Lake Bittersweet

Chapter 2

Bliss Gault was not what Granger had expected, not by a long shot. That peace sign she’d flashed had an edge to it that had not escaped him. Between her heavy woolen cloak and her complete lack of makeup, she seemed to be trying to hide instead of stand out.

Still, she was…dazzling. Something about the dreamy moonstone gray of her eyes and the silky fall of her hair was almost magical. But it wasn’t her appearance he found interesting; it was the way she hid behind it. That caught his attention, even though he wished it didn’t.

Not that it mattered. This was a short-term arrangement that would last only until Carly Gault’s wedding on New Year’s Eve—a matter of days. Hopefully he would have accomplished his mission by then. Surely he could tolerate a flaky hippie chick for that short time. He’d come to Lake Bittersweet for two reasons—one of them involved his friend Kirk Williams and a potential stalker. The other was so secret that he hadn’t shared it with anyone, not even Kirk.

“Where’d you park?” He leaned against the doorframe of the larger bedroom, where Bliss was unpacking a duffel bag with a Chanel logo. The contents were already scattered all across the bed; mini-bottles of shampoo, items of clothing, an inordinate number of skeins of yarn, a journal, a few tangled chargers, sticks of incense. How could anyone live like that? It set his teeth on edge.

“Why?”

“I can grab the rest of your things if you want.” Did he sound irritated? He hadn’t meant to. The truth was, the sight of her bent over her bag almost…aroused him. That irritated him.

ThatShe gave him a brief, cryptic glance over her shoulder. Maybe all her glances were cryptic. “There’s no need for that. You’re my head of security, not my valet.”

“I should check out your car.”

“For what?”

He answered her question with another. “Why do you need a fake head of security?”

She pressed her lips together, causing him to notice that they were unusually full for such a slim person. “No reason in particular. But go ahead, check out my car if you like.” She dug in the pocket of her coat and then tossed him the key fob to a rental car. “It’s up the street a few blocks, but apparently there’s dedicated inn parking around back. If you hang on a minute I’ll come with you.”

“How many bags do you have?”

“I’m doing the makeup for my sister’s wedding, so…” She trailed off as if that might mean something to him. “Quite a few,” she added when he just looked at her blankly. “There’s an entire case just for hair products.”

“Oh, sweet lord above,” he muttered to himself. “Of course there is.”

She abandoned her duffel bag and shot him a playful frown as she came toward him. “Already judging me, Mr. FBI agent? First I’m “Blondie,” then a hippie chick, now I have too many cosmetics supplies. Anything else while we’re on the general topic of Bliss’ flaws? I can probably save you some time and give you a list.”

He opened his mouth to point out the mess in her room, then closed it. He had no business passing judgement. But it was probably in self-defense, if he was honest with himself. Despite his claim, her smile had packed a punch. He’d needed to throw up some quickie barricades. “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

“Is hair care new to you? Don’t you have any sisters?” The flush on her cheeks told him he’d gotten under her skin.

He backed away a step so she could brush past him. The edge of her cloak touched his bare hand, and for some reason, that contact sent a brief thrill through him. “A half-sister and two foster sisters I’m still in touch with,” he told her. “My half-sister’s in the Navy. I guarantee she doesn’t have a case full of hair products.” Then he thought about it further. “Correction. She might. She gets her hair from the Black side of her family. Her hair takes a lot of work. She roped me into braiding it more than once.”

“I like her already.”

He wondered if there was an unspoken “more than you” part of that sentence. “Hair solidarity?”

“Absolutely.” She paused near the door of the suite and tucked her hair under her hood. The crystal beads in her hair caught the light and made her look like an Icelandic princess. She’d dropped the airhead act and weirdly, he kind of missed it. She gave it an ironic edge that amused him.

“Well, are you coming?” she asked impatiently.

“Right away, Blondie.”

That flush returned, two spots of color burning through the pale gold of her skin. “Are you trying to get on my nerves on purpose?”

He took the question seriously and thought it over for a moment as he pulled on his coat. A black wool overcoat, suitable for Boston, but out of place here in Lake Bittersweet.

He noticed her gaze flicking over him as he buttoned it up, but he couldn’t read her expression. Despite her barrage of smiles, she was good at keeping things to herself.

“Possibly,” he finally admitted. “Sorry. I’ll rein it in.”

She huffed out a snort, and pulled open the door. “Don’t rein anything in on my account. We’re only roommates for a few days. I’m sure we can survive it, right?”

“Define survive.”

She laughed. “Good point. We should probably figure out some ground rules for the next week.” In the hallway, the elevator was already waiting. She stepped into it, and he joined her just as the doors closed.

The enclosed space felt very private, almost uncomfortably so. It made him feel enormous next to her, even though she was quite tall, at least five feet ten according to his expert FBI observation skills.

“Ground rules are always helpful. Here’s one. If I’m going to play bodyguard, I need to know if there’s any chance of an actual threat coming your way.”

He’d surprised her. Good, because that had been his goal. He saw the answer in her eyes; yes, there was a chance of something, but probably nothing serious. Then again, civilians weren’t good at estimating things like that. They either overreacted or underreacted. He had no idea which one she was doing.

somethingThe elevator whisked them to the ground floor as they stared at each other.

“You’re really good at your job, aren’t you?” she finally said.

“Most of my supervisors think so.”

“Most?”

“Some also think I’m obstinate and difficult.”

“Shocking,” she said dryly.

The door slid open on the ground floor. The two of them stepped out into the pine-scented lobby. A guest sat in one of the upholstered armchairs. His head swiveled toward them, and Granger thought the two of them must make quite a picture. Both tall, both wearing wool coats, both clearly from somewhere else. As if they belonged together, when they most emphatically did not. A hippie-chick model and an FBI agent had nothing in common.

And yet, as if they were completely in sync, they both tugged their hats and hoods over their heads and otherwise prepared themselves for the big step into the outdoors.

He went first. A gust of wind-driven snow blasted them as soon as he shouldered his way out the front door. He held it open while Bliss followed. It felt like a battle between him and a gale, a battle he barely won.

“It feels like a blizzard!” She had to raise her voice to be heard over the howl of the wind.

“It’s just your average winter day in Minnesota, or so they tell me.” He shrugged and moved closer to her, so they could take on the arctic blast together. She didn’t resist when he put his arm around her shoulder, as if he was shielding her from a crowd of paparazzi. They leaned into the wind and headed up Main Street. Overhead, strings of fairy lights danced and swung in wild patterns. He hoped a short circuit wouldn’t take out the town’s power grid. It was still mid-afternoon, but it would be dark soon enough.

She pointed up ahead at a silver Infiniti parked a block away. One moment it was hidden by a swirl of snow, the next it shone through the snowflakes.

Kind of like Bliss herself, now that he thought about it.

They didn’t try to talk over the whine of the wind. Leaning forward, they forged through the snowstorm. She huddled closer to him, close enough so he could feel her shivering. That cloak wasn’t nearly enough protection from this level of winter chill. He felt the shape of her through the wool.

Maybe one of those ground rules should have something to do with physical contact. Like, they should avoid it.

When they reached the Infiniti, which was parked at an awkward angle to the curb, he clicked the key fob and they tumbled inside like refugees from a battle. As soon as the doors closed, quiet surrounded them, even though the wind still buffeted the car. Bliss let out a long whoosh of breath.

“Are you okay?” He started the engine, which purred quietly.

Bliss nodded, blinking snow off her eyelashes. “It’s actually kind of exciting.”

He glanced over at her. Her cheeks were bright pink, the wind bringing the blood to the surface of her skin. Her eyes glowed with vivid light. She looked…alive. And stunning. For a moment, his heart seemed to stop beating. Then it resumed its steady thud, just a hair faster than before.

“You must not live in the north,” he said dryly.

“I don’t really live anywhere. I travel so much, I’m hardly ever home.”

“Which is where?”

“New York. We get some snow there, but not like this.”

He didn’t mention that he lived in Boston. It seemed a little too close for comfort. “So you probably don’t mind if I do the driving.”

“Not at all. I hardly ever drive, and I tend to get distracted when I do.”

“Let me guess. Drivers and town cars?”

She shot him a look. “Sometimes. Mostly subways.”

He’d stepped in it again. He really ought to stop jumping to judgments. She was right about that.

He pulled into the street, where at least an inch of new snow had fallen since she’d parked the car. She directed him to the parking spots set aside for the inn.

And then she kept talking, as if the wind had blown away her inhibitions. “My brother Conor used to live in New York, too. That’s why I moved there. I was hoping we’d spend time together, but we hardly ever did. He was always busy, and I travel all the time. Now he lives here, and so does Carly, and that’s probably more than you needed to know about my family.”

He sensed a kind of wistfulness in the way she spoke about her half-siblings. It must be a sensitive topic for her, which made him curious. “Maybe you’ll see them more now that you’re here too.”

He pulled into a spot marked with a quaint “Bittersweet Inn” sign.

“I hope so. But Carly’s incredibly busy getting ready for the wedding. Conor’s probably all wrapped up with his new girlfriend. Anyway, I’m only here for a few days. I guarantee that I’ll see you more than them. Like it or not.”

Her mischievous wink was irresistible. He smiled, then schooled his face back to its usual stern lines.

“Are they both older?”

“Yes. Carly’s seven years older than me, and Conor’s nine. I was the barely there baby.” A smile flickered across her face, then she turned away and peered out the window. The snow lashed against the sides of the Infiniti. “Is it safe to go out there?”

A lot safer than staying inside this car together. She was starting to really appeal to him, despite his better judgment.

“I sure don’t want to spend the night in here. Nothing personal.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“Come on. The longer we wait, the harder it will be.” He led the way, opening the door just as a whirling snow devil enveloped the car. He stood his ground, shaking his fist at it with a defiant roar.

Bliss’ head popped up from the passenger side. She laughed at him, and he grinned back, the first wholehearted, no-holds-barred smile he’d allowed himself. It had an effect, he saw, though he couldn’t identify exactly what. Surprise? Delight? Wariness?

He stepped to the trunk and unlocked it. Snowflakes sprinkled her suitcases as if someone was shaking salt onto them. He hauled them out, one by one, giving her the lightest duffel and loading himself up with two hardshell cases and a rolling suitcase.

“Anything else?” he called over the howl of the wind.

She shook her head, and with the wind at their backs now, they hurried toward the walkway that led around to the front of the inn. Wicked exhilaration coursed through his veins. When had he last felt like this? Whenever it was, it must have been long, long ago. Before the accumulations of life, work and disillusionment.

It must be the wind making his pulse jump. Meeting nature head-on like this would make anyone’s heart rate speed up. It was normal here in Minnesota. Obviously it had nothing to do with the flighty model he was pretending to safeguard.