Deep Focus

“You can go on the plane,” he told her.

“You think someone would buy a plane ticket to get past security just so they could assault me in the ladies’ room?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.”

“Then you live in a sad little world,” she told him. But she obediently got into the boarding line with him. Once Ian arrived in Cancún, there would be none of this nonsense. They were going to hole up in their hotel suite and bang like bunnies, Hunter nowhere in sight.

She hoped anyway. Things hadn’t been stellar in the bunny-banging department lately. Or any department, for that matter. It was worrisome. She wasn’t ready to pack it in on her relationship with Ian, even if he was often distracted. Even if it had to be a secret. That would be like admitting defeat, and she didn’t do defeat, even when she felt defeated.

Fifteen minutes later she was settled in her seat next to her stony-faced bodyguard. A bodyguard. It made her feel pretentious and ridiculous. Not to mention somewhat like a prisoner. While she struggled to stuff her very large purse under the seat in front of her, Hunter sat and watched. She could feel his eyes on her as she heaved and hoed, her blond hair falling in her eyes. When she finally sat back up, he just silently handed her an envelope.

“What is this?” she asked, confused yet again.

“I don’t know. I was told to give it to you once the cabin door closed.”

A wisp of fear slithered up her spine. That sounded sketchy, but she instantly dismissed the thought. The envelope was the kind that greeting cards came in. Maybe it was a romantic note from Ian, a gesture to make up for his complete failure to understand how important this vacation was to her.

Turning her back slightly on Hunter so he couldn’t read over her shoulder, she opened the envelope and pulled out a card. Not a pretty vellum paper card, but the cards they used at the office to send personal notes. It was one of Ian’s mass nudes depicting a dozen people in a tree. Decidedly less promising. She recognized Ian’s handwriting inside.

Dear Melanie,

I think we both know this isn’t working. To delay the inevitable in Cancún doesn’t make any sense. We’ve had a good run but it’s time to move on, and consciously uncouple. Enjoy the beach, and I’ll see you at work when you get back.

Best,

Ian

Melanie read it three times, her heart racing as she tried to convince herself there was another meaning to it. But there wasn’t. Ian was breaking up with her. On work stationery. After putting her on a plane with a bodyguard.

“Oh, my God,” she said before she could stop herself. She grappled for her seat belt, unbuckling it. “I have to go.” She couldn’t sit here; she couldn’t go to Mexico. She needed to get off this plane, away from all these people. She needed to breathe deeply somewhere in private, getting control of her emotions. After she tracked down Ian in Concourse B and asked him how he could be so damn insensitive as to dump her in a Dear Melanie letter.

Then punched him in the no-nos.

This couldn’t be happening.

“What are you doing?” Hunter asked her. “We’re about to take off. Put your seat belt back on.”

“I have to get off this plane,” she insisted.

“Are you sick? Afraid of flying?”

She shook her head, panicking, unable to speak. Ian had purposely waited until she was trapped on board so she couldn’t even discuss it with him. It was mind-blowing and insulting and vomit inducing.

Hunter’s hand settled on the back of her neck, big and warm, gently urging her head forward toward the seat-back tray. “Breathe,” he commanded. “Take a deep breath, nice and slow. You’re okay.”

He had a deep voice, smooth. It commanded obedience, so she did as he said, sucking in a lungful of air and letting it back out through her nose.

“Again,” he said.

After a few breaths, she felt marginally better. And like a complete idiot. “I’m sorry.”

The plane was backing up off the tarmac and heading for the runway. She was going to Mexico whether she wanted to or not.

“Don’t apologize. A lot of people are afraid of flying.” His hand massaged the back of her neck. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and sat up again, hoping he’d take his hand off her. While it felt good to have him kneading the knots out of her neck, she was acutely aware of how unfitting it was. He got the hint and dropped his hand. Bracing herself, she turned to look at him, still clutching the stupid note from Ian in her sweaty palm. Those green eyes were gazing at her calmly, and with concern. Maybe Hunter wasn’t such a jerk after all.

“What did Ian tell you?” she asked. She needed to know if Hunter had been aware of Ian’s plan, so she would know if she needed to die of humiliation or not. “About this trip?”

“That he has a stalker and you’re in danger. I got the file on her so I know what she looks like. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried about Savannah.” She wasn’t. Savannah would be where Ian was, not where Melanie was. “I think you coming with me is pointless. No offense.”

The corner of his mouth turned up. “None taken. But I’ve been hired to do a job, whether you think it’s necessary or not.”

“Ian’s not coming,” she told him flatly. There was no way to cover it up. If he didn’t know now, he’d figure it out by nightfall.

But there was no reaction. Just a blank stare. “Was he supposed to come with you? I was under the impression you were taking the trip solo for R & R.”

Excellent. Wonderful. This was officially the vacation from hell. And the ironic thing? She had paid for it. She had put the whole goddamn tab on her credit card as a grand gesture to let Ian know she valued him and their relationship. Even though he was a millionaire and she made thirty grand a year, she had taken on the bill. For love.

Now she was going on vacation with a total stranger who was witness to Ian consciously uncoupling them. Which was about the douchiest way to say “dumping you” ever recorded in the history of relationships. Had cavemen done this? Sent a wooly mammoth with a stone slab and a broken heart on it to their significant others? She wouldn’t be surprised.

A tear escaped, rolling down her cheek. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “He broke up with me. In a note.”

She wouldn’t have chosen Hunter as a confidant, but she was torn between embarrassment and the need to vent. Since there was no girlfriend convenient and she couldn’t use her cell phone on the flight, he was her only option. The disgust and hurt couldn’t be contained. “Can you believe that? After a year. A stupid note. One small paragraph.” Shaking the note, she added, “And he wrote it on the inside of naked people. It just adds insult to injury.”

Then without meaning to, she began to flat-out sob.

* * *

HUNTER RYAN WATCHED with horror as Melanie’s face screwed up and she started sobbing silently, lip trembling and chest heaving. Oh, God. He really hated when women cried. But hell, he couldn’t blame her. What kind of an asshole dumped his girlfriend in a note? He wasn’t sure what she meant about the naked people, but given what the guy did for a living, he assumed it had something to do with his work.

A quick note. Jeez.

Not only was it beyond cruel to do that to Melanie, it was rude to do to him, too. Hunter was a bodyguard, not a counselor. He’d been in the marines, where the official motto was Always Faithful, and the unofficial ones were Ignore Your Feelings, followed closely by Don’t Talk About It. And yet somehow he found himself in these situations again and again. He was resisting the urge to unclick his own seat belt and bolt. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to go. They were speeding down the runway at that very moment, and as they took off into the air, he put his hand on Melanie’s knee and patted her because he didn’t know what else to do.

He valiantly tried to defuse the situation.

“I guess he wanted to avoid confrontation.” Hunter figured just about every guy had been there a time or two, not wanting a crying woman on their hands. Or worse, a raging one. He certainly had, but that was when he was sixteen, though. Not thirty. Even he, who—by his ex-girlfriend Danielle’s account—was emotionally stunted, was always straightforward with women.

“Avoid confrontation? Do I look confrontational?” she asked, her voice rising higher with each word. “I kept our relationship a secret for a year! I let him travel all over the country without me. I didn’t say anything about the fact that his entire job revolves around seeing women naked!”

She had a point or three, and he’d made it worse. There really was no justification for what Bainbridge had done, because clearly he had planned it at least a week in advance, which was when he’d hired Hunter.

Okay, retreat carefully. Make it clear he was on her side. He knew how to do this. He’d spent his entire childhood negotiating the land mines of his mother’s lousy relationships. “You don’t look confrontational. At all. Personally, I think it’s disrespectful to break up with someone in a note. Only a real dick would do that.”

But she balked. “I wouldn’t say he’s a dick. That seems harsh.”