Her rebound resolution

This is so not the romantic vacation she planned! Instead of a let’s-rekindle-this-relationship getaway, PR rep Melanie Ambrose is en route to Cancún with a Dear Jane letter and Hunter Ryan, her smoking-hot new bodyguard. To make matters worse, there’s only one available room at the hotel she booked...with one bed!

The truth is, Melanie has been so career-focused that she’s ignored what she wants. And faced with sun, sand and an incredibly sexy companion, a deliciously hot and naughty fling seems the exact thing to help her reset her focus. But as the days pass, Melanie wants to change their arrangement so this doesn’t end when they get back on the plane...

“Are you saying you don’t find me physically attractive?”

“I find you physically attractive.” Hunter’s comment was an understatement. Melanie was actually his ideal woman, the kind of woman he wanted to both protect from harm and push up against a wall and make scream with pleasure. But telling her that would be completely unprofessional. He was still on a job. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

She sighed again. “I don’t feel beautiful. I feel foolish. And a little airsick.”

“Here. Lie down and close your eyes.” Hunter patted his legs, indicating she should stretch out.

He was attracted to her, yes, but he also felt...interest. That tug of desire, in both his groin and his chest. Not good. Not good at all.

Which made offering for her to sprawl across his lap incredibly stupid.

She glanced up at him with big brown eyes. “You’re very hard.”

“Excuse me?” He was working on it, but not there yet. If she kept shifting around like that, he would be, though, and she would get an earful.

“Your legs. They’re very muscular. Not the best pillow.”

Right.

She smiled up at him. “But thank you. I appreciate it.” Squeezing his knee she added, “You’re very sweet.”

Now, that was a word no one had ever used to describe him.

And with that, his job got a whole hell of a lot harder.

Dear Reader,

As a Northern girl, my favorite thing to do in the winter is to escape it. Unlike those who revel in skiing and ice-skating, I spend the winter running from building to car to my house wearing seven layers of fleece. Aside from not moving because of family, I swear half the reason I continue to live in the North is for the excuse to head to Mexico every chance I get!

So my heroine, Melanie’s, desire to experience the triple play of sun, sand and sexy times was easy to channel. While I’ve never had a hot bodyguard like Hunter accompany me on vacation, I did once lose sleep in Cancún due to a couple of amorous dolphins right outside my room. Sometimes truth is stranger—or funnier—than fiction!

I hope you’ll enjoy this final installment of my From Every Angle trilogy with an unlikely pair forced together and finding love.

Happy reading,

Erin McCarthy

New York Times Bestselling Author

Deep Focus

Erin McCarthy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

USA TODAY and New York Times bestselling author ERIN McCARTHY was first published in 2002 and has since written over fifty novels and novellas in teen fiction, new adult and adult romance. Erin is a RITA® Award finalist and the recipient of an ALA Quick Picks for Reluctant Young Adult Readers Award. When she’s not writing she can be found sipping martinis in high heels or eating ice cream in fleece pajamas depending on the day, and managing the lives of her two teens, two cats and her codependent dog. You can find Erin online at erinmccarthy.net or follow her on Twitter: @authorerin.

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Muchas gracias to Celso, Danny, Gil and Cuauhtemoc and the other guys at Fly High Adventures for always making my zip-line excursions and pit stops at the Three Amigos in Cozumel a blast.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

Extract

Copyright

1

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. Nearly everyone in the airport was naked.

Melanie Ambrose glanced around and frowned before rounding on her boyfriend. Dang it, he had broken their deal. “You said you were done working! We’re on vacation, Ian, as of midnight last night. Our flight to Mexico is in an hour.” She flung a finger out to point at the group of men and women sitting bare-assed on the hard plastic chairs in O’Hare’s Concourse B. “This looks like work.”

She shouldn’t have trusted him to get to the airport on his own. She should have swung by his apartment and scooped him up, but it was out of the way and Ian hadn’t wanted to stay at her place because he hated her bed. She’d agreed to arriving separate and now this. So annoying. Absolutely and utterly annoying. The whole reason their relationship was crumbling was because Ian worked all the time. She understood that his photography business was commercially successful beyond his wildest dreams, and that there were responsibilities and expectations, but this vacation was supposed to give him a much-needed rest. And her, a much-needed orgasm.

He held up his hands and gave her an apologetic shrug. “Mel, baby, I couldn’t resist. I’ve not shot at the airport before, and what a perfect opportunity to capture the shuffling of humanity. It’s brilliant. And I owe the idea to you.”

She was not falling for that, or for his sexy New Zealand accent. “Whatever.” She let go of the handle of her carry-on and looked down at her toes. The fifty dollars she’d just spent on a pedicure better not have been wasted. “We’re not missing our flight,” she told him flatly.

“Don’t be so churlish,” he reprimanded, pushing his glasses up. He looked past her, flagging someone down.

She turned and noticed one man in a suit, looking absolutely out of place amongst all this exposed flesh. The poor guy was probably just trying to catch a business flight and had wandered into Art. In the form of breasts and butt cheeks.

Melanie turned her attention back to Ian, giving him a glare. “It’s nine in the morning! Our flight is supposed to leave at ten.” She considered herself incredibly reasonable. She never complained about his schedule or questioned him about the company he kept. She respected his art, and as the PR rep for his company, Bainbridge Studios, she worked hard to make sure his climb up the ladder of success was smooth. But they’d been planning this trip for two months.

Escaping Chicago in December for the beach was bliss enough, but she’d been looking forward to the opportunity to rekindle a bit of romance.

Apparently, he wasn’t in as much of a rush to drink wine and knock boots as she was. It was a bit deflating. A lot deflating.

“I’ll find a later flight. You go ahead as planned. Hunter will go with you.”

Um. “Who the heck is Hunter?” Melanie’s Southern accent was resurfacing as she became agitated. “And why on God’s green earth would I want to fly to Mexico with him?”

“This is Hunter.” Ian gestured behind her. “He’s your new bodyguard.”

Melanie turned and saw the man in the suit standing a discreet distance behind them. He nodded briefly. She was officially confused.

“Ian, why do I need a bodyguard? You’re the one being stalked.” Some woman who had never even met Ian fancied herself in love with him and had been bothering him for over a year. At one point, Savannah the Stalker had been charged and Melanie had thought that would be the end of it, but a jury had found her not guilty and almost immediately she’d gone back to sending alternating love letters and threatening emails. “She doesn’t even know about us. That’s part of why we’ve kept our relationship on the down low.”

Another source of friction between them. It sucked having to pretend you were primarily your boyfriend’s employee in public. She was over it.

Looking uncomfortable, Ian bent closer to her. “It seems she’s found out about you, because I got a disturbing email a few days ago. I didn’t want to tell you and spoil the trip. But I don’t think it’s safe for you to be without some protection.”

Great. She was at risk of being attacked by a random crazy person. “You can protect me. Come with me.”

He frowned. “I have this shoot set up.” He briefly touched her hand and kissed her forehead. “Go with Hunter. Go on. For me, so I don’t have to worry about you.”

Melanie felt like a five-year-old being sent off to kindergarten against her will. There was no arguing with him. He wouldn’t change his mind, not with a terminal full of nude volunteers. Sometimes she wondered if she were cut out for the role of Artist’s Girlfriend, because the whole slave-to-the-muse thing got old really quickly. But it was flattering that he was worried about her safety. She sighed. “Call me when you board your flight. Have a good shoot.”

“Thanks, Mel. You’re the best.” He turned and left, going over to Sam, his assistant, and leaving Melanie standing there feeling incredibly defeated.

But there was no sense crying over it. She turned and gave Hunter a smile. “Hi, I’m Melanie. Nice to meet you.”

“Hunter.” He shook her hand. No smile.

Which ticked her off a bit. Sure, he was on the job, but the man was going to Mexico to sit on his butt and watch her splay her body out on a beach towel. It was a cake job—she wasn’t really in danger. That was total paranoia on Ian’s part. Even if Savannah knew who she was, she wasn’t likely to hop a plane to Cancún to track her down. That required cash and a passport, and the average stalker wasn’t going to add international travel to their bag of harassing tricks. So why did Hunter look so sour?

“This might be the most boring assignment you’ve ever had,” she warned him as she retrieved the handle of her carry-on and started walking toward their gate.

“Possibly. But I’ve had a lot of less-than-exciting assignments.”

Excuse me? She shot him a sideways glance. He didn’t look as if he was making a joke, which led her to the conclusion that he might simply be a jerk. A good-looking jerk, mind you, but a jerk nonetheless. What, as if it was her fault she wasn’t a celebrity or a political figure surrounded by pushy paparazzi and people with agendas? She was just a PR rep from Kentucky. Who didn’t need a bodyguard, plain and simple. Then again, the man was just doing his job, and she could respect that. “Well, I hope you packed your trunks, since we’re going to Mexico. It’s better than being stuck here, that’s for sure.”

“I have to agree with you.”

She had a thought. “Do you have a gun on you? Is that legal?”

“I have a license to carry concealed, but no, I did not bring a gun.”

“Good.” That was reassuring. She didn’t want to be detained and body probed by TSA at any point on this trip. That was not the kind of probing she’d had in mind at all. “You do know this is all totally ridiculous, right? My boyfriend is being overly protective.” Ian had never been like that in the past, but it was warming her girl bits now, she had to admit.

Hunter gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. Lord, the man was attractive. If she were single, she’d want a piece of that. He was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome. Smoking hot. Like five-alarm, sweet and spicy Texas barbecue hot. Finger-licking good.

He must hit the gym every day, because the man had muscles that were no accident. He’d gotten those biceps by sweating, hard. Melanie began to perspire just picturing it, which was startling and completely inappropriate. She wasn’t normally one who went for bulked-up manly men, but Hunter’s physique paired with that suit was quite a winning combination. His jaw was strong, his eyes an intriguing shade of green. Not that fake contact-lens green you sometimes saw, but a true mossy shade, with flecks of gold.

Yes, the man had been whacked with a sexy stick, and she could appreciate looking without wanting to touch.

Too bad he had zero personality.

And why did she care anyway? She had a boyfriend. A distracted, moody boyfriend, who had stuck her with this hunk of hotness for the next twelve-plus hours. It was nice to know Ian trusted her, she supposed. She wasn’t sure she would have if their positions were reversed. But then again, he had no reason to be insecure. Melanie frequently worried that maybe she was more into Ian than he was into her. That was a thought she quickly banished, though.

“If you say so,” Hunter told her.

What was that supposed to mean?

He glanced down at his phone, then gestured to their right. “This is our gate. Perfect timing. We’re boarding.”

“Okay.” She started to veer off in the direction of the restroom for a preflight potty break, but squawked when Hunter grabbed her arm and pulled her to a stop.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

Melanie blinked up at him, giving a pointed glance down at his hand, still holding her arm. “To use the toilet,” she said bluntly, hoping that would make him back off.

It didn’t.

“You can go on the plane,” he told her.

“You think someone would buy a plane ticket to get past security just so they could assault me in the ladies’ room?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Then you live in a sad little world,” she told him. But she obediently got into the boarding line with him. Once Ian arrived in Cancún, there would be none of this nonsense. They were going to hole up in their hotel suite and bang like bunnies, Hunter nowhere in sight.

She hoped anyway. Things hadn’t been stellar in the bunny-banging department lately. Or any department, for that matter. It was worrisome. She wasn’t ready to pack it in on her relationship with Ian, even if he was often distracted. Even if it had to be a secret. That would be like admitting defeat, and she didn’t do defeat, even when she felt defeated.

Fifteen minutes later she was settled in her seat next to her stony-faced bodyguard. A bodyguard. It made her feel pretentious and ridiculous. Not to mention somewhat like a prisoner. While she struggled to stuff her very large purse under the seat in front of her, Hunter sat and watched. She could feel his eyes on her as she heaved and hoed, her blond hair falling in her eyes. When she finally sat back up, he just silently handed her an envelope.

“What is this?” she asked, confused yet again.

“I don’t know. I was told to give it to you once the cabin door closed.”

A wisp of fear slithered up her spine. That sounded sketchy, but she instantly dismissed the thought. The envelope was the kind that greeting cards came in. Maybe it was a romantic note from Ian, a gesture to make up for his complete failure to understand how important this vacation was to her.

Turning her back slightly on Hunter so he couldn’t read over her shoulder, she opened the envelope and pulled out a card. Not a pretty vellum paper card, but the cards they used at the office to send personal notes. It was one of Ian’s mass nudes depicting a dozen people in a tree. Decidedly less promising. She recognized Ian’s handwriting inside.

Dear Melanie,

I think we both know this isn’t working. To delay the inevitable in Cancún doesn’t make any sense. We’ve had a good run but it’s time to move on, and consciously uncouple. Enjoy the beach, and I’ll see you at work when you get back.

Best,

Ian

Melanie read it three times, her heart racing as she tried to convince herself there was another meaning to it. But there wasn’t. Ian was breaking up with her. On work stationery. After putting her on a plane with a bodyguard.

“Oh, my God,” she said before she could stop herself. She grappled for her seat belt, unbuckling it. “I have to go.” She couldn’t sit here; she couldn’t go to Mexico. She needed to get off this plane, away from all these people. She needed to breathe deeply somewhere in private, getting control of her emotions. After she tracked down Ian in Concourse B and asked him how he could be so damn insensitive as to dump her in a Dear Melanie letter.

Then punched him in the no-nos.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What are you doing?” Hunter asked her. “We’re about to take off. Put your seat belt back on.”

“I have to get off this plane,” she insisted.

“Are you sick? Afraid of flying?”

She shook her head, panicking, unable to speak. Ian had purposely waited until she was trapped on board so she couldn’t even discuss it with him. It was mind-blowing and insulting and vomit inducing.

Hunter’s hand settled on the back of her neck, big and warm, gently urging her head forward toward the seat-back tray. “Breathe,” he commanded. “Take a deep breath, nice and slow. You’re okay.”

He had a deep voice, smooth. It commanded obedience, so she did as he said, sucking in a lungful of air and letting it back out through her nose.

“Again,” he said.

After a few breaths, she felt marginally better. And like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry.”

The plane was backing up off the tarmac and heading for the runway. She was going to Mexico whether she wanted to or not.

“Don’t apologize. A lot of people are afraid of flying.” His hand massaged the back of her neck. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and sat up again, hoping he’d take his hand off her. While it felt good to have him kneading the knots out of her neck, she was acutely aware of how unfitting it was. He got the hint and dropped his hand. Bracing herself, she turned to look at him, still clutching the stupid note from Ian in her sweaty palm. Those green eyes were gazing at her calmly, and with concern. Maybe Hunter wasn’t such a jerk after all.

“What did Ian tell you?” she asked. She needed to know if Hunter had been aware of Ian’s plan, so she would know if she needed to die of humiliation or not. “About this trip?”

“That he has a stalker and you’re in danger. I got the file on her so I know what she looks like. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried about Savannah.” She wasn’t. Savannah would be where Ian was, not where Melanie was. “I think you coming with me is pointless. No offense.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “None taken. But I’ve been hired to do a job, whether you think it’s necessary or not.”

“Ian’s not coming,” she told him flatly. There was no way to cover it up. If he didn’t know now, he’d figure it out by nightfall.

But there was no reaction. Just a blank stare. “Was he supposed to come with you? I was under the impression you were taking the trip solo for R & R.”

Excellent. Wonderful. This was officially the vacation from hell. And the ironic thing? She had paid for it. She had put the whole goddamn tab on her credit card as a grand gesture to let Ian know she valued him and their relationship. Even though he was a millionaire and she made thirty grand a year, she had taken on the bill. For love.

Now she was going on vacation with a total stranger who was witness to Ian consciously uncoupling them. Which was about the douchiest way to say “dumping you” ever recorded in the history of relationships. Had cavemen done this? Sent a wooly mammoth with a stone slab and a broken heart on it to their significant others? She wouldn’t be surprised.

A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “He broke up with me. In a note.”

She wouldn’t have chosen Hunter as a confidant, but she was torn between embarrassment and the need to vent. Since there was no girlfriend convenient and she couldn’t use her cell phone on the flight, he was her only option. The disgust and hurt couldn’t be contained. “Can you believe that? After a year. A stupid note. One small paragraph.” Shaking the note, she added, “And he wrote it on the inside of naked people. It just adds insult to injury.”

Then without meaning to, she began to flat-out sob.

* * *

HUNTER RYAN WATCHED with horror as Melanie’s face screwed up and she started sobbing silently, lip trembling and chest heaving. Oh, God. He really hated when women cried. But hell, he couldn’t blame her. What kind of an asshole dumped his girlfriend in a note? He wasn’t sure what she meant about the naked people, but given what the guy did for a living, he assumed it had something to do with his work.

A quick note. Jeez.

Not 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 every woman went to for advice, which they all subsequently ignored. But the last thing he wanted to talk about right now was relationships, when he was determined to give up on the concept altogether.

Melanie was silent for a whopping sixty seconds before she sighed loudly and said, “Maybe when we get to Mexico I should turn around and go home.”

As much as Hunter wanted to end this conversation, he couldn’t let that go. “Can you get a refund on your trip?”

“No.”

“Then why would you go home to the snow and cold? Enjoy the vacation, Melanie, as much as you can. Don’t let Ian ruin your time off work.”

“I even booked excursions,” she said, sounding so forlorn he wanted to put his arm around her and pull her against his chest for a hug. Like the guy who listens and gives advice. Damn his mother. She’d done this to him.

“Who goes zip-lining by themselves? It’s pathetic.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“You will?” She blinked up at him with hopeful eyes.

“Of course. It’s my job.”

That was the wrong thing to say. She made a face. “Great. So I have a paid companion. Even better.”

“I’d do it even if I wasn’t being paid.” But it was too little too late. He shoved the magazine back into the pocket in front of him. This was going to be a long-ass trip with no relief in sight, and the ibuprofen he’d taken for his bum arm wasn’t going to be any help.

She gave a snort. “Thanks.”

He didn’t know what to say then, so he said nothing.

After a minute, she said, “You know what chaps my ass?”

“Uh, no.” He couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I was forcing myself to love Ian. Can you believe that?” She was shredding the tissue in her lap, a little pile gathering on top of her seat belt buckle. “It all seemed so good on paper, and when I pictured myself with a man, it was always with an artistic type, not a macho man. Yet I never really loved Ian, not like I was supposed to.”

“Well, that’s great,” he said, suddenly feeling a whole lot better about the next week. Maybe this meant he wasn’t in for seven solid days of tears after all. “So you weren’t really meant to be with him. Better to know that now rather than later.” Though he wished it hadn’t been on his watch.

“I wouldn’t say it’s great. It’s still humiliating and hurtful. I mean, I was willing to try. To nurture our relationship and let it grow. Why wasn’t he?”

“You’re not a tree,” he told her bluntly. “It doesn’t grow. It’s either there or it isn’t.”

“What, like love at first sight?”

“No. But chemistry, attraction. Admiration. Driving and compelling interest. That’s all there from the jump. If it’s not, you can’t force it.” Hell, he should know. With the exception of his first serious relationship, he’d taken the rational, think with your head, not your heart approach and it hadn’t worked. Danielle had been right when she’d said he lacked emotion. They both had been remote because they didn’t have that intense interest in each other.

She frowned. “How do you know if it’s there or not?”

Was she serious? Hunter felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You know. Don’t tell me you don’t know when you find someone attractive.” Like he found her. God, her lips looked as though they’d been made for kissing. Did she realize that? Apparently not.

“Well, sure. I guess. I mean, I look at you and I can see that you’re an attractive man, but that doesn’t mean we’d be compatible.”

Hunter thought she was missing the point. It was more than that. Way more. But he didn’t mind hearing that she found him attractive. “I’m not just talking about physical attraction.”

“Are you saying you don’t find me physically attractive?” Melanie bundled up all her tissue scraps and tossed them in her purse with more force than was necessary.

Minefields. Everywhere he walked with women. “That is not what I was saying. At all. Yes, I find you physically attractive.” Which was an understatement. She actually came pretty close to his image of the ideal woman with her blond hair, her juicy mouth, her perky breasts and narrow waist. She made him want to protect her from harm, and at the same time he wanted to push her up against a wall and make her scream with pleasure. But telling her that would be completely unprofessional. He was still on a job. “You’re a beautiful woman.”

“I don’t feel beautiful. I feel foolish. And a little airsick.”

Yikes. That was all they needed. “Here. Lie down and close your eyes.” He patted his legs, indicating that she should stretch out.

“You don’t mind?”

He minded a lot of things, but despite his desperate desire to stay remote with his client, he didn’t want her getting sick. Plus that indescribable “it” he had mentioned to her? He felt it. That tug of chemistry, of desire, in both his groin and his chest. He was attracted to her, yes, but he also felt...interest.

Not good. Not good at all.

Which made offering for her to sprawl across his lap incredibly stupid. When she did, her body felt warm and soft on his hard thighs. She glanced up at him with big brown eyes. “You’re very hard.”

“Excuse me?” He wasn’t there yet, but if she kept shifting around like that, he would be, and she’d get an earful.

“Your legs. They’re very muscular. Not the best pillow.”

Right.

She smiled up at him. “But thank you. I appreciate it.” Squeezing his knee, she added, “You’re sweet.”

Hunter grunted in response. She closed her eyes.

And his job, among other things down south, got a whole hell of a lot harder than he could have ever predicted.

2

IT HAD BEEN a mistake to lie on Hunter’s legs. Melanie kept her eyes closed, but not to sleep. It was to avoid looking at him. She was very aware of how close she was to his crotch, and how firm his body was under hers. His hand resting on her side was enormous, heavy, warm. She felt surrounded by him, protected.

And he smelled like the woods. As if he’d chopped a cord of firewood, thrown on a suit and jumped on a plane, all without skipping a beat. It was appealing.

There was something dangerous about this. She was vulnerable. Hurt. Embarrassed. Hunter was sexy and very masculine. She didn’t want to fall into that trap of needing to prove she was feminine and desirable by having rebound sex. Not that Hunter wanted to have sex with her. Despite saying he found her attractive, he’d been looking at her like he was in pain since the minute he’d met her. She was sure he’d simply been tossing out a compliment because he felt sorry for her and she’d backed him into a corner.

So even if she wanted to make the massive mistake of using Hunter to make her feel better about herself, it wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t interested. Though he was being very nice in a pained, aloof sort of way. He was patient and he was trying to offer sympathy. Despite her deep humiliation, she needed to pull herself together and not make Hunter pay for Ian’s sins. Ian was back at the airport blithely doing what he loved to do and leaving a total stranger to clean up his mess. She hoped Hunter was being adequately paid for his time.

Shifting slightly on his lap, she evened out her breathing and reflected. She was ashamed to realize that she had been trying to salvage a union that had never stood a chance in the first place. Sure, she cared about Ian, but how well did she really know him? There had been compatibility, yet no connection. Why had she been so willing to settle for that, and why did it still hurt so much? She’d never thought of herself as having a fragile ego, but apparently she did.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so painful if Ian had taken her out to dinner and told her face-to-face. They could have discussed it, mutually agreed that something was off, given each other a mature and slightly sad kiss goodbye and gotten on with their lives. This was different. This was bullshit. This was her only vacation for the year and Ian had ruined it summarily, without cause or concern. Hunter was right. Ian was a dick. Sad to think she’d devoted a year to a dick, and not even the good kind.

Which suddenly made her aware of how long it had been since she’d had sex. And how close she was to Hunter’s penis. Her thoughts went full circle.

She decided to sit up.

Hunter gave her a look of surprise. “You okay?”

“I have to go to the restroom.” It was a lie. She just needed to evacuate his lap before her thoughts took a turn into the gutter. It was as if her body had been all primed for booty on this vacation, and her hormones weren’t about to back down now that plans had changed. Even though Hunter couldn’t read her mind, she felt self-conscious.

“That’s right, you had to go before we boarded.” Hunter unclicked his seat belt and stood up in the aisle so she could scoot past him.

“Thanks.” She eased out of the seat and started down the aisle. Locking herself in the microscopic restroom, she glanced in the mirror and almost passed out. Good gravy, she looked like hell in a handbasket. Her face was swollen and splotchy and her hair was a disaster from running her hands through it nervously. There was no way Hunter was going to be attracted to her now that she’d taken a ride on the Hot Mess Express.

After splashing water on her face, she tried to pat her hair down, but it was hopeless. She hadn’t brought her purse with her, so there was no real way to repair the damage. Not that lip gloss was going to change the fact that her eyes were swollen and her nose was stuffy. She rolled her neck and shoulders and tried to swallow the reality that she was winging her way to Mexico with a man who was a total stranger. There was no turning back, no getting out of it.

She would literally be paying for this vacation for the next six months at least, so she could either lock herself in her hotel room and cry, or she could reset her idea of what the trip was going to be and try to enjoy it. She was still leaving winter behind. She didn’t have to work. There would be dessert buffets and salsa dancing. And while Hunter wasn’t going to be kissing her naked body, he was far better company than, say, her mother. Or a crying baby. Or a baboon. All of those would be worse options for travel companions.

A sexy stranger should not be a hardship.

Opening the restroom door with the violent shove it required, she went back down the aisle carefully, determined to make the best of things and to try to get to know Hunter a little better. The poor man was saddled with an awkward work assignment, aka her, so the least she could do was try to make the whole thing less awful for both of them.

He began to stand as she approached so she could reach her window seat, but she waved him back down. “I can squeeze past. Don’t worry about it.” She felt guilty enough about falling apart on him.

But right as she started to maneuver her way by, they hit a pocket of turbulence and the plane jumped. Knocked off balance, Melanie gave a small cry of alarm and tried to grab the seat in front of her. Too late. She fell against Hunter with all the grace of a hippo doing ballet. She didn’t land in his lap. That would have been better. No, instead she basically shoved her butt right on up against his chest.

Scrambling and stumbling, she pulled her body away from him and tried to throw herself at her seat. Hunter put his hands on her hips.

“Steady,” he said.

Right. Steady. That was her. Hair in her eyes, she shifted to the right. But he had shifted as well, and somehow she managed to knock her hip into his arm. “Sorry,” she said, breathless. She turned to face him and blew her hair off her face. “These seats are really narrow.”

He looked more amused than irritated. “I could have just stood up.”

“I didn’t want to inconvenience you,” she said, bracing herself as the plane lurched again. She stood between his legs, his hands still on her waist. “Shall we dance?” she joked.

“The only kind of dance I know that starts out like this is a lap dance,” he said wryly.

Oh, jeez. Her cheeks burned. She did not want him to think she was flirting. “I was thinking more along the lines of the rumba. Clearly we spend our weekends in different ways.”

Hunter laughed.

It was the first time he had, and it was a deep, rumbling, pleasant sound.

Melanie smiled at him. For the first time since Ian had told her he wasn’t getting on that flight with her, she didn’t feel as though she was on the verge of losing it.

“Lap rumba?” he asked. “It’s all about compromise.”

“Because I’m so graceful.” She made another move toward her seat and, as if to prove her point, managed to bump his arm on the way by.

He winced.

“Oh! Sorry.” Now she was causing him pain. “Are you okay? Did my butt pop your arm out of the socket or something? I’ve always been something of a klutz.”

Back in her seat at last, she turned to see him shaking his head.

“It’s just an old injury. Don’t worry about it.”

“Really? How did you hurt yourself?”

“I fell out of a Humvee after we hit a mine and broke my arm in four places.”

She wasn’t exactly well versed in vehicles but she was pretty sure that was what they drove in the military. “Wow, that sounds painful. So you were in the service? How long have you been out?”

“Three months.”

That was way more recent than she would have expected. “Oh! So you had a long career, then. What made you decide to leave—your injury?”

He gave her a look she couldn’t decipher. “Are you calling me old?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. But you’re clearly not twenty-two, either. I just meant it wasn’t as if you did a few years and got out. It was a commitment.”

“It was. Twelve years. I would still be serving if it wasn’t for my injury. I realized it was time to pack it in. I just turned thirty.”

There was the rub. Not her comment, but his own fear of aging. Of starting a new life and career and feeling superfluous. “Thirty is the new twenty.”

“Now you’re calling me immature.”

But the corner of his mouth turned up.

“I’m trying to get to know you,” she said, nudging his knee with hers. “Stop being difficult about it.”

“Why the hell would you want to get to know me? I’m your bodyguard.”

“You’re my only company for the next seven days.” The look he gave her was so pained she laughed. “Thanks for being so thrilled.” Then a thought occurred to her. “Wait, you are staying the whole time, aren’t you?”

The thought of him leaving after just a couple of days upset her, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yes, I’m staying. But I thought you said you weren’t afraid of Ian’s stalker.”

“I’m not. I’m afraid of being...bored.” Alone. She was afraid to be alone.

That was an unnerving thought to have. Was that why she’d been willing to settle for the half-assed attention of Ian Bainbridge? Because having a boyfriend, even one who was never around, was better than not having one at all? God, she wasn’t in middle school anymore.

She wasn’t that needy. She knew she wasn’t. But she was a woman who thought that she could organize everything in her life, including romance. She lived by lists, and Ian had ticked all the boxes on her checklist of what her ideal partner should be.

“How can you be bored when you have zip-lining to try?”

There was that. She wasn’t even going to mention that she’d also signed up for exploring Mayan ruins and horseback riding on the beach. Her credit card must be on fire.

“You shouldn’t go zip-lining with me with your injury, by the way. I can go by myself.” She didn’t want to guilt her bodyguard into doing something that would set his recovery back.

“I can go freaking zip-lining. I’m not paralyzed. Hell, even paralyzed I could still do it.”

Uh-oh. She’d pierced his male pride. “Don’t get your panties in a wad. I was trying to let you off the hook, not imply you’re incapable.” She couldn’t help but add, “And you could reinjure yourself.”

“I’m fine.” He undid his seat belt and leaned forward.

“Where are you going?” Melanie asked, suddenly panicking. Was he leaving? Not that he had anywhere to go. But she wasn’t sure she wanted to be alone with her thoughts now any more than she wanted to be alone on tourist excursions.

“I’m taking my jacket off. It’s hotter than hell in here.”

He sounded irritable.

“Oh. Here.” She reached up and turned his airflow on.

“Thanks.” Hunter did his best to shake off his jacket in the tight space.

It was tempting to help him as he struggled out of it, but she figured his balls might shrivel up and fall off if she did. Why did men feel so emasculated by accepting help? And good God, how tempting was it to touch those arms? He was wearing a light blue dress shirt, so she didn’t have the greatest view of his biceps, but without the jacket it was clear that despite what he’d said, he’d brought the guns. Jeez Louise.

“So...you didn’t bring any swimwear?” she asked, striving for casual. Any heterosexual woman past puberty and under the age of, oh, death would want to take a gander at him without a shirt. It was just reality, and she wasn’t about to feel guilty about it. Much. It might fall under the category of objectifying him, but at least she wasn’t paying his salary. No boss-employee conflict of interest here.

Not that she was doing anything other than looking. She was getting to know him. As a potential friend. That was it. She had to remember that and not throw herself at his hard, gorgeous body.

Damn it. Where was the flight attendant with the service cart? She needed some water.

* * *

HUNTER REALLY NEEDED a glass of water. Between the small confines of the plane and the fact that Melanie didn’t seem to understand how attractive she was or what she was doing to him every time she brushed against him, he was burning up. When her ass, perfectly cupped in those tight jeans, had bumped against his chest, it had taken all of his willpower to keep from pulling her down onto his lap for a more enjoyable plane ride for both of them.

He shifted his jacket over his erection and put his seat-back tray down, as well. Anything to hide his embarrassing state of arousal. This was a job. She was a client. It wasn’t her fault that he hadn’t gotten laid in fourteen months. Fourteen long, celibate, lonely months. He’d been pumped to get home from Afghanistan despite the arm, because he didn’t need two functioning arms to take his girlfriend to bed. All those months he’d been fantasizing and waiting for the moment when he could nail Danielle again, and he’d gotten home with his cast off and his libido primed. But instead of a weekend sex fest, he’d gotten dumped.

“I brought a pair of trunks, sure. I have to blend in and look as though I belong on the beach.” He was going to be sitting in a beach chair watching Melanie in her bathing suit. He was praying for a bikini. It just had to be a bikini.

“Good point.” She smiled at him. “Is applying sunscreen part of your official duties? I can never reach that spot right here.” Twisting, she tried to reach between her shoulder blades. “Here.” She twisted again, her chest pushing out toward him, breasts taunting him. Laughing, she added, “See? It’s a problem. I don’t want to burn.”

It was then and there that Hunter decided that this was bullshit. Ian Bainbridge had only hired him for one week, and hadn’t even paid him yet. He didn’t owe the guy total professionalism, not when Ian hadn’t been completely up front with him about the situation. Fourteen months was too long to go without sex, and Melanie was probably equally disappointed at the prospect of a celibate vacation. There was no way he could be expected to spend a whole week alone with her and not die of sexual frustration.

That left him two choices: he could settle her into the resort then turn around and go home, or he could convince her that what they both needed was a no-strings-attached week of sex and sunshine.

The first choice seemed unethical, since Ian believed there was a possibility Melanie was in danger. Hunter wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to her, no matter how remote the possibility. The second option was maybe just a little sketchy and inappropriate, but they were both adults and he wasn’t going to twist her arm too hard. Just...coax.

What would Melanie be like in bed? He had a feeling she would approach sex without guile, but with a certain amount of efficiency. She would want the right location and the right time, and she would have a checklist. Foreplay, oral sex, penetration, orgasm, done. Maybe he was wrong—he’d only known her an hour—but it was a gut feeling, a hunch. He had a sudden visual of her approaching his cock with a look of purpose.

It made him hard, and it made him want to show her that sex didn’t need an order or a plan. “I can be your cabana boy,” he told her. “I’ll rub anywhere you want.”

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Thanks. Um. So...tell me about yourself. Are you married? Children?”

He almost grinned, but held it back. “No and no.” Pride had him instinctively withholding the information about Danielle, but then he realized it could work to his advantage. “When I got home from my deployment, my girlfriend ended things.”

There it was. Her face softened and her hand came to rest on his knee. “Oh, I’m sorry. It must have been hard to make a long-distance relationship work.”

“Lots of people manage to,” he said truthfully. “So I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.” Though she could have told him that before he spent months anticipating a happy homecoming.

“You are very stoic, then.”

She didn’t ask it as a question. “No. I wouldn’t say that. I just go to the rifle range and shoot things to work it out.”

“That sounds healthy.” She made a face at him. “Maybe you need a creative outlet instead.”

“Maybe I need sex.” See what she did with that.

“Oh!” Her cheeks turned pink. “Well. True. There’s that.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the cheerful flight attendant asked, locking her cart into place next to Hunter.

It was perfect timing. Let Melanie ponder what he’d said for a while.

“I’ll take a coffee. Black. And a water.” He turned to Melanie. “What would you like?”

“Just a club soda,” she said. “With a lime. And vodka.”

Oh, really? “Somebody’s ready to party,” he said, amused.

“It is kind of early, isn’t it?” she said. “But hell, I’m from Kentucky. I know how to hold my liquor. I stand by my choice.”

“That’s eight dollars,” the flight attendant said discreetly. “Only credit cards.” She bent over and pulled out a tiny liquor bottle.

Hunter got out his wallet and handed her a credit card while Melanie was still wrestling her jumbo purse out from under the seat.

“You don’t have to do that,” she protested.

“Honey, if the man wants to buy you a drink, let him,” the flight attendant said, handing over both glasses. “You’ll never see him again, so there’s no expectation.”

“We’re going to Mexico together for a week,” Melanie told her.

The flight attendant made a sound and waved her hand. “Well, in that case, he should be buying all your drinks. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a couple.” She turned to Hunter. “I thought you were a business traveler.”

“I’m her bodyguard,” he said, because he felt as if he needed to explain his suit. Plus it would drive Melanie crazy.

“Are you serious?” The woman eyed Melanie more carefully. “Are you famous?”

When Melanie started to shake her head no, Hunter touched her knee. “She’s not famous to the average person. But those who know who she is are such rabid fans she’s accumulated some stalkers. I’m here to protect her.”

“Oh. My.” The flight attendant unlocked her cart and started to push it. She asked Melanie in a low voice, “Can I ask what industry you’re in?”

Hunter didn’t expect Melanie to play along. He thought she would bluster and apologize and say it was really her boyfriend the famous photographer who had a stalker. But she stunned him by nodding solemnly and saying, “Sure. I’m an adult-film star. Maybe you’ve seen some of my work? Poke Her Haunches? Or maybe Romeo, Juliet and Juliet?”

The curious smile disappeared. “No, I haven’t.” The cart moved rapidly three feet down the aisle.

Coughing to cover his laugh, Hunter looked at Melanie in amusement. “I wasn’t aware of your history.”

“I don’t like to brag,” she said breezily.

“Home videos? Or can I download them online?” He knew she was joking, but without warning an image of Melanie in a corset and touching his sword ambushed his thoughts.

She smacked his leg. “Neither. You goof.”

“I’m a goof, am I? You’re the one messing with the flight attendant.” He eyed her carefully. “Be honest, you wouldn’t even make a home video. That’s not your style.”

“Hey! What do you know about my style?”

“You don’t seem like an impulsive person. Making a sex tape at home is usually for couples who are spontaneous. Or daring.”

“I could be daring.”

His assessment seemed to have annoyed her. Or at least made her slightly defensive.

“I mean, I have posed naked, you know,” she said.

“Your boyfriend is a photographer. I don’t find that particularly daring.”

“My ex-boyfriend is a photographer. Past-tense boyfriend. Not my boyfriend anymore.”

Hunter felt like a jerk. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore subject.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t just pose for him at his place alone. I took part in all his shoots. It was like our private joke. I had to travel with him anyway for work, so there I am, in every photo he’s done for the past year.”

“Really? You’re like Where’s Waldo? Only naked?” That was a tantalizing thought. Holy hell. The chick had guts. And was clearly comfortable in her own skin, which was incredibly hot.

Melanie laughed, and took a sip of her drink. “Sometimes I wore a disguise.”

“How do you wear a disguise when you’re naked?” His mind ran in directions that were so dirty he was glad his jacket was still lying in his lap.

“Glasses. A wig.”

“Right.” Because she wasn’t a total pervert like he was. “Fascinating. Here’s to you getting naked.” He raised his plastic coffee cup and offered her a toast. “For posterity and for art.”

“For art.” She lifted her own tumbler and clicked it gently against his, giving him a soft, sexy smile.

The minute the plane landed he was going to search the shit out of Ian Bainbridge’s photographs online. Wig or no wig, he was certain he would recognize Melanie’s sexy curves anywhere.

Thank God for the internet and both Ian’s genius as an artist and his stupidity as a man. This assignment was turning out to be a whole lot more exciting than Hunter had anticipated.

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