[4 Seasons 01] Seducing Summer Page 5

  Gene had noticed it when he’d arrived for his interview. “I have to agree,” he said. Letters pasted across the top of the window read, Buy the lady in your life a present you’ll both appreciate. Bridget—blonde, pretty, curvy, and bubbly—had arranged one completely bare male mannequin standing behind a female one, her head turned a fraction as if she were watching his hand as it slipped the ribbon strap of her lacy nightie off her shoulder. It was such a simple pose, but a suggestive, sexy one, and customers had obviously thought so too.

  “We’ve sold heaps of that red lacy nightie,” Bridget said. “Twice as many as the black one, which surprised me, and hardly any white. I guess men don’t think the virginal look is in vogue at the moment.”

  They both glanced at him expectantly, as if asking his opinion. He gave a lazy shrug. I like them all. He couldn’t deny to himself, though, that the thought of Callie in a white lacy bra and panties didn’t turn him on.

  Callie laughed. “We’re off. See you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good evening.” Bridget waved them goodnight.

  They stepped out into the warm February sunshine and walked around the corner of the block to the car park.

  “Which is yours?” Gene asked, although he knew it was the red Mazda parked against the fence.

  She pointed it out, and he walked her over to it. “Thank you,” she said, with a little wryness to her voice as if to say, I could have done that perfectly well on my own, thank you.

  “You’re welcome.” He remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know that her boyfriend had cheated on her not that long ago. “Busy evening planned?”

  She unlocked the car door and paused. “Not really. I have a bit of work to finish, then I’ll have dinner. Maybe go out for a walk before watching Game of Thrones.” She smiled.

  He fought the urge to ask her to stay indoors. “What time will your husband be home?”

  Lifting a hand, she waggled her ring finger at him. “Not married.”

  “Partner?”

  “Nope.”

  “Kids?”

  “Nope.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  She smiled, and he realized he was copying the questions she’d asked him in the office. “No,” she said softly. “No boyfriend. And quite happy being single, thank you very much.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “What are you up to?” she asked. “Going out?”

  “Maybe to the gym. Then a quiet evening. See you tomorrow?”

  “Eight thirty sharp.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She rolled her eyes and got in the car.

  Gene walked over to his Holden and got in. He watched her exit the car park, and saw Ian’s car pull out a few seconds later to follow her home. Ian would shadow her when she went out for her walk, and would sit outside the house she shared with Rowan while she ate dinner, watched TV, and slept.

  Gene’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. He hadn’t been completely honest with Neve when he’d described the guy who’d sent the letters to Phoebe. He hadn’t wanted Neve to worry, so he’d played down the danger, but the truth was that Darren Kirk wasn’t the emptyheaded, unfocused maniac Gene had said he was. He was a cool, calm psychopath who’d had the connections and the money to escape the life sentence he should have gotten. The worst part of it was that the man he’d killed just days after being released was the lawyer who hadn’t been able to prevent Kirk from going to prison, and his wife—who’d been with him—had been seriously injured.

  After that, the Special Tactics Group had taken the death threats very seriously. They’d wanted to take Phoebe and her daughter somewhere safe until they tracked Kirk down, but Callie had refused—why, Gene wasn’t quite sure, possibly because Phoebe had downplayed the threat so as not to alarm her too much and so therefore she hadn’t taken it seriously. Phoebe had defended her daughter’s right not to have security, but had agreed privately with the STG to hire Gene’s firm and have a permanent watch on both herself and Callie.

  Gene had read the dossier on Kirk, and the thought of the cold killer coming after the soft and sensual Callie Summer made him feel ill. Almost certainly, it had been an empty threat meant to frighten the prosecutor who’d put Kirk away, but Gene wanted to drive to Callie’s house and sit outside there himself. To stay by her side and protect her until the man was caught.

  But that was impractical, and besides, she was just another customer. She was nothing special, not a friend or family member, and certainly not a love interest. He had a job to do, and he had to concentrate on that and keep his emotions out of it.

  With that in mind, he had things to do before he was able to call it a day. First, he drove to his house on Massey Road, high on a hill overlooking the harbor. The wind was getting up and had whipped the blue-gray water into choppy waves that made the outgoing ferry bob about like a piece of polystyrene. No wonder it was nicknamed the Vomit Comet, he thought, feeling a little queasy just looking at it.

  He went inside and changed out of his suit into a T-shirt and sweatpants, then drove to the gym. He’d only planned to have a quick workout, but while he moved through the various pieces of equipment, his mind began to wander. Unfortunately, it seemed to want to conjure up images of a certain strawberry blonde in various pieces of lingerie, and, cross with himself, he pushed his body harder and longer until he was limp as a beaten chicken breast and dripping with sweat.

  He showered and changed again, annoyed with himself for getting carried away. Although he liked to stretch the muscles around his damaged hip and keep it flexible, he’d pushed it too hard, and it ached now, a dull throb deep inside. He popped two Panadol, drove home, fought the urge to pick up takeout on the way, and made himself pasta with a large salad, which he ate sitting at the table as he checked his emails.

  He scrolled through the daily report the office had sent him of comings and goings around Callie’s office—nothing suspicious, from the looks of it—then checked the report from Phoebe’s security team. One operative had recorded that she’d seen a dark-haired, bearded man out in front of Phoebe’s home in Wellington not once but twice, several hours apart. He’d only stayed thirty seconds the first time and twenty seconds the next, but she’d highlighted it as a yellow alert, and Gene copied the photo she’d taken of him from her parked car and sent it to all his teams and their contact at the STG so they could watch out for possible sightings of the guy.

  Still eating his pasta, he took out the notepad he’d used during the day and flipped to the pages where he’d made notes during lunch about Callie’s office and her general routine. He typed them up, mentally running through possible problems in his head, planning out the best route to take if an incident occurred, thinking about ways he might be able to improve security there without her noticing.

  Then he started up a new file called “Security on Tour.” After staring at the title for a while, he pushed away from the table, took a beer out of the fridge, and went outside onto the deck. Easing into his favorite deckchair with his sore hip, he took a long swig of the beer and stared out to sea.

  Working as a personal protection officer often involved lots of tedious, dull work—from surveillance to intelligence gathering to threat recognition and assessment. Facts and data were important, and as it was easy to miss little details in a sea of information, it required a keen eye and constant concentration to make sure nothing important was overlooked.

  But it also involved a large percentage of instinct. In his days in the Army, and then in security, Gene had learned to rely on his gut feelings, and now they were telling him that the real threat to Callie—if there were to be one—would come when they were out on the road. It would be harder for whoever was following them to keep track of them, but it would be a lot easier for a hitman to get close to her. Unless Gene revealed his mission, and possibly even if he did, he couldn’t stop her shopping, eating at restaurants, or going out for walks late at night. All he could do was remain as vigilant as possible, and do
his best to protect her when they were together.

  In the pocket of his jeans, his phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the screen, expecting it to be someone from his office, then smiled when he saw the name of his best mate.

  “Hey, Felix.” He lay back in the deckchair, one arm tucked under his head. “How’s things?”

  “Hey, Gene. Yeah, all good here, thanks.”

  “Finally got back to work?” Gene liked to tease his lawyer friend about his extra-long summer break. Felix worked at the biggest law firm in Wellington, and, like many firms in New Zealand, they closed for several weeks over Christmas and January.

  “Only just. Apparently some companies make you go back to work before February. It’s shocking.”

  Gene laughed. “What’s up?”

  “Thought I’d share some news with you. Coco’s pregnant.”

  “Ah, mate.” Gene was genuinely pleased for his friend. Felix had married the head secretary of his law firm the previous year, and he’d mentioned that they’d decided to try for a family straight away. “That’s wonderful news.”

  “Yeah, we’re pleased. It took a while, and there’s always that niggling thought in the back of your mind that you’re not going to be able to have kids, you know? So it’s a relief.”

  “When’s it due?”

  “She’s just three months, so July.”

  “Great. I bet she’s happy.”

  “A mixture of nervous and excited, yeah.” Felix chuckled. “Anyway, how did it go today?” Gene had told him about his undercover mission.

  “Well, she agreed to take me on, so that’s the first step done. She’s touring the country starting Monday, so I’ll be away for a couple of weeks.”

  “What’s she like? As bad as her mother made out?”

  Gene watched a ferry heading toward the harbor, the sea behind it glinting in the evening sunshine, the color of Callie’s eyes. “Ah, no. Not really. She’s nice. Young. Smart. Funny.”

  Felix said nothing for a moment. Then he said, “I see.” Gene could almost hear the smirk behind the words.

  “Don’t start,” he said wryly.

  “And she works for a lingerie firm? Does she get to try out some free samples?”

  Gene decided not to tell him about Neve’s parties. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m her personal protection officer—that means I have to be glued to her side for the next three months. It’s going to be torture.”

  “Oh…” Felix drew the word out. “You really do like her. I was teasing before.”

  “There’s nothing not to like. She’s gorgeous. It’s going to be like the Temptation of St. Anthony. Except my name’s not Anthony. And I’m no saint.”

  “Now ain’t that the truth.”

  “Felix…”

  “I don’t see the problem.”

  “The problem is that I have a job to do. I can’t afford to get distracted.”

  “Surely it’ll be easier to protect her if you’re… you know, sleeping in the same bed?”

  “Jeez.”

  “Look, I can’t remember the last time I heard you talk about a girl with a smile in your voice. Why not have a bit of fun over the summer?”

  Gene couldn’t stop himself smiling at that. “That happens to be her surname.”

  “Summer?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well there you go. It’s a sign. You’re heading north next week, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, south first, then north after my birthday.”

  “It’s fucking hot in the Northland. Toby says it’s been hot and sultry for weeks. Sounds like a bit of Summer seduction is on the cards.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Yeah.” Felix snorted. “That sounded real convincing.” Someone called in the background, and Felix said, “Coco’s ready and we’re going out. Got to go. Speak later. Let me know how you get on.”

  “I don’t…” But it was too late. Felix had hung up.

  Gene blew out a breath and slipped the phone back into his pocket. He’d only known Callie for an afternoon. She might be completely different when he got to know her properly, when he was with her day in, day out. She might irritate him by talking all the time. Perhaps she was untidy, or hated the music he liked, or refused to eat unusual food. There were a million reasons why he might not find her attractive.

  He thought about the V of her blouse, and the pale skin that had tempted his gaze to search out what he was certain would be a lacy bra beneath her top. Closing his eyes, he groaned. This whole mission had disaster written all over it.

  But that was just it—disaster wasn’t just a broken heart or hurt feelings. In his line of work, disaster meant injury or even death. Darren Kirk was a menace in the shadows, a man out for vengeance, who didn’t care if innocents got hurt along the way. He was a real threat, and Gene had to stay sharp. He couldn’t afford to think with his dick for the next few weeks.

  Seducing Summer was definitely off the cards.

  Chapter Six

  “Coffee, ma’am?”

  Callie smiled at the flight attendant. “Yes, please. With milk and sugar, thanks.”

  She glanced at Gene, sitting in the seat next to her, daring him with her eyes to say something about how pernickety she was with her coffee, but although he raised his eyebrows at her, he didn’t say anything.

  It was Monday morning, and they were on a flight to Dunedin, at the bottom of the South Island of New Zealand, about to start their tour of the country.

  Friday had been busy, filled with finalizing their plans, as well as tying up any loose ends with the business before she left. To be fair, Gene had been invaluable. As he’d promised, he was efficient and organized, and he’d dealt with a couple of last-minute emergencies calmly, a perfect PA.

  She still found him a little unnerving, though. In some ways, he was easy to read, and his reaction to her Holmesian deductions had told her she hadn’t been far from the mark. He seemed to respect her business and her role in it. But on a more personal level, she wasn’t sure what he thought of her. Occasionally, a look glimmered in his eyes like the flash of a coin on a riverbed—quite what it was, she couldn’t be sure. Admiration? Desire? And for a brief moment, she’d think maybe he liked her.

  But then his seriousness would wash it away, and his eyes would appraise her coolly, the shutters coming down to shelter him from her searching gaze. When he was like that, he had a way of looking at her that made her think he found her foolish. He was only thirty-one—okay, nearly thirty-two—and she was twenty-six, so hardly a kid, but sometimes she felt the way Emma must have felt when Mr. Knightley scolded her for being rude to Miss Bates.

  He was doing it now, because she’d accepted the cup of coffee, lowered it onto her tray, and then promptly knocked it as she opened the stick of sugar, spilling a quarter of the liquid.

  “Give me your serviette,” she said crossly.

  “Would you like a bib, too?”

  “Because you never make a mistake, Mr. Perfect.”

  He chuckled and handed her his serviette, and, adding it to her own, she mopped up the mess.

  “Don’t look at me like that.” She cleaned the last few drips, conscious of his gaze on her.

  “Like what?”

  “Like I’m your brother’s toddler you’re supposed to look after who’s embarrassing you in public. I’m a grown woman who runs a business, thank you very much. I’m not hopeless.”

  “Hmm.”

  She decided to ignore that. “Well, now we’re finally alone, you’ll have to tell me some more about yourself.”

  “Will I?”

  “Yes. We can’t go the whole trip without talking.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “Gene…”

  He sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  “Tell me about your family.”

  “Parents still alive, one brother.”

  She waited for more. When more obviously wasn’t coming, she nudged him w
ith her elbow. “Come on.”

  “What?”

  “Jeez. It’s like getting blood out of a stone. Where do your parents live?”

  “In Wellington.”

  “Brother younger or older than you?”

  “Younger.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Freddie.”

  “As in Mercury?”

  “As in Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly. Mum’s a big fan of old Hollywood musicals.”

  At last, she was getting somewhere. “What does he do? Did he go into the Army too?”

  Immediately, the shutters came down again, his smile fading and his tone turning clipped. “No. He’s an accountant.”

  Hmm, he didn’t like talking about the Army. Was it because of his injury, or something else that happened there?

  She couldn’t ask him yet—he’d just clam up. Instead, she’d have to steer the conversation to other things if she wanted to get him to talk. “You never did answer me when I asked you what her name was. The ex who was a strident feminist.”

  “No, I didn’t.” He sipped his coffee. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about her, either.

  His reticence was frustrating, but it also told her more about him. People had reasons for not wanting to divulge details about themselves. Opening up, even a little, made people vulnerable. It exposed them to criticism and comment, to being judged, and to being hurt. Something had happened to Gene in the past. He’d been terribly hurt, maybe more than once, and because of that he’d sealed himself in a concrete shell that he was determined not to let anyone breach.

  He pulled his iPad out of the pocket in front of him, apparently determined to shut her out.

  She turned toward him in her seat. There was something so intimate about plane journeys. His upper arm and thigh pressed against hers. She could smell his aftershave, and see how neat his sideburns were up close, carefully shaved into a small rectangle to the base of his ear. His jaw was clean shaven. He had a small mole on his neck just below his earlobe. She wished she was brave enough to lean forward and kiss it.

  “I’ve just thought,” she said, “I forgot to arrange a car in Dunedin.”