Deep Focus. Erin McCarthy
only was it beyond cruel to do that to Melanie, it was rude to do to him, too. Hunter was a bodyguard, not a counselor. He’d been in the marines, where the official motto was Always Faithful, and the unofficial ones were Ignore Your Feelings, followed closely by Don’t Talk About It. And yet somehow he found himself in these situations again and again. He was resisting the urge to unclick his own seat belt and bolt. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go. They were speeding down the runway at that very moment, and as they took off into the air, he put his hand on Melanie’s knee and patted her because he didn’t know what else to do.
He valiantly tried to defuse the situation.
“I guess he wanted to avoid confrontation.” Hunter figured just about every guy had been there a time or two, not wanting a crying woman on their hands. Or worse, a raging one. He certainly had, but that was when he was sixteen, though. Not thirty. Even he, who—by his ex-girlfriend Danielle’s account—was emotionally stunted, was always straightforward with women.
“Avoid confrontation? Do I look confrontational?” she asked, her voice rising higher with each word. “I kept our relationship a secret for a year! I let him travel all over the country without me. I didn’t say anything about the fact that his entire job revolves around seeing women naked!”
She had a point or three, and he’d made it worse. There really was no justification for what Bainbridge had done, because clearly he had planned it at least a week in advance, which was when he’d hired Hunter.
Okay, retreat carefully. Make it clear he was on her side. He knew how to do this. He’d spent his entire childhood negotiating the land mines of his mother’s lousy relationships. “You don’t look confrontational. At all. Personally, I think it’s disrespectful to break up with someone in a note. Only a real dick would do that.”
But she balked. “I wouldn’t say he’s a dick. That seems harsh.”
Proving yet again that no matter what he said, it was always the wrong thing. Why did women contradict everything, even when the guys were agreeing with them? Then wonder why men didn’t want to communicate? He looked at her, unsure how to proceed. “He told me he wasn’t coming, but I thought you knew. I did not know he was going to do this or I wouldn’t have agreed to be the messenger. As far as I’m concerned, what he did to you and what he did to me, essentially making me a party to his dirty work, makes him a dick.”
Her lip trembled. Shit. But then she nodded. “You’re right. He is a dick. I was dating a dick and didn’t even know it. I’m such an idiot.”
Hunter’s face hurt. He was the last person in the world to be giving anyone advice on relationships. Before Danielle he had dated Lynn for four years, but for three and a half of those he’d been deployed to another hemisphere. He had no business doling out advice, but really all Melanie needed was some reassurance she was not in the wrong, which she wasn’t.
“You’re not an idiot. You couldn’t have known he was going to do this. It’s his issue that he’s too wimpy to speak to you face-to-face, not yours.”
And that was all he was going to say about it. He was done with this conversation—stick a fork in him. It made him uncomfortable and reminded him of many nights as a kid watching his mother cry and eat ice cream straight from the container after yet another failed attempt at happily-ever-after. There was no happily-ever-after, end of story. So while he didn’t want to be a dick himself, he wanted Melanie to phone a friend when they got to Mexico and leave him out of it.
He had sworn off relationships himself since Danielle. Before her had been Lynn, and before Lynn there was Allison. All three had left him, and he figured after three strikes, he was out. It wasn’t his game. He was determined that short-term hookups would be his new reality, and if Melanie wanted honest advice, that was what he would tell her. But she wouldn’t. No one wanted to hear his cynical thoughts on love.
She nodded, still sniffling. When she bent over to root around in her bag again, her shirt rode up, exposing the small of her back and the curve of her backside. Hunter cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. The one thing he definitely had not bargained on was finding his client attractive. Melanie was beautiful, even when she was crying. She had delicate features and plump pink lips that lured his thoughts straight into dangerous territory. Her tight jeans and loose-fitting shirt called attention to the fact that she was petite and feminine and curvy in all the right ways.
When he’d taken the assignment, he’d been led to believe Melanie was going alone by choice, and he’d anticipated being treated like an employee. That was fine with him, because it was a job, and he needed the work. But this scenario was far worse, hands down. There was no buffer. No way to remain remote and silent in the background, which was what he preferred. He was stuck making awkward conversation and poor attempts at comforting her broken heart. This was worse than Afghanistan. Okay, not really, but it was worse than the time he’d gotten heat rash on his jock. He was squirming just as badly.
Melanie sat back up, having retrieved a tissue, which she was using to dab at her eyes. Makeup was streaked on her cheeks. Hunter decided that if it had been him, he would have waited until after the vacation to break things off. What the hell was wrong with Ian Bainbridge that he didn’t want to spend a week with Melanie in a bikini? That prospect was the only redeeming thing about this work assignment. She was sweet, though, too, so what was Ian’s problem? Why would he let this woman get onto a plane without him?
The guy clearly had issues.
Hunter had issues, too, but according to his exes, his were more along the lines of inability to communicate his feelings and failure to be romantic. He wasn’t a commitmentphobe. Nor was he a dick. He would be perfectly happy to spend a week on a beach with a sexy girlfriend, if he had one. Which he did not.
“I mean, am I that stupid?” Melanie asked him, still dabbing at her eyes. “The truth is, I knew things weren’t great between us. The whole point of this stupid vacation was to fix the problems in our relationship. That really worked. Not. And now I’m out a ton of money.”
“At least you didn’t get pregnant,” he said. “That’s a really expensive way to save a relationship.” He meant it as a joke, but she gave him a look that indicated he was in no way funny. He mentally kneed himself in the nuts. He knew better than to tease a woman who was crying. Years of his mother’s dating had taught him that, but maybe he had been in the desert too long.
“Don’t joke about being pregnant. That’s like tempting fate.” But then her face screwed up. “Not that I can possibly be pregnant, given it’s been six weeks since we had sex.”
Oh, no. This was not information he wanted. Because now he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I’m sorry. What I said was in poor taste.” He yanked a magazine out of the seat pocket in front of him and handed it to her. “Why don’t you read something and try to distract yourself?”
She blinked and eyed the magazine he was holding out to her without taking it. “Skymiles? You think vibrating massage chairs and cat condos for sale are going to distract me from the fact that I mean absolutely and utterly nothing to the man I care about?”
“You’ll never know unless you try.” He was damn hopeful she would.
Shaking her head, she gave a watery laugh. “No, thanks. I’d rather wallow.”
Not him. He’d rather be eaten alive by piranhas than sit in his own misery. He’d perfected the art of avoiding grief and disappointment. “Well, you wallow away, then, without me interfering. I’ll read the magazine.” He opened it up and stared blankly at an extensive gate system that was for...dogs? He wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he didn’t want to talk anymore.
He felt for the girl, he really did. It wasn’t that he couldn’t sympathize, but he knew how this went. She would lament and rail and sink into self-doubt and he would nod and express sympathy and tell her she was worth so much more—which she was—and he would be exhausted and she wouldn’t believe him anyway. He’d done this. He was that guy, the one