Chapter Seventeen

“Oh my gosh.” Liz stepped into the aqua- and cream-colored bedroom with splashes of emerald green and silver, orange and red.

The room was complete with a king bed, dresser, and overstuffed chair. A sleek yet graceful chaise lounge faced the balcony where, through the clear railing, the beach and Gulf view stretched out like a painting, even in the dark of night.

An arrangement of fresh bird-of-paradise flowers mixed with orange Asiatic lilies and yellow alstroemeria sat on a side table. Three bamboo stalks completed the display.

The room was beautiful, and she couldn’t help but smile, then she glanced at the bed. “Look, there’s one of those seahorse pillows I told you about at the airport gift shop. The one you said would take up too much room. See? I ended up with one anyhow. And, there’s even a starfish on the…”

She whirled to face him. “You made this happen, didn’t you? You made everything perfect.”

“I figured… Well, I’m glad you like it. Might as well be happy while you hide out.” Shrugging, he walked to the patio door. “If you go outside, be sure to use the security pad, in and out.”

Her insides fluttered, unsure if she should be happy he cared enough to arrange everything, or leery everything seemed too perfect. The more she and Mitch were together, the more complex he seemed to be. The more complex, the more she wanted to understand what made him tick. There had to be a story there.

Caught for a moment, she had to remind herself this was not some assignment. Not even a vacation. This was serious business. He was her protector for a reason. Her life was on the line. All their lives were on the line.

“Hey, you okay?” He’d moved back beside her.

“Yes. I’m trying to take everything in. This room is more than I could ever hope for in my life. It’s beautiful.” She swept her hands in an open expanse of the room. “I love the flowers. Did you know that bamboo is supposed to be lucky?”

He nodded. “They say it brings energy to the house.”

“That’s right. So, what color, what style is your bedroom?”

Quick as anything, his expression reverted to the same panicked look he’d had in the kitchen searching for dishes. He was on defense again. Why?

“You’ll see it once I get the security communications set up in there.” He pointed to a connecting door. “As a precaution, I’ll unlock my side of the connecting door. You’ll want to keep your side unlocked, too.”

“Why?”

“I can get to you faster if there’s a breach.”

She realized he was talking about Coercion Ten. “I thought we were safe here.”

“Should be. That’s why I have double security set up in this house. If they get through the obvious one, the secondary system will sound an alert. Gives me time to get us the hell out of here. Or make a stand.”

Neither one sounded like something she hoped to experience. “Maybe you should put a gun in here. I may not be the best shot in the world, but I do know how to handle one.”

“I thought Cat gave you a weapon before we left the beach house back on Captiva.”

“She did, but when I fell in the water, the gun slipped out of my pocket and sank.”

He motioned her to follow him, and they walked back to the bags waiting on the balcony landing. After a couple of unzips and zips, he popped a clip into a small Glock, checked that the safety was on, then handed it to her along with a couple of clips. “That’s loaded. Don’t use it unless you have to.”

Balancing the pistol in her hand brought back a memory of her first target practice at a shooting range in Los Angeles, about a week after graduating from UCLA. She’d been heading off on her first journalist assignment when her dad had suggested she learn how to shoot. Since then, she’d made it a habit to stop in a gun shop for target practice at least a couple times a year. She’d never bought a gun, though. No reason to—her keychain mace was her main line of defense.

On the other hand, her hand-to-hand self-defense training that she updated yearly had been put to use on a few overly interested men. Ones who didn’t know how to take no for an answer and seemed to be immune to her mace. But she’d never had to use a gun.

Mitch walked back to her room. “Let’s find a good place for you to keep this.”

“I was thinking in the nightstand drawer.”

“I’m thinking under the bed.” He got to his knees on the far side of the bed, and she knelt beside him. “If CT gets in and you’re by yourself in here, you’d hide behind the bed.” He shoved the gun a good arm’s length underneath. “This way, you’ve got an easy reach for protection.”

Made sense. In fact, she could probably even shimmy completely under the bed if need be. She had no doubt the bad guys would look there, but at least it was one more obstacle.

Moving to stand up, their arms barely touched; even that was enough to spark their chemistry. He jerked away, but not so fast she didn’t feel his warmth beneath the coarseness of the hair on his forearms. She forced herself not to show any reaction. She wasn’t a fool about their attraction—she doubted he was, either.

“If you need anything, I’ll be setting up the OPAQUE equipment in my room,” he said.

“Why won’t you tell me the color and style of your bedroom?”

Shaking his head, he looked to make a quick getaway as he stepped toward her open door. “You don’t give up, do you? Always got one more question. One more thing you need to know.”

“Answer my question and I’ll be quiet.” She raced to beat him to the door, closing it to block his path.

Stepping back, he crossed his arms as the cords in his neck seemed to stiffen. “I’ve had enough for one day, Liz. Move.”

He slightly tilted his forehead downward and raised his eyebrows as a burst of red intensified his expression, and for a moment she thought he might push her out of the way. He appeared fierce. Controlled…but fierce. She’d not seen that look before and didn’t much like the daggers his narrowed eyes had focused on her. But she couldn’t let whatever was going on in connection to this house stay lodged between them.

Leaning back against the door, she crossed her arms in return. “Is this really your house?”

“Yes!”

“Then how come you don’t know where your dishes are? Where you keep the silverware?” She sucked in a breath of courage before continuing. “And I’d bet money you don’t know what color your bedroom is.”

He gently, yet firmly, moved her to the wall next to the door.

She stayed her ground, stayed leaned back against the wall. “You want to know what I think?”

“No.”

“I don’t think you’ve ever spent one night in that bedroom. Maybe not even in this house. Come to think of it, this place is probably nothing more than a house to you. Not a home.” She softly touched his arm with her fingers. “Do you even have a home, Mitch?”

He grasped her fingers in his own as he pushed her hand back against the wall, elbow length beside her head. His body moved in close. Close enough she felt the muscles of his chest press against her. His legs sandwiched her leg between them, then he slid his head next to her, his cheek brushing hers.

“You will not get in my head, Elizabeth,” he whispered alongside her ear. “No matter what you do. Or what you try. You will not get into my head.”

Evidently, she’d struck a nerve with him. A defensive, emotional nerve. Why couldn’t he say she was right? Or wrong? “I like the way you whisper against my ear, but you didn’t answer my question.”

He moved back a couple of steps. “You want a question? I’ve got one for you. Why did you kiss me out there on the Q40?”

Just like him, she could refuse to answer. Tell him to answer her question first. Ask him why he kissed her back. But somehow, none of those responses seemed appropriate. She’d had a reason. A very important reason.

“I told you. What if tomorrow never comes?” she softly said.

“Now, that’s where we’re different. I’ll fight every fight till the last punch. Use every defense I know. I’ll annihilate every enemy that steps in front of me.” His eyes seemed to search her expression. “I damn well plan for you and me to live one more day.”

“But sometimes things go wrong. What if you’re killed?”

He opened the door and stepped into the hall. “There’s only one thing you need to remember. Dying—is not an option today.”