He should never have kissed her at the Memphis airport. Should never have looked at her like that. If he hadn’t kissed her—hadn’t looked at her with all those turbulent emotions churning in his eyes—she’d have gone back to Washington—gone back to her job—and he’d have been nothing more than her only one-night hookup.

The closer she got, the angrier she became, not just with him but with herself. What if he thought she was chasing him? That hadn’t been it at all, but that’s how it would look.

She slid the kayak up to the dock. The rocky shoreline made it hard for her to beach the boat, so as long as the weather was good, she generally tied it to the ladder. But she didn’t do that now. Instead she secured the kayak loosely—too loosely—to the post at the end of the dock. Finally she looked up at him.

He loomed above her in his standard uniform of jeans and T-shirt, this one bearing the faded insignia of the Detroit Police Department. She took in those high cheekbones; that strong nose; those thin, sadistic lips and laser-sharp blue eyes. He glowered down at her.

“What the hell happened to your hair? And what are you doing out on the lake by yourself? Exactly who did you think was going to rescue you if you went in?”

“Your two weeks are up,” she shot back, “so none of that is your concern. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d help me up on the dock. I’ve got a cramp.”

He should have seen it coming. But he knew only Lucy, not Viper. He moved to the edge of the dock, a lamb to the slaughter, and reached down for her. She grabbed his wrist—braced herself—and, using all her strength, gave a sudden, sharp yank.

Dumb ass. He went right in. She went in, too, but she didn’t care. She cared only about getting the best of him in whatever way she could.

He came up cussing and sputtering from the freezing water, hair wild and wet. All he needed was a cutlass in his teeth. She flipped her own dripping hair out of her eyes and yelled, “I thought you couldn’t swim.”

“I learned,” he yelled back.

She swam away from the kayak, the life vest inching up under her armpits. “You’re a jerk, you know that? A lying, money-grubbing jerk.”

“Get it all out.” He swam toward the ladder, his strokes long and powerful.

She swam after him, her own strokes choppy with anger. “And you’re a first-class—” Viper found the right word. “Asshole!”

He glanced back at her, then mounted the ladder. “Anything else?”

She grabbed the bottom rung. The water hadn’t lost its spring chill, and her teeth chattered so hard they hurt. “A liar, a fraud, a—” She broke off as she spotted the lump. Exactly where she expected to see it. She scrambled up the ladder after him. “I hope that gun is waterproof. No? Too bad.”

He sat on the dock and peeled up the right leg of his jeans, revealing the black leather ankle holster that explained why he’d refused to wear shorts at Caddo Lake, why he wouldn’t go in the water. He pulled the gun out and flipped open the bullet chamber.

“Are you back on duty?” She shoved her wet, dyed hair out of her eyes, her finger snagging on a dread. “Did my parents extend your contract?”

“If you have a problem with what happened, take it up with your family, not with me. I was just doing my job.” He knocked the bullets into his hand.

“They hired you again. That’s why you’re here.”

“No. I’m here because I heard that somebody was squatting in my house. Anybody mention that breaking and entering is a crime?” He blew into the empty chambers.

She was dizzy with fury. “Anybody mention that bodyguards are supposed to identify themselves?”

“Like I said. Take it up with your family.”

She stared down at the top of his head. His hair was already starting to curl. Those wild curls. Thick and rancorous. What kind of man had hair like that? She fumbled with the buckles on her life vest, so angry with him—with herself—she could barely unfasten them. She’d come all this way because of a kiss that she’d convinced herself meant something. And she’d been partially right. It meant that she’d lost her mind. She tore off the vest. “That’s going to be your defense, isn’t it? You were just doing your job.”

“Believe me. It wasn’t easy.” He stopped blowing into the bullet chambers long enough to take in her hair and the thorn and blood tattoo around her arm. “I hope none of that’s permanent. You look weird.”

“Screw you.” Viper would have said, “Fuck you,” but Lucy’s lips couldn’t quite shape the words. “I’m sure you liked that little job perk you picked up at the end? Nailing the president’s daughter has to give you bragging rights in the bodyguard locker room.”

Now he looked almost as angry as she felt. “Is that what you think?”

What I think is that I lost every shred of my dignity when I came here. “What I think is that you’re a professional, so you should have acted like one. That meant telling me who you were. More important, it meant keeping your hands to yourself.”

He sprang up from the dock. “I damn well did! All those days we were trapped in that shitty little hole on Caddo Lake. The two of us rubbing against each other. You running around in a piece of black cellophane you called a bathing suit and that pink top even somebody half blind could see through. I damn well kept my hands to myself then.”

She’d pierced his armor, a small bandage to her pride. “You knew all about me, Panda—or whatever your name really is. You had a dossier full of information on me, but you didn’t reveal one honest thing about yourself. You played me for an idiot.”

“I didn’t play you at all. What happened that night had nothing to do with the job. We were two people who wanted each other. It’s that simple.”

But it hadn’t been simple to her. If it had been simple, she would never have come here.

“I did my job,” he said. “I don’t owe you any more explanations.”

She had to know—had to ask—and Viper formed a sneer to hide the importance of her question. “Did your job include that pathetic, guilt-filled kiss at the airport?”

“What are you talking about?”

His confusion cracked another layer of her self-esteem. “That kiss had your guilty conscience smeared all over it,” she said. “You wanted some kind of absolution because you knew exactly how sleazy you were.”

He stood there stony-faced. “If that’s the way you see it, I’m not going to try to change your mind.”

She wanted him to change her mind. To say something that would make her feel better about everything that had happened since she’d jumped on the back of his motorcycle. But he didn’t, and she’d only inspire pity if she said more herself.

He didn’t try to hold her back as she left the dock. She stopped at the outdoor shower. With her clothes on, she shampooed the lake water out of her hair, then wrapped a beach towel around herself and went inside. A trail of wet footprints followed her across the kitchen floor. She shot the lock on her bedroom door, peeled off her wet clothes, and slipped into a black tank, her leather-belted green tutu skirt, and her combat boots. She took another few minutes to smudge her eyes in black and her lips in brown, and put in her nose ring. Then she stuffed everything she could fit into her backpack. The ferry left in half an hour. It was finally time to go home.

A late-model dark gray SUV with Illinois plates sat in the drive. Odd to think of him behind the wheel of a car. She climbed on the mountain bike and headed for town.

It was a hot, sunny afternoon. The summer season didn’t launch into high gear until the Fourth of July, but tourists in shorts and flip-flops were already mingling with the locals on Beachcomber Boulevard. The smell of French fries wafted from Dogs ’N’ Malts, a beach shack with a squeaky screen door and splintery picnic tables. She passed the Painted Frog Café, where just yesterday she’d picked up a cappuccino. Next door, a dog lounged in the shade by the entrance to Jerry’s Trading Post. As she took it all in, she realized how much she liked this place, how much she didn’t want to leave it.

Jake’s Dive Shop doubled as the ferry’s ticket office. It smelled of musty rubber and oily coffee. She bought a one-way ticket and stashed the bike in a rack at the municipal dock. Maybe Panda would find it there. Maybe not. She didn’t care.

She joined the line of tourists just beginning to board. A mother jumped out of line to chase a restless toddler. How many times had Lucy imagined herself with Ted’s baby? Now she wondered if she’d ever have a child.

She wished she’d asked Panda more questions, like what kind of reputable bodyguard thought it was a good idea to toss his client on the back of a motorcycle and take off on a road trip? The person in line behind her moved too close and bumped her backpack. She edged forward, but it happened again. She turned and gazed up into a pair of cold blue eyes.

“What I told you was true.” His voice was gruff, his mouth unsmiling. “The bumper stickers were already on the bike. I didn’t put them there.”

He wore the same wet clothes she’d dunked him in, and his hair wasn’t quite dry. She was determined to keep her dignity. “I so don’t care.”

“And I only wore those T-shirts to rile you.” His gaze made its way to her tutu skirt and combat boots. “You look like a teenager turned hooker for drug money.”

“Lend me one of your T-shirts,” she retorted. “I’m sure that’ll polish up my appearance.”

He was receiving his customary amount of attention, and he lowered his voice. “Look, Lucy, this situation was a lot more complicated than you want to acknowledge.” He moved with her as the line edged forward. “The whole world was covering your wedding. You needed your own security.”

She wouldn’t lose her temper. “Three words. ‘I’m your bodyguard.’ Not complicated.”