something, there’s no changing it. Besides, she’s right, Clea. We don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Come on, Duchess. How bad can it be to have me around for a while?”

She arched her eyebrow in that regal way and somehow managed to look down her pretty, straight nose at him, even though he was the one standing. “You don’t really want me to answer that, do you?”

“Ouch!” With her wary green eyes and that smooth black hair framing her face, she reminded him of a beautiful, sleek kitten—with very sharp claws. “Since I’m not sure my poor ego can handle the answer, I’ll just pass on it for now.”

“Wise decision.”

Ryan eased onto the arm of the couch and caught a whiff of her scent. Roses...and something exotic and elusive—like her. He couldn’t help wondering if her skin was as petal-soft as it looked. Realizing the dangerous direction of his thoughts, he dragged himself back to the problem at hand. Finding Clea’s sick fan. “But I do have a few other questions that I’d like to have answered.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of questions?”

“Oh, just routine stuff about the letters and calls you’ve been getting.”

“I’ve already told the police everything.”

“Yeah, I know. But I’d like you to tell it again—to me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I need as much information as you can give me so I can catch this guy. And I am going to catch him, Clea. You can bank on it. It would just be a lot easier if I had a little more to go on.”

Some of the tension went out of her, and he could see the fatigue setting in. “All right,” she said, her voice weary. “What do you want to know?”

Fifteen minutes later, in the privacy of his uncle’s study, Ryan still had little or nothing more to go on. Frustrated, he ran a hand through his hair. “What about boyfriends?”

“I date men, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Not boys.”

“Ryan,” he corrected. “Then what about your men friends?”

“What about them?”

“Are you seeing anyone in particular right now?”

She stiffened, clearly uncomfortable. “Is that really any of your business?”

“Everything about you is my business. Now, how about the names of those men?”

“I’m not seeing anyone at the moment.”

And if things worked out as he planned, the only man she’d be seeing in the near future would be him. “What about the last guy...uh, man friend?”

“What about him?”

“For starters, his name.”

“Andrew.”

Ryan wrote the name down in his book and waited. When she said nothing more, he looked up from his pad. “Does Andy have a last name?”

“Davidson. And it’s Andrew. No one calls him Andy.”

“Figures,” Ryan muttered as he jotted the name down. “When was the last time you saw Andrew?”

Clea paused. “It’s been a while.”

“Define ‘a while’ for me.”

“Two years,” she said, the words little more than a whisper.

“Two years?” he repeated, lifting his eyes up to meet hers. “You expect me to believe you haven’t been involved with anyone for the past two years?”

“I don’t care what you believe. You asked me a question and I’ve answered it. If you don’t like the answer, then that’s your problem.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like the answer. But we’re being honest here. You’ve got a mirror. You don’t need me to tell you that you’re a beautiful, sexy and desirable woman because you already know it. Which means you’re either lying, or the men in this town are all blind.”

“Gee. You really have a way with compliments, Fitzpatrick. It’s enough to turn a woman’s head.”

Ryan let her sarcasm roll right off him. “I call them like I see them. So which is it? Are you a liar, or are the men around here blind?”

“Neither. I haven’t been interested and neither have they.”

Ryan paused, curious about her reply. “How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come you haven’t been in a romantic relationship for more than two years?”

“Because I haven’t wanted to be in one. All right?” She made an exasperated sound. “Look—Destinations and its success is a high priority in my life. The bookings have more than doubled in the past six months. That means my workload has doubled, too.”

At the arch of his eyebrow, she continued. “Listen, I’m not saying I’m the only one who’s been putting in a lot of hours. Everyone’s been working hard. But the corporate travel program is my baby. I intend to make it a success.”

“And success means spending all of your time planning overpriced travel packages.”

“I spend a lot of my time creating profitable sales packages. I’m also responsible for managing the agency and its operations. Which means researching and selecting a new computer system to handle the increased client base created by those expensive travel packages I design. I also hire all the new agents and make sure everyone is trained on the new equipment. So, yes, I guess I’ve allowed Destinations to take up a lot of my time lately, which means I haven’t had much time to worry about whether or not I’m dating enough.”

“Trust me, you’re not. Haven’t you ever heard that saying about ‘all work and no play’?” he asked, pleased and at the same time disturbed at the workaholic life-style she had just described.

“I didn’t say I haven’t gone out with anyone for the past two years. I said I haven’t been involved in a serious relationship for two years.”

“Want to explain the difference to me?”

“The difference is that I can go out to dinner, the ballet or a charity event with a man without being emotionally involved with him.”

“What about physically involved?”

He could practically see the steam rising from her on that one. “I’m not even going to answer that.”

But she already had. No lovers, he concluded, more than a little pleased. “So who are these men you go to dinner, the ballet and charity things with?”

“Friends.”

Ryan sighed. Getting answers from her was like pulling teeth. “Names, Duchess. I need names. No matter how remote they may seem to you, anyone you’ve gone out with or come into contact with could be the man we’re looking for.”

Her hands curled into fists and she looked at him scornfully as she said, “Patrick Evans, Donald Markson, Harry Peters. And stop calling me Duchess!”

“Anyone else?”

“Your uncle. I believe he escorted me to a black-tie fund-raiser where the agency was donating a cruise when your aunt was out of town about two months ago.”

He added his uncle’s name to the list.

“You’re putting James’s name down on that list?”

“He’s a man.”

“He’s your uncle.” Furious, she shot to her feet. “This is crazy. You’re crazy. None of those men are even capable of doing anything like this.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know.” She reached for the brandy he’d poured her earlier, swirled it around in her glass.

“You’d be surprised what a man will do when he finds himself obsessed with a woman.” What disturbed him was that after kissing her and sampling that sweet heat of hers himself, he could almost understand a man being driven mad with the need for more of her.

“Not them. I told you, those men are my friends.”

“How about defining friend for me.”

“Just what the word implies—a friend, a companion, a pal.”

“Any of those pals ever graduate to being your lover?”

She slammed the glass down onto the table. “No,” she said, her voice like chipped ice.

“Any of them want to be?”

“That’s it! I’m not listening to any more of this. You’re just trying to embarrass me.”

Ryan caught her by the arm before she could storm off. “What I’m trying to do is find out if the guy who’s after you could be a former lover, or someone who wanted to be your lover, that might have gone nutso when you rejected him.”

“I haven’t rejected anyone.”

“You rejected me,” he reminded her.

Clea blinked. “I—That was different.”

“How? I haven’t made any secret of the fact that I’m attracted to you. I’ve asked you out several times. I’ve kissed you, and I’ve even asked you to marry me.”

“You weren’t serious.”

“How do you know?” Her scent reached out to him, tangled around him. Still holding her wrist, he rubbed his thumb across her pulse, felt the rapid beat beneath that smooth, soft skin.

“Because...because you’re not,” she told him, defiance and desire in her eyes as she looked at him. “Men like you aren’t interested in marriage.”

“What if I was?” Desire licked through him. He lowered his head a fraction, until his mouth hovered just above hers. “What if I told you I wanted you the first time I laid eyes on you? That I decided right then and there that we would be lovers. What if I told you that I thought there was a chance we might even work ourselves right up to marriage and a half-dozen kids?”

Shock—and something else—flashed across her face for a moment, and then she made her expression go blank. “Then, I’d say you really are crazy because that isn’t going to happen.” She pushed against his chest.

Reluctantly, Ryan released her. He rubbed a hand down his face. She was right. He was crazy. Crazy not to realize that a woman who had avoided involvements for two years would run like a rabbit at the mention of anything sounding remotely like a relationship. And why in the devil had he said that stuff about marriage and kids?

“If you’re finished with this third degree, I’d really like to go home.”

“All right. We’ll call it quits for tonight.” Ryan picked up his pad and pen, jammed them into the back pocket of his jeans. “We’ll finish up in the morning.”

Clea didn’t say anything, didn’t even spare him a parting glance. And even though she walked out of the study, Ryan couldn’t shake the feeling that she was running scared, not from her sick admirer, but from him.

Clea slumped against the closed door of the study. She squeezed her eyes shut a moment, trying to cut off the emotions Ryan stirred up inside her. She didn’t like feeling this way—scared, needy, wanting. It had been a long time since she’d experienced that tug of desire for a man. She didn’t like feeling it for Ryan now. An old ghost of pain, dulled by time, wrapped around her heart, reminding her of that piece of herself that she’d lost so long ago because of her foolish choices.

She opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps near the door, and started down the hall. She had worked too hard putting her life back together again, she reminded herself. She wouldn’t let some crazy attraction for Ryan Fitzpatrick jeopardize it now.

“You and Ryan all finished?” Maggie asked as Clea entered the living room moments later.

“Yes.”

“We’re finished for now,” Ryan answered from behind her.

As far as she was concerned, they were finished. Period. Feeling more in control, Clea walked over to where Maggie was placing a fresh tray of coffee and snacks on the polished wood table. “I want you to know that I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Both of you,” she added with a glance at James.

“I just wish we had been able to do more.”

“You did too much as it is,” Clea told her, her heart swelling with affection. She kissed the older woman’s cheek. “And I’m sorry for coming so unglued tonight.”

“It was perfectly understandable. You had every reason to be afraid,” Maggie told her.

“I’m just glad we were there,” James added.

“Me, too,” Clea said, remembering how frightened she’d been, and the relief that had washed over her when she’d seen Ryan’s stern face, fire and determination burning in his eyes, as he’d battled through the crowd to reach her.

Glancing up, her pulse raced as she found his eyes fixed on her again. Only now, there was a different type of fire burning in them. Desire. She recognized it because an answering heat flowed through her veins. She jerked her gaze away. “It’s really late. I need to be getting home.”

“You sure we can’t persuade you to spend the night?” Maggie asked.

“Thanks, but I think I’d really just like to go home.” She walked over to the table near the doorway and picked up her evening bag.

“You know, staying with a friend or even going away for a while until this guy is caught might not be such a bad idea,” Ryan offered as he swiped a fresh cookie from the newly filled tray his aunt had placed on the table.

“That’s not an option,” she told him, but wished that it were.

“Why not?”

“I have a job...responsibilities. I can’t just walk away from them.”

“No one’s asking you to. Just take a little vacation somewhere for a couple of weeks,” Ryan suggested. “I’m sure Aunt Maggie and Uncle James will understand.”

“Of course, we’d understand,” Maggie said. “In fact, we should have suggested it. Maybe you’d like to go visit one of your sisters or have them come see you.”

The idea was more than a little tempting. But Lorelei and Desiree both had husbands now, and Lorelei was expecting a baby. She couldn’t burden them with this. “No,” Clea said, feeling suddenly lonely. “I don’t really want a vacation now. And while I may have been frightened tonight, I refuse to let some creep make me run away and hide.”

“There’s a difference between running away and being smart.”

“I’m smart enough to know that if I run away now because some jerk gets his jollies by scaring me, then he wins and I lose. I don’t like losing.” She’d worked too hard getting the corporate travel program under way to walk away now when it was coming to fruition. Just as she’d worked too hard at picking up the pieces of her life and putting it back together to risk losing it by falling for Ryan.

“He did more than scare you with a letter and phone call tonight,” Ryan pointed out.

A chill spread over Clea, and she fought back a shudder of revulsion. She swallowed hard, refusing to let fear take hold of her again. “Thanks for the reminder. But I’ll depend on the police and you to see that he doesn’t get that close again. That is, if you think you can do the job.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him,” he told her, her sarcasm obviously not bothering him.

“I certainly hope so. For my sake.”

James took her hands into his and studied her face closely. “You sure you’ll be okay?” he asked, oblivious to the tension between her and his nephew.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she assured him. “Thanks again for everything.” She kissed his cheek and then Maggie’s.

“I’m heading out, too.” Ryan extended his hand to his uncle and gave his aunt a peck on her cheek before opening the door. “I’ll be in touch.”

She stepped outside and realized the temperature had dipped a good fifteen degrees since she had gone to dinner that evening. But the air seemed to hum with heat as Ryan followed her down the stairs.

“Cold?” Ryan asked when she hugged her arms about herself.

“A little,” she admitted, picking up her pace as she headed down the street to where she had parked her car earlier that evening. She fumbled with her car keys, eager to put some distance between them.

“Here, let me get that for you.”

“I can manage,” she said and promptly dropped the keys.

Ryan swiped them up. “You really should reconsider staying at a friend’s place for a while or having someone stay with you.”

“I appreciate the advice. But I think I’ll pass,” she told him, holding out her hand for her car keys.

He brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth. “It wasn’t exactly a suggestion.”

“And I don’t take orders from you,” she told him, her heart pumping harder. “Give me my keys,” she demanded, irritated by his high-handed manner, but even more by her response to his touch.

Ignoring her, Ryan pressed the remote button on her key chain. The lights went on inside the car and the door locks snicked open. He pulled open the car door.

She slid into her seat at once and fastened her seat belt, then held out her hand. “My keys.”

He reached inside, his head dipping close to hers, inserted the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine of her pristine sedan purred to life, but Ryan made no effort to move.

The confines of the front seat seemed impossibly small and intimate with his head ducked close to hers, crowding her space. She had been chilly only moments before, but now she felt far too warm. “Was there something else you wanted?”

A slow smile spread across his lips. “As a matter of fact there is.”

Clea hissed out a breath, chagrined that she’d left herself wide open for that one. “I’m tired, Fitzpatrick. So why don’t you go ahead and get your juvenile come-on out of the way, then get out of my face so I can go home.”

“You have such a suspicious mind, Duchess,” he countered. “See that little honey of a car parked in front of you?”

Clea noted the vintage candy-apple-red convertible that was practically touching her front bumper. “Yes. I see it.”

“It’s mine,” he told her, pride in his voice.

It figures, she thought. He had crowded her with his car just as he was crowding her with his handsome face and broad shoulders. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll both be happy.”

“I don’t know what it is, but I just love that smart mouth of yours,” he said, his gaze dropping to her lips.

Clea’s pulse kicked into third gear at the hungry gleam in his eyes. She looked away. “Is there a point to this conversation?” she asked with as much sarcasm as she could muster, given the fact that her nerves were jumping like grasshoppers on a spring day. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s really late, and I’d like to go home—which is a little difficult with your face stuck in front of my windshield.”

“The point is, I’ll be right behind you, and I want you to make sure you keep my car in sight in your rearview mirror until we get home.”

Clea glared at him. “We? What do you mean until we get home? I’m going home. If you want to follow me there, fine. Go ahead. But afterwards, you go.”

“One more thing, don’t get nervous if you see a black Jeep parked in front of your place. I called Sean. He’s bringing me a change of clothes and a razor,” he said, then slammed the car door in her face and started to walk off.

Shutting off the car’s engine, Clea unsnapped her seat belt and charged after him. “Get back here, Fitzpatrick. What do you mean Sean’s meeting you at my place with clothes? What do you need clothes for?”

He shot her that devilish smile. “I don’t, but I thought you’d insist. I’ll call Sean and tell him to forget the clothes.”

Furious with him, and with herself for stepping right into that one, Clea grabbed his arm to stop him from getting in his car. “Don’t make me kill you, Fitzpatrick.”

“Problem, Duchess?” he asked, his deep voice whisper-soft as it stroked over her nerve endings like a caress.

An autumn moon hung like a lantern in the night sky, illuminating the shock of black hair that fell across his brow. In the glow of the streetlamp, she could make out the shadow of whiskers along his sharp-edged jaw. His unsmiling mouth looked beautiful and inviting in that chiseled masculine face. He smelled like winter rain and pine forests, Clea thought as she lifted her gaze up to his. His blue eyes glistened dark and determined as he stared down at her. Her nervous stomach clenched and unclenched and she felt that warm tug of desire rippling through her again.

Suddenly, realizing how close they were, she dropped her hand. “I’ve changed my mind about this protection business. I don’t care what Maggie and James say, I don’t want you.”

“You sure about that?”

“Positive,” she tossed back. It was bad enough the man made her hormones act up. The last thing she needed was to have him trailing her back to her apartment, sticking himself into her life. Especially when she was a jumble of nerves and emotions.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pulse skittered at the intimate gesture, but she refused to retreat. As though sensing her reaction, his mouth curved in that familiar smile. “That’s too bad. Your not wanting me, I mean. It would have made us being roommates a lot more interesting.”

“Roommates?” she repeated “We’re not going to be roommates.”

“Sure we are. Because from now on, Duchess, wherever you go, I go. That’s what a bodyguard does.”

Three

“A bodyguard!”

“That’s right,” Ryan informed her.

Clea jerked away from him. “No way,” she fired off, reminding him of his five-year-old godchild.

Damn, Ryan thought. She was so distressed that he almost felt sorry for her. Almost, but not quite. Not enough for him to risk leaving her unprotected. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

She stiffened with indignation. “Wrong. I do have a choice,” she told him, her eyes shooting off angry green sparks. “And I choose not to have a bodyguard. I don’t need one, and I certainly don’t need you.”

“Oh, you need me all right. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“Why, you—”

He caught her by the shoulders. “Wake up and smell the coffee, Clea,” he said, his voice harsh because he needed for her to see reason. “I’ve made light of what’s happened tonight because I wanted to wipe that terrified look out of your eyes. I can see how that was a mistake. Because this isn’t a game. You’re in danger. There’s some crazy out there stalking you. Or have you forgotten that fact?”

“Believe me, that’s something I’m not likely to forget.” She balled her hands into fists, propped them on her hips, faced him eye to eye, toe to toe. “There’s hardly an hour that goes by that I’m not aware of it. I think about it when I open my eyes in the morning and when I close them at night. I think about it every time the telephone rings or a letter shows up in my mail. So, don’t you stand there and tell me I’m not taking this seriously. Because I am.”

“Then quit fighting me and let me do what I’m being paid to do,” Ryan told her.

“Which is what? Trying to get into my pants?”

Ryan flushed, knowing there was some truth in what she said. “I haven’t made a secret of the fact that I want you. But that’s personal, and you and I will deal with that when this is over. You don’t have to worry about it getting in the way of me doing my job—which is to keep you safe from that creep who grabbed you tonight.”

“And, of course, since you’re an ace private eye for all of a...what is it now, a month? I’m supposed to put my trust in your vast experience?”

“I’d say the fact that I was a cop for twelve years counts for something. If nothing else it should inspire some confidence that I know what I’m doing.”

“Well, it doesn’t. Why should I believe you can find this guy when the police who’ve been working on this for months can’t?”

“Because I promise you that I will find him and stop him.”

“Fine. You go right ahead and play super sleuth. But you’ll to do it without playing bodyguard to my helpless female. Forget it, Fitzpatrick. I don’t need you to protect me.”

Lord but the woman was stubborn, Ryan thought, his patience wearing thin. “Because you can take care of yourself. Right?”

“That’s right. I can.”

“And if your admirer decides to cop another feel like he did tonight, how do you plan to handle that? By screaming bloody murder again?”

Clea sucked in a breath. “That won’t happen again. I’ll be more careful in the future,” she told him, her voice suddenly tight.

Hating himself for putting that haunted look back in her eyes, Ryan smacked his hand against the car door. “Dammit, Clea.”

“Don’t you swear at me, Fitzpatrick,” she fired back, some of the steel returning to her voice.

He raked at his hair. “Do you really expect me to just leave you alone so that sicko can take another shot at you?”

“You’re a private investigator. I expect you to investigate. Track down where his calls are coming from. Or do some kind of computer search. Or...or whatever it is you do to find a suspect. Just find out who’s doing this to me and make him stop.”

“I’ll hop right to it, Duchess,” he countered, not bothering to mask his sarcasm. Did she really think it was that easy to find a clever criminal who didn’t want to be caught? “Any other orders?”

Her lips thinned at the nickname. “Just do your job, and let me worry about my safety.”

Ryan caught her by the wrist as she turned to leave. “And just how do you plan to do that? How do you plan to protect yourself until he’s caught? By putting new locks on your doors and windows? By making sure you’re not caught in any more crowds?” He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Or did you plan to continue with business as usual, but watch over your shoulder every time you go somewhere and hope you’ll be able to spot him if he’s following you? Or maybe...just maybe, you can have the flight attendant check out the identity of the man seated next to you on an airplane. And the usher check out who’s sitting behind you in the theater. And the restaurant manager give you a bio on the guy seated at the next table. Or—”

“Stop it,” she cried out, pulling free from his grasp. “You’re just trying to scare me.”

“You’re damn right I’m trying to scare you. You should be scared,” he told her in a voice that had made the men under his command shudder. But not Clea. No, the lady didn’t even flinch.

“This isn’t a game, Clea,” he said growing more frustrated by the second. “I’ve seen nuts like this before. The fellow who’s been sending you those notes and calling you on the phone upped the ante tonight. If he risked being seen, risked getting caught, it’s because the sick thrill he gets from scaring you with letters and calls isn’t enough any longer. He wants more. And, believe me, he isn’t going to stop until he gets it. Until he gets you. The best chance you’ve got of stopping him is for me to get him first.”

He had to give her credit. She didn’t wince, didn’t break into hysterics, didn’t start crying like a lot of women would do. But despite her brave front, she was scared. He could see it in her eyes, in the way she clenched and unclenched the car keys in her fist. He could feel it in the air between them. Yet her gaze remained steady, her voice even, as she said, “Give me one reason I should believe you’ll be any more successful at finding him than the police have been?”

“I’ll give you three. First,” he said, ticking off his index finger, “unlike the cops, I only have one case to work on solving. This one. Second,” he said, holding up another digit, “you’ve got good men assigned to your case, but I’m better. I’ve got twelve years’ experience as a cop and believe me, I was damned good at my job. And third,” he finished, marking off another finger, “while the police might try, they don’t have a vested interest in seeing that nothing happens to you. I, on the other hand, do. Because when this is over, you and I are going to explore getting a whole lot closer.”

“I’m not even going to bother arguing with you about that ridiculous statement.”

Ryan watched her hook a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and eye him warily. He found himself amused by the nervous feminine gesture that was so unlike Clea. With her swath of black hair, green eyes and sharp tongue, she reminded him of a feisty kitten, hissing and swiping with her claws even as she demanded that she be rubbed. He inched a bit closer.

“All right,” she said, her voice grim. “I don’t seem to have much in the way of choices—not if I want to put an end to this nightmare. So, I’ll agree to a bodyguard. But I have some conditions of my own.”

“Which are?”

“I pay Fitzpatrick Securities—not Maggie and James.”

“Done.”

At his easy acquiescence, she narrowed her eyes. “Just how much is a bodyguard going to cost me?”

“Three-hundred-fifty a day, plus expenses.”

“That’s robbery.”

“That’s the discounted family rate. The usual fee is five hundred.”

She opened her mouth, shut it, “I get the family rate.”

“Done. What else?”

“I want Sean or Michael, not you.”

Ryan grinned. “Sorry, Duchess. That’s not an option.”

“But, I—”

“Even if I were inclined to give you up, which I’m not, my brothers are tied up on other cases, and I’m not trusting this to an operative. So, you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck is right,” she muttered.

“Come on. If you give me a chance, you’ll find out I’m really a nice guy. Want me to provide you with references?” he teased.

“From who? Your legion of lady friends?”

“Legion?” Ryan repeated, amused. “You overestimate my appeal to the fairer sex. Besides, there’s only one woman I’m interested in,” he said, skimming a finger along her soft cheek. “You.”

Those forest-green eyes of hers darkened a moment. He spied the telltale quickening of the pulse at her neck. Then she shoved his hand aside. “Forget it, Fitzpatrick. I’m not buying.”

“I wasn’t aware I was selling anything,” he told her, dogging her footsteps to her car.

She made a most unladylike snicker as he opened her door. “Oh, you’re selling all right,” she told him as she slid onto her seat and fastened her seat belt.

“Yeah?” he said, feigning innocence. He draped his arm over the top of the open door and admired the way the shoulder belt outlined her breasts.

“Yeah,” she mimicked.

He dipped his head inside the car to see her face more clearly. “And just what is it you think I’m selling?”

“You and I both know what you’re selling—a quick tumble on the sheets and promises of paradise in your arms.”

Ryan nearly groaned at the images her words evoked. He was already aroused—a constant state, it seemed, whenever he was within five feet of the woman. And now he was as hard as a hammer and itching to take her in his arms. “I don’t know about the quick part, but I sorta like the idea of us finding paradise together. I’m game, if you are.”

She bristled. If she had been a cat, every hair on her back would be standing straight up, Ryan thought. Damn, if she didn’t turn him on even with that schoolmarm scowl on her face.

“You needn’t bother wasting that sexy little grin on me, Fitzpatrick,” she told him in that prim voice. “I’ve told you before, I’m not interested.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

He traced a fingertip along her neck, watched surprise flicker across her face. Her pulse began another frantic dance. He saw her gaze drop to his mouth, her eyes darken to a green as deep as a magnolia leaf. Heat flooded his body, and Ryan moved a fraction closer, eager to sample her lips again, to taste all that sweet heat she kept locked up in the ice.

“Let’s make sure,” he whispered against her lips.

Clea’s look moved up from his mouth to his eyes. She blinked. Were it not for the painful ache pressing against the zipper on his jeans, he would have laughed at her half horrified, half aroused expression. She pushed at his shoulders and Ryan stepped back. “I’m already sure,” she told him, leveling him with a look as cold as a Minnesota winter.

“Why don’t I see if I can change your mind?”

She yanked the door closed. “It’d be a waste of time because I won’t,” she told him and started the car.

“You wouldn’t want to make a little wager on that, would you now?” he asked, wanting to see that fire darken her eyes again.

“I don’t gamble,” she told him, going all prickly just as he had known she would. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t bet on me having a change of heart. Now get out of my way.”

Ryan jumped back as she gunned the engine and took off down the street. “Oh, but I am betting on it,” he said as he hopped into his convertible and took off after her. He zipped through a yellow light and whipped around a comer behind her white sedan. A smile tugged at his lips. “You might take me on one hell of a chase, Duchess,” he murmured as she made another swift turn. “But make no mistake about it. I am going to catch you.”

Oh, what a royal idiot you are, Clea Mason. She pulled the car to a stop in front of her condo. “A first-class, certifiable idiot,” she muttered, reliving those moments outside the Donatellis’. She slammed the driver’s door closed and walked around to the trunk of the car to retrieve the briefcase she had been in too much of a hurry to unpack before she had left for dinner.

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