Bodyguards In Bed

He left Lauren standing in the sun, glaring at his back, no doubt. Technically, his shift had ended an hour ago. He wasn’t even supposed to be out here, but he’d told Mick not to relieve him until the shoot had broken for the day. What a mistake that had been.

Dammit, why couldn’t he keep his temper in check for ten damn minutes around the woman? After the show he’d just put on, he was pretty sure she’d be on the phone to Aegis within the hour, bitching about his ass. While it was true she hadn’t hired security for this shoot, her brother, antiquities dealer Peter Kauffman, had. No one much cared if she liked him or not so long as he got the job done and she got home in one piece. So what was the big fucking deal?

The deal was, he never should have agreed to this job. He’d met the woman numerous times at her brother’s gallery and each and every time she’d damn near scrambled his gray matter. He was thirty-five years old, for shit’s sake. He wasn’t supposed to get worked up over a woman, a model, a client, for crying out loud. He was a highly trained professional.

Professional dumbass.

“Thought that surfer dude was gonna cry,” Mick said as Finn drew close.

Finn shook off

his stupid conscience. “Woulda fucking made my day.”

“Boy looked like he was a good sandwich short of a picnic from here.” Mick’s Australian accent always seemed thicker at the end of the day, but then that happened with Finn’s Irish one, too.

The Aussie looked past Finn and sighed. As Aegis recruited from the most elite organizations around the world, that meant Finn’s counterparts came from just about everywhere. “Queen Bee’s heading in. Looks like I gotta bloody go. You catching dinner out tonight? Heard there’s a great seafood place downtown.”

Heading out into the nightlife of Acapulco’s never-ending party scene held about as much appeal as bashing his brains against a wall right now. “Not on your life. I’ll eat something in the pub. Then I want sleep. Fucking photographer’s dragging us to some stupid waterfall tomorrow.”

Mick smiled, shifted the toothpick in his mouth to the other side. “Thatinnhy I like you, Tierney. Always got that glass-is-half-full attitude. Catch ya on the flip side.”

Mick sauntered off toward the hotel and Lauren’s suite on the seventh floor. Knowing he needed to cool down, Finn shoved his hands in his pockets and stayed where he was as the crew packed up the remainder of the equipment and disappeared as well. The sun dropped low over the beach, casting warm shades of pink and red and gold across the sand. Tourists walked by and the water lapped at the sandy shore with a swish and sway that should have been relaxing but wasn’t.

He took a deep draw of the salty air, blew it out. His glass would be half full when this assignment was over. They’d been here five days already. One more and they were booked on a flight back to the States.

One more day. He could survive one more day with the sexy supermodel without losing his ever-loving mind. All he had to do was focus on staying in control and not toasting his temper.

Minutes passed. His cell vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket with a frown. The message from Mick dropped his spirits one more measly fucking notch: LOOKS LIKE THE PUB’S ON HOLD, IRELAND. CHANGE OF PLANS. THE QUEEN BEE WANTS TO SEE YOU. PRONTO.

Finn clenched his jaw. The way his crappy luck was heading, that glass would be empty before the night was over.

Lauren stood under the warm shower spray and let the water wash away the last of her frustration. Clarisse Bidwell might be one of the most sought-after photographers in the biz, but Lauren was pretty sure she had horns growing under all that badly tinted hair of hers.

“Perfect” wasn’t a word the woman used because she was happy; it was her signature you’re a fucking moron phrase, and if Lauren had to hear it one more time today she was seriously going to throw something. What should have been a three-hour shoot had dragged on to nearly eight and now all she wanted to do was drop into bed and sleep for the next three days.

Of course, that wasn’t about to happen. They were off to some hidden waterfall tomorrow to—with any luck—finish the shoot, and if trekking into the jungle in sweltering heat wasn’t enough to push her mood to the dark side, she still had Tierney to deal with. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway?

Temper back to bubbling, Lauren lifted her face to the spray, tried to cool down all over again. She didn’t need a bodyguard, dammit. She’d been on hundreds of shoots without one before, and she’d never gotten more than a scratch as a result. The only reason she had one now was because her brother Pete had turned into some overprotective brute when he’d heard she’d agreed to this spread for Sports Monthly magazine and the shoot location of Acapulco. The news reports of drug-related gang violence in the area tossed his rational side right out the window. He’d ranted. She’d had no choice but to close her mouth and accept. The clincher to the whole thing, though, was that he’d chosen Finn Tierney to be the one to tag along with her on this gig.

Finn Tierney. God, Almighty. Her skin grew hot beneath the spray as the name revolved in her mind. If her brother had any idea how many times over the last few months she’d fantasized about the sexy Irishman—and just what she’d fantasized—he’d have made sure the man didn’t come within a continent’s reach of her.

She took a deep breath, let it out. Tonight was the night. While her plan hadn’t exactly panned out like she’d wanted, all wasn’t lost. She was gettinhim. The looks, the oil, the rubbing, the heat . . . he didn’t like seeing her with someone else. He didn’t like it at all.

The wild attraction they’d been flirting with, fighting, or just plain ignoring the past week—the past few months, really—had gone unchecked way too long. The shoot was almost over. After tomorrow she didn’t know when she might see him again. If she didn’t make a move now, she might never have the chance.

She flipped off the water, opened the glass door and reached for the hotel’s fuzzy white towel while her stomach jumped around like she was thirteen again, anticipating her first middle school dance. After drying off, she slipped into a white silk robe, used the towel to shake the water from her hair and rubbed moisturizer onto her face.

Gazing at her reflection, she took a deep breath. She wasn’t stupid. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him. This wasn’t a mistake. It was . . . inevitable. The key was getting him to admit it. Or, rather, to act.

A rap sounded at the door. Her heart jumped as she whipped around.

“Open up,” Tierney called in that sexy Irish voice that did insane things to her libido.

Seductive, she reminded herself as she took one more deep breath. Keep it smooth. Make it hot.

She barely had the door open before he pushed his way inside. “Where the hell is Hedley? He’s supposed to be outside your door.”

Lauren stepped back as he turned and cast her a withering glare. He was still wearing the same clothes he’d had on down at the beach—black tee stretched across an impressive set of pecs, faded Levi’s, white at the stress points, and Doc Marten boots he had to be sweating in. And he didn’t look the least bit happy with her summons.