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“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.
3 (#ulink_670bb452-fcd9-5d9b-b4c6-31affaea0f0a)
HERE’S TO YOU getting naked. Melanie wished. She wondered if Hunter had any idea how his words were affecting her. He probably didn’t mean to be flirtatious but it felt as though the man had been talking about sex nonstop since the minute they’d boarded this godforsaken flight an hour earlier. Or maybe she was just projecting her lack of sex onto the conversation. Either way, it was driving her crazy.
By the way, just who was his moron of an ex-girlfriend? Though she supposed it had been decent of her to wait until he got home to dump him face-to-face, unlike certain photographers who thought a note would suffice. It would have been really cold to end things via text or email while Hunter was on active duty halfway around the world. So maybe the ex wasn’t a bitch. Maybe she just wanted something different. Something that wasn’t gorgeous.
Melanie couldn’t believe she’d told Hunter about being in Ian’s photos. She’d never told anyone but her best friend, Jeannie, about that. She had felt bold and sassy doing it, and she’d never felt a need to talk about it. But she had practically bragged to Hunter. Because no matter what logic was telling her, she was attracted to him and she wanted to impress him.
Not wanting to further engage in a conversation that was bound to make her hot and bothered with no way to cool her heat, Melanie dug out the fashion magazine she’d brought with her. Hunter let her flip through the pages in peace, something Ian wouldn’t have done. He would have read over her shoulder, criticizing the unnatural state of the models. Not that she didn’t agree with him, but sometimes she just wanted to look at the shoes and daydream, not listen to why the lighting in the shot was wrong.
Hmm. Interesting that she was finding herself momentarily relieved that Ian wasn’t with her. He was no longer her boyfriend and already she felt past the stage of crying over it. The sheer speed with which she was reaching the stage of acceptance spoke volumes. It also disturbed her. Good grief, she had been willing to convince herself of a whole hell of a lot, hadn’t she?
Hunter had his eyes closed, so Melanie studied him surreptitiously. He didn’t have a boyish face, but rather one that was chiseled and mature, with pronounced cheekbones and a strong jaw. He had a scar on his chin, just a thin white slash where there was no beard shadow. Most of her adult life had been spent dating men she had deemed creative and artistic. It had been a decade or more since she had allowed herself to look at a man—a real one, not a movie star—and feel primal in her attraction to him. To think that there was something really hot about him purely because of his hard-bodied masculinity and manly scent.
Until now. She felt it acutely as she watched Hunter sleep. Even unconscious, he radiated strength and virility. On some intrinsic level, her body responded to that.
After watching her friends fall one by one for the bad boys in school, she had been determined to pursue guys who had something to offer intellectually instead of the ones who made her panties heat up. A girl couldn’t think with damp drawers, and Melanie wanted to be in control, always. She’d spent the past dozen years keeping her wits about her, but it seemed at some point her wits had gone witless. She’d convinced herself to spend a year dating a man who clearly wasn’t worthy of her attention.
She tore up the note from Ian methodically, ripping it in slow, careful strips. She made a pile on her tray, then jammed it into her empty plastic cup. When the flight attendant came back around to prepare them for landing, she handed her the trash, with the note—an uneventful ending to the last year of her love life. As though it had never been.
When they hit the runway, Hunter jerked awake and gave her a sexy, slumberous smile that warmed her from the inside out.
“Bienvenido a México,” he said. “I hope you enjoy your vacation, Melanie.”
Thoughtful on top of sexy.
“Or should I call you by your adult-film-star name?”
She laughed. “And what would that be?”
“You tell me. Though you look like a Candy to me.”
“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 top of Ian’s poor timing, he was a boyfriend with a budget. It was a nice resort, and more than adequate for Hunter, but it honestly looked like something he and his small bank account would have chosen, not what a multimillionaire would choose. But hell, maybe Ian didn’t like wasting money. Nothing wrong with that.
Frankly, he was glad. He personally felt uncomfortable in a chi-chi environment. Like a bull in a china shop. He didn’t have the clothes or the manners or the money to hang with a highbrow crowd, so he was pleased with the way this trip was turning out. What had started out as an onerous task to earn a few bucks was now playing out to be a relaxed and easy week in the sun. With a gorgeous woman.
Who was now raising her voice, upset at the desk clerk.
He set their luggage aside and came up behind her. “What’s the matter?” He put a hand on the small of her back, hoping to reassure her. Melanie was tense, a frown on her face, shoulders tight.
“We only have one room,” she told him over her shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Ambrose,” the apologetic clerk said. “But this was what was booked for you. It’s a very nice room, overlooking the dolphin-swim area.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely, but we need two rooms.”
He was going to keep his mouth shut tight, because he didn’t particularly have a problem with sharing a room. In fact, he preferred it. He wasn’t used to having privacy, being alone. He had thought when he got back to the States that he would crave that space, and for the first few weeks, it had been blissful. But then it had gotten lonely. The downside of privacy was having no one to talk to, no one to share a thought or crack a joke with. He’d been in an all-male unit, and he missed the camaraderie, though not the smell. It had been a long time since he’d been allowed or able to share a space with a woman and all her feminine scents and quirks.
