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Up on the deck, Isabelle bit into her pecan-crusted chicken salad—her favorite—while Mary Ellen only picked at her food. She’d removed her overshirt, revealing a tank top and a toned body—which she worked at keeping in shape at the local gym. She was a size four and had muscles Isabelle envied.

“We need to…”

“Mar, let’s eat. You can grill me after lunch.”

They made small talk until they finished the meal. Mary Ellen disposed of the garbage and pulled up two chaises to the railing where they had a clear view of the shore. They both took seats and stretched out, though more food had given Isabelle energy.

Of course Mary Ellen began the conversation. “All right, I need to say something.”

“Go ahead.”

“This thing with the handyman is out of character for you.”

Isabelle was glad she’d put on her sunglasses. “Hey, you’re the one who’s been after me to date. I thought you’d like the notion of me having a fling with the hired help.”

Mary Ellen gave a reluctant chuckle. “It is kind of Lady Chatterley-esque.”

Giggling, Isabelle sank back into the cushions. “Think of me as Constance Chatterley and Nick as the gamekeeper.”

“I guess. Hell, I didn’t expect this. I thought maybe the boys’ teacher might be a possibility. He came into the store to see you today.”

Feeling lighter, Isabelle said playfully, “Maybe I’ll date him, too.”

Trey Hanover was cute and sweet, even if he didn’t exude Nick’s masculinity. She caught sight of all that virility down at the lake. After his swim, he’d stayed on the dock, talking to his cousin. Now he stood and his slick torso glistened in the sun, tapered to narrow hips, then a nice, nice butt. She moved restlessly on her seat.

“So, how far has it gone?” Mary Ellen was leering a bit, too. “Seen him naked yet?”

Yes . “No, of course not. Some easy affection is all.”

“No kiss?”

Isabelle felt the flush again. She’d been dreaming earlier of bouts of kissing with the man. “Um, yeah, some.”

“Do tell. My love life is zilch right now. I want prurient details so I can live vicariously.”

Her friend always drew Isabelle out of her shell, which was something she needed. So she played along with the fantasy. Closing her eyes, Isabelle pictured her dream lover. “He likes long, slow kisses. A lot of tongue action and exploration.” She sniffed. “And he smells great. Like woods and the sun and morning grass.”

“When he isn’t covered with sweat.”

Even that wasn’t bad. She remembered how muscular Nick’s chest and arms were against her cheek when he carried her upstairs. “Mmm.”

“Okay, enough! Let’s enjoy the sun.”

“That’s all I’m going to say anyway.”

While they soaked up the rays, they discussed the new rare-book website and another one Isabelle had been led to by a review from a customer. When Mary Ellen got bored with that, they spent the rest of the time in contented silence—another thing she liked about her friend—until Mary Ellen’s phone rang and she fished it out of a massive purse. “Hi, Oliver…Uh-huh…What?…Oh, my God…I’ll be right there.”

Isabelle’s insides clenched. “What is it?”

Her friend bolted off the chaise. “You got another note.” This one was thrown through the back window of the bookstore with a rock.”

“Oh, no.”

As they stood and put on their shirts, Mary Ellen said, “Isabelle, you need to bring the police in on this.”

“I told you Jimmy has people checking on all that.”

Mary Ellen ran her hands through her short dark hair to smooth it and gathered her things. “Do you want to go with me, or does your arm hurt?”

“No, I’m better now. You go on, and I’ll tell Whitney where I’m headed.” She stood and kissed her friend’s cheek. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine.”

Now Mary Ellen’s dark eyes were troubled. “I wish you’d take this more seriously.”

Glancing at the two Secret Service agents on the dock, Isabelle responded, “I am, Mar. Really!”

Because he had to keep his cover, Nick reminded himself not to take charge as he and Isabelle walked into the bookstore. Though against his nature, he managed a subdued exterior and grabbed on to her hand. She raised her brows. She’d put on a cotton sweater to cover her bandages. It was the same baby pink as her dress. She looked adorable.

“Hey,” he said, trying for a light tone to alleviate the raw fear he’d seen in her eyes back at the house. “Your idea that we’re dating.”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Now, that’s what I want to hear.”

They went in the back door and found Mary Ellen and Oliver Wilson in the office, staring at the broken window, which faced the back. Shit! Wilson was holding the note and the rock it had been attached to. Probably no fingerprints anyway, unless this perpetrator was a cheap amateur. Which Nick’s gut told him wasn’t the case. Still, the lab in DC could work miracles with untouched evidence, which they wouldn’t have now.

“Isabelle, hi.” Dressed in a polo shirt and casual pants, Wilson, twenty-eight, was the typical brainy grad student. He lived alone, liked to read and followed opera. A security team in DC had sent preliminary background checks on all the people in Isabelle’s life and consulted the Secret Service Watch List, which noted any known enemies of the president in upstate New York. So far, Wilson appeared clean.

“Hi, Oliver.” Isabelle tugged her hand out of Nick’s when they stepped into the office, but the guy had already scowled. “This is my friend Nick.”

“Hi, Nick. I’m so sorry.” He held up the rock and touched her shoulder with the other. “I closed up for five minutes to go pick up a snack.”

“That happen a lot?” Nick asked, trying not to sound as though he was interrogating the guy.

“What?”

“You close the store to do errands?”

“As a matter of fact, it does,” Isabelle answered. “People here are used to the Be Back in Ten Minutes signs in area businesses. Especially during the summer.”

Nick would have to remind Isabelle not to speak for others. He could tell a lot from tone of voice and inflection when people gave him information.

She reached out. “Let me see the note.”

As she read, Nick perused it over her shoulder.

Don ’t take me for granted, beautiful Isabelle.

“What does that mean?” Oliver asked. “What’s going on?”

“It could be a lot of things,” she improvised. “A prank. The boys might have made somebody mad.”

“This is no prank, Isabelle,” Mary Ellen put in. “You are the sister of the president.”

“Maybe we should call the police,” Nick suggested.

“Finally!” Mary Ellen seemed relieved. “I’ve been saying that all along.”

“I should have listened.” Isabelle sighed. “I’ll call from back here. You two go on out and tend the store.”

When they left, Nick angled his chin in the direction they’d gone. “He an okay guy?”

“Of course. A bit odd, but I wouldn’t hire anybody who I didn’t think was safe. He has excellent references.” She picked up the phone. “You want to call or should I?”

“Let me. I’ll get the officer I’m working with to come over.” He nodded to the path the others took as he whipped out his cell. “Wilson has a crush on you, you know.”

Staring at the note, she said absently, “I know.”

He snorted. “Guys react to you like that often?”

“Yeah, I guess. Why?”

He simply shook his head.

Five minutes later, Sergeant Burke Olsen arrived, dressed in cop blues. He was a big man, with a blond brush cut and incredibly blond eyebrows. Since they were alone in the office, he crossed to Isabelle and squeezed her arm. Hell, was everybody touchy-feely with her? “I’m sorry about all this. I haven’t talked to you before about the notes, but Agent Marino filled me in on the situation when he got to town.”

“I found that out, Burke. I’m glad you know, but this whole thing has to be kept quiet or we’ll be deluged by the press again.”

“I hear you. If I can do anything, anytime of day or night, call me.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Huh , Nick thought staring at the cop. Another one bites the dust.

He made a mental note:  Would a man enamored of Isabelle threaten her so he could…what? Take care of her? Though the notion was as foreign to Nick as getting married and settling down, he would have to bat the idea around with Whitney.

He brought along the high-powered telescope this time and he was glad. From his perch, so deep in the trees by the lake he was almost cold, he could see Isabelle and the handyman exit the car. Except he wasn’t any builder. The guy was Secret Service. He’d found out that little tidbit, though the details of the man’s background had been buried too deep for him to get at. Huh! Why had they called the police from the bookstore? He’d been watching the place after he’d thrown the rock. Must be they were getting worried. His bosses were shocked she hadn’t freaked before.

He focused closer in. A bandage on her arm? Something must have happened to her while he was gone from the lake. He told them he should be staking her out more, but they didn’t think that was necessary. Fuckers just didn’t want to pay him.

What the hell? The two of them stopped on the front porch and the agent hugged her? Hugged her? This was a new development. Were they involved? Hmm, he’d never thought of a male/female thing happening. Would it hurt their plan? No. No, it’d probably gum up the protection. The guy would think with his dick, like most men.

A chuckle escaped his lips. Could be fun for him. Playing Peeping Tom would break up the monotony of her boring life. And maybe with this little baby—he rubbed the lens casing—he’d get to see them naked and doing who knows what through her open bedroom windows. A definite perk!

For one brief moment, Isabelle fell into the hug. No one had hugged her like this, like a man, since Michael died. She remembered the feel of strong, taut muscles against her entire body, the maleness that encompassed her. And, damn, it felt good.

He stepped back.

“W-What was that all about?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. Their brown hue seemed to get darker when he was amused. “The bombshell you dropped on your friend is going to necessitate this kind of thing.”

She played with the neckline of her dress. She’d taken off the light sweater. “What do you mean?”

“PDAs.” At her blank look, he explained, “Public Displays of Affection. In case we’re being watched, the guy might wonder why I went with you. This answers that question.”

“You think we’re being watched? Right now?”

“We have to assume we are.”

Panic roiled inside Isabelle. “Oh, God, I never considered that.”

He blinked hard. “I should have told you that before.”

“I should have known, I guess.”

 He grasped her hand. His touch calmed her and she leaned against the white railing. “Sorry about this plan. I didn’t know what else to tell Mary Ellen.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’re thinking if the protection was out in the open, we wouldn’t have this problem.”

“Actually, no.” He tugged on a lock of her hair, as if they were two ordinary people getting to know each other, enjoying the zip of that first contact. “I’ve decided your brainchild has its advantages. People will let their guard down around one of your boyfriends and wouldn’t if an agent was present. I can check them out better this way if they don’t know who I am and I have a reason to be with you.”

“What people are you talking about?”

“Suspects.”

“My friends, you mean?”

He held up a hand, and ticked off on his fingers. “Mary Ellen Lewis, Oliver Wilson, Burke Olsen. Trey Hanover.”

Her jaw literally dropped. “None of those people would hurt me.”

His expression turned flinty. Gone was the affection. Out snaked the man in charge. “I know you’re frustrated, Isabelle. By the way, I have to call you that in public, so we should use first names in private or we might slip up. But, back to your friends, I have to treat everybody as a potential suspect.”

Anger eclipsed the fear and she was glad. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She hated this! But instead of going off on him, which he didn’t deserve, she turned and stalked into the house. He was right behind her and he didn’t try to dilute her frustration.

Though she was tired from the stress and her injury, she knew something that would help. “I need to go hiking.”

“You hurt your arm yesterday.” They stood in the foyer. “You won’t be doing anything physical today. As a matter of fact, you’re exhausted. Go take a nap.”

She entered the kitchen first, ticked off again at him ordering her around. Nothing was ever a request. “Then I’ll take a fast walk. I—” She stopped short when she saw the scene before her. “Oh, my Lord.”

Lightning quick, Nick circled around in front of her, his gun drawn, and pulled her behind him. He stared at the aluminum pans littering the counter. A few cupboards were open. On the tile floor were unrecognizable stains. “Damn it.” Pivoting, his face was full of thunderclouds. He’d raised his voice, which surprised her. “Be careful not to overreact! I thought something happened here.”

“Something did happen! My kitchen’s a disaster.”

“And do not enter a room before I do.”

“In my own home?”

“Yes.”

She motioned to the counter. “What the hell is all this?”

With the forbearance of a father dealing with an out-of-line teenager, he took a deep breath. “A mess. But it can be cleaned. Nothing to be upset about.”

Her body sagged. “I guess. I’m tidy.”

He checked out the pans. A small smile broached his lips. “Whitney’s work.”

“How do you know?”

“She was always terrible at cleanup.”

Isabelle moved closer to the counter. The cookware was covered with sticky stuff in three different colors and smelled sweet. “What did they make?”

A squeal from outside interrupted her. Through the large windows, she caught sight of her boys at the wooden picnic table on the deck. In their bathing suits, they wore ball caps to protect them from the sun, but no shirts.

Because their chests were splattered with the same sticky stuff in the pans. Nick joined her at the window. Standing close, his arm brushing hers, she could feel his heat. He’d only thrown on a shirt and sandals, so he still wore his swim trunks. Side-by-side, he seemed so much bigger than she was, though she stood at five eight.

“She’s at it again.”

“What are they doing?”

He touched Isabelle’s shoulder, even though no one could see them. “Come on, I’ll show you.” When she scowled, he said, “You’ll like this.”

They went out the French doors and each boy glanced up. “Mom! See what Whitney did.”

“Yes, I saw what she did,” Isabelle answered, but her mood softened. Jamie had yellowish goo in his hair, brown on his torso and red on his hands. Ryan was all brown. “What’s this?”

“Pudding paint.” Jamie’s face was animated. “We found the boxes in the cupboard and some of Dad’s old paper.” He held up a drawing that, sure enough, had an outline of an elephant. “We can draw and eat the pudding. It’s cooler than finger paint.”

“It’s so fun, Mom.” Ryan’s grin was mile wide. “Whitney used to do it as a kid.”

“And is still bad at cleanup.” This from Nick.

Whitney bolted up. “Oh, no. The kitchen! I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you’d be home this soon.”

Ryan’s bottom lip trembled. “Don’t be mad, Mom. She wanted to clean up first, but we wanted to do this.”

“We made her, Mom,” Jamie added.

“It’s okay. I was startled at first. I’m not mad.”

Nick mumbled something behind her and she caught the words big fib . She turned to see him smirking at his cousin. Isabelle tracked his gaze. She hadn’t noticed before, but Whitney, also in her swimsuit, had pudding in her hair and on her upper chest.

“How do you know about this?” Isabelle asked. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My aunt, Nick’s mother, read it in a romance novel once. She tried it out on me and Connor.”

“Connor always lost.” Nick again.

“Lost?”

“On who could get the other the dirtiest?”

Jamie’s green eyes danced. “Can we do that?”

“No, please.” Whitney seemed flustered. “But can we play a bit longer, Mrs. Barton? The boys are having fun. Then we’ll wash off in the lake.”

“I can take care of the kitchen.”

“I’d prefer they did it.” She seemed more the agent now. “They need to learn to clean up after themselves.”

Again, a mumble from Nick about pots calling kettles black. He was enjoying this.

“You’re right.”

Nick said to her, “How about if you go rest for a while? I’ve got some calls to make.”

Suddenly, Isabelle felt drained of energy. “All right.”

He looked at Whitney. Instead of family dynamics between them, agent communiqué passed in their gazes.

Be careful.

I will.

And suddenly, reality came crashing back in. This wasn’t a cute little family episode. These two people were Secret Service agents who carried guns and were here protecting her and her sons.

Isabelle sighed. Best she remember that.