Summer Attractions (2 page)

He gave her a look like she was crazy. Jemma mentally corrected her previous thought to, “made her pulse race with
annoyance
.”

“What else?” he asked. His face broke into a grimace, like a jagged crack in a clay pot.
Wow
, she thought,
that’s just rude
.

“Then let’s go,” Jemma retorted, trying to bury the testy edge to her voice with a hesitant smile. Her mother’s sickly sweet voice echoed in her head, reminding her that you could always catch more bees with honey than with vinegar.

But what if I don’t want to catch this particular bee?
she couldn’t help but think. Frankly, he seemed more likely to sting the shit out of her.

The man who had yet to introduce himself said next to nothing in the car.

Or, Jemma translated mentally, actually
nothing
, if you didn’t count grunts as responses to questions. She didn’t.

She wasn’t even sure why she was still trying to extract information from someone so profoundly uncommunicative, but she was stubborn enough not to want him to win the battle. He didn’t want to talk, so damnit, she wasn’t going to shut up.

“How far is the hotel?” she asked sweetly, as if they’d been chatting gaily this entire trip and he’d not once ignored her questions in favor of grunting.

Nothing. Complete and utter silence.

“Have you lived in Rio your entire life?” That one she could even answer for herself, as he most certainly had an American accent.

More silence.
What an ass
, Jemma thought.

“Is there a good public transportation system in the city?”

Don’t say you
, Jemma almost added, but it wouldn’t have mattered because she didn’t get an answer anyway.

“Do you plan on checking out any of the Olympic events?”

Even more nothing. It seemed he’d dropped the grunting in favor of a chilly silence that he probably hoped would shut her up.

“Do you know a good tour guide?”

He sighed profoundly, as if she’d actually, finally, hounded him to death. Finally, she’d struck gold.

“You don’t need a tour guide or public transportation because I’m it for you. I’ll be at whatever events you go to, because I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Jemma’s mouth dropped open a little. “He speaks!”

She could feel the force of his eye roll even though she couldn’t actually see it in the rearview mirror. “I’m not deaf or dumb or a mute.”

“Just rude,” she added.

He was silent, and Jemma decided that, in this case, silence was acquiescence.

“I thought you were just the hired driver.” It was rather satisfying to feel perfectly fine being as rude to him as he was to her. A nice outlet after twelve hours of panic topped by another fourteen hours cramped in a coach plane seat.

“As far as you’re concerned, I’m it. Driver, tour guide, bodyguard.” He glanced back in the rearview mirror, and where there’d only been a blank wall before, Jemma saw determination glimmer.

“Bodyguard?” she questioned incredulously. Jemma wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. The idea of someone protecting her wasn’t a terrible one considering what had happened to Nick, but she also planned to be a hell of a lot more cautious than her boss had.

“I’m providing you with adequate protection in an unstable and somewhat dangerous environment.”

“It sounds like you’re reciting off a statement by the police,” Jemma observed.

“LAPD,” he replied in clipped tones.

“You’re a police officer,” was all she could say stupidly. And it made sense. His muscles—which she hadn’t exactly been able to ignore before, but she was now painfully aware of—and the rigid posture and the attempt to tame his hair. It all made sense.

He pulled the car up to a towering but gracefully aging building built of white stone. He opened her door before the bellboy could even rush over. “Welcome to the Belmond Copacabana,” he said with that same monotone voice, offering her a hand to help her out of the car.

“You’re taking over Nick’s room,” he continued to explain as he walked around the car. “Here’s the key. Room 1496.” He extended her a plain white key card and she took it, shoving it in a pocket of her jeans.

She’d expected him to let her follow the bellboy into the hotel and up to her room, but when she glanced back, he’d tossed the car keys to another uniformed staff member and was following right behind her as she walked toward the hotel.

Jemma could see her next three weeks in Rio unfolding so predictably: her attempting unsuccessfully to do
anything
without having Mr. Hot and Protective dogging every single step. And while she could see it being nice at first, she had no doubt that it was going to get old. Quick.

She turned to him, the brightest smile in her arsenal plastered across her face. He shifted his attention from navigating the doorway to her—all that intense focus right on her—and it took Jemma’s breath away a little. Up really close, his eyes were still dark, but they were flecked with these lovely gold specks, and his face was still hard, but she could see a shadow of scruff along his jaw. These little imperfections seemed to humanize him somehow. Jemma swallowed hard and reminded herself that she still didn’t know his name.

“Is this really necessary?” she asked quietly. “I’m at the hotel. I’m fine. You don’t need to come with me.”

His expression hardened a little, going implacable. “I do.”

“I know it seems that way,” she tried coaxing next, “but I promise, I won’t sneak off like Nick. I won’t go traipsing about any unpacified
favelas
. That’s really more Nick’s style than mine.”

He gave her one long hard look then shook his head sharply. “Don’t bother. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Jemma sighed. “I suppose we can’t even negotiate?”

“No.”

She sighed again. “Fine, let’s get this show on the road, then.” She led the way into the hotel and stopped short as they entered the lobby. The skylights dotting the roof of the massive atrium dappled the pristine parquet floors with sun, setting the Art Deco furniture and art glowing in the delicate, afternoon light.

He stopped next to her. “It’s beautiful,” Jemma observed softly, wistfully.

“It’s a hotel lobby,” he said impatiently, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d even taken in the details of the scene — the ivy creeping up the soft ivory columns, the rich antique gold velvet upholstery of the tufted sofas and chairs, their backs intricately carved with bougainvillea.

She reluctantly followed him through the atrium to the bank of elevators at the far end. He pushed one of the buttons and she watched him as he stood straight and silent facing the closed door. “This isn’t going to work, you realize,” Jemma said.

“It’ll work a hell of a lot better than it did with Nick.”

“I never realized ‘constant vigilance’ was an actual thing that people did,” Jemma observed lightly as the elevator doors dinged and opened.

They stepped into the elevator and the doors shut. His back had become even straighter after her comment. “It’s not an insult,” she continued. “But what I’m telling you is that it’s just not necessary, and I’ll end up driving you crazy wanting to visit Christ the Redeemer fifteen times and wanting to take pictures from a thousand different angles. I’ll want to see the botanical gardens and go to all the rhythmic gymnastics competitions. I’m going to be a nightmare for you.”

“So you’re just trying to save me, yeah?” He glanced over at her, one eyebrow quirking up and sudden amusement playing over the corners of his admittedly attractive mouth. Jemma felt a little like a small rodent being stalked by a bird of prey. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried playing with someone so . . . so . . .
something
.

“Of course,” she replied diplomatically, though she knew she sounded a trifle less certain than she’d been only a few moments before.

The elevator stopped at their floor and they exited. He practically prowled down the hallway like he knew exactly where he was going.

And suddenly it occurred to her that he would. She was taking Nick’s old room. “Where are you staying?” she asked in a futile attempt to distract him from her previously futile attempt at manipulation. Honestly, Jemma wasn’t used to being quite so futile.

“Next door.”

“Crap,” she said before she could swallow the word back.

He stopped in front of a door.
1496
read the gold embossed sign on the navy blue door. He paused, something humanizing finally emerging across his handsome features. “Gabriel Rocha,” he said, matter-of-factly extending a hand for her to shake. She shook quickly then dropped as soon she could, reminding herself the whole time they were touching that he’d been a
dick
. “You can call me Gabe. Nick is my best friend.”

Jemma was quiet for a moment. She didn’t want to identify her primary emotion as guilt, but as she shuffled the pieces of her knowledge in her head and came up with a totally different interpretation of what had just transpired. He wasn’t rude, he was upset; he wasn’t silent, he was exhausted. He wasn’t an asshole; he was
terrified.

Nick might not be the greatest boss, but she’d certainly never wished him dead. And it sounded like this man actually cared
about Nick. She hadn’t even known he had friends. His work had been his whole life, and Jemma had always resented that a little, as he’d expected a similar commitment from her.

He kept going. “We’ve been planning this for a long time. What happened shouldn’t have, and now I’m gonna make sure you’re safer than he was. But I also know you don’t give a shit about the tourist spots or the botanical gardens or probably even rhythmic gymnastics. I know why he hired you and why they were okay with sending you as a replacement.”

Jemma swallowed hard. “I don’t care what articles you’ve read,” she snapped back. “Let me in my room.”

“Article,” he corrected smoothly, that smooth smile morphing into an infuriating grin. She wanted to wipe it off his face with her hand or her mouth; she wasn’t entirely sure which, and the thought made her stomach jumpy and her mind go blurry with the possibility.

“Fine,” she ground out.
Of course
he’d read her one claim to fame. “Article, singular.”

He flashed her with a grin that altered his face from stern and somewhat drawn to shockingly attractive. She was attracted to him, Jemma realized belatedly, feeling pinned to the floor like a butterfly against a specimen card. A smile shouldn’t have been enough to so utterly transform him, but like the sun peeking through the clouds, it changed everything.

He stepped gallantly aside, except she was convinced that even though he was her designated protector, he wasn’t a gentleman. A gentleman didn’t wear that kind of cat ate the canary smile and look like they enjoyed it so much. Frankly, she shouldn’t enjoy it so much either.

She unlocked her door and was in the process of dragging her suitcase in when he said, “Dinner in three hours.”

Slamming the door behind her without a single acknowledgement of his order, Jemma let out of a groan of frustration.

This wasn’t how the her trip was supposed to go. At all.

Jemma unpacked, folding her jeans into the Art Deco dresser, hanging her shirts behind the mirrored closet doors. She’d packed everything she could think of—jeans and shorts and the one nice pair of black pants she’d bought after college graduation, anticipating job interviews. She’d brought a few of her favorite maxi skirts and a few shorter ones, hesitating because all the casual clothes she had were what her best friend Colin had deemed “hippie chic.”

Thinking of her best friend, Jemma glanced over at her dark laptop, already set up on the desk with its elegantly carved spindle legs. She should definitely check in with the
Five Points
office, and even more definitely, she should check if Colin had responded to the email she’d stayed up half the night writing, even though she should have used her limited time in more productive ways.

But the last line she’d written was echoing in her head and she was too afraid of what he’d say in response.

What could he say when she told him that maybe this three week trip to Rio was a good reason to detach from each other? She’d tried for hours to come up with a different way to phrase it, but in the end, she’d decided honesty was more important. Of course there was honesty, and then there was pointing out that he was still too in love with her. Not a subject she was going to touch with a ten foot pole.