Star Crossed (18 page)

“Something just occurred to me,” she said.

Call him romantic, but he thought she’d mention something along the lines of them being an excellent erotic match—maybe even that she felt as if she’d known him forever. He couldn’t be the only one who thought they were destined to be together.

She wriggled around slightly, her head craning back to him. “You didn’t put your therapist on the list of people for background checks.”

Embarrassment over what he’d been assuming pulled anger in its wake. “You’re damn right I didn’t.”

“Well, we don’t need to know what you discuss in your sessions. We’ll only vet him to make sure he doesn’t have skeletons.”

“I’m not giving you my shrink’s name.” Her face said she planned to argue. “No. He’s not some Hollywood yahoo who passes out prescriptions like candy because he wants to cozy up to celebrities. He’s a professional and a good person. He protects my privacy, and I intend to protect his.”

“But he has access to your info.”

“Jesus,” Luke swore. “Don’t you trust anyone?”

“I trust people who’ve proved themselves to me. Personally.” She thought for a moment. “Assuming the situation doesn’t put their character under too much stress.”

Luke blew out a frustrated noise. Leave it to her to qualify what proof was.

“That’s just sensible,” she said. “You don’t ask your barber to take a bullet for you, only not to slit your throat.”

“Which you wouldn’t want me to do without checking said barber backwards and forwards.”

“Don’t expect me to apologize for that!”

Her anger had risen to match his. He guessed great sex didn’t erase the differences between them.

We have more than differences
, he reminded.
I’m not kidding myself about that
.

“I wish you trusted me,” he said.

Her expression changed at the melancholy in his voice. She twisted around more fully to face him. She laid her hand on his arm without stroking it. “I’ve trusted you every time we had sex. No matter how strong a woman is, she’s always vulnerable then.”

“I want you to trust me for more than pleasure, for more than not hurting you physically.”

Her eyes cut away. “You’re being silly.”

He was pretty sure she understood him: that he meant he viewed their interactions as more than casual. With the awareness he might be miscalculating, he drew a breath and said what he thought. “I’m not your dad. You don’t have to stay on guard against me, bracing for the next time I let you down.”

The emotions that chased across her face told a story. Shock became denial, followed by more shock that he might be correct, and finally annoyance capped them all.

“Just because you see a shrink doesn’t make you one!” she snapped.

Luke knew she wouldn’t respect him backing down. “Am I wrong about your attitude toward your father?”

Her mouth twisted. “No,” she admitted grudgingly.

He laughed, appreciating how humor erased the unpleasant feeling that he was at odds with her. “God, I love your honesty.”

“I think you like it better when it’s making me look bad than when I use it on you.”

“Maybe.” He slid his upper leg over hers, using the sole of his foot to caress her calf. “You can trust me, A.J. I’m not a total idiot about people, and I’m definitely not playing games with you.”

She met his gaze directly. “Here’s the thing: When a naturally suspicious person gets proven right, the lesson sticks extra well.”

She was warning him, though if it was for his sake or hers he couldn’t tell.

“I guess your scars are like mine,” he said as lightly as he could. “All on the inside.”

Most women on the planet would have asked, “What scars?”
Why do you have those nightmares? What can I do to help?
Luke wasn’t chomping at the bit to explain his trauma, but if A.J. pressed, he’d resolved he would. As it turned out, he shouldn’t have dreaded he’d have to. A.J. had a knack for avoiding deeper connections. At least, she had that knack with him.

She frowned at the general region of his clavicle. “I’m too tired for make-up sex.”

He laughed even as he made a mental note of the phrase she’d used.
Make-up sex
implied something like a relationship. “I’m pretty whipped myself. Turn around again and sleep.”

Surprisingly obedient, she wriggled back into the perfect place. Luke put his arm around her. They fit so well it was uncanny.

“I’m only resting,” she announced. “We’re not staying here all night.”

“Of course not,” he said, reasonably sincerely. “I understand this would look weird to your coworkers.”

“‘Weird’ is not the word,” she mumbled.

Luke smiled as he closed his eyes. With her in his arms, his cares were a million miles away.

TROUBLE found A.J. first thing in the a.m. The buzzing of her cell dragged her partially awake. She fumbled for it automatically, but the phone wasn’t on the bedside table, where she always—religiously—placed it. That sat her up and opened her eyes. A warm, heavy arm tumbled from her waist.

Crap
. She and Luke were still on the couch in his bowling alley. She’d slept much longer than intended.

Luke made a grumbly noise but didn’t move when she rose. Her steps faltered at what she spotted next.

Her clothes were draped neatly over a nearby chair, the same chair she’d hung her holster on. She hadn’t put them there. She’d dropped them on the floor, which might be her habit sometimes at home but never on a job. Luke must have gotten up at some point, tidied her stuff, then returned to the couch to sleep with her. She’d assumed they both conked out and overslept. But if he’d woken and come back, he hadn’t stayed with her accidentally.

He’d
decided
to spend the night with her.

That gave her a weird feeling—and not because he’d touched her things. It wasn’t like the couch was a featherbed. Or as if they’d had sex again. He’d simply wanted to hold her.

Maybe he wasn’t kidding about taking their . . . fling or whatever . . . seriously. She glanced back at him and found him up on his elbow, silently watching her. Did he know what was going through her head? Damn him if he thought she’d offer a penny for
his
thoughts.

“Better get that,” he murmured as her cell resumed buzzing.

She dug the vibrating phone out of her jacket pocket. The screen told her it was 6:02 in the morning. Marginally less horrified, she cleared her throat.

“Hoyt,” she said more or less clearly.

The voice of the guard at the security gate responded. “Sorry to wake you. We have a situation. Naomi Davis and Christie James drove up to the gate in a car. They’re insisting they be let in.”

That was a stumper. A.J. rubbed one temple. “Where’s Burgess?” Phil Burgess was the former ranger who’d replaced Martin with Naomi.

“Close behind,” said the guard. “He called Ops to let them know what happened. I take it the women ditched him when he went on a coffee break.”

“Well, that’s not ideal . . . though I suppose he didn’t peg a woman just out of a hospital bed as a flight risk.”

“No, and Ms. Davis doesn’t look so good actually.”

“Does she need medical attention?”

“I don’t
think
so. She’s pale around the gills but alert. Ms. James is demanding I put her through to Mr. Channing. I’d try him except it’s so early.”

It
was
early, but more importantly Mr. Channing was sans phone with her. Evidently used to being discreet after an unplanned night with female company, Luke mouthed
what’s up
to her. She shushed his words by laying two fingers across his lips. Probably she shouldn’t have. It was impossible not to notice how firm and soft they were.

Because A.J. knew what he’d want as surely as she knew only he called her Alexandra, she didn’t instruct the guard to arrange some other haven for the uninvited visitors.

“Call Martin. Have him sweep their car and spot-check their luggage. As soon as he’s sure it’s safe, they can drive in and wait in the main salon. Once Burgess catches up, send him there. I’ll contact Mr. Channing and . . . consult on how to handle this.”

She ended the call and rubbed her forehead with the back of her wrist. Christ, this was sure to turn into a clusterfuck.

“Who’s here?” Luke asked her quietly. “Why do you look like you wish you could shoot someone?”

She explained what had happened as efficiently as she could. Luke’s response didn’t surprise her.

“They have to stay,” he said without hesitation. “Naomi’s a friend, and I have a whole team of security. They’ll be safer here with me.”

“I know you think so,” she said, striving to sound patient. “But people like them never come by themselves. They’ll invite their assistants and their style consultants and their favorite selfie photoshoppers. No matter how many people I have the LA office send over, we won’t be able to police everyone.”

Luke had shifted to sit fully up on the couch. He leaned forward earnestly. “I’ll talk to Naomi. She’s sensible. She’ll keep Christie under control.”

“You can be as firm with her as I am with you?”

He was naked and sleepy and inherently distracting. Her question caused his golden eyebrows to wag—no doubt in preparation for making a risqué pun.

“This isn’t a joke,” she said. “Naomi took a bullet that was probably meant for you. Do you want to put everyone here in danger because you’re being nice?”

“I’ll let
you
lay down the law to them,” he wheedled. “Carte blanche. Be as hardass as you want.”

She laughed in spite of the situation. She couldn’t deny this was the better of bad choices. “I
will
be a hardass, and you won’t have the right to complain.”

He displayed his palms in surrender. “I swear I won’t.”

He could have reminded her he was her boss, not the other way around. She appreciated—if reluctantly—that he refrained. She pinched her lower lip. “Not that I’m ashamed, exactly, but can you get back to your room without being seen?”

“Oh yes,” he said with a relish and a sureness that took her aback. Did he sneak around his home that often?

“By the way,” he added while she blinked, “there’s a bathroom hidden behind that panel. You can make sure you don’t look too, um, tousled before you leave.”

Recently fucked and thoroughly disheveled was likely more accurate.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone sardonic from this awareness. “I’ll catch up to you later.”

*

Luke’s main salon was an airy room with thirties-inspired furnishings and a breathtaking, big ass view of the Pacific. It was equally great for parties or just chilling. At the moment, the high-ceilinged space hosted a standoff between A.J. and Christie James, who were meeting for the first time.

Though it wasn’t mature of him to admit, Luke enjoyed watching his bodyguard handle his costar. He’d called A.J. alpha, and she was. Better yet, she wasn’t hamstrung by the need to act like a gentleman.

The test of wills began when she demanded Christie relinquish her cellphone—along with any other electronic devices. The actress had huffed and tossed her flaxen curls, all but demanding if A.J. knew who she was. When that didn’t work, she’d tried batting her baby blues and “reasoning” with the bodyguard.

A.J. refused to budge.

She thrust out her arm, her open hand silently demanding the phone be placed in it. “No outside communication until I decide you’re trustworthy.”

“Until
you
decide—!” Christie exclaimed.

“Just give it to her,” Naomi urged wearily. She’d been helped to a chair and was nearly asleep in it. “Who are you going to call at this hour anyway?”

“If you don’t like the rules, feel free to leave,” A.J. said.

“Naomi needs more protection than one measly guard!”

The
measly
guard had arrived, a quiet fortyish guy named Burgess with a thick silver-streaked mustache. He winced at this description, understandably sensitive after having been given the slip by two women. A.J. had shot him a sharp look when he first turned up, and he’d nodded in acknowledgement. Luke suspected this might be the only rebuke he got. A.J.’s leadership style didn’t seem to involve yelling.

She didn’t glance at the guard before continuing to address Luke’s costar. “Luke will share his security with Ms. Davis, with or without your presence.”

“What if I’m a target too?” Christie demanded, sounding hurt.

Luke wasn’t sure A.J. bought her indignation, but her voice did gentle. “What I’m asking is for your safety too.”

Christie couldn’t resist A.J.’s kindly, responsible mode any better than Luke. “Fine,” she surrendered, handing over her fancy phone. Naturally, she couldn’t leave it at that. “FYI, I wasn’t going to tweet our location.”

A.J. thanked Christie as calmly as if she’d complied without argument. She shifted her gaze to Luke. She was a cool one, all right. Her face betrayed nothing. If he hadn’t been a participant, he’d never have guessed they had sex last night. “If you don’t have a preference for which rooms your guests stay in, might I make the selection?”

She probably wanted the women somewhere she could keep track of what they did. “Go right ahead,” he said.

Something lit her eyes, maybe approval for the ease with which he understood what she wanted. The flick was gone a millisecond later, but it had left warmth in him.

This is why her team follows her
, he thought.

*

The supermodel was tired but able to walk with an assist, which Christie provided. Her choice of digs already made,

A.J. led them to adjoining rooms on the second floor, where the hall camera the LA team had installed offered good coverage. Whether the women were threats or potential victims, a view of their comings and goings would be helpful.

Neither woman commented on the bedrooms’ connecting door. In Christie’s case, she might have been pretending she didn’t care. Her disappearance into her room was a relief. Though A.J. tried to hide it, the actress had rubbed her wrong from the start.

Naomi she remembered as the least offensive of Luke’s barhopping friends. Though she had the same creamy brown coloring A.J. remembered, the gate guard had been right about her looking pale around the gills. That and the absence of her usual couture outfits and glamour hair made her seem different—more down-to-earth, maybe.