Ridge: The Avenger

Two hours later, after Ridge had heard the faint lilt of her voice beyond the wall and the rush of water for her bath, Dara came back into the darkened living room of the suite where he sat watching a ballgame on TV. Dara gave a covetous glance to the two slices of pizza left in the box.

“You can have it,” Ridge offered.

“Are you sure?” Standing in front of the coffee table, she paused, wondering if she should have just stayed in her room the rest of the night. She could have waited until tomorrow to tell Ridge about the change in schedule, but she’d felt restless and hungry.

“I’m sure.” Rising, he took a few steps into the adjoining kitchenette and opened the refrigerator. “Beer or cola?”

Dara nudged the olives off a piece of pizza and took a bite. “I don’t suppose there’s a margarita or two in there.”

Ridge cracked a smile at the wistfulness in her voice. “No, but I’m sure we could get one sent up from the bar.”

“Any Mrs. Fields chocolate-chip cookies?”

Ridge lifted an eyebrow. “Is this a list of Dara Seabrook’s favorite things?”

“A partial list,” she admitted. “But I’ve already indulged myself with a bath.” She shifted slightly. “It’s a good thing I didn’t fall forward on my knees this afternoon. This way, I can hide my misery from the public,” she told him dryly, alluding to the state of her posterior.

“I take it that’s why you’re not sitting.”

Dara smiled grimly.

Ridge allowed his gaze to sweep over that portion of her anatomy. “Should we bring a pillow next time?”

Dara looked at him in horror. “And have the press plaster a shot of that on the comic page? I don’t think so.”

Strolling back into the room, he popped the top on a cola and handed it to her. “I’m supposed to guard your body, and believe me when I tell you, you’ve got a great-”

“I’ll look after that part of my body myself, thank you very much,” she quickly interjected. “I don’t think it’s your job to be quite so concerned with my…” She looked at the pizza, hoping it could provide her with a comfortable term, and waved the crust when she couldn’t find one. “I believe my overall safety is your primary concern.”

Wearing an enigmatic gaze, he crossed his arms and leaned against the sofa. “If you say so.”

“So,” she said firmly. Dara swallowed another bite of pizza and vowed to not let Ridge send her into another frenzy. If this scene was a little too cozy and if Ridge looked too appealing in his worn jeans and partially unbuttoned shirt, then it was just the dim light. In one quick movement, she flicked on the table lamp.

“Is your mother okay?” Ridge asked, watching her curiously as she turned on another light.

Dara nodded. “I’ll call her more often during the next two weeks, though. She sounded a little lonely.”

Ridge waited to see if she would add anything, but the only sound in the room was the muted volume of the TV. It took him a full moment before he realized that Dara was stealing covert glances of his chest. A rush of pure pleasure coursed through his blood. Heat swelled inside him, and fierce masculine pride nearly burst the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Just a couple of glances from beneath her eyelashes, he thought with disgust, and he was ready to rip off his shirt for her. He didn’t even want to think about the state of the front of his jeans.

Inwardly cursing his hormones and ego, he cleared his throat. Twice.

Dara blinked. Ridge watched her cheeks bloom with vivid color. He wondered if the blush covered her whole body and thanked God that in America they didn’t shoot a man for his thoughts.

“Sorry. Guess I’m more tired than I realized.” She looked away and brushed her hair from her face. “I think I’ll make an early night of it. Great pizza. It was nice of you to share.” She moved toward her bedroom. “Good night.”

“You don’t have to—” Ridge stopped himself. Maybe it would be best if she went to bed by herself.

She whirled around quickly. “Oh, there is one other thing. Drew said we’ll be taping an interview with MTV, so we’ll be flying out to meet Harrison next—”

“Harrison,” he repeated, the name a splash of cold water. Numbness spread through his limbs.

“Yes.” Her dimple flashed disarmingly. “Harrison Montgomery, the next president of the United States of America. Our interview’s next week. I guess you can swap horror stories with the Secret Service guys.” She cocked her head to one side and her smile faded. “Let me know if you want to meet him. I’ll introduce you.”

Ridge shrugged, but didn’t say a word. He couldn’t have. Through the roaring in his brain, he watched Dara walk into her room and close the door. If he wanted to meet Harrison, she would introduce him. Her words echoed like a discordant refrain, and he wondered what Dara Seabrook would think if she knew she’d be introducing Ridge to his father.

Three

“It’s gonna be a three-margarita night,” Dara muttered under her breath as she stepped out of the limo door Ridge had opened for her. A group of Montgomery’s supporters recognized her and gave a loud cheer. Ever mindful of the in-line skates dangling from her hand, Dara pushed her lips into a gracious smile and waved. “Four margaritas,” she corrected herself.

“I don’t want you going to a bar,” Ridge said, walking with her toward the platform.

Dara cast her brilliant smile at him. “Tough,” she returned cheerfully. Since that night he’d shared his pizza with her, he’d been about as warm and inviting as the planet Pluto. She wished she could dismiss him from her thoughts, but to her supreme irritation, Dara found she was aware of him every minute of the day. She was tired of walking on eggshells around Mr. All Business.

His gaze surveying the crowd, he frowned. “It’s my job to keep you safe, and going to a bar—”

“Will give you a fresh challenge. I wouldn’t want you to get bored.”

He flicked an annoyed glance at her, then back to the crowd. “I pick the place.”

Dara shrugged. “As long as they make great margaritas.” And because she felt she’d been pushed just a little too far, she pushed back. “The jeans look great, Ridge,” she said in a husky, taunting voice. “The women won’t be able to keep their eyes off of you.”

She saw him stiffen. When she’d noted his casual clothing and said she was relieved he wouldn’t be carrying a weapon today, he corrected her and displayed the gun beneath his lightweight windbreaker. Although she found the weapon unsettling, she had to confess his jeans molded his masculine contours with breathtaking precision.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked in the same soft yet lethal voice Dara remembered him using in the car when his hands had been on her thighs and his mouth had been too close—yet too far away.

A shiver ran through her, but she ignored it. After all, she was getting ready to make a complete fool of herself on all the major television networks. Dara gave him a reckless smile. “A woman has to take her pleasure where she can get it.”

He’d sure as hell like to be the one to give it to her. Resisting the urge to pull his client into his arms and sling her over his shoulder, Ridge watched Dara sashay up the steps in front of him to the platform. With her feminine curves, the biker shorts and vibrant fitted top she wore were an unholy distraction he could ill afford.

Calling on years of discipline, he tore his gaze from her and back to the crowd. That was his job—to watch the crowd, not Dara. Her body might distract him, but it was her attitude that made him sweat. She was sexy, edgy, and a little careless. He could practically hear the ticking of a bomb ready to explode. She was pushing his hormones into overdrive and turning his hair prematurely gray. What was going on in her pretty, fiendish mind?

If he read her correctly, and he feared he did, Dara was spent. She’d had enough of the campaign. She’d had enough of the press. And she didn’t like having a bodyguard. She’d been pushed one step over the line. Sweet Lord, Ridge wondered exactly how she was going to let it all rip.

It was almost enough to seduce his attention away from the upcoming MTV interview when he would see Harrison Montgomery face-to-face. But the prospect of seeing his father tightened Ridge’s gut every time he thought of it. He’d expected his bitterness to increase, but not his curiosity about the bastard. His curiosity deepened with each passing moment, however, and Ridge hated that. Cramming his thoughts into the back of his mind, he nodded to Ray and ignored a blond woman’s approving gaze.

The mayor greeted Dara, then introduced her over the loudspeaker. “We all know we’re gathered here today to celebrate the renovation of our oldest park, Grayford Commons. The history of this park dates back to the revolutionary war. Your hard work and contributions have made Grayford Commons a place to be proud of again. We’re especially honored today to have presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter—” The mayor grinned. “Dara Seabrook. She will lead our in-line skating parade and present the awards for the races. Please welcome Dara Seabrook.”

Ridge slid a glance over to Dara and saw a trace of desperation she quickly disguised. “I didn’t know I would be leading the parade,” she said into the microphone, and waved her hand over the crowd. “Especially with all these fine in-line skaters ready to skate circles around me.” She smiled. “I’m counting on you to skate circles around me, so someone will be handy to pick me up if I fall.”

The crowd laughed. Dara commended the city on their renovation project and reminded everyone to vote for Montgomery, then made her way down the steps. Ridge took her arm.

“I can’t believe they expect me to lead this,” she whispered. “I’m going to kill Drew Forrester. Remind me of that when I see him, and don’t let him talk me out of it.”

Ridge bit the inside of his cheek in amusement, but kept his gaze on the crowd. Dara sank to the curb and began lacing her skates. “I’ve got a new guard named Ray on the other side of the street,” Ridge reminded her. “Don’t go too fast.”

Feeling her tug at his pant leg, he spared her a quick glance. She shot him a dark glare. “That wasn’t funny. You’ve seen me skate. I’m doing good if I remain vertical.”

Helping her up, he placed a steadying hand at her waist. So, Darlin’ Dara got cranky when she was nervous. “Maybe you’ll surprise yourself.”

“Not with these ankles,” she said under her breath, then pushed off into the street. She still felt the warmth from Ridge’s hand. He had a firm touch that, underneath it all, made her feel secure. Squashing the odd urge to turn around and ask him to take her away, she waved to the crowd and smiled brightly. She had a job to do, and comfort from Ridge Jackson wasn’t on the agenda.

Within seconds a banner was thrust into her hand and she was surrounded by a group of elementary school children. To her right a band tuned up, but Dara didn’t look. Keeping her gaze focused straight ahead and a smile plastered on her face demanded all her concentration.

She made it one whole block and unbent enough to exchange a few words with the children. By the end of the second block she was shakily humming to the band’s accompaniment of “This Land is Your Land.” Humming was safer because Dara always got the lines about the redwood forest, gulfstream waters, and the valleys all mixed up.

“Hey, lady,” a little boy just behind her said. “Your knee pad’s slippin’. You want me to get it for you?”

“Where?” Dara immediately looked down. The boy reached for her knee pad and ended up pushing her. Off-balance, Dara careened forward, the pavement coming closer at an alarming rate. “Oh!” Her right knee hit first, then her hands, and absolutely nothing diminished the impact. Pain vibrated through her leg and hands, then somebody fell on top of her.

“Watch out!” at least a dozen voices called as the skaters parted around her.

Mere seconds passed and Ridge was pulling her to her feet. She thought she heard him swearing, but the support from his body felt wonderful.

“Let’s get you out of—”

“I’m sorry, lady.” The little boy who had accidentally pushed her hung back from the rest of his friends.

“We need to move you,” Ridge muttered, and began to guide her toward the curb.

“Wait a minute.” Dara stopped as best as she could.

“I was just tryin’ to help,” the boy said, wringing his hands. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Despite her throbbing knee, Dara’s heart went out to him. No more than seven years old, he looked miserable. “Of course you didn’t.” She felt a trickle of blood run down her shin and bit her lip. “Tell you what. I need to get a bandage. Would you carry the banner for me?”

His brown eyes lit up. “Wow. Can I really?”

She ruffled his hair. “Really.”

Ridge tugged her along. “Time to go,” he said firmly. “I’ll take you back to the limo and—”

Dara shook her head. “I can’t leave yet. I’ve still got to present the awards for the in-line skating races.” She gave a wry smile to the mayor who was bearing down on them, along with a half dozen other people. “Sorry about my little spill. Does anyone have a bandage?”

Within five minutes Dara traded her in-line skates for tennis shoes and had a bandage placed on her knee. While staying by her side for the next two hours, Ridge developed a healthy dose of respect for her. When he’d pointed out that no one would fault her for leaving early, she’d dismissed the option. “They’re counting on me.”

So he watched her smile and laugh even as she favored her right leg, and he thought that perhaps the statement about Dara being pure gold went deeper than the surface after all.

“Who’s your sexy shadow?” Kit Brubaker, a longtime friend from Dara’s alma mater asked as she gestured toward the waiter for a second round of margaritas.

“My bodyguard. Just until the end of the campaign.” Dara licked the rest of the salt off the rim of her glass and sighed. It was such a relief to talk to someone not connected to the campaign. “My godfather insisted,” she added, and glanced around. Ridge had selected well. The elegantly appointed hotel bar had great service and drinks. Of course, Ridge was far more pleased that the hotel had security and the hotel bar had security. Dara was beginning to feel as if Wells Fargo had taken over her life.

Kit’s eyes widened. “A bodyguard. I can just hear Whitney Houston singing something sexy in the background!”

Dara didn’t find that amusing. “Then you’re suffering from delusions. Ridge is no Kevin Costner.”

Kit glanced at Ridge again and nodded. “You’re right. He’s better looking than Kevin Costner.”

Dara tried to affect a stern expression, but the combination of the eventful day and margarita were too much. She giggled past her frown. “You’re right. He is better looking.”

A gamine blonde who’d always been known for her sense of the absurd, Kit grinned. “So, what’s it like having a bodyguard? Has he picked you up and carried you out of a crowd? Is he with you every minute of the day?”

Dara shook her head. “Did you get a part-time job with one of those scandal sheets?” she returned with a meaningful expression.

Kit’s face softened in compassion. “You do have to think about the press all the time, don’t you?” She gave a mild shudder. “I don’t envy you that. But there’s a reason they put you in front of a mike and camera, Dara. You’re good.”

“Thanks. You’re nice to say that, although I’m not always sure exactly what I’m accomplishing.” Dara gave a brief smile of gratitude to the waiter for the drinks. “It’s not always bad, but we’re at the end of the campaign right now, so the pressure to avoid any screwups is incredible.” She took a sip. “That’s why I called you. I knew I could count on my old sorority sister to help me blow off a little steam.”

Kit placed a hand over her heart. “I’m honored, and I do take my duty seriously. But since it’s not likely that I’ll ever need a bodyguard, I hope you’ll take pity on me and give me the dirt on what it’s like to have one.”

Dara sighed, but relented. Briefly glancing at Ridge, she thought about how she was always aware of him. The only respite she got was when she slept, and not always then. “He tells me what I can’t do and where I can’t go, which is just about anything and anywhere not preplanned. We disagree on how cautious I need to be. And you wouldn’t believe the things he checks before I even enter a hotel building.”

Kit looked disappointed. “This isn’t nearly as exciting as I’d imagined,” she confessed. “Have you had any personal conversations with him?”

“Not many. He’s all business.” Feeling a trace of guilt about discussing him, Dara lowered her voice even though she knew Ridge couldn’t hear her. “He hovers—constantly.”

Kit made a face and shrugged. “If he’s that bad, why don’t you ditch him?”

“My godfather won’t fire him, so—”

“No.” Kit shook her head emphatically. “I mean, if it’s driving you nuts for him to hover, why don’t you escape?”

Dara blinked at the suggestion. Alarm and a heady, naughty excitement shot through her. “You mean, sneak away without telling him? Sneak away to go shopping, or buy ice cream, or…?” Her list was endless.

“Or anything you want to do. You deserve it, Dara. You’ve worked like a dog during this campaign.”

Why did she feel like she was talking to the devil himself? “Harrison would never approve.”

“That’s true,” Kit admitted, but Dara also knew that Kit didn’t give a damn about gaining the approval of others. In Dara’s opinion, it was one of Kit’s most admirable qualities.

“Clarence would probably have a stroke.”

Kit nodded. “Yep.”

“And it would infuriate Ridge.” She took a sip of her drink and thought out loud, “The mature, responsible choice would be to continue to allow Ridge to do his job. Then, after the election, I’ll be free to go where I please.”

“Right. So what are you going to do?”

Wavering on her inclination to be mature and responsible, Dara smiled slowly. “That’s a good question.”

Ridge folded the last section of the newspaper, glanced at his watch, then at the door to Dara’s bedroom. She’d mentioned something about sleeping in, but she’d never slept past eight-thirty before. He wondered if those margaritas were slowing her down this morning.

The phone rang, and since she had insisted, he waited for her to pick it up. He waited six rings and frowned. Why wasn’t she answering? Was she sick? He’d put off checking on her because he didn’t think the sight of Dara in bed would do a hell of a lot for his resolve to maintain a professional distance from her. Brushing that thought aside, he crossed the living room and was lifting his hand to tap on her bedroom door when he heard a knock on the suite door. Ridge turned away to answer it.

Newspapers clutched in both hands, Clarence Merriman burst in full of excitement. “How’s our girl this morning? She must have been tired if she canceled our breakfast appointment. Have you seen these papers?” Clarence waved them in front of Ridge. “Drew Forrester is beside himself with joy. Said he tried to call Dara a few minutes ago and couldn’t reach her. He told me to get her on the phone immediately, so he can congratulate her.” Clarence winked knowingly. “I think he’s got his eye on our Dara. Is she in the shower?”

Ridge’s frown deepened. Drew Forrester was starting to get on his nerves, and he hadn’t even met the man. “She’s not in the shower.” He shoved away from the doorway. “I was just getting ready to check on her.”

Surprise crossed Clarence’s face. “She’s not up yet. That’s not like Dara. I hope she’s not sick.”

Ridge tapped lightly on her door and waited a moment. Then he knocked a little more firmly. “Dara,” he called. “Open up. Clarence is here.”

He opened the door a crack, then pushed it the rest of the way open. Surveying her room in a one-second glance, he swore out loud. His chest squeezed tight.

Dara was gone.

His mind racing at the different possibilities, he dashed into the room and snatched up the note on her bed. As he read it, Ridge’s alarm quickly shifted to anger. Clarence was talking a mile a minute. To halt the older man’s panic attack, he shoved the note in his face, then immediately picked up the phone.

And while he dialed, Ridge thought about wringing Darlin’ Dara’s pretty little neck.

Anticipation shimmered throughout Dara. Five minutes to go. She adjusted her sunglasses and tugged the bill of her cap forward. The huge sunglasses were her own; the cap, one of the treasures she’d picked up at the flea market this morning. Her two hours of freedom had left her feeling more intoxicated than the margaritas from the night before.

It wasn’t as if she’d done anything that bad—no illicit sex, no gambling, no criminal activities. She’d just spent the morning by herself shopping. Her final stop was the only ice-cream parlor in town that opened at 9:00 a.m. Dara wanted to eat two scoops of ice cream without being watched by Ridge.

The desire was becoming an obsession. Dara was dealing with a constant craving…which she had decided was Haagen-Dazs ice cream.

If the image of his nearly bare chest was branded on her brain, she conceded that it was just because, physically, Ridge was an incredible male specimen. And if her mind wandered too often to the question of just what it would be like to kiss his mouth and feel the passion rise within him, well, that was just one of the side effects of the stress from the campaign.

Dara smiled as the bell over the door announced the opening of the ice-cream parlor. The short, bald man wearing a wide, cheerful smile welcomed her. “Someone’s been shopping at the flea market and decided she wanted ice cream for breakfast. What can I get for you?”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.