Nine weeks earlier
Jake whipped the Corvette into the driveway of Sergio Zurlini’s Malibu beachfront mansion shortly after 6:00 p.m. Saturday night. The sleek black car idled in front of the security gate while he lowered his window. The distinct smell of salt air filled the interior. A burly black man with a shaved head bore down on the driver’s side of the vehicle.
“Yo, Stone, thought those were your bad wheels.” The huge man’s voice rumbled.
“Hey, Curly. What did you do to piss Chuck off and pull gate duty?”
“Shit, I don’t fuckin’ know. Oh, sorry, ma’am,” Curly said, spotting Angela in the passenger seat. “Didn’t expect Stone to have a classy chick with him.”
“Thanks, man. Way to help my image.” Jake quickly handled the introductions.
“Yeah, here she is,” the guard said, checking her name off the list on his clipboard. “I’ll let Chuck know you’re here. He’ll catch ya at the front door. Nice to meet ya, ma’am.”
“You, too, Curly.” Angela smiled.
“Behave yourself, and I’ll send some chow out to you later,” Jake said.
“Deal.”
Curly pushed aside his suit coat, revealing a large gun hanging in a shoulder holster. Angela’s gaze swept from the weapon to Jake’s face, but he showed no reaction. The guard poked a button on a remote clipped to his waistband, and the wrought-iron gate swung open.
Jake drove around the circular driveway twice before reversing into a spot quite a distance from the house and aimed toward the gate.
“I never like to take a chance of getting boxed in. Hope you don’t mind the walk,” he added while retrieving the garment bag containing her dress and his suit, as well as an overnight case, from the backseat. He patted the small Glock in his pants pocket. The larger version and his shoulder holster were packed at the bottom of the garment bag.
The short walk wasn’t the hassle that concerned Angela. She hoped the movie producer’s party warranted the convoluted plans Jake had explained. Since Chuck Thompson, his former Navy SEAL commander, had hired Jake to help with security, he was required to arrive at six even though the affair didn’t officially begin until eight.
With Angela as his date, he would be acting in an undercover capacity, blending in as a guest unless needed. Neither had wanted to wear their fancy clothes on the long drive so arrangements had been made for them to change in one of the mansion’s bedrooms. Chuck had insisted they spend the night at his home in LA afterward so he and Jake would have an opportunity to visit. Jake’s enthusiasm had been almost boyish when he invited her, so she could hardly say no simply because the arrangements were inconvenient.
The massive front door opened before they reached it. There was no mistaking the former military man who embraced Jake in a bone-crushing bear hug. Although probably in his early fifties, Thompson still looked fit for battle.
“What the hell is wrong with your hair?” the older man grumbled.
“Sorry, Chuck, didn’t have time for a haircut.”
“You’re getting soft, too,” he said, punching Jake’s six-pack abs.
“Yeah, I miss the fun little workouts you used to put us through.”
Laughter roared from both men. Angela smiled politely.
Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Jake pulled her closer. His chest seemed to swell with pride as he performed the introductions. As she’d suspected, Chuck was obviously a respected father figure to his former subordinate.
Chuck ushered them through to the back of the mansion, which was bustling with activity. The catering staff was busy setting up bars and food stations. They laughed and joked as they worked.
In contrast, Chuck’s security team wore deadly serious expressions as they checked the large room that opened out onto an incredible deck overlooking the beach and the Pacific Ocean. Noticing Chuck and Jake in the doorway, the three men issued their greetings with a simple jerk of their heads. In unison, their gazes brazenly appraised Angela from head to toe and then flicked to Jake. A quick, group nod and they returned to work.
Cheeks burning, Angela spun toward Jake.
He turned a Cheshire cat grin on her. “You pass muster.”
“Show Angela upstairs, then we can reconnoiter,” Chuck said, hiding a smile and marching off to his team.
She chuckled. “I guess I’ve been dismissed.”
“You heard the commander.”
Still hauling the bags, Jake led the way back to the foyer and up the sweeping staircase. They headed toward the bedroom designated for their use. Two men, arguing heatedly in Italian, barreled out of the hallway and nearly plowed into them.
Angela guessed the shorter, older man with salt-and-pepper hair and full beard was the B-list movie producer Sergio Zurlini. The younger man, who could be described succinctly as tall, dark, and handsome, had to be the guest of honor, actor Marco Romano. Jake had explained the party was a celebration of Zurlini’s first highly acclaimed production. The movie critics had lauded Romano’s performance and credited him with the film’s success.
“Who are you?” Zurlini barked rudely.
Jake bristled, set down one bag, and extended his hand. “Jake Stone. I’m with the Thompson security team, Mr. Zurlini.”
The producer ignored the proffered handshake. “And the woman?”
In a possessive gesture, Jake touched the small of her back. “This is Angela Reardon. She’s assisting the team tonight.”
“Well, then, you should be working instead of wandering around up here.” Without waiting for a response, Zurlini brushed around them and tromped down the stairs. “Come, Marco,” he hollered.
But Marco stayed, smiling at Angela. “Buona sera, Signorina Reardon.” He grasped her hand and raised it to his lips, causing her to blush.
“Buona sera, Signore Romano,” she answered smoothly.
The actor’s smile widened, and he clutched her hand to his chest. “No, no, you must say Marco. To me, you can be Angela. Sì?”
“Certainly.” Her eyes cut to Jake, whose eyes were firing bullets at Signore Marco Romano.
“Marco, down here, now,” yelled Zurlini from the foyer.
“Coming, Sergio.” Marco squeezed Angela’s hand and then released it. His obsidian eyes peered from under long, dark lashes directly into hers. “Amo donne molto belle. You will drink and dance with Marco later. Sì?”
“Yes. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Ciao, Angela.” He nodded curtly at Jake before hurrying down the stairs.
She avoided looking at Jake while they walked to the bedroom. He waved her inside. After closing the door and setting the bags on the bed, he caught her arm and spun her around.
“I sure hope the dress you brought isn’t too hot. That bastard is already having wet dreams about you.”
“Jake.”
“Don’t ‘Jake’ me. The asshole was imagining you naked.”
“How dare you talk to me like that?” She stopped abruptly, her mouth gaping. “Oh my God. You’re jealous.”
“Damn straight, I’m jealous. And I don’t trust him.”
“He was just being polite to compensate for Zurlini’s rudeness. When the actresses arrive, he won’t even remember me.”
“Don’t count on it, Angela.” She pulled away, but he yanked her back. “Seriously, be careful tonight,” he warned.
She sighed and hung her head against his chest. “I’m not a child.”
“No, but you’re damn naïve.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Listen to me. I’ve done these parties with Chuck before. They aren’t tea parties. They get wild. Drugs, sex, fights. I won’t be able to stay with you all the time.” His arms wrapped around her protectively, and he kissed the top of her head. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I promise,” she said, offering him her lips.
* * *
An hour and a half later, Jake pounded on the locked bedroom door. Angela was supposed to rest, shower, and dress while he worked. She was smiling happily when she opened the door.
Adoration brightened Jake’s expression. Inch by inch, his eyes admired the beautiful woman in the chic, black silk cocktail dress. The lustrous fabric subtly emphasized her slender curves. A silver scarf wrapped her breasts in soft folds, revealing a small amount of cleavage. The shimmering cloth draped under her arms and continued around to the back. Sparkling crystals lined the tiny straps and the slit that ended high on her right thigh.
Suddenly, his mood turned sullen. “Oh shit,” he muttered.
Her smile faded. She turned on her heels toward the mirror where she’d been finishing her makeup.
He watched the floating ends of the scarf tease the curve of her firm tush. The low-cut back of the dress accentuated her small waist.
“Oh hell,” he said, shutting the door.
Angela glared at him, indignation and hurt on her face. “Well, gee, Mr. Stone, you sure know how to flatter a girl. I’m sorry you don’t like my dress.”
“Don’t like? I want to eat you alive, and so will every other guy here. All the straight ones, at least.”
“You’re ridiculous. This is a simple, classy dress. It’s certainly not racy or risqué.”
“I agree, but who knew classy could be so sexy? Those vultures will be circling you all night.”
“Good Lord, Jake. With you working, I’m afraid of being lonely.”
A harsh laugh sliced through the tension. “Lonely? I guarantee you won’t be alone. And that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“For a playboy, you sound awfully possessive and protective,” she snapped.
His mood darkened dangerously before he grabbed his suit from the closet, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door.
Jake emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later. He fastened the shoulder holster with the larger Glock in place. The small gun was transferred to an ankle holster. He pushed an earphone deep into his right ear, listened to the team already communicating. He clipped the mic under his shirt collar. After buttoning his suit coat, he appraised himself in the mirror.
Angela sat primly and silently in a chair by the window, watching people arrive at the gate. She didn’t turn or speak. He walked up behind her and gingerly placed his hands on her almost bare shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “for so many things.”
Her shoulders rose and fell beneath his hands. “I wish I hadn’t come.”
“I wish I hadn’t asked you. It was selfish of me. I wanted to show you off, but now I don’t want those bastards leering at my woman.”
She tilted her head back and peered up at him. He curled a wisp of blond hair loosely around his finger.
“Am I your woman, Jake?” Her eyes searched his.
He blinked slowly—twice. “Sure, I guess. If you want to be.” He shrugged as though he didn’t care.
Angela caught her lower lip with her teeth. Her eyes glistened. “How silly. We sound like teenagers. Forget it.” She lowered her head. “If you want, I’ll stay here in the room tonight.”
My woman. He blinked again.
“Jake?”
“Huh? Oh. Uh, locking you in and boarding up the door is tempting, I admit, but I’m not quite that paranoid. The guys and I will keep a close eye on you.”
“Does the contract require you to do this?”
His heart skipped a beat, but his training kept his face expressionless. “Contract?”
“Chuck’s contract. Is the undercover guy required to have a date?”
“I don’t know or care. Let’s go. I have to get down there.”
At the top of the stairs, he took her arm, but he moved in a trance. Keywords from their disturbing conversation exploded like landmines in his brain, destroying his focus. My woman. The scene below melted into a swirling pot of indistinguishable shapes and colors. Your woman. When they reached the foyer, Jake parted the crowd like an icebreaker. Eat you alive. He nodded discreetly to Chuck as they passed him en route to the main room. Possessive.
Through the long expanse of several sliding glass doors, he noticed the band warming up on the deck. Protective. He made eye contact with the security team member stationed out there. Afraid. Eyes sweeping the mass of people, he spotted the man in charge of the main room and nodded slightly. Playboy. His hand at the small of her back, he guided Angela to the line leading into the formal dining room where the catered dinner buffet was being served.
Contract. Contract. Contract.
As they filled their plates, Jake spoke to one of the catering staff. “I need someone to take a plate—make that two plates—and a large, non-alcoholic drink out to the guard at the gate. His name is Curly.” He slipped the young girl a twenty.
“Sure, mister.”
Angela glanced at him sideways. “Curly will be very grateful.” It was the first she’d spoken since they’d left the bedroom.
“Yeah, he’s not keen on missing meals.”
They fell silent again, finished the buffet line, and wedged their way to a loveseat in the living room. They ate without talking, each observing the mass of diversity milling about them.
“Ciao, Angela,” called a familiar voice from across the noisy room.
“Shit,” Jake murmured.
“Is good? Sì?” Marco asked, approaching with a scantily clad woman hanging on each arm.
“Ciao, Marco. The food’s delicious,” Angela said, averting her eyes from the women.
He cocked his head to catch her gaze and smiled. “The party. You like?”
“Yes, very interesting.”
“I see you later, Signorina.” He led the women like a pair of terriers toward the deck.
Angela watched them leave. “I told you so,” she said quietly.
“He came over specifically to speak to you,” Jake countered.
She flashed angry eyes at him. “Did you see those two women? Do you see the dozens of glamorous women at this party?”
“Yeah. Do you see the ‘get’ look in the eyes of all the guys?”
“The what?”
“The ‘get’ look.”
“All right. Tell me.”
“Get down. Get dirty. Get some. Get lucky. Get laid.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Is that all you think about?”
His finger darted to his ear, saving him from answering.
“I got a situation out here,” Curly was explaining to Chuck. “Carload of guys say they were invited, but their names aren’t on my list.”
“Give me the names. I’ll check with Zurlini,” said Chuck. “Watch your back.”
While he waited for the conversation to resume, Jake peeked at Angela. She picked at her food while studying the guests, seeming more interested in the eccentric people than the gourmet fare. She laid her plate on an end table and stood.
“I’m going to get another drink. Want something?” she asked without looking at him.
“Can’t. On duty,” he said curtly, as Chuck spoke again in his ear. He was vaguely aware of Angela being swallowed up by the crowd.
“No good, Curly. Get rid of them,” Chuck ordered.
“Right. I could use some backup. I’d bet money they’re packin’,” Curly said.
“I’m available,” Jake interjected. “On my way.”
* * *
Angela returned with her Cosmopolitan to a loveseat now occupied by two men totally absorbed in each other. Jake and her plate had disappeared. Sipping the drink, she glanced around the packed room. When a hand squeezed her shoulder from behind, she jumped.
“You are wanting to dance with me. Sì?” Marco’s teasing voice greeted her. “Come.”
He eased her through a doorway into an adjoining room, which opened onto the deck where the band was playing. A temporary dance floor had been installed, and it was alive with swaying, gyrating bodies. Marco set both of their drinks on a table as they neared the dancers.
“Per favore scusarci,” Marco chanted, creating room for him and Angela.
A little dazed, she joined Marco in a fast dance. His brilliant smile and excellent dance moves soon put her at ease. She was annoyed with Jake, but why let him completely ruin the party? He had deserted her without a word. Why shouldn’t she drink a little, dance a little?
After the fourth dance, Marco’s hand clenched her waist and led her out the doors to the bar set up on the deck. They leaned on the railing, sipping fresh cocktails, watching the surf crash on the beach, and talking. Marco was attentive, beguiling. He edged closer until their hips touched.
“Rome is much warmer at night,” he said, his arm snaking around her shoulders and pulling her against him.
She stiffened, the familiar flutter of panic in her stomach. “I’m ready to dance some more. Coming?” She wiggled out of his grasp and hurried back to the dance floor.
With each dance, Marco’s dancing grew more suggestive. He touched her continuously despite her attempts to stay out of reach. Growing increasingly uncomfortable, Angela tried to bolt when the band started a slow song, but Marco refused to be denied. He grabbed her arm, dragged her flat against him, and guided her across the floor. His embrace was so tight she could barely breathe.
“I want you all night,” he whispered in her ear, one hand sliding down to caress her ass.
“Stop, Marco. I…I need a break,” she stammered, her pulse accelerating.
“Later, we rest.” He smiled seductively. “Together.”
Marco’s head jerked around at a tap on his shoulder.
“May I cut in?” Jake asked.
“No,” Marco snapped.
“Yes,” Angela said, reaching for Jake’s arms.
Forced to step aside, Marco scowled at Jake and then stomped off the dance floor and out of the room.
“Sore loser,” Jake said flatly. “Having fun?”
“Yes, thank you. I don’t want to dance anymore.” She stopped moving her feet.
“You didn’t mind dancing with the Italian stallion. I’ve been watching. Move, or we’re going to get crushed.”
Her feet followed his again. “I’m thirsty.”
“I’ll get you a drink after this dance.” He rested his head against hers and closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips.
A short time later on the deck, sipping a strong Cosmo, she kept a wide space between them.
“I had to give Curly a hand. Party crashers,” he explained.
She glanced at her watch. “Two hours. Must’ve been a horde.”
“At first, I couldn’t find you when I came back in. Then I remembered the gigolo. You two seemed so happy together, I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Give it a break, Jake,” she said, tossing her hair with the ocean breeze. “Why shouldn’t I have a good time? You made it clear we don’t have any strings attached. A little flirtation might help my ego.”
His eyes darkened. “Be careful what you wish for, Angela.” He cocked his head, listening to the voice in his ear. “On my way. Stay cool, man.” He met her eyes. “Trouble on the sand. I gotta go.”
He aimed for her lips, but she offered only her cheek. He hesitated and then planted a quick peck. Before she could speak, he was gone.
She ordered another Cosmo before returning to the main room. Marco was instantly by her side. She wasn’t sure she wanted company.
“Angela is not happy? Marco fix,” he said, clutching her free hand and pulling her into the dance room. He motioned the universal sign for drinking. “How you say? Chug, chug.”
She laughed and gulped the rest of her drink. Bending to set down the glass, she swayed, but Marco caught her arm. He peered down at her with a lascivious grin.
After five fast dances, Angela began to watch for Jake, but he didn’t reappear. A clock on the wall showed 1:00 a.m. She was tired and anxious.
The mood on the dance floor had changed. The dances now resembled mating rituals. Men and women wandered off in groups of two or three. The proximity of so much sexual tension clawed at her composure. Escape beckoned.
“Marco, I’m exhausted. I need to stop,” she said, breathing hard.
“One more, then break.” Marco leered at her through hooded eyes.
He gyrated suggestively and circled her. From behind, he grabbed her hips, pulled her against his pelvis, and pumped his hard erection into the cleft of her butt.
Angela gasped. “What— No. Stop!”
He spun her around. One hand kept her pressed to him as he ground his swollen dick against her. The other hand pulled her face to his. His lips and tongue attacked hers. She pounded his chest and tried to break out of his grasp.
“You want to fuck Marco now? Sì?” he purred before nipping at her ear.
“No. God, no. Let me go!”
Other dancers stopped to watch, but no one interfered.
He recoiled from her hammering fists and frowned. “What’s wrong, Angela?”
She twisted out of his arms and stumbled backward a few steps. “I’m not going to—” She gulped air into heaving lungs. Her skin prickled with gathering sweat. She rubbed trembling fingers across her forehead.
Marco stepped closer but didn’t touch her. His aggressiveness vanished. He bent his head low to speak quietly. “I scared you, Angela?”
Staring at the floor, she said, “Yes, you did. No sex. Understand? No sex.”
He scowled, puzzled. “I thought you liked Marco.”
“To party with. To talk to. Not to sleep with.”
“How you know if you not try me?”
“Believe me, I know.” She shuddered violently.
“Come, you sit. Too much to drink.” Hugging her shoulders, he gallantly led her to a chair along the wall. After settling her, he lifted her chin and lowered his face to within inches of hers. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. The piercing, dark orbs held a completely different message. “I think Angela plays hard to get.”
The last word echoed inside her head. Men. Anger simmered just beneath the surface as she clung desperately to her poise.
“I get you a drink,” Marco said, straightening.
“No. I’m done. I’m going upstairs.”
A seductive smile curled his lips. “Drink water. Then I help you upstairs.”
Too dazed and tired to argue, she nodded. After Marco hurried away, she covered her face with her hands, trying to calm the turbulent emotions churning inside. Anger. Panic. Disappointment.
In a few minutes, Marco returned with a small tumbler. He swirled the water vigorously and then handed it to her. “Drink fast.”
“Thank you, Marco.”
She tipped the glass to her mouth and sipped. Her eyes widened. She choked, coughed, and then lowered the glass deliberately.
“There’s something—” She peered into the water again. Her eyes rose accusingly to meet his lewd gaze. “What’s in here?”
“Water,” he snapped, impatiently. “Drink it all. Then we go.”
“Jesus.” Angela drew a deep breath, let it out slowly.
Tamping down rage, she rose carefully from the chair. Dipping her fingers into the glass, she pinched something at the bottom. She extracted it, shook off the water, and stared at the pill before shoving it in front of Marco’s face.
“What…is…this?” she asked shrilly.
Dancers stopped. Heads turned.
Marco’s eyes narrowed. “Nothing.”
“How dare you? You couldn’t seduce me so you decided to drug me,” she shouted for everyone to hear.
The room stood still. The band stopped mid-song. All eyes were riveted on the arguing couple.
Angela blinked in disbelief at the pill clamped between the fingers of her left hand. Not knowing the chemical or street name for it didn’t matter. She knew its purpose. Her outrage burned in her defiant glare that assaulted Marco’s smug expression.
Suddenly, the water exploded in his face.
He sputtered and swore lavishly. His hand sliced hard against her right arm, launching the glass across the room. A woman squealed.
Angela’s right hand ricocheted with surprising force, catching Marco solidly on the cheek. “You bastard!” she screamed.
He growled and raised his fist.
“Don’t touch her,” Jake snarled, jumping in between the Italian and Angela.
With Jake’s steel-dagger eyes promising great bodily harm, Marco hesitated, his fist hanging in the air.
Jake reached for Angela, but she shrugged him off. “Stop. This is my fight.”
He glanced at her swiftly, meeting her eyes for only a moment. He grinned, raised both hands in surrender, and stepped aside. “He’s all yours, babe.”
Marco recovered his courage. With one wary eye on Jake, he strutted forward like a peacock, positioning himself only a few inches in front of Angela.
With arrogant machismo, his belittling gaze undressed her. His tongue licked his lips lustfully. The actor snickered. “You would not be a good fuck, Angela. You are stupid American woman. You do not know what you want.”
She glared into his mocking eyes. Shaking her head, she lowered her gaze and smiled wickedly. “But I do know what I don’t want: Italian sausage and meatballs.”
Then her knee blasted into his genitals.
* * *
The trip to Chuck’s house in LA was long and silent. Jake drove mechanically, as though his thoughts were miles away. Was he annoyed about their conversation in the bedroom before the party? Was he gloating about being right regarding Marco Romano? Was he angry Sergio Zurlini had ordered them to leave?
Angela didn’t care. She peered out the side window without really seeing, her mind flying free.
What an awful night. What a fantastic night.
My God, what had happened to her? Her pulse still raced. Her insides tingled. She felt electrified. Reborn. Strong. Empowered.
She closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Joyful tears. A new Angela, capable of dealing with sexual aggression, had risen from the ashes. What a glorious night.
“This is it,” Jake said.
He was out of the Corvette before his announcement registered in her mind. She sighed, exhausted but happy.
After opening the door with Chuck’s extra key and disarming the security system, Jake hauled their garment and overnight bags inside. He motioned Angela upstairs before he reset the alarm.
She was standing in the hallway when he arrived at the top of the stairs. He strode past, opened the first door, and closed it. Opened the second and third doors, closed them. Sauntered to the end of the hall, peeked in, turned around.
“Shit, there’s only one,” he muttered.
“Yeah, shit,” she echoed.
Annoyed, he glanced down the hall at her. “Honestly, I didn’t know. Chuck just assumed we… I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”
He lumbered into the guest room with its one bed and dropped the bags on the floor. He turned to leave, but Angela blocked his exit.
“You need something?” he asked irritably.
“Yes. You.”
Her arms went around his neck and pulled him down to her. Her mouth found his.
Whatever had been tormenting Jake seemed to drift away as he enveloped her in his arms. His lips massaged hers into parting. His tongue caressed hers, and they groaned simultaneously.
The duet caused them to separate, chuckling. She laid her head against his shoulder.
“Are you angry?” she asked.
“Angry?” He kissed the top of her head and threaded his fingers through the hair at her nape. “No, not angry. Proud as hell.”
She laughed and looked up. Their gazes locked.
“Jake, do you realize the significance of what happened?”
“I think so.”
“I didn’t faint. I didn’t panic. I fought back.”
“I know. Damn amazing.”
“Yeah…damn amazing.” She framed his face with her hands. “Forget about the stupid stuff we said before the party. I was being adolescent.” She kissed him quickly and then pulled back. “You can sleep with me. Sleep—literally. If you don’t behave yourself, I’ll honor you with the same knee. Understand?”
“Yeah. You don’t have to warn me twice. They may not be Italian, but I want to keep my sausage and meatballs intact.”