came a solid dose of irritation.
‘‘I’ve changed my mind,’’ she muttered to Gray. ‘‘I don’t want him. You win, I’ll take the suit.’’
‘‘Honey,’’ Gray said, with a dry humour that made her want to strangle him, ‘‘McCabe is the suit.’’
Chapter 3
Ben fought back disbelief as he watched Gray approach, his hunger and frustration forgotten. The woman with Gray was his sister, but Roma Lombard wasn’t what he’d expected.
He’d heard a lot about her—had even seen photographs of her. God only knew, her face was hard to miss when it was splashed across one of those glossy magazines his ex-wife used to read. But the glossy pictures he’d barely glanced at had nothing to do with the woman walking toward him now.
She wasn’t tall enough to be a model; next to her brother, she was decidedly petite, even dainty. She wasn’t wearing make-up or nail polish that he could see, no designer sunglasses or expensive designer clothes. Ben decided she didn’t need any of those things. In a soft black shirt, faded jeans and black boots, she was pure fantasy material. Her silky dark hair hung in a straight, careless fall around her shoulders; her features were neat and even, her mouth soft. The only part of her that fulfilled anything like the image Ben had formed were the exotic eyes that continued to stare dazedly back at him. They were midnight-dark, shadowed by lashes, as distant and aloof as a cat’s, and just as layered with mystery and secrets.
The blankness of her expression, the aura of sphinxlike remoteness, only served to intensify the mystery of her eyes, and Ben’s jaw tightened against his response to that unconscious challenge. He was growing hard, his loins warming with a slow, heavy ache.
He suppressed a whole string of curses as he accepted Gray’s handshake. Gray was a friend, more than a friend. And the woman Ben had been checking out was Gray’s sister.
Out of bounds, way out of bounds. Even if she hadn’t been his client.
Gray made the introductions. Grimly, Ben noted the brevity and firmness of Roma’s handshake, as if she didn’t want to touch him but wasn’t about to flinch from it, the cool, minimal eye contact she allowed. Most people gave something of themselves away with their initial body language; Roma Lombard was notable by her very stillness.
Her controlled reserve only intrigued him more. Ben was good at reading people—better than good—but Roma Lombard was an enigma. He considered the fact that the unexpected sexual attraction was messing up his perception, then discounted it. He was aroused, but he’d long ago learned to separate his intellect from his physical needs.
Her gaze connected with his, held just a little too long before she looked away again, a faint blush warming her cheekbones.
Damn, Ben thought mildly as Gray caught him up to date with news about mutual friends and Gray’s brother, Blade, who’d just become a father. Either Roma disliked him intensely or she was as attracted as he was. Ben was betting on the second possibility.
He needed to hit something, preferably his head, against a wall, a block of stone, something that would hurt. Anything to take his mind off the fact that he was too interested in Ms. Lombard, and that most of his interest centred around backing her up against the nearest wall and seeing if she tasted as good as she looked.
Not that he would have to go looking for bruises. If Gray or Blade ever found out he’d fallen in instant lust with their sister, all the years of shared camaraderie in the SAS wouldn’t count for a thing.
His lashes drooped as he talked with Gray, shielding his intense interest in the woman he’d been hired to protect.
He could see why photographers went wild over her, why men dropped like flies. She wasn’t flashy or charismatic; on the contrary, she was curiously understated, as if she kept even her own femininity under wraps.
Sweet hell, who was he trying to kid? She probably had that air of mystery perfected. Any man who ever looked at the lady would want her. No wonder Gray was tearing his hair out trying to keep her protected. Ben had been taken in by the aloof act, but he had to remember that she’d checked him out just as thoroughly as he’d done her.
She glanced at him again, and he discovered her eyes weren’t black, as he’d first thought; they were a rich, velvety chocolate, bare shades lighter than the dark sable of her hair.
Ben almost groaned out loud. He loved chocolate. And he would have his work cut out swatting men off left, right and centre—and that would be when she wasn’t sneaking them in the back door.
Some of the stories Gray and Blade used to tell about their cute little sister began to register. Roma was athletic and loved to run, and she hadn’t con-fined her running to the sports field. She had run away as a teenager. She had also run rings around her bodyguards, destroying more than one reputation. Apparently she’d driven any number of security personnel crazy—one by keeping him out so late at nightclubs he’d barely been able to function during the day. Another had quit after a solid week of shopping. It had sounded funny at the time. Sitting in the jungle on extended patrol, soaking wet, eating reconstituted food, and wondering if someone was drawing a bead on his spine, Ben had grabbed at the humour and laughed at the antics of Baby Roma just as hard as Gray and Blade and the rest of the guys.
They’d even made up newspaper headlines: Bodyguard Found Dead In Mall: Autopsy Reveals Death By Shopping.
Ben wasn’t laughing now. Roma Lombard might look like every man’s fantasy, but she was trouble in capital letters.
His eyes narrowed. He’d be damned if he would let her run all over him.
At Gray’s suggestion, they moved to a quieter part of the lounge. Ben accepted the envelope Gray extracted from his briefcase and automatically began examining the contents, but he was still having difficulty concentrating. His mind was firmly fixed on the one complication he could not afford—a sexual attraction to his client.
If he didn’t owe Gray any number of favours, he would have dumped Ms. Lombard’s sweet little ass on someone else’s lap.
Chapter 4
Roma could still feel the heat of McCabe’s touch. His palm had been warm, calloused, and so rough it had sent a hot shock of sensation up her arm.
Wearily, she assessed the situation. McCabe was her bodyguard, and she couldn’t do a thing about it.
He was mouth-wateringly gorgeous, even better than his photos, and she wanted him.
Yep, just as she thought, her life had just officially gone to hell.
She’d heard McCabe’s name mentioned often, although the actual personal information she knew about him was small. She knew he was a good friend of both Gray and Blade, and had been in the SAS with her brothers. He’d been married and was recently divorced, and he was now a single dad with custody of his child.
His blue gaze connected with hers again, and she decided she had one other piece of information. He didn’t like her.
Good, she thought tartly, squashing her bewilderment and a ridiculous pang of hurt. She didn’t want to be on intimate terms with McCabe. He was exactly the kind of male she didn’t need in her life: dominant, overconfident, a real lady-killer.
Roma frowned when she identified a thread of excitement still twining through the long list of negatives she was building against McCabe, but she didn’t question why she had to build a case against being attracted to him. He’d looked at her and she’d been turned on. The sudden attack of lust alarmed her, because she’d never lost control like that before.
His deep voice mingled with Gray’s as he methodically flipped through printed material and a sheaf of enlarged black-and-white photos. The edgy, simmering impatience had disappeared and he now radiated the cool competency of a man who was used to danger and knew just what to do with it.
Faded jeans and T-shirt aside, McCabe looked like