Deep Focus. Erin McCarthy
“Why is that?”
“Sweet.”
Melanie wasn’t sure if she was sweet or not. She liked to think she was nice, but adjectives used to describe her normally ran more along the lines of efficient, organized, punctual. Nothing exciting at all. There wasn’t a porn name out there that really suited her. “I’m not feeling it.”
“Melly, then. Melly Ambrosia.”
“Melly?” It did sound suitably made-up, which was almost a prerequisite for a porn-star name. “I can live with that. So is that our story at the resort? I’m a porn star? No one will buy it when they see me in a bikini.”
“Tell people whatever you want. You’re on vacation.”
“So you keep reminding me.” Melanie looked out the window. No snow. The sun was shining. No work to be done. Check. She was on vacation. There was a fruity drink in her future.
She had to admit, as they walked down the stairs of the plane and crossed the runway to the airport entrance, the warm tropical breeze felt amazing on her winter-weary skin. She rolled her shoulders to work out the kinks and raised her face to the sun.
“Ah, that feels so good,” she told Hunter. He was carrying his suit jacket over his shoulder and squinting as he walked behind her. “Do you want to go to the pool when we get to the hotel?”
“Whatever you want,” he said. “I am here to follow you.”
Right. This bullshit bodyguard business. Maybe they needed to discuss that a little further. “How long did Ian hire you for?” If Hunter thought he was going to shadow her back in Chicago, this was going to get old quick. She wanted him to roll around naked in bed with her, not silently follow her as she walked to the coffee shop. That was just weird. And wait—did she want Hunter to roll around naked in bed with her?
She glanced back at him. He was rolling up his shirtsleeves. Yes. Why, yes, she did. Bad Melanie. Or maybe in this case, Melly. If she were pretending to be Melly Ambrosia, adult-film star, would Hunter want to have sex with her? Or would he still see her as nothing more than a boring work assignment?
And if she were assuming a fictional identity in the name of fun and spontaneity, that wasn’t like having a pathetic rebound affair, was it? It was her breaking out of her shell, celebrating her newly single status and her ability to have sex whenever she felt like.
That was what it would be. If she did it. Which she wouldn’t. But she was certain of one thing—there was no relationship in her immediate future. If she wanted a little boom-boom, it was going to have to be on the condition that they were not dating. Which was in direct contradiction to everything she had done for the past twelve years. When push came to shove, she doubted she could actually go through with the casual-sex thing, which meant her unfortunate and unintentional state of celibacy was going to continue.
It was ridiculous that in a relationship she’d had to suffer unsatisfied. Sex with Ian hadn’t been bad, but he had always been a little selfish. It seemed she was a little slow on the uptake if she was just now figuring out there had been about nine million red flags as to why things with Ian hadn’t been working. It had looked good on paper, but you couldn’t make someone fall for you like a ton of bricks if he didn’t want to.
Assessing someone based on data and compatibility was a waste of time. So was being reasonable and waiting for someone else to determine her future. She needed to have a think on this trip and figure out her next move.
“Ian hired me for the week.”
Lame. “So my safety only matters for a week while I’m a thousand miles away from home and Ian’s stalker? That’s just dumb.” She shook her head, but then smiled when she was handed a flower by a line of women greeting them.
“I have no answers,” Hunter said, accepting a flower from the greeters but then turning to tuck it into Melanie’s hair. She shivered at the unexpected touch of his fingertips brushing against her cheek. “I learned a long time ago that we can never get inside someone else’s head. It’s a waste of time and energy trying.”
She gazed up at him, wishing he would touch her again. That simple contact felt so good. “So you aren’t wondering what I’m thinking right now?” She wanted him to guess. She wanted him to know that she was attracted to him. Make the first move. She was tired of being the pursuer, of always having to make plans and seek out opportunities to be with a guy. She wanted to be chased. Melly the porn star would be pursued.
He gave her a crooked smile. “If you’re Melly Ambrosia, you’re thinking you’d like a break from sex. You just want to be left alone to sunbathe and zip-line.”
Then clearly she was not Melly Ambrosia, because all she’d been thinking about for weeks was sex and how she wasn’t having any. “I would assume porn stars actually like sex.”
“I wouldn’t know, truthfully. Never having been one myself.” His hand had dropped, and he gestured as he started walking. “Baggage claim is this way.”
She didn’t care about baggage claim, but she fell in step beside him. “Don’t be modest.”
Hunter laughed. “The military career is not a cover for an illustrious film history. I really was on active duty for twelve years.” He glanced over at her and winked. “Though I could have been a porn star if I wanted to. I have all the qualifications.”
There he was again. Talking about sex in a roundabout way that could be misconstrued if he wasn’t careful. “What, the name?”
“That, and the assets.” He grinned wickedly.
Classic dude bragging. She wasn’t sure if he was flirting, or just being a guy. “The modesty, too.” She gestured to where everyone was milling around. “Is this our carousel number?”
“Looks that way. What does your bag look like?”
“It’s got polka dots.” She already saw it. “There it is.” She pointed, then dropped her carry-on bag so she could go for the larger suitcase and haul it off the belt.
But Hunter beat her to it. He yanked her bag off the belt with one hand. She rushed after him. “Hunter! Your arm. I can get it.”
“I have two arms,” he told her, dropping his jacket onto her now-upright suitcase. “And the bad one works.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t used to manly men and their need to prove they were 100 percent badass at all times. This was going to be an interesting experience. “Thanks for getting it.”
He pulled a significantly smaller black bag off the belt.
“That’s your suitcase?” she asked. “What’s in there, two pairs of underwear and a toothbrush?” She couldn’t exist for six hours on a bag that size. Seven days? Forget it.
“Who needs underwear?” he said.
There it was again. Teasing. Flirtation. “As long as you have fresh breath, I guess the rest is none of my business.”
Hunter couldn’t read Melanie’s expression as he led her out to where a shuttle was waiting to take them to the resort. She looked pensive. He had thought he’d pushed it too far teasing her about her porn-star name, so he had retreated behind humor. He needed to remember that she was hurt and feeling bad, sad, mad, whatever, about being sent on this trip solo. She had expected to be there with her boyfriend and instead she’d gotten him. He needed to dial it back a notch, be more sensitive.
Now she was brooding and he wasn’t sure why. Was it the whole situation, or was it his stupid underwear joke? She had paused outside to lift her face to the sun and breathed in deeply. Maybe she was just relaxing. Reflecting. He stayed silent throughout the drive and tipped the driver when they arrived at the resort. Rolling both bags behind him, he let her wander into the lobby first, a little surprised at how average the resort was. It wasn’t luxurious by any means. So it seemed that on