She gave a vehement shake of her head. “No. Not even close. He’s too...not my type.”
Now why did that please him? And just what was her type? Not that the type of man she dated mattered. His job wasn’t to pass judgment or probe his protectee’s psyche. Though if they’d met under different circumstances... He gave himself a mental shake. Not. Going. There. “This Sam would like to date you, though.”
She sighed. “He’s asked. Often. Wants me to go to the hospital fundraising gala with him next Friday. He can’t seem to get it through his brilliant thick skull that I’m not interested.”
“The gala is out.” No way would he let her go anywhere near such a security risk.
She frowned. “I have to be there.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t. Your boss will understand.”
Her lips pressed into a firm line. A sign of acquiescence? He doubted it. But that was a battle they could have at a later date.
To preserve the note, he slipped it into the baggie and then placed it into his shirt pocket. “What’s this doctor’s full name?”
“Samuel Johnson.”
“I’ll have a background check run on him.”
She drew back slightly. “Sam would never hurt me.”
“Maybe the doctor has someone in his life who’d like to get rid of the competition. I need to know the players in this game.”
“Game? This isn’t a game! This is my life!”
The outrage and fear in her face twisted him up inside. He held out a hand, palm facing out. “Sorry, didn’t mean anything by that. Just a figure of speech. You’re right, this isn’t a game. I take it very seriously.”
Her lovely features turned stony. She went into the living room and sat on a plush chair. “I hate this. Hate feeling scared and out of control.”
He followed her and squatted beside her. “That’s understandable. And you’re doing great.”
“Yeah, we’ll see how I’m doing by the time this is done.” She scoffed and shook her head. “I can’t imagine living in fear for very long. Always wondering if the next knock at the door might be a deranged killer. Who knows what else this crazy person will try. Or who might get hurt because of me.”
“That’s why you have me. I’ll protect you. You might not believe it, but I’m very good at what I do.”
Her dark eyes searched his face. “Why do you do this? Work as a bodyguard, I mean?”
Uncomfortable with the focus turning to him, he rose. And deflected. He was good at deflecting. “Guy’s got to make a living.”
“There are other ways to make a living.” The studied way she peered at him made him think of microscopes and petri dishes. He wasn’t some bacterium she had to try to understand. “Less dangerous ways.”
A shudder worked its way through him. “Yeah, boring ways.”
He had no doubt that, being a surgeon, she saw the aftermath of dangerous careers and hobbies alike, which gave her a different perspective. She could never understand the inherent need to live life on the edge, to push as close to danger as possible, to risk life and limb to feel alive, to feel...something.
“Ah, you’re a thrill seeker, then.” There was just the barest hint of censure in her tone.
He grinned, undaunted by the disapproval. It wasn’t the first time a woman said that to him. It wouldn’t be the last. “Always looking for the next gnarly wave to come rolling in.”
“Gnarly, huh? You’re a surfer?”
“That obvious?”
A slight smile played at the corners of her mouth. He had the sudden longing to see a full-blown smile, to hear her laugh, to see her relax. So not what he should be concentrating on. Her physical well-being was his priority. Not her mental health.
“Yes, it is,” she admitted. “But I can’t imagine there’s much surfing in Boston. You must not have grown up there.”
“No, I didn’t. Southern Cal. On some of the best beaches in the world.”
A momentary bout of nostalgia hit. He missed the California sunshine and the smell of the Pacific Ocean. The Atlantic smelled different. Brinier. “There’s always windsurfing in Massachusetts. You can be at a great surf spot within two hours from downtown Boston.”
He remembered the last time he’d been out on the Atlantic Ocean planing across the tips of the waves, catching enough speed to loop. “Not quite the same rush as traditional surfing...but still fun.”
“How did you end up in Boston?”
She was full of questions, and that wasn’t a tale he cared to share. Revealing his painful past wasn’t part of his job description. He kept his life under wraps. Better that way. He’d hate to see the look of pity or judgment or both in pretty Brenda’s eyes if she knew how he’d ended up where he was. “Life. Funny how it works out sometimes.”
“Did you move there because of a wife or girlfriend?”
He arched an eyebrow. She was fishing to see if he was attached. Interesting. “No wife, no girlfriend.”
“Why not?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back.
She hesitated. “I’ve been focused on my career.”
“Ah. But someday you hope to get married?” He wondered what kind of man would snag the doctor’s heart.
“Don’t you?” she countered without answering his question.
“No,” he stated with certainty.
She studied him. “Why not?”
He thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure where his reluctance to relationships stemmed from. Maybe it was his parents’ rocky marriage before his mother’s death. Or maybe the way his high-school girlfriend, Anne Tucker, had stomped all over his heart when she’d gone to the prom with his best friend because Kyle hadn’t the money to pay for their ticket. She’d ended up pregnant that night. Kyle knew he’d dodged a bullet, or rather a situation that he wouldn’t have been able to handle. A kid at seventeen? No way.
Better not to get too involved with any woman and avoid such a sticky and permanent situation.
Realizing the doc was waiting for an answer, he went with the easy one. The one he knew would keep her at arm’s length. “I like playing the field. Keeping my options open.”
She stiffened. The corners of her mouth tightened. “What training do you have? How do I know my life is safe in your hands?”
Appeasing her curiosity and reassuring her he could protect her were two different things. He held his right hand up, his index and middle fingers in a V shape. “Cub Scout promise. I had my Bobcat pin within the first three months. Had it turned right side up by the next day.”
Irritation crossed her face. “I have no idea what that means.”
“You wouldn’t. You’re a girl. Only boys can be Cub Scouts.”
She rolled her eyes. “Do you ever give a straight answer?”
“Not if I can help it.” He understood she wanted to know what made him tick, what made him qualified to protect her, what made him who he was. That was only natural. But he needed her to trust him without knowing the answers. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me.” He made the Cub Scout