The Bodyguard and Ms. Jones (9 page)

The younger woman flashed Cindy a look of pure hatred. Cindy couldn't help it. She slid close to Mike and looked up at him. “It's simply no trouble,” she said, staring into his brown eyes.

Suddenly, what started out as a childish bid to claim a relationship that didn't exist quickly turned into something else. As he met her gaze, she realized his eyes weren't brown at all. They were all colors. Flecks of gold and hazel and brown and tiny dots of blue. His pupils dilated and her knees weakened. Without wanting to, she placed her hand on his forearm. The tingling began in her fingertips and worked its way up to her shoulder, across her back and down her chest. It was difficult to breathe, and she could have sworn she heard music.

He'd shaved that morning and his jaw was smooth. Her fingers itched to touch his skin, to feel the heat there. His mouth was firm. What would it feel like against—

Cindy jerked her hand away and bit back a yelp. What on earth was she thinking about? This was insane. She glanced at Mike out of the corner of her eye, but he was signing a form the receptionist had given him. It was as if the incident had never happened. At least not to him.

A few moments later, she was still fighting the effects. The skin that had touched his was both hot and cold. Her breathing was rapid, her breasts achy. Hormones, she told herself firmly. It was just a weird time in her monthly cycle. Or maybe Beth was right and she'd been living too innocently for too long. Maybe she should think about dating, or therapy. Whatever the solution to her problem, it sure wasn't Mike Blackburne.

“If you need anything, Mr. Blackburne, I mean anything at all, please let me know.” The receptionist picked up a card and wrote something on it, then handed it to him. “Enjoy your stay.”

“Thanks,” Mike said.

They turned away from the desk. Cindy headed them toward the stairs. “The locker rooms are down here,” she said. “Along with the weight room and the aerobics classes. You probably don't want to take a step class anytime soon.”

He shook his head. “I've got to build up the muscles slowly. They've been ripped pretty bad.”

She shuddered. “Maybe you need a new line of work. What you do sounds scary.”

“Not as scary as this.” When they reached the bottom of the stairs, he handed her the business card the receptionist had handed him.

She scanned the printed words. They named the country club, stated the hours it was open and gave a number to call. “So?”

“Turn it over.”

She did. On the back, someone had written:
I'm Heather. Call me anytime. For anything.
The last word was underlined three times and followed by a phone number. Cindy felt her eyes widen. “My goodness, she was hitting on you.”

“Yeah.” He tugged at the collar of his T-shirt.

He looked so genuinely surprised and uncomfortable, she laughed. “Oh, Mike, she's just a kid. Maybe twenty. I'm sure a big, bad bodyguard like you could handle her.”

“I'm not so sure. Kids are maturing earlier these days. She could probably teach me a few things.”

The hallways downstairs were more narrow than the spacious upper rooms. As they were talking, several people passed. All the women eyed Mike, then said hello. At first, Cindy thought she was imagining it, but by the time the third woman paused to smile and greet, she knew it was real.

“You're very popular,” she said.

Mike swallowed. “Why?”

“I'm not sure. You can't be the only good-looking guy in the building.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She glanced up at him, then covered her mouth. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

“Uh-huh. Sure. Why don't you show me where the locker rooms are.”

She walked to the end of the corridor and turned the corner. There was a large door marked Men, and across from that was the ladies' locker room.

“Are you going to work out?” he asked.

She hesitated. She walked regularly, although it was difficult in the summer because of the heat. She'd been fighting five pounds for about two months and currently the extra pounds were winning. “I thought I might use the treadmill,” she said.

“Great. Let's meet here in five minutes.”

Before she could answer, the door to the ladies' locker room opened and a stunning brunette stepped into the hallway. She was closer to forty than thirty, but had the face and figure of a beauty queen...or that actress who had played Wonder Woman on television. Cindy sagged against the wall. Timing. It was all about timing. Two minutes later and they would have missed her. But no. Here she was—in the flesh.

Dark blue eyes met hers. The woman smiled. “Cindy. How good to see you. At the grocery store yesterday, I remember thinking you hadn't been to the club in a while. I'm so glad you're back.” She patted her own flat stomach. “We can't let gravity win.”

The so-called niceties taken care of, she swung her head toward Mike. The smile that had been merely pleasant became predatory. Her teeth were white enough to read by, Cindy thought grimly, still smarting from the dig about her weight.

“You must be Mike,” the woman said, her voice low and sultry. “I'm Mary Ellen. Did you get my card?”

Mike looked blank for a moment, then he nodded. “Cindy gave it to me. It's really nice of you, but I'm not interested in—”

She raised her hand to cut him off. “I know. A man like you doesn't need any help. You're handsome enough on your own. But have you considered the fact that you'll be forty in another five or six years? Skin can be very unforgiving.” She stepped closer and reached her fingers up to touch his cheek. “I'd hate to see all these good looks hidden behind some nasty wrinkles.”

Cindy resisted the urge to stick her finger in her mouth and make gagging noises.

“Not today,” Mike said and reached behind him. He got hold of the doorknob and turned it, then disappeared into the men's locker room.

“He's quite something,” Mary Ellen said.

Cindy smiled tightly, then did a disappearing act of her own. As she peeled off her shorts and T-shirt and shimmied into a green Lycra leotard, she decided that bringing Mike to the club had been a bad idea. She should have just dropped him off at the curb and returned later to pick him up. There were too many women around. She felt like the kid who got a pony for her birthday and it arrived during the party; everyone got to ride it but her.

She shoved her clothes into a locker, then walked over to the mirror. Several women were on either side of her. She saw them looking at her, but none of them said anything. Thank goodness. A few hours ago, Mike had made her feel special when he'd told her she was beautiful and Nelson was a fool. Now she just felt dowdy and unnecessary. Like a shriveled-up appendix. Not that she wanted his attention. She didn't. It was just—

She sighed. She didn't know what it was anymore. Nothing made sense. She slipped a headband over her head, then pulled her hair back into a ponytail. It wasn't very long, so the ends only stuck out a couple of inches. She adjusted the headband so her bangs were off her face, then frowned at the reflection in the mirror. She was still wearing her makeup. She was going to sweat it off in about fifteen minutes.

“An attractive look for summer,” she muttered as she left the locker room. “Raccoon eyes and streaked cheeks.”

Mike was waiting in the hallway, speaking to a blonde. As soon as he saw her, he pushed off the wall and moved close.

“Get me out of here,” he whispered into her ear.

“The gym is this way.”

They entered the mirrored room. About half the equipment was in use. “I'll be over there,” Cindy said, pointing to the row of treadmills at one end.

Mike nodded. “I'm going to use the weights. It'll take about forty-five minutes.”

Great. He could lift weights longer than she could walk on the treadmill. And he hadn't even seemed to notice the way her sleeveless leotard clung to her body. Of course, judging by Mary Ellen's cracks about her weight, he probably didn't want to.
I need this day to start over,
Cindy told herself.

“Why don't we meet out in front in an hour?” she said.

“Perfect.”

He turned toward the machines. She waited, hoping he would wave, or watch her walk to the treadmill, but he seemed absorbed in the equipment. She gave a sigh of defeat and moved down the center aisle. She wondered if she looked like Allison did when she pouted.

Mike glanced around the gym and wished it weren't so new. He was used to seedy places with concrete-block walls and dirty windows. Here the lighting was concealed, the mirrors sparkling clean and the carpeting nicer than anything he'd had in his apartment.

He was also dressed all wrong. He saw that right away. His tattered shorts and cutoff T-shirt made him stand out even more. The women were wearing matching outfits that clung to every curve. On some of them, like Cindy, it looked great, but a few of the women looked as if they'd been starving themselves.

He walked over to the leg press and adjusted the weight down. His right leg was strong, but his left would have to be built up slowly. It would have been easier if it had been his arm. Then he could have used free weights.

He settled in the seat and began to press. Instantly, pain shot from his thigh to his ankle, then up to his groin. He breathed slowly and worked through the discomfort. After a few repetitions, it faded to a manageable ache. Slowly and steadily, he told himself. It was going to take three months to build up his strength again.

He ignored everyone around him. It was safer. In the two minutes he'd spent waiting for Cindy, three women had approached him, offering everything from a home-cooked meal to a massage. More unsettling than their invitations was the fact that they all knew who he was. It made him nervous. He was used to being in the background. In his line of work, he blended with the other men in suits. When someone looked at him, they didn't know if he was an assistant, a superior or the bodyguard, and that's how he liked it.

He stood up and adjusted the weight a little higher, then repeated the exercise. This time he glanced around. He found if he turned his head just so, he could watch Cindy in one of the mirrors without looking anywhere near her. Of course, he could only see her from the rear, but it was still a great view.

She had a perfect butt. Not flat, but round. He imagined holding it, squeezing it, nibbling it. Her hips flared out from her waist. She was curvy. He didn't understand women who wanted to look like teenage girls. Women were supposed to be soft and yielding. The bumps and dips were the best part. Of course, who was he to judge?

He finished his reps, then stepped over to another machine. The door opened and two men came in. One had a beerbelly and both had thinning hair. From the way they ogled the women exercising, Mike figured they were here just for the view. He ignored them and set the weight on the leg-curl machine. He could feel the sweat popping out on his back. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but he kept going.

One of the men—the one wearing a T-shirt advertising a local dance club—walked to the leg-press machine. He glanced at the weight and did a double take. “Someone let their kid in here?” he asked no one in particular.

Mike ignored the comment and continued working. He massaged the muscle between reps and reminded himself it couldn't be healed in a day.

He walked over to the next piece of equipment. Beerbelly followed. He glanced at the weight, then Mike. His thick eyebrows drew together, then he made a big show of moving the weight higher. Much higher.

They repeated the procedure twice more. Mike was starting to feel as if he was in a contest. Everyone was watching him. He wanted to tell the guy he'd been shot in the leg and fell off a building and that's why he was working light weights. He wanted to tell himself it didn't matter. But his ego wasn't listening. Occasionally, he glanced at Cindy. When she saw him, she waggled her fingers at him. Her breasts moved with each step. That was enough to distract him from his bad temper.

It had been a mistake to come here on a weekend. He would skip tomorrow, not only because it would be crowded, but because the muscle would need to rest, then he would limit his workouts to the middle of the week. He didn't need the aggravation.

Cindy stepped off the treadmill and grabbed a towel to wipe her face. He glanced at his watch, then limped over to her. “Are you done?” he asked.

“Yeah. Twenty-five minutes is all I can do today.” She was flushed and sweating.

“I'm about done, too,” he said.

“I thought you said it would take you forty-five minutes.”

He glanced at the crowded room. Most people looked away when he caught them watching him, although a few of the women continued to stare boldly. Beerbelly was adjusting the weights up, yet again, on a machine Mike had used.

“I'm tired out,” he said. “And I don't dare take a shower here. They'll probably sell tickets.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault.”

He glanced at the bench press, then at her. “I'll meet you in the hall in a couple of minutes. I have to do one more machine.”

After she left, he went over to the bench press. He adjusted the weight, then got in position. He focused all his attention on raising the bar. His muscles protested, but he did twenty slow reps. Then he grabbed a towel and started for the door.

Once there, he paused. Beerbelly had followed him to the machine. He looked at the weight, then at Mike. His eyes widened with disbelief. Beerbelly settled on the bench and tried to lift the bar. It didn't budge. Mike gave him a mocking salute, then left the room.

When he was settled in the passenger seat of the minivan, he acknowledged to himself that he'd behaved like a child. Damn, it had felt good, too.

“You okay?” Cindy asked.

“Yeah. Just a little overwhelmed. I know you mentioned there weren't a lot of single guys in the neighborhood, but I was afraid for my life in there.”