The Bodyguard: Protecting Plain Jane. Debra Cowan
and realized she wasn’t the only one shaking here. “I’ll pay for any damages. I’ll buy you a whole new truck. Where’s my backpack? I can write you a check from my trust fund right now.”
“Missing the point.” With cooler air rushing in between them, he turned away, raking his fingers through his short hair, leaving a mess of shiny wet spikes in their wake. When he faced her again, he propped his hands on his hips, assuming a posture that she guessed was supposed to make him look less threatening. He failed. “Normally I’m an easygoing man. But you are pushing my buttons right and left, lady. How was I supposed to know whether you’d been hit or not?”
With Trip standing between her and her bedroom door now, Charlotte had nowhere to go unless she made a mad dash to the bathroom. He deserved better than another door slamming in his face. Besides, after sharing that much forced contact with his thickly muscled body, she wasn’t sure her legs would carry her that far.
She hugged her arms around her middle, mentally trying to hold her ground. “I couldn’t think. I saw the man in the woods with the gun. I mean, I didn’t see his face, but I saw the flash and then the window shattered. I had to do something.”
She held her breath as he closed the distance between them again, then released it on a shaky sigh when he reached out with a single finger to unwind a lock of hair that had twirled around the temple of her glasses. The gentleness of the gesture, the husky softness of his tone, were completely at odds with the drenched warrior who’d been pushing her buttons a moment earlier. “Are you hurt?” He reached into his pocket and held up a tiny metal ball in his palm. “Thank God he was just shooting BBs.”
“BBs?”
“I picked this one up off the street. I’ll call in my team to sweep the area as soon as they’re done at Mt. Washington—see if we can find any trace of the shooter.” He looped the curl around his finger and rubbed it with his thumb. “He didn’t get to you, did he? No cuts or bruises?”
Charlotte slowly shook her head, savoring his touch on her hair almost as if it was a caress against her skin. “If he wanted to kill me, why not use real bullets?”
“You tell me.”
Her voice hushed to match his. “Someone wanted my attention.”
“Someone wanted to scare you.”
“He succeeded.” But neither of them laughed at the joke. Instead, she leaned toward the warmth of his hand near her temple. But when his fingers tunneled a little deeper and brushed against her damaged earlobe, she jerked away. “Please don’t.”
“Sorry, I thought I was reading the okay signal.”
“You were. I mean, what does that mean?”
His eyes narrowed a moment in confusion, but then he reached for that single tendril of hair again. “It means you’re interested in seeing what up close and personal is like between us. But not too close.”
She nodded. “Just don’t touch my ear.”
“Sensitive, hmm?”
More than he knew.
“Your hair’s wild.”
“It’s out of control.”
“It’s so soft.” He was inspecting the curl with an almost scientific fascination. “Yet it’s strong enough to hold on to me.”
Was this … banter? Why wasn’t he moving away? Why wasn’t she pushing him away? She thought all the rain would leave her chilled, but with him so close, she felt … feverish.
“I really am sorry about the truck. And your hat. And the stitches in your arm.” Wow. She was a freak. But he still had her hair curled around his finger, stroking it. It was a sensual, soothing gesture, an intimate one between a man and a woman. They’d argued and now they were making up. It felt so …
Normal.
Her whole body began to shake now. She so couldn’t do this.
“Trip,” she wanted to confess, “I’m not like any other woman you’re likely to meet.”
“I noticed.” His hard face turned boyish with a sly half grin. “You sure know how to keep a man on his toes.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.” She reached up to straighten her glasses and to tuck the curl, still warm from his touch, behind her ear and beyond his reach. “I wasn’t always this way—with the phobias and panic attacks. But I guess it’s who I am now. I appreciate you doing the favor for Audrey and Alex, and checking in on me. But we have security here. It’s probably better if you go now, before I find some other way to ruin your—”
“Miss Mayweather?”
Charlotte clenched her toes into the carpet at the sharp rap at the open door behind Trip. She hadn’t locked up. She hadn’t barricaded herself in the way she needed to. And now she had a man in her room. Two men.
“Ma’am. Just wanted to return this.”
Bud held his cap in one hand as he rolled a toothpick with his tongue from one side of his mouth to the other and held out a cell phone. Her new cell phone. How had she forgotten, for even one moment, that the outside world wanted to hurt her? “Did you get my message?” A strange man’s laughter echoed in her memory and chilled her to the bone.
“That’s not my phone,” she lied.
“I found it in the back of the limo. Who else’s would it be?”
“I don’t want it. These are my private quarters. Please leave.”
“You need to step back into the hall, my friend.” Trip swept past her—in one stride, two.
Charlotte reached for his hand. He stopped.
She’d just dismissed him, just denied wanting to feel anything like a normal man-woman relationship with him. And now she was clinging to his hand.
For a split second, he seemed just as stunned by the impulsive contact as she was. But then, before she could tell herself to let go, he folded his strong fingers around hers and pulled her close behind him, shielding her from an unwanted visitor more effectively than the carved Etruscan bronze had.
Trip’s deep voice took command of the room. “You’ve been dismissed,” he paused to read the name on the gray uniform, “Bud.”
“I’m just trying to do a nice thing here.”
She buried her face between Trip’s shoulder blades, clutching both hands around his. “He called me on that phone.”
“Whoa, I didn’t call anybody. I didn’t use any of your minutes.” Trip was pushing Bud out the door. “I’m just returning what I found.”
“I don’t want it. Take it away.”
“You heard the lady. Wait.” Trip pulled one of the black gloves off his belt. He understood the he Charlotte was talking about. “I’ll take the phone. Now go.”
As Trip wrapped up the cell and closed the door, she could hear Bud whining all the way down the hall. “Thanks for going out of your way, Bud. Just trying to do my job, ma’am. Lousy thanks.”
Trip turned before the voice faded. “When did you get another call from the killer?”
“How did he get that number? It was a brand-new phone.”
He squeezed her fingers. “Charlotte, when?”
“At the cemetery. Just after I got that note. He was laughing at me, at … rattling me. That’s why I panicked.”
Trip swore. “That means he was close enough to watch you. He’s getting off on your distress. Who has that kind of access to you?”
“No one does.” With a jerky shrug, Charlotte pulled her fingers away from the warmth