“What happens when you spirit me away?”
“My best people will be on the job. I swear to you, Winnie, you’ll be in good hands.”
* * *
Winnie hoped she wasn’t blushing. Her fair skin was a curse. Being in such close contact with Larkin Wolff was making her act like a flustered sixteen-year-old girl.
She shoved her hands in her pockets to keep them out of mischief. Larkin’s broad shoulders and lean torso were made to cushion a woman’s weary head. Winnie liked the idea, but depending on a man was dicey. It was one thing to hire a professional. That made sense in the most pragmatic way. But fantasizing about close contact on a daily basis shouldn’t—couldn’t—be allowed. Even if handsome blue eyes filled with keen intelligence were her own particular Achilles’ heel. She’d predicated her life on being a good girl…on not rocking the boat. It was disconcerting to realize that she was suddenly contemplating the tantalizing benefits of being bad.
“I’d prefer that you not go upstairs,” she said abruptly, trying to corral her hormones. “I don’t want to upset my guests unnecessarily.”
“I suppose it can wait.” He appeared calm, but she picked up a vibe that said he was completely alert, ready to react in a split second to any sign of danger. A hundred and fifty years ago, he would have been the gunslinger seated in the corner of a saloon with his back to the wall.
All that intensity gave her the shivers. “What next?”
“I need to make a few phone calls, arrange for a security detail overnight while I’m getting other odds and ends set up. And if it’s not too much bother, I could use something to eat. I skipped breakfast.”
She raised an eyebrow, mocking him. “The most important meal of the day? Maybe I should reassess my view of your abilities.”
“Trust me, Winnie. I can run on coffee and sheer cussedness for days. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Trust me. He tossed those words out as if they were the easiest thing in the world to do. Little did he know that her ability to trust was as corroded as an old car battery.
“Are we through here? The women will be wanting to start lunch, but they won’t come down to cook while you’re on the premises.”
“Fine,” he said. “Let’s head back to your house and get this thing rolling.”
Why was it that everything Larkin said sounded like a risqué comment? Perhaps it was the fact that Winnie lived like a nun…Mother Superior shepherding her flock. An asexual being, with nothing to show for her youth but a barrage of bad memories.
Maybe it was sacrilegious, but some days she had a hard time believing in a God who allowed little children to run in fear of their own fathers. It was a question greater minds than hers had wrestled with for centuries. And one that wouldn’t be answered anytime soon.
Before she could lead the way back to the front of the house, a small head appeared around the edge of the doorway into the hall. “Hello, Miss Winnie. Who’s that guy?” The child’s stubby finger pointed accusingly.
“Hola, Esteban. ¿Cómo estás?” She crouched in front of him. “This is Señor Wolff. He’s working for me.”
Esteban’s dark-eyed gaze locked with Larkin’s. “He doesn’t look like un lobo.”