Paige studied him intently, his open arms, his unreadable expression. Was he offering her more than post-mission sex, here? Something genuine between them? Something deeper? She sincerely hoped their lovemaking had been more than simple adrenaline sex for him. It had been a life-altering experience for her.
She didn’t sense any ulterior motive in him, just an offer for simple comfort. A hug in the small hours of the night, some human warmth shared.
She stepped forward.
And yet, it seemed like so much more than a hug as he wrapped his strong arms around her and her head drifted to his shoulder. It was as if they shared a tacit agreement that they had passed beyond client and bodyguard, past friendship, past casual sex partners.
She hadn’t known exactly what to expect on this mission, but this sure as shootin’ was not it.
Tom murmured, “I’ll take the watch if you want to get a little shut-eye.”
“I’m supposed to be watching you!”
“Look, Paige, I was a special operator for a long time. I’m perfectly capable of standing watch, and you’ve got to get a little sleep sometime. If you want to play bodyguard while I’m out in public, that’s fine with me. I can use the extra set of eyes looking out for my back. But let me at least pull my weight here.”
She sighed. He had a point. She’d used go pills before and they were capable of keeping an operator alert and functional for up to sixty hours, but the crash afterward was horrendous.
He led her into the living room, where he pulled the sofa cushions down onto the floor and presented them to her with a flourish. “Your bed, mademoiselle.”
Thankfully, she didn’t have to explain to him the danger of using the bed in the actual bedroom. It was the first place an intruder would look for them. She stretched out, the night’s activities catching up with her all at once.
“You want my pistol?” she asked sleepily.
His grin flashed in the dark. “Ah, now there’s a line I never expected to hear a beautiful woman use on me. Sure. I’ll take it. Got a spare clip while you’re at it?”
“They’re in the top drawer of the bureau just inside the bedroom door and to the left.”
“Let me guess. Under your lingerie.”
She cracked one eye open to glare up at him. “You’d be surprised how many bad guys stop searching for guns and ammo when they hit black lace.”
“Black lace, eh? This I’ve got to see. Model it for me?”
She was sinking fast. “Tomorrow.”
“Sweet dreams, pip-squeak.”
She sighed, “’Night, Tom.”
And that was the last thing she remembered before sunlight streaming into the room woke her up the next morning. That and the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen. She frowned. There wasn’t anything in the house to cook that would smell like that. What had he gone and done?
Paige surged to her feet. She’d been asleep for nearly six hours! He was supposed to let her catch a power nap while he stood guard and then trade off with her.
“Tom—” she started. She stopped cold as she crossed the kitchen threshold. He was just laying out an enormous breakfast, complete with fried eggs and bacon, orange juice, steaming coffee and stacks of pancakes.
“Haven’t lost my touch in the kitchen, have I?” he announced cheerfully. “Not bad for pushing five years since I cooked anything.”
“Yeah? And where did this anything come from?”
He shrugged. “I ran down to that little market on the main road and picked up a few things.”
She didn’t say anything to him. She just glared. And waited.
It didn’t take long for him to look away, squirming. “Okay, so I probably should have woken you up and taken you along. But we consumed everything edible in the house last night and I was hungry. I figured you’d be hungry, too, after all of our, um, exertions.”
That put a quick flush of heat in her cheeks. Enough to distract her momentarily from her disbelief that Tom would do something as stupid as venturing out alone.
“Look,” he said cajolingly. “Our sniper was out running around for most of the night, too. What are the odds that he stuck around after sunrise this morning? You and I both know he called it a night and went home to get some sleep and figure out how to get me the next time.”
“Maybe,” she retorted. “But maybe he’s professional enough to stick with the job until he finishes it. I would be. And maybe there’s more than one sniper out there. Which means they could work in shifts and have you in their sights around the clock.”
“You’re a Medusa,” he retorted. “You’re trained to be paranoid.”
Okay, so that warmed the cockles of her heart a little bit. How cool was it that he thought she rose to the level of a real, live Medusa? Which was a hell of a compliment at the end of the day. And not too shabby a distraction tactic from him. She forced her mind back to the problem at hand: controlling her protectee without inciting open rebellion from him. “Just don’t go anywhere without me again, Tom. Okay?”
He sighed. “Oh, all right.” A short pause. “Syrup with those pancakes?”
“Duh.”
He grinned and passed her the maple syrup.
She dug in, as hungry as he’d guessed she’d be. “So. What’s on your agenda for today?”
He grinned. “No idea. That’s what Gretchen’s for. I know there’s a session this afternoon with all of the summit attendees that should run until nearly supper. I think I have a meeting with the American delegation some time this morning. First order of business will be to get back to the hotel and get some clothes, though.”
“Speaking of which…” She got up, went to her bedroom and returned carrying something dark blue. “This is my biggest T-shirt. It’ll be snug on you, but you’ve got the pecs to pull it off. And it’ll be better than strolling back into the hotel in just your shorts.”
He grinned widely and pulled the navy blue T-shirt over his head.
Oh my. He did tight cotton very nicely, indeed.
“I’ll do the dishes while you get dressed,” he murmured.
Okay, he was officially a perfect man. He made her scream with pleasure and fed her and did the dishes the morning after.
Her car was still at the hotel so Tom called for a taxi. They met it out at the main road, several driveways down from her own.
The drive was not long, and they made it back to the hotel with no problems. She ordered Tom to wait for her to come around to the passenger side of the cab to let him out and thought he might mutiny at that. Fortunately, by the time he unfolded himself from the backseat, she’d already made it around to the passenger side of the car.
“You’re really carrying this bodyguard thing too far,” he muttered as he levered himself awkwardly out of the tuna-can-size vehicle. “I don’t need you opening doors for me.”
“Get over it,” she replied cheerfully. “I’m the big, bad bodyguard and you’re the lowly principal.”
“At least walk next to me like you’re my girlfriend or something,” he groused.
She laughed as he looped his arm over her shoulder and strode past the pair of doormen who swept the doors open for them.
Without warning, an explosion of shouts and flashing lights assaulted them.
She lurched and barely stopped herself from flinging Tom to the ground with her on top of him. Jeez-o-peet. The entire press corps was arrayed before them, pointing video and still cameras at them. Which meant that at any second…yep, here came the attack of the microphones.
“Where were you last night, Mr. Rowe? Were you kidnapped? Rumor had it you were shot. Are you hurt?”
The questions flew at them one on top of another, so thick and fast she could barely make out words, let alone meaning. Good Lord. Is that what the press looked like from the other side of the lens? No wonder Tom hated reporters.
She squinted into the blinding glare of the camera lights unable to make out a darned thing beyond them. She cursed under her breath. “Let us through!” she called out as she pushed forward.
No dice. The press wanted a statement and they weren’t budging until they got it.
Tom tried shouting, “I’ll have my people issue a statement if you’ll let me through so I can brief them!”
Nada. The bristling phalanx of microphone-armed reporters only pressed in closer. And then someone got the bright idea to change tactics. A reporter shouted out, “Are you two an item? Has America’s most eligible bachelor been landed at last?”
In the time it took Paige to flinch, all the other journalists took up the line of questioning. Tom’s jaw went rock hard, rippling with intense irritation.
“C’mon, guys,” she tried. “Let us through. It has been a long night and he said he’ll make a statement to you in a little while.”
“How’d you do it, Paige? How’d you catch the uncatchable man?” A cluster of microphones blossomed under her nose.
A breeze hit her from behind as the lobby’s double doors swung open, and she turned quickly to assess the threat. Shock rendered her still for a moment, and then she grinned widely. Vanessa Blake must have pulled every string in the book to get the Medusas here so fast. God bless that woman.
She leaned close to Tom and called loud enough for him to hear over the din, “The cavalry’s come to rescue us.”
Aleesha Gautier, aka Mamba and one of the original Medusas, led a team of a half-dozen women forward, bodily throwing aside the journalists unfortunate enough to be standing between them and their goal.
Affecting a rich Jamaican accent, Aleesha spoke loudly enough for her voice to roll out across the entire crowd. “’Ey now, boys ’n’ girls. Don’t get your knickers all in a twist, ’ere. Back off and den meybee you gets to talk wit’ de mon.”
The other Medusas closed ranks around Paige and Tom, unceremoniously elbowing aside anyone and everyone in their way.
“Man, am I glad to see you!” Paige exclaimed to her teammates.
One of the pushiest reporters, a woman Paige recognized from a news show that was more about gossip than actual hard news, shouted shrilly, “If you don’t give me a statement, Mr. Rowe, I’m going to report that you and Paige Ellis are involved and flaunting your relationship, and that her objectivity is hopelessly compromised as a journalist.”
That jerked Tom’s head to the side to find the source of it. Paige reached out to touch his elbow, to tell him not to rise to the bait, that she would have a quiet word with the obnoxious woman later, upon whom she happened to have blackmail material that would nix the report. But Paige was too late.
Tom’s back went rigid. “You report that and I’ll sue you for slander. I’ll not only bury you, but I’ll take your entire show off the air, lady.”
Oh, God. Now he’d gone and done it. The first rule of dealing with the media was never, ever, pick a fight with them.
Sure enough, the sharks pounced. “Oh ho! So now you’re defending Ms. Ellis’s honor, are you? How long have you two been going out? Does your network know about this liaison, Paige? Aren’t you afraid you’ll lose your job by not revealing this personal bias?”
Paige pressed her lips together. She was so not getting into a pissing contest with this crowd.
Tom growled, “Paige Ellis and I are not dating. We are not an item, and I resent your insinuations.”
Paige stared. What was he doing? They’d agreed that she would pose as his girlfriend to explain her hanging around him while she looked out for his safety.
Tom continued forcefully, “Unfortunate circumstances threw us together last night. Nothing more.”
Paige staggered like he’d just kicked her feet out from under her. Nothing more? Was that all last night had been to him? Unfortunate circumstances?
He leaned into the nearest mike and stared frankly into the cameras. “Paige Ellis and I happened to be at the same dinner and happened to end up hiding together after a gunman fired shots. For you people to make something more out of that is just plain ridiculous. I mean, come on. You all know how I feel about reporters. Can you seriously see me dating one?”
That got a snicker out of the crowd. And it was a dagger straight to her heart. Who was she kidding? She of all people knew how he felt about reporters. He hated them with a purple passion. Of course last night had been a onetime thing. He’d even said so. And she’d acknowledged it. For her to have some giant crush on Tom was beyond stupid.
Tom pressed the crack he’d created in the journalists’ hostility. “For ten years I’ve stonewalled even the most basic of interviews, and you think I’d arm any reporter with that kind of ammunition?” He laughed. “You think I’d get naked with one of you guys?”
That did it. The media frenzy was broken. Laughter and ribald jokes flew back and forth between Tom and the reporters. The Medusas, reading the situation correctly, let the jocularity flow for just long enough to relax the crowd, and then they resumed pushing through the crowd, apologizing pleasantly as they basically bulldozed an opening for Tom to escape.
Paige would have followed along in their wake, but a familiar voice barked her name above the general din. Her boss, Greer Carson. Oh, Lord.
She turned and made her way to him, waving off the avalanche of questions still being hurled at her.
“In here.” Greer held open the door to their temporary broadcast bureau for her. She slipped past him and sighed in relief as Greer shut out the din in the lobby.
“You okay?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Yeah. Fine.” Truth be told, she was reeling and felt like she’d just taken a few good body blows.
“Anything happen between you and Rowe last night?”
“Nothing that’s anyone’s business.”
“Are you compromised for reporting on him and the summit?”
“No!” She blurted it out automatically, but a twinge in her gut made her wonder if she was telling the truth.
“Good. Now then, we’ve got some damage control to do. Rowe did his part to quiet the rumors, but now you’ve got to do your part.”
“Fair enough. What have you got in mind, boss?”
“Something about Rowe. Hard-hitting. Tough. Something that’ll shut up the critics who say you two have got a thing going on.”
Her innards twisted. Tom would be furious with her. He’d accuse her of taking unfair advantage of their personal relationship to pillory him. And he’d be right. She opened her mouth to protest Greer’s instructions, but reason kicked in, stopping her. Tom had just stated unequivocally, for all the world to hear, that she and he had no personal relationship.
She closed her mouth. Nodded. Then said, “I’ve got just the angle. It’s huge. I wasn’t sure about going public with it, but I think it’s time. Are you aware that Takashi Ando is dead?”
“Whaaat?” Greer squawked. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. Interesting that two attempts have been made on Tom Rowe’s life, as well, eh?”
“Why isn’t this the biggest news of the entire conference? Why the hell didn’t you say something about it before now?”
“The local police asked me to hold off reporting it to give them time to notify Mimi Ando and Takashi’s sons. But I’d say it’s safe to go public now.”
“Get me documentation. I’d hate to be wrong on this one.”
“And when I’ve got it?”
“Hell, I’ll break you in to the live broadcast stateside. This will be a sensation! What a scoop!”
She didn’t exactly share his jubilation, but she did share his determination to break the story before anyone else. She went to one of the telephones arrayed on a table in the corner and picked up the handset. An operator came on the line.
“I need to speak to the police,” Paige said.
In about two minutes, she had her confirmation that Ando’s family had been notified, and that the Japanese tycoon’s death had been ruled questionable. The officer on the other end of the line didn’t sound thrilled that she knew about Ando. They must still be trying to keep it under wraps. Too bad for them. She rolled her chair down the table to a computer and banged out a fast story. As long as she didn’t tie the shootings to the summit, it should be okay to report them. The trick would be to spin the story as a lurid love triangle gone wrong. She hit the print button and headed for her makeup table.
“Check the copy while I do my face, Carson.”
Her boss was doing the two-phones-at-once thing again, but he had enough spare attention to shoot her a thumbs-up and move toward the printer.
Before she could second-guess herself, before she had time to think better of it, she found herself seated before a camera. Its red light went on. Her last thought before the teleprompter started to scroll was that Tom was going to kill her.
“This is Paige Ellis reporting from the Global Economic Summit with breaking news. Amid rumors of a massive feud between billionaires over a former high-fashion model’s affections, it has been confirmed this morning that Takashi Ando has died. Police are investigating the suspicious nature of the Japanese billionaire’s death. Meanwhile, American billionaire Tom Rowe has twice evaded gunmen’s attempts to kill him in as many days. Ando was married to French model Mimi Anoux, and Rowe was romantically involved with her for several years prior to Mimi’s marriage to Ando. Officials wonder if there is a link between Ando’s death and Rowe’s near-death. When asked to comment upon it, British billionaire Jeremy Smythe, a close associate of both Ando and Rowe, was not available. Sex, scandal, shootings—this story will be one we definitely continue to follow as it unfolds.”
The red light went off and she pushed back from the desk.
There. Let’s see what Tom makes of that.