Shielding Her Page 3

  She was Margaret Whitney, she told herself, even if she had nothing else, she at least knew how to fake it. If she had learned nothing else in her childhood, and her marriage for that matter, faking it she was very good at. One could even say she was a professional at that.

  "Yes," she called, standing and heading for the wide double doors that led into the rest of the hotel.

  "It's me," an overly testosterone laden voice said through the wood. And even without seeing the man she could picture a cocky grin on that sexy face. "You ready to head down for breakfast?"

  She stopped about halfway across the floor and tried to remember if they had made a breakfast appointment she was not remembering. It had not been fun telling her story and reliving all her bad choices in front of anybody, let alone someone who made cocky bastard look so damn sexy her teeth ached. But she would have remembered that. "I usually eat in my room."

  "Fuck that," he said cheekily making her blink at both his crude response and the humor he seemed to radiate even through a solid teak door. "It's too fine a day for us to be cooped up inside."

  There was a moment when she could swear she heard him in a more muted tone of voice. "Why the fuck am I talking through the door?" Right before he casually opened the door and sauntered in. He saw her, his eyes twinkled a morning greeting that made her want to bare her teeth and then those amazing green eyes trailed down her open robe taking in her thigh length silk nightie with obvious approval before lingering overlong on the length of her toned and tan legs. Then right back up those eyes came brushing over her make-up free face and landing with obvious warmth on her long loose hair she had not even run a comb through yet this morning.

  "I have orders from Rebecca that you are taking the day off," he said. His voice taking on a sexy rumble that promised all kinds of dirty delights, as molten green eyes finally came back to hers. "Though if you want to stay in today, I am at your service." His voice and look left no doubt as to the service he most wanted to offer.

  Margaret opened her mouth to berate him for several things, starting with his walking right through a locked door without permission to enter, and realized her nipples were hard points against the silk of her dressing gown. She rushed to close her robe, belting the suddenly much too thin material with a snap of her shaking hands even as she glared at the sexy bastard.

  "This is my room," she stated icily with bite, as she tried to both ignore her body’s continued response to the sexy bodyguard and summon her usual shields. Clothes, make-up and her morning routine would have allowed her to center herself and don the persona that would get her through the days without trailing her emotional baggage over everyone in the vicinity. But he had blown right through her door without giving her either the time or warning that she needed. "That door was locked. How did you even get in here?"

  The man pointed to his own chest covered in yet another one of those obnoxious Hawaiian shirts he wore open over a white wife beater and a pair of khaki shorts and nothing else. "Security expert." Then he winked at her.

  He should have looked ridiculous. She told herself he looked ridiculous. She just didn't believe herself. Good lord, even the man’s feet were sexy.

  Who goes to breakfast at a fancy hotel without shoes on? Or anywhere at all?

  Eli had a slight niggling that he could maybe have done without knowing exactly how fucking sexy Margaret Whitney was in a wisp of a silk nightie fresh from her bed, with no make-up on and her fantastic fucking hair hanging loose down her back. The woman might be on the skinny side, but what she did have was in all the right places. It didn't help that her rising temper was sending even more pink to her alabaster cheeks and her eyes sparked angry blue fire at him. Nope. Didn't help at all.

  He threw kindling on that fire anyway. "Come on Duchess, throw on a bikini and a pair of skimpy shorts and let’s hit breakfast."

  She blinked at him, her nose in the air and her arms wrapped tight around that thin silky robe. "Are you purposefully being rude for a reason I cannot see? Or did you really break into my room half-dressed and start bellowing orders at me for the hell of it?"

  Eli grinned and shrugged his massive shoulders. "Not sure there's a good way to answer that question duchess so I'll just let you decide. Now,” He said looking suddenly serious. "Dress. If you must." He gave her another of those wicked grins of his that made her teeth ache she ground them together so hard. "Shoes are always optional in the tropics." Then he winked, again.

  Margaret tried to hold on to her anger, she really did, after all it would not do to encourage the man in his ridiculous flirting or walking into her suite without permission. But, whatever else the man made her feel, she could honestly say it was impossible to wallow in her misery when he was around. Her emotions might roller coaster from anger to humor, to exasperation, all with a swash of attraction mingled in, but she was not sad, or depressed when Eli Ramsey was around, and this morning that was enough to make her overlook his taking of liberties where her person and room where concerned.

  "Very well," she finally said, because going out to breakfast was not a bad thought, not with her bodyguard there as protection and distraction. "But it's going to take me longer that you seem to think to "throw" something on."

  "Nonsense," he said still grinning at her. "We're heading for the beach, so besides sun screen you don't need to do anything but grab your bikini and hit the road."

  She gave him a dubious look. Waving at her face and hair she raised a brow at him. "Hardly."

  "Now why does a beautiful woman always think she can improve on what God gave her, or that she even needs to?"

  Margaret blinked at his words. "You actually expect me to just walk out like this?"

  "Why the fuck not? Grab some shorts and your bathing suit. Skip the rest of whatever you women do for hours and let’s have breakfast. We're going to the beach, not an art showing, or the ballet." He shrugged again and leaned to the side so that he was propped up against the thick teak panels of her door. "Who the fuck is here to impress anyway? The wolf pack? Or the dolphins?"

  Wolf pack? His strange allusions aside, the man was persuasive, and if she was not mistaken in his character he would continue to cajole until he got his way. The man did not seem to recognize boundaries or proper behavior. And if she was honest with herself, she did not really have the heart to perform her usual careful grooming this morning. So she pointed at a chair and gave her new bodyguard her fiercest look. “Fine, but you sit here.”

  He looked her up and down again with a measuring look then walked across the room, until he was close enough that he nearly brushed up against her, and she was forced to work to keep from giving way before that big male body. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how nervous he made her. Instead she craned her neck back to keep her gaze meeting the challenge in his. He moved so close she could feel the heat of his body through the silk robe.

  “I’m usually the one giving the orders in the bedroom, but… just this once.”

  He dutifully sat in the chair. Sprawled in it, a more accurate description and she fought the need to grab him by the back collar of that ridiculous shirt and yank him up to sit correctly in the suddenly dwarfed chair. Among other things.

  Margaret cleared her dry throat and turned precisely and walked away calmly. It was an effort, but she managed it.

  Margaret could not remember a time where she had left her rooms looking anything but a hundred percent polished and primped. Her parents insisted she always look her best, no matter what she had planned for the day. It had been the same after she was married. The one time she left the apartment of rooms she had shared with her husband without being at 100% he had let her know in no uncertain terms what he expected from his wife. No matter whether she was working in the garden or visiting the social club for drinks with the ladies’ auxiliary.

  The only time she had even gone what she would consider casual was when she volunteered at the shelters, both human and animal. Stephen had not approv
ed, nor had her parents. But none of them were here, were they? And her sexy, infuriating bodyguard was right about one thing. They were on a tropical island. Even Rebecca who helped run the place mostly just wore her t-shirt, shorts and bare feet, at least when there were no guests that would expect something more.

  There was something very freeing about the thought of it. With newfound determination to do what she wanted to do, and not what was expected of her Margaret raised her chin regally and turned for a moment to meet Eli’s eyes. She valiantly ignored the fact they were glued to her ass. "I will be just a moment. We can discuss boundaries and locked doors while we eat."

  Margaret turned and glided into her room, shutting the door, relatively sure the man behind her was still watching her ass, and smirking.

  "Won't that be fun." She heard through the closed door, low but with an absence of heat, so she could ignore it, and him, just fine.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Margaret followed Eli down to breakfast.

  She had taken a moment to brush and French braid her hair, wash her face and pull on not only her plain white bikini and shorts, but a pull over as well. She had slathered on sun screen and looked at her naked face in the mirror for a full minute trying to recognize the woman standing there so unsure of herself. That had gotten old fast and she had thrown sun glasses, sunscreen and her sandals in her beach bag with no idea if she would have a chance to come back to the room before Eli took her off to see the beach as he had threatened.

  Since she had come to ‘A Bene Placito,’ she had walked along the outer edge of the beach and its many winding paths and spent some time under an umbrella at the grotto pool that was her favorite, but had not spent any real time at the beach itself. It had felt somehow more exposed, as if someone in a boat would be taking pictures of her from the distant horizon.

  Silly, probably. If a boat was within picture distance she would probably be able to see it, and so what if Stephen got pictures of her lounging at the beach. It was not as if she was making mad passionate love on the sand with the waves pounding over her. Things like that might happen to other people but she was Margaret Whitney. Fairy tales and movie love scenes were not in the cards for her. She would not have even known that such things were possible in real life if she had not seen Rebecca with her men. Yes, men plural, and wasn't that a shock to the system. Her friend had found happiness with three good men who looked at her like she was their world. Margret could not remember any single person in her life who had looked at her like that. Not ever.

  Margaret shook off her thoughts and started to pay attention to her surroundings again. The opulent and wide halls done in the hotel’s overall theme of creams and golds shone with opulent luster, and were surprisingly quiet around them.

  "Where is everyone?”

  "Pack meeting today. Lucas is going over the new security procedures, and Griffin the shifting of responsibilities for the pack members. Preparations for isolating the hotel here away from the part of the island that will now be strictly pack land is a big undertaking. Right now, everyone is there while Lionsgate takes care of patrol."

  Margaret stepped into the elevator and leaned against the back wall as she studied her bodyguard. There was a lot there that needed to be addressed. But where to start. “By pack, I assume you mean the hotel staff? If there is a meeting I, as the office manager, should be in attendance.”

  Eli smirked. "Rebecca said you could sit this one out, as it deals mainly with the staff housing and not with hotel business."

  "I see,' she said. "And the shifting of responsibilities? I assumed when Becca told me they were limiting their guests to the hotel, and that only seasonally, that there would be some employees let go. You make it sound as if they will still be here, just in another capacity."

  Eli shrugged. "All the staff here are pack, so they are not going anywhere."

  The elevator opened with a swoosh and they both walked out into the lobby of the hotel. Like every other part of the elaborate and luxurious accommodations the shops and restaurants, spa and beauty salon that made up the hotel’s main guest area was decadent. Marble floors and high pillared ceilings gave the place an atmosphere of decadence and splendor. And everything was just brushing the boundaries of lush with the golds and jewel tones that made up the grand entrance without tipping that line into raunchy or tasteless. Everywhere you looked there was a view of the ocean or gardens surrounding the many pools that made up the outside play area.

  And play was just the right word, considering this was an adult only playground for the rich and entitled. It amazed Margaret every time she saw it. Because they managed to do all of that in a classy way that had not made even her uptight family uncomfortable with having her wedding there. And that was quite a feat. But then it had been Stephen’s idea, and he could do no wrong where her parents were concerned.

  Margaret turned towards the hotel restaurant but was immediately tugged the other way with a warm calloused hand on her elbow. "Aren't we going to breakfast?"

  "Not there," was his only answer.

  He said nothing more, but she removed her elbow from his overly warm grip and followed without asking where he was taking her. There were other answers she needed first. "You keep using the word pack. Is that your way of saying the staff are like family?"

  There was a small hitch in his step before he continued without looking at her. "Yeah, that's another way of saying they are family. The point is that they will have other responsibilities until after the baby is born and during the off season. And the guests will be more limited than they were before so even when you are in your heavy season they will need fewer bodies at the hotel."

  "And Lionsgate is making it safe for everyone in the mean time?"

  He turned back and winked at her, giving her a half grin in the process. "That's what we do, darlin’"

  Margaret took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "So, this onslaught of security is not all about me, but would have happened anyway because of the baby? Because I was starting to feel a tad guilty about everything they were doing."

  Eli laughed at her dry tone. "No, some precautions for you, like your own personal bodyguard,” he winked at her. “But mostly things we would have done anyway with the new baby on the way. Two other pack couples have come up pregnant as well. They are circling the wagons so to speak. And you are just one of the many reasons why."

  At this point they were leaving the well-worn path behind them and the cool stones that had felt so nice sheltered beneath the canopy of the trees turned to gritty sand that sat beneath the full brunt of the sun overhead. Knowing from experience that her sandals would be useless Margaret pulled them off and went barefoot across the beach. Even as new as the day was the top layer of sand already felt warmed. It was only as her feet pushed through that the cool sand underneath sifted between her toes. It felt good. Both the warm and cold grit, and it reminded her of visits to beaches her family had taken when she was a child.

  While her mother hated it when Margaret got dirty it was expected in their set to have a vacation home on a beach for summer and a ski chalet in Aspen for winter. Though the ski chalet had been strictly adults only, the beach had been lovely. Even when it was overcast, she had enjoyed the feel of the sand and cold, cold water that stole her breath and beaded bumps across chilled skin.

  Though as far as she could recall the sand had never had this soft almost powdery softness as you got closer to the pounding waves of water. And the water here was a warm pounding of waves as opposed to the cold waters of the Atlantic, but the smells were the same, and the warmth of the sun on her face. Later in the day that same sand would probably burn her tender feet, but for now she felt both rebellious and free as she walked directly to the waves and stopped. Her feet buried in the wet sand while warm water swished over her ankles and then back leaving behind shells, and bubbles in the sand that showed where crabs and other things resided in the surf. Such a big reaction, she thought delighted by the feelings washing throu
gh her, to such a small thing.

  She raised her face to the sun’s warmth and was not aware she was smiling until she heard Eli curse beside her and her eyes snapped open to find him closer than she expected and seemingly engrossed in the sight of her. He cleared his throat and gestured down the beach where an umbrella shaded a white tableclothed round table. Two chairs were the only other thing on the beach for the miles that the shore line stretched. She blinked at the sight and then turned to look at Eli.

  "You arranged this?"

  He cleared his throat. "Figured you could use a little fun to take your mind off things. I ordered a picnic on the beach." He looked a little perturbed scratching his head in bemusement as he took in the champagne and full silver service as they got closer. "Apparently at Pleasure Island a picnic is not a basket of cold chicken on a blanket."

  Margaret laughed at the expression on his face, charmed by both his embarrassment and the thoughtfulness behind it. Who would have thought this brash man was capable of either?

  Eli watched her laugh with a look on his face she could not interpret. So, she cleared her throat and smiled. "I am not laughing at you. This is lovely, both the reality," she said motioning to the table, "and the idea behind it, so thank you. Though I will say that while I have eaten this type of al fresco dining before, I have never sat on a blanket and eaten cold chicken, so I feel a little cheated."

  "Al fresco dining," he repeated her words smirking. Then when she raised a brow at him he laughed at her. It was such a robust hearty sound that she could take no offense. "Come on Duchess, let's eat. Plenty of time to show you the wonders of a beach picnic," he gave her a saucy wink while he took her arm to lead her to her chair. "or any other activity you have been deprived of on a blanket." He waggled his eyebrows. "You familiar with the term beach blanket bingo?"

  Margaret fought the need to roll her eyes as she let him haul her across the sand to their table set up. She gave him a warning look to behave as she answered. "I think I'll stick to the chicken." She said keeping her voice on an even keel, so that he could not read the humor or the insistent heat that seemed to infuse her body whenever he got close. She cleared her throat and moved her eyes from the hard male beside her to the safety of the full breakfast service.