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She wasn’t stupid enough to resent protection, even though she was pretty sure he was partially responsible for her even needing it. But there was nothing good that could come from her being locked in a room with this guy. A room with a very big, very inviting bed. A guy this appealing was bad for her vow to stay focused on her goals.
This guy, in a hotel room? It was as if life was waving temptation in her face, challenging her to stay on track.
“I need privacy,” she indicated. “I’m used to being alone. Having you here all the time is going to smother me.”
“You look like you’re breathing okay to me,” he observed, giving her a long, intense once-over that made said breath lodge somewhere in her chest.
“How long?” she asked. Then, before he could dig in to her food, she got up, crossed the room and grabbed her plate. The look on his face was pure disappointment, like a little boy who’d just been told that Santa was fiction and Saturday had been canceled. Lara rolled her eyes, but unable to resist the cuteness, she slid the steak onto his plate.
“Thanks,” he said with a grateful grin.
“I don’t eat red meat.”
He gave her a blank stare, then shook his head as if trying to shake off the incomprehensible words.
“No red meat? What’s left?”
“Fruit, vegetables, white meat, fish, chocolate.”
He shook his head again, then quickly stabbed his fork into the steak, sliding the plate close to him as if she might suddenly realize its appeal.
“How long?” she asked again. Not only because she had things to do, but because the longer she was with him, the harder it’d be on her willpower. It was like a dieter at Christmas. The first plate of cookies was resistible, but after a week, all of Santa’s heads had been chewed off.
Nope, the less time they were together, the better.
For a second she considered suggesting the cops again. But she’d had enough experience with police to know that she was better off with a man who considered keeping her safe his mission.
“I have a life, you know. I can’t live it in a hotel room with you.”
Castillo flicked a quick glance up from the steak, his eyes holding hot promise before he dropped his gaze back to the plate.
Lara took a shaky breath, filling her mouth with a forkful of salad to keep herself from saying something else that might inspire that look again, just to see if it was as sexy as she thought.
“I figure we’re here for a while. Can you handle that?” he asked, his look assessing now instead of horny.
“That depends on how many hours there are in a while.” What was it with men and their stupid nonanswers? Her father had specialized in that. He’d play the conversation along for hours, days. Sometimes even weeks. Until he figured out exactly what her hoped for response was so he could be sure he went in the opposite direction.
“As soon as I get the green light from the team that everything is copacetic with that guy, Phillip, who you claim isn’t your brother. Then we’ll be clear.”
“Copacetic?” Lara’s lips twitched, so she shoveled in more salad to keep them busy. “I have to work, among other things. I can’t wait for the return of the ’70s.”
“You’re gonna have to call in sick for a few days,” he said, eyeing the baked potato still on her plate.
Lara cut off a chunk, scooped it through the sour cream, then popped it into her mouth with a defiant smile, even as she shook her head.
“I don’t call in sick. In the first place, I’m not sick, so that’d be lying. In the second place, I can’t afford to miss work. You wanna play bodyguard, you can do it while I’m on stage.”
“You can miss a few days.”
Said like a typical man. Her eyes flicked to his leather jacket while her mind flashed to the wad of cash he’d shelled out for this room.
“You grew up with money, didn’t you?” she said.
“I make my own way. Besides, if research is right, you grew up with a hell of a lot more than I did.”
Touché. Lara grimaced.
“Let’s put it this way—every paycheck is vital at this juncture of my life. Besides, if I don’t show up, I’ll lose my spot in the chorus line.”
“Can’t be helped. You’re vulnerable there and I’m not letting some goon with a knife fetish stare at you in all your seminaked glory. He sees all that gorgeous flesh and he might not be able to control himself.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve had worse staring at all my naked flesh before,” she said, slanting him an ironic look to remind him that he’d been staring himself that very afternoon.
