Tempted by His Target

The disturbing dreamscape receded as she stared into Brandon’s calm blue eyes. His expression told her he hadn’t missed a thing.

Self-conscious, she brought her flailing arms closer to her body. Although the temperature had cooled, her skin was dotted with perspiration, her tank top clinging to her chest. She wondered how long he’d been watching her sleep. Sitting up, she pushed her hair off her forehead.

“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he said.

Her eyes met his, startled.

“Your coffee,” he clarified, lifting his own cup.

There was another cup on the nightstand, steam rising from the top. Beside it, a mildly sweet pastry known as pan dulce. She took an experimental sip. He hadn’t added enough sugar to suit her. “It’s fine.”

Satisfied, he glanced out the window, drinking his own coffee. He looked better this morning. The bruises on his face had darkened but the swelling was down. If he put on a pair of sunglasses, the flesh-colored bandage on his brow would be hard to notice. He also needed a hat to cover his ash-brown hair.

She realized that she’d made her decision. Any man who could stand watch, grab breakfast and keep his hands to himself was worth his weight in gold. She also had to admit that waking up with him was better than waking up alone, after a nightmare like that. “I’ll go with you,” she blurted.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Good.”

“You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No.” He took another drink from his cup, mulling something over.

She tore off a piece of pastry. “What is it?”

“Those guys from last night … do you owe them money?”

Chewing the bite she’d just taken, she stalled, not wanting to give away too much. “Yes, but I don’t think that’s what they’re after.”

“What are they after?”

“Blood.”

His jaw tightened at the answer. “There’s one thing I need to make clear before we move forward.”

She regarded him warily. “What?”

“I don’t like drugs. If you’re on something—”

“I’m not,” she said, her cheeks warming.

“Since when?”

“I haven’t even had a drink in years. Is that okay with you, Boy Scout?”

“Yes,” he said, curt.

She ate the rest of her pan dulce without really tasting it. “Why are you traveling by yourself?”

His brows rose. “Why not?”

“Are you a lone wolf?”

“This from a woman who surfs solo.”

“I have reasons for that.”

He lifted his cup to his lips, making a noncommittal sound.

“You’re not … involved with anyone?”

“No,” he said, glancing at her in surprise. “And I’ve never had a girlfriend who would be interested in this kind of vacation.”

She sipped her coffee, contemplative. He probably dated prissy Miss America types with perfect hair. There had been a lot of those in Hollywood, if she remembered correctly. “What about guy friends?”

He shrugged. “They all have lives, and I made the plans at the last minute. Besides, I don’t mind doing my own thing. Sometimes I prefer it.”

Isabel tried to imagine wanting to be alone, and couldn’t. “Do you have a family?”

“Yes.”

“Are you close?” she asked, embarrassed by the sudden pressure behind her eyes. Her estranged relationship with her mother was one of her greatest regrets. She couldn’t mend it from a distance, though she longed to.

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