Read Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed Online
Authors: Beth Ciotta
Friends and Lovers Trilogy 02 - Charmed (4 page)
She shrugged. “The neighbors on either side and three or four friends.”
Jesus. He passed her back the key. “You need to hide this in a less obvious place.” He walked back to the front door and turned the deadbolt.
“You’re paranoid,” she said when he reentered the room.
“Comes with the job.”
“Speaking of …” She collapsed on the couch and plucked out the hairpins grounding her tiara. “So what are you? A screenwriter? A director?”
He contemplated skirting the issue and then glanced at the mysterious white package and nixed the idea. “I’m a protection specialist.” He pushed aside a stuffed purple dragon and sat down beside her. “Executive and personal.”
Her movements slowed, and her voice took on a wary quality. “Sounds like a fancy term for bodyguard.”
“It is.”
She studied him with those beguiling eyes. “You don’t look like a bodyguard. Aren’t they usually built like football players? Big as a barn and mean-looking. Kind of like a thug? You don’t look like a thug.”
“That’s good.”
“Why is that good?” she asked, dumping a handful of hairpins into a fairy-shaped container. “Aren’t you supposed to scare people away from whomever you’re protecting?”
“I’m supposed to protect the principal, the client,” he clarified when she looked at him quizzically, “without drawing attention to him. Believe it or not, I’m actually good at my job.” He smiled. “For a wimp.”
“Boy, did I have you pegged wrong.” She sounded disappointed. “But it makes more sense. I mean I’m sure Sofie considers your profession sexy. Most women would.”
“Most women,” he repeated, increasingly intrigued. “But not you.”
Blushing, she took off her crown and set it on a stack of celebrity magazines, her gaze lingering on the covers. “So you protect movie stars?”
“Celebrities, politicians, corporate executives, diplomats.”
“Famous people,” she said, removing two decorative rhinestone combs and giving her head a shake.
“And not-so-famous people.” White-hot desire shocked his system as her hair tumbled to her shoulders, framing her face in a golden halo of sexy, tousled curls. How was it possible to look like both a mischievous imp and a guileless angel? The combination ignited a firestorm of X-rated images.
Well, hell.
He looked away and pointed to the package. “How do you know that’s for Sofie and not you?”She flopped back on the worn cushions, her thick shoulder-length curls a riot of shining gold and tawny brown against the drab blue upholstery. “Right. Like I’m the girl of someone’s dreams. Besides,” she said, before he could comment, “Sofie has been receiving a string of deliveries lately. Flowers, chocolates …” She lazed forward, snapped up the package and studied it with pursed lips. “Is that what this is about? All the gifts she’s been receiving?
Girl of My Dreams
.” She slowly turned toward Murphy, eyes wary. “You’re not one of Sofie’s boyfriends, are you?”“No, I’m not.”
“This is a professional visit.”
She was smarter than she looked. He gently pried the package from her hands. “Yes, it is.”
She folded her arms over her middle and regarded him with a combination of worry and disgust. “Did her agent hire you? She told me Chaz is a little overprotective and not too happy about her move back home. Of course, his concern could easily translate to obsession. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s smitten with her too. Does he want you to scare away her admirers? Are you here to interrogate me? If you are,” she said, jabbing a stern finger in his direction, “I’ll have to ask you to leave. I’m not going to provide you with a list of her boyfriends’ names so that you can break their legs or whatever.”
“You have a hell of an imagination.”
“Comes with the job,” she said, still frowning.
“I’m not a hired thug,” he reminded her. “I’m a protection specialist. I don’t care about Sofie’s boyfriends. Right now I’m concerned with that package. Mind if I open it?”
Her eyes rounded, and he couldn’t help noticing that they weren’t just brown. They were pecan-brown. Nutty. Like her. “Why?” she asked, leaning closer and torturing him with a mouthwatering whiff of lemon. “Do you think there’s something creepy in there?”
Not liking the way she made his pulse spike, he forced his gaze from hers. “Let’s find out.” Plucking a multi-tool from his inner jacket pocket, he flipped open a knife, sliced the packaging tape, and carefully opened the small box. Inside, nestled amidst bubble wrap, sat a sterling silver, scallop-shaped box.
“A seashell,” she said. “Pretty. Not creepy.”
Not yet anyway, Murphy thought. He inspected the decorative gift, noted a small metal crank on the underside. “A music box.” He flipped open the lid, and hooked the contents, lifting the strand from the box for their joint inspection. Murphy raised a lone brow at the pearl thong dangling from his fingertips.
Lulu eased back and cleared her throat. “That’s not for me.”
“How do you know? There’s no card.”
“I don’t get jewelry.”
“Technically, it’s not jewelry.” He passed her the intimate gift. “It’s a thong.”
“Definitely not for me,” she repeated, cheeks flaming. She inspected what little there was of the ornamental lingerie. “This can’t be comfortable.”
He stifled a grin as he set down the seashell and gave the packaging another look. “I don’t think it’s meant to be worn for long.”
“It’s gotta be for Sofie.”
“Why not Viviana?”
“Our grandmother?”
“Viv’s
your grandmother?”“Yes. Why?”
“You call your grandmother by her first name?”
“That’s the way she likes it. Grandma makes her feel old.”
“Isn’t she?”
“Old?” She snorted. “Only chronologically.”
He recalled then that Viviana and Sofia shared the same last name. He glanced at Lulu’s left hand. No wedding band, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a husband. Maybe she was separated or divorced. Maybe the guy had yet to give up. His interest, he told himself, was purely professional. “Present from your significant other, maybe?”
“I’m divorced,” she said shyly. “And I’m not seeing anyone. I’m …” she cleared her throat, tossed a carefree hand, “busy. Sofie, well, she’s …”
He glanced from the thong to Lulu. “Social?”
Red-faced, she nabbed the silver seashell, dropped the pearl thong back inside, and snapped the lid shut. “Listen, Murphy, I appreciate your,
Chaz’s,
concern, but this is ridiculous. If Sof was having trouble with one of her boyfriends, I mean, if one of them was getting, you know, obnoxious, she would have said something to me.” She set the music box on the table, stood, and motioned him to follow. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve had a long day and Sofie’s had an exhausting year. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave before she gets home. She has enough on her mind without having to contend with a delusional agent.”If anyone was delusional, Murphy thought, taking in Lulu’s pixie face and fairytale getup, it was this one. She seemed oblivious to her infectious charm. Incapable of believing there was a chance that
she,
and not her sister, had an admirer, she’d never believe that he’d been sent here to protect
her,
and not the, apparently, goddess-like Sofie. As Bogie’s message had been limited, he couldn’t even back his reason for being here with substantial facts.He glanced down at the music box. Maybe she was right. Maybe this gift was for her sister. But what if she was wrong? What if
this
was the Bogie connection? What if the princess had won an ardent stalker from his nefarious neck of the woods? The fact that Bogie hadn’t called yet meant that he was in deep. Which complicated matters. Not that Murphy was complaining. The more complex the case, the less time he had to sit around Charlie’s fighting an uncharacteristic bout of depression.Who could be depressed around Miss Sunshine?
He studied Lulu with a cocked eyebrow. He’d wanted interesting. She registered off the charts.He moved toward the door, deciding not to push the situation until he had more to go on. He’d assess the perimeter, monitor the property from his car, and await Bogie’s call. “Do me a favor,” he said, handing her a business card with his cell phone number. “Keep this handy.”
She rolled her eyes, but accepted the card. “Goodnight, Murphy.”
He nodded, trying his damnedest to ignore how adorable she looked standing there in her glittering princess gown. Trying not to stare at her pretty, bare feet or her sexy, madcap curls. “Call if you need me. Twenty-four/seven,” he added, thinking she was the type who wouldn’t want to trouble him in the middle of the night. He forced himself to leave, cursing his fascination with the naïve woman as she shut the door behind him. In the real world, the world he operated in, naïveté got people killed.
He shook off the morbid thought, smiling, when he heard the deadbolt click home.
Maybe there was hope for her yet.
Chapter Four“What do you mean you’re not coming home?” Juggling her cell phone and a bottle of soothing body lotion, Lulu tightened the sash on her pink terrycloth robe and sank down on the edge of her bed. “I really need to talk to you, Sof.” After Murphy had left, she’d zipped upstairs to shed her costume and to slip into a steaming therapeutic bath. Two loonytales and one protection specialist had added up to a triple shot of chamomile bath oil to promote tranquility. Unfortunately, even after a thirty-minute soak, she still felt like a stress ball. What had Sofie gotten herself into? “Another gift came today.”
“If it’s from Chaz, throw it away.”
Lulu’s lips twisted. She knew Sofie and her agent were on the outs, but she didn’t know why. Whenever she asked, Sofie changed the subject. She’d just assumed it was a business tiff. He’d mishandled her career. But what if it wasn’t business? What if it was personal?
Seriously
personal? Now wouldn’t
that
be interesting? Mind buzzing, she slathered her legs with lemon and eucalyptus lotion. “I don’t know who it was from. There wasn’t a card.”“Oh.” Sofie’s voice brightened. “Maybe it’s from Reece. You know, the cameraman with the glorious hair. We really hit if off.”
Her cheerful tone rang false, causing Lulu to pry. “Were you and Chaz seeing each other … socially?”
“He’s my agent, period.”
“Maybe now. But when you were living in Manhattan, were you … did you …” she could feel Sofie’s tension radiating through the phone. “The package was addressed to
Girl of My Dreams
.”“Trust me,” she said coolly, “I am
not
the girl of Chaz Bradley’s dreams. Listen, Lu. I’ve got to run. I’m meeting a friend for cocktails.”“A man friend?”
“Is there any other kind?”
Lulu tossed the lotion aside with a sigh. She wanted to discuss that pearl thong and whatever was going on with Chaz. She wanted to laugh off the fact that a bodyguard, a man who protected people from danger, had shown up on their tranquil doorstep. She
so
did not want to do this over the phone. But she also didn’t want to stay awake until three in the morning, which was probably about the time her sister would roll in. “Listen, I met a man today—”“It’s about time.”
Her cheeks prickled as she braced herself for a familiar lecture. Next Sofie would remind her that sex doesn’t always have to be about procreating. She preached that sermon every time the subject of Lulu’s non-existent social life came up. Lulu’s response was always,
“But it should be special.”
She believed that heart and soul. Being intimate with Murphy was absurd. She didn’t even
know
the man. Never mind that she’d had two or three fleeting fantasies. That was different. In the land of make-believe, happy endings were a given.“It’s not like that,” she said, pressing her hand to her flaming cheeks. “It was business. He wanted to talk about …” Hmm. She shoved her fingers through her damp curls, trying to kick-start her stalled brain. He’d found her shoe, freed her gown, criticized the hiding place of her house key, and scrutinized the mystery gift. “Actually, I’m not exactly clear on why he was here, although he did give me his number and—”
“Was he cute?”
He’d certainly made
her
mouth water. “More like quietly handsome, not that that matters.”“No, but it’s a definite bonus.”
She heard Sofie jostling around, could easily envision her in the Carnevale dressing room reapplying her makeup and slipping into something sexy for her date. Then her sister asked, “Was he nice?”
Lulu shrugged. “He protects people for a living. How
nice
can he be?”“What, like a bodyguard? A sexy bad boy with a ripped body?” Audibly jazzed, Sofie adopted the tone of a drill sergeant. “Call him. Ask him out. Be adventurous! You’ve got to get back in the dating game at some point, Lu. You’re full of life and love and you’re wasting away because of Terry-the-bastard. Fuck him.” She banged something loudly. “Strike that. Fuck the bodyguard. All that testosterone. He’s probably hot as hell in bed. It’s about time you discovered the joy of no expectations sex.”
Lulu fell back on the bed, winded and speechless. She wasn’t sure which stunned her more—Sofie’s language or her suggestion. Not wanting to seem like a prude, she forced a reply. “I can’t have sex with a stranger.”
“Sure you can. Just make sure he wears a condom and let me or Rudy know where you are.”
Lulu rolled her eyes. “Why not Jean-Pierre?” As if she didn’t know.
“Because Frenchie, bless his heart, wouldn’t know what to do if, God forbid, you needed rescuing.”
“But you and Rudy would.”
Here it comes.Sofie’s confidence was evident in her cocky tone. “Let’s just say we’re excelling in our Tae Kwon Do class.”
Lulu sighed. Rudy had enrolled in the martial arts class for spiritual reasons. Sofie had joined out of curiosity. Now it was an obsession. “You really need to ditch this Lara Croft fixation, Sof.”
“It’s not a fixation. It’s a goal. So are you going to do it?”
“Learn Tae Kwon Do?” As if she’d ever purposely strike anyone!
Sofie laughed. “No, silly. Are you going to screw the bodyguard?”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.”
“Are you?”
A nervous giggle bubbled in her throat. “Okay. I am officially mortified. That is so not me, and you know it.”
“That’s why I’ve decided to give you a makeover.”
“You’re giving me a beauty makeover?”
“Not exactly. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. My date’s waiting.”
Lulu palmed her forehead, trying to reassemble her thoughts. Her baby sister had blown her mind. “Do me a favor and make this guy buy you dinner,” she said, needing to reassert herself as the older, wiser sibling. “You left your Thermos at home which probably means you skipped lunch. You have to eat, Sof.”
“I’ll order a Bloody Mary with a celery stalk.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Sofia—”
“This chick’s gotta fly, Mother Hen. Don’t wait up.”
Lulu frowned at the sound of silence. Disconnected from her sister … in more ways than one. She tossed aside the phone, snagged Binky Bear, a childhood gift from her grandmother, and hugged him tight. This was as close to a heart-to-heart as the Marino sisters had had in a long time. It seemed that each of them was always trying to downplay whatever emotional crisis she might be suffering in order to spare the other worry. They were incredibly different—the seductress and the clown—yet intensely the same. Like Lulu, Sofie struggled with insecurities and broken dreams.
Her thoughts drifted toward Terry and his pregnant girlfriend. Her stomach cramped, and she quickly shoved the man from her mind. Brooding about something you had no control over was ridiculous, and she refused to wallow.
She bolted upright, the faded brown bear clutched in her lap. She could either curl up on the sofa and watch a movie, or, like Sofie, meet up with a friend. Except this was Saturday night and most of her friends were performers so they’d be gigging. She could call Jean-Pierre except he’d mentioned something about taking Rudy dancing. She enjoyed dancing, but wasn’t crazy about feeling like a third wheel.
Well, crap.
The phone rang and she instantly brightened. Maybe it was a potential client. “Lulu’s Loonytales. Lulu speaking.”
Silence.
“Hello?
Is someone there?”
Stupid question. Someone had dialed. So, what? Wrong number? Crank call?
She narrowed her eyes. “Chaz?”Chirp.
Releasing a shaky breath, she tossed the phone on her pillow. If it was Chaz, he wasn’t talking. At least not to her. “That’s a first.” Sofie’s exes
always
wanted to talk to her, assuming she had some sort of influence over her sister.
Sof,
she told each and every one,
has a mind of her own.
Most of the guys gave up pretty easily, which told Lulu they weren’t
really
in love with her sister. Maybe Chaz was different.So why the creepy feeling?
Anxious, she pushed off the bed and padded barefoot to her mirrored-dresser to twist her unruly hair into two funky pigtails. She should have questioned Murphy instead of kicking him out. He probably had the answers she was looking for, or could have at least shed some light. She’d assumed he was working for Chaz, an assumption he hadn’t confirmed or denied. Why hadn’t she probed? Why had she been so desperate to show him the door?
She braced her hands on the dresser top and stared at her rosy-cheeked, wide-eyed reflection. “Because he threatens your safe world. Because he’s hot, and you’re …” she turned away from the mirror as she shrugged out of her robe, “flawed.”
She tugged on a pair of lime-green cotton briefs, a far cry from that pearl thong. A thong that had incited a sexy glimmer in Murphy’s smoldering brown eyes. A glimmer that had spurred a naughty fantasy in her normally squeaky-clean mind. But instead of enjoying the graphic daydream and the sensual tingling between her legs, she’d panicked.
After Terry had walked out, she’d shut down sexually. It was safer that way.
She
was safer. But Murphy ignited fierce desires that burned through her personal fire curtain. Every time they touched, she
burned.
She’d never burned for a man. It unsettled her about as much as the gun she’d seen holstered to his belt when he’d pushed off the sofa. Calling him socially was not an option. Even if she did get past her own shyness, she’d never get past that gun.She wondered if he’d ever killed anyone.
Her stomach flipped. Not because she was intrigued with Murphy and his dangerous career, she rationalized, but because she was starving. Eight o’clock in the evening and, except for a piece of birthday cake, she hadn’t eaten since this morning.
Practice what you preach, Lu.
She plucked up the phone and speed dialed Pizza Piazza while searching her room for a pair of comfy jeans and her favorite T-shirt. “Yeah, hi. This is Lulu … Ross.”
Sigh.“Small cheese pie and a can of cola, Princess?”
She used to feel special, the way Franco knew her order. Tonight she felt pathetic. “Yes, please.” She pushed aside her tiara in search of her bubblegum lip gloss as Franco rattled off the price and the estimated time of delivery. She probably imagined him muttering,
“Get a life, bella.”
Probably imagined the zap when her fingers connected with the crisp white business card—she had a stellar imagination—but she was restless, and lonely, and okay, a little spooked from that one-sided phone call. “No, wait.” She stared at the raised print. The name. The number.
“Call if you need
me.” Her heart pounded.
Be adventurous.“Cancel that order, Franco. I’m going out.” She signed off, her hands trembling at the thought of a one-nighter with Colin Murphy.
Colin.
Sexy name. Sexy man. Irish.Falling is easier than rising.
She shook off the disquieting Celtic saying. She’d fallen for Terry in high school and she’d yet to regain her footing. Sighing, she punched in a series of numbers. Her tense shoulders sagged with relief when a familiar voice answered,
“Oui?”“Hi, Jean-Pierre. It’s me.”
One of these nights I’ll get back in the dating game,
she thought, while pocketing Murphy’s business card.Just not tonight.