the seduction

JENNIFER BERNARD

contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

About the Author

Also by Jennifer Bernard

one

Maybe the problem had all started with her name. “Bliss” was a lot to live up to. Sometimes Bliss Gault wondered if she’d simply cracked under the pressure, and a lifetime of near-disasters, partial catastrophes, and skin-of-her-teeth escapes had been the result.

Like now, for instance. Here she was, making her way through a blizzard down an empty Minnesota street, essentially sneaking into town for her half-sister’s wedding, hoping that whoever had been following her in Thailand had given up at the first sight of snow. How did she get into these messes? If only she could figure that out before she stumbled into the next one.

Snow crystals stung her face. She pulled the hood of her hunter-green wool cloak down a little further. She’d bought it at a thrift store near the airport and found it ideal for hiding out in. Her favorite kind of garment.

None of her siblings knew she was here yet, not even Carly. She’d been deliberately vague about her arrival. Even without someone possibly chasing her, that was how she operated, and had for a very long time. People tended to assume she was “flighty” or “spacey” or even just “blond.”

Okay, that last part was true. Ish. Sometimes she was blond, sometimes not, but she always kept her plans and movements to herself. Life was just easier that way.

Which meant that she’d be surprising her new temporary roommate at the Bittersweet Inn. But since he was an FBI agent, she had no doubt he could handle the unexpected. The one time she’d spoken to him on the phone, he’d come across as pretty unflappable, if not downright inscrutable. He’d shown absolutely no personality in their brief conversation. All she knew about Special Agent Earl Granger was that he was a friend of a friend, he needed a place to stay, and that he didn’t mind pretending he was her chief of security.

Given her current potential catastrophe, that was well worth giving up one bedroom of her suite. It filled the entire top floor of the inn, so surely the two of them could coexist for a few days until Carly’s wedding.

Through the thickly falling snow, she spotted the sign for the Bittersweet Inn, written in cheerful flowing script with a vine pattern twining around it. The inn had been a rooming house when it was originally built, but the new owners had upgraded it into the most sought-after hotel in Lake Bittersweet. Bliss was used to expensive hotels; she’d just come from shooting a swimsuit ad in Thailand, where the entire crew had stayed in a five-star resort. But there was something to be said for cozy and comfortable, not to mention far away from the scary people possibly following her.

On the other side of the street, she spotted the pink neon sign for the Blue Drake Club, but she quickly looked away. It had been her father’s club, and she still couldn’t think about Gault’s death without approaching a panic attack. She definitely couldn’t afford one of those right now.

When she pushed open the inn’s door, for a moment it felt as if she was walking into a forest. Evergreen boughs were draped everywhere—on the reception desk, over the windows, over the staircase. The air smelled like pine resin and potpourri. A fire crackled in the hearth that formed the focal point of a comfortable seating area. More pine boughs adorned the mantel.

Right. Christmas was just a few days ago. The crew in Thailand had celebrated with a beach party, then moved on.

Here in Minnesota, Christmas lasted a little longer, apparently.

A middle-aged woman wearing a red sweater and a large broach of a loon looked up as she stepped to the antique roll-top desk labelled “reception.” “I’m sorry, we’re…”

She trailed off as Bliss pushed her hood away from her face and allowed herself to be recognized.

“It’s you.”

“Hello,” Bliss said warmly. “You’re Mrs. Wegman, right? Didn’t you used to teach violin?”

Astonishment passed across the woman’s face. “I can’t believe you remember. You only took one lesson, and you were, what, seven?”

People might think Bliss was flaky, but she had a spot-on memory for names and faces. Which was part of why she was in trouble right now, but that was another story.

“Yes, I was about seven. I’m sorry, I didn’t really take to violin. I remember I got a crick in my neck from holding my arm up. It certainly wasn’t your fault, you were a wonderful teacher. Have you retired from teaching music?”

“I have. My husband and I run this inn now.” The pride in her voice was chased away by an embarrassed expression. “I’m sure it’s very drab compared to what you’re used to.”

“What? Absolutely not. It’s so welcoming and warm, it makes me feel like it’s still Christmas here in Minnesota.” She spent a few minutes gushing about the inn—its down-home charm, its wintertime magic.

“I was so sorry to hear about your father,” Mrs. Wegman said when Bliss was done complimenting the inn.

“Thank you, that’s so kind.” Bliss’ heart stuttered the way it always did when anyone offered their condolences. Steven Gault, her rock star father, had died nearly a year ago, and it still seemed impossible that he was gone. He’d come in and out of her life—or she’d come in and out of his, or maybe both. She compared their relationship to trying to tune into a radio station—longing to—but never finding the exact right frequency.

And now she never would.

“Is my…head of security here?”

“Oh yes. He’s been here a few days. He’s made quite an impression. I think we all feel a bit safer knowing he’s here.” She leaned closer. “No one would dare even think about criminal activity with him around.”

Bliss thought about the weed one of her friends had slipped into her bag, and decided to ditch it immediately.

“I believe he’s in the room now,” Mrs. Wegman continued. “Not that I keep track of our guests, but we only have one entrance so I do tend to know what’s going on, and that goes for all of Lake Bittersweet. Of course we have fire exits too,” she added quickly, “signed off by the fire marshal, the former one, Thomas Cooper, who’s getting married to your sister. Did you know he shut down the Blue Drake for a while due to code violations? Boy, did he and Carly have some battles over that.” Her face was slowly turning beet red. “I’m so sorry, sometimes the gossip just slips right out of me. I can’t help it.”

Laughing, Bliss put a hand on her arm to soothe her before she melted down from embarrassment. “There’s nothing quite like a small town, is there? I used to love that about Lake Bittersweet. So did my father. I remember he used to hang out in the bar and soak in all the news from anyone who stopped by.”

“So he did, so he did,” Mrs. Wegman said nostalgically. “We used to chatter on for hours, me and Gault. I could almost forget he was a famous rock star if it weren’t for those purple stovepipe hats he always wore. He was just like a normal person, not like most…” She trailed off again, turning nearly as red as her sweater. “I don’t mean…”

Bliss gazed at her blankly before catching on. “Oh, no doubt, celebrities are so full of themselves. It’s a good thing I’m not one, just someone who stands in front of a camera.” She winked at her former violin teacher, then gestured toward the old-fashioned key she still clutched. “Shall I take that off your hands and check in with my head of security?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. Here.” She practically shoved the key into Bliss’ hand. “The very top floor. It has a private elevator, well actually, it’s an old dumbwaiter that we converted. And then our daughter told us we shouldn’t use that term, dumbwaiter, so forget I mentioned it. Twice.” She clapped a hand to her forehead.

“You had me at elevator. I already forgot the rest. Is there parking? I’d like to pull my car up closer to unload my bags. I’m doing the hair and makeup for Carly’s wedding, so I have several cases of supplies.”

Mrs. Wegman gave her directions for where to park, and filled her in on other essentials such as morning coffee in the lobby and which local restaurants delivered to the inn.

A moment later, Bliss slumped gratefully against the cherry-wood paneled wall of the elevator. She got so uncomfortable when people didn’t treat her like anyone else. What on earth did it matter if they’d seen her on a billboard or in a magazine? That was just a face, and really, not even that. Photos were nothing but light and shadow as captured by a piece of technology. They had nothing to do with her.

And Mrs. Wegman knew her. She’d attempted to teach her how to play the violin, and Bliss definitely remembered some impatience and frustration. How had she gone from, “Don’t pick your nose with the bow,” to babbling just because Bliss had now posed for Vogue? It made Bliss a little sad.

Having grown up with a celebrity father, she’d seen how people reacted to him. But Gault was a charismatic and talented rock star. Bliss just happened to have a face that photographed well. It seemed odd that something so out of her control could be so important in determining her life. Looks were such a quirk of fate. Every single person she’d ever met had their own certain particular kind of beauty. The fact that the particular combination of genes passed down from Gault and Monica Mayhew, aka Serenity Om, her mother, just happened to come out in a way that cameras loved…it was just a fluke, really.

Oh well. It was what it was. She was Bliss Gault, the photogenic one, the flighty one, the carefree one. That was what people wanted from her, and she gave it to them. Because it mostly felt like an act that didn’t fit her, she had a mantra: “When in doubt, smile it out.”

She said it now, alone in the elevator, which rose to the top floor so quietly and smoothly that at first she didn’t notice when the door slid open.

Someone cleared their throat, and she jerked her head up to see a large figure standing just outside the elevator door. It was a man, quite tall, broad in the shoulder, solid as quarry rock. His arms were folded across his chest and he was squinting down at her.

“Do you always talk to yourself in empty elevators?”

“No,” she said immediately, defensively. “I mean, what business is it of yours?”

“I need to know if I should buy headphones. Do you talk a lot, generally?”

His sheer size had her so flustered that it took her another long moment to put it together that this was, of course, Earl Granger, her “head of security.”

In person, he was very intimidating. Not just because of his height, but also thanks to the stern expression on his face. His skin was several shades darker than hers, somewhere between bronze and copper, his hair was cropped no-nonsense short, and his general manner was one of badassery.

Which, she considered, was probably a very good thing in a fake head of security.

“So far, you’ve said twice as many words as I have,” she pointed out.

He stared at her for a long moment. It was the kind of look she didn’t experience very often—if ever. Penetrating, direct, seemingly unconcerned with her outer appearance, more about deciphering whatever was underneath.

“Good point,” he finally said. “I’ll hold off on the headphones. Are you coming out? The doors are about to close. They stay open for exactly six-point-two seconds.”

She quickly stepped off the elevator, just as the doors slid together behind her. “You must be Special Agent Earl Granger.”

He seemed to wince slightly at the sound of his name. “Just call me Granger.”

“Granger. I’m Bliss Gault.” She offered her hand. He took it for a quick handshake. She watched her hand completely disappear inside his huge brown one. He shook it gently enough, even though she could feel the massive strength he held back. He wore a black thermal that hugged his muscles, and dark olive-drab pants. “Thanks for agreeing to play my bodyguard.”

“Head of security.”

She smiled at the correction. “Of course. Call it whatever you want. It’s not real anyway.” The truth was, the idea of having someone follow her around all the time, even for her safety, gave her hives. She was at heart an introvert, despite her carefree facade.

“That remains to be seen.”

She widened her eyes at him. “What do you mean by that?”

“If you need a fake bodyguard, that probably means you need a real bodyguard. Why else would you need a fake one?”

She put on her flakiest, Bliss-iest smile. “O.M.G., that’s such a good point! The thing is, all my model friends have bodyguards, they’re like, the hot new thing.”

“So I’m…what, trendy?” The muted horror in his voice nearly made her break character.

“Heck yes, our selfies are going to be fire. I hope you like going viral on Insta.” She brushed past him, which was kind of like dodging around the face of a cliff. He didn’t budge, not one bit. “I assume you’ve already chosen a bedroom.”

“Yes, but I can move if need be, Blondie.”

What the…

He must be trying to get under her skin for some reason.

“You can call me Bliss.”

“I figured I’d call you ‘Blondie’ when you’re doing that.” He waved vaguely at her.

“Doing what?”

“Acting like you want people to think you’re an idiot.”

She bristled. “Blonds aren’t idiots. Intelligence is in no way related to hair color.”

“I agree. Don’t know why you’re playing into the stereotype, but that’s your call. I also know that you aren’t on Instagram.”

“You checked out my socials? Is that really necessary for a short-term fake head of security gig?” She realized that she’d lost her fake smile in the middle of this conversation.

“Of course I did. I’m FBI.” His face softened, just a bit, enough to make her wonder what he was like underneath that gruff facade. “I’m grateful to have a place to stay. Everything else was booked up.”

“You don’t need to move. I’m sure both bedrooms are just fine.”

“Very down-to-earth of you. Appreciate it.”

Oh, no doubt, he was definitely trying to get under her skin.

He stepped back and ushered her toward the open door on the other side of the hallway. The hall was wallpapered in a gold fleur-de-lis pattern that seemed to insist that this was the fanciest floor of the whole gosh-darn hotel.

The suite had the same vibe of trying to look fancy while not forgetting its roots—there was an antique mahogany wardrobe, a low-slung Italian leather couch in creamy beige, all overlooked by an oil painting of a loon on Lake Bittersweet. The bird wore a look of astonishment as a fish slipped out of its beak.

She liked the suite. That loon alone gave it more humanness than some five-star hotels. She wondered if someone local had painted it. Lake Bittersweet was home to a few artists who sold their work to tourists and tourist-oriented establishments.

She looked for evidence of Granger’s presence, and saw only a laptop on the coffee table and a pair of loafers sitting by the doorway.

That pleased her too. She liked orderliness, but was constitutionally unable to achieve it herself. She tried, but somehow things seemed to just go rogue around her. Clothing would slide off hangers, magazines would end up with coffee rings on their covers, mail would spend weeks hiding out under couches. Eventually she’d hired a cleaning woman, but she’d felt incredibly guilty about it and apologized nonstop during her first session.

Finally poor Adriana had told her to please be quiet and let her do her job, and if Bliss felt that bad about it, she should just pay her more. Bliss had laughed and given her a big raise on the spot.

Adriana would approve of Granger. Granger, on the other hand, was not going to be happy when he saw how Bliss managed things. Maybe she should beg Adriana to come to Lake Bittersweet and sneak in and tidy up when Granger was out of the room.

The idea was so absurd that Bliss smiled to herself.

She caught a sidelong glance from Granger, and realized it was the first time he’d looked at her as if he was actually noticing her exterior, and appreciating it.

It was a good feeling, having Granger look at her that way. He was so very…impassive. Unflappable.

Experimentally, she added more firepower to her smile. The words of an early photographer came back to her. He was a pervy guy who’d tried to kiss her when she was only fifteen, but still, she’d never forgotten the direction he’d given her during the shoot that had launched her career.

You’re seductive. You’re flirting. You’re drawing me in. You’re making me want to be part of your world. You ARE the world. Seduce me, baby. Seduce me.

“What are you doing?” Granger’s frown chased away the words flitting through her mind.

Her smile dropped. “What do you mean?”

“You were up to something just now, with that smile.”

“No. Just…I was just thinking about something.”

“Talking to yourself in an empty elevator again?”

She clenched her back teeth together. Why did this man have to catch her in so many awkward moments? “I guess you could say that.”

“Well, just for the record, you don’t need to practice any of your million-dollar smiles on me.”

“Okay…I mean, I wasn’t practicing anything. I already know how to execute a million-dollar smile.”

His face cracked in a slight smile of his own. “I’m sure you do. I’m just pointing out that they don’t work on me.”

“What doesn’t work on you?”

“Seductions.”

She blinked at him. How on earth had he picked up on the exact word she used to psych herself up for a shoot? “I wasn’t trying to seduce you. I never will try to seduce you, I can promise you that.”

“Good. Because as I told Kirk, I’m not remaking The Bodyguard. That movie is perfect as it is. And we wouldn’t be a good fit,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Okay.” She shrugged and offered him a sunny smile. Why should she care if they were a good fit or not? No one would guess it, but she kept men at a very careful distance. Should she mention that The Bodyguard was one of her favorite movies? Maybe not.

“Not that you’re not beautiful, because clearly you are. But FBI agent and hippie-chick don’t really work. I’m sure you feel the same.”

Was she a hippie-chick? She looked down at her outfit. She hadn’t even taken her coat off, so why would he think she was a hippie-chick? Her cloak was more Heidi than hippie. But she did have a string of crystal beads in her hair.

Whatever. She flashed Granger a peace sign—sarcasm intended—and headed toward the unclaimed bedroom.

two

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.

She 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 deep pocket of her cloak and 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.

The 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.

three

With Granger’s broad form leading the way, Bliss hauled her bag into the Inn. A fluttering of snow followed them inside, as if it didn’t want the party to end. She found herself laughing with sheer delight at their escape from the storm. Even though she and Granger had been at odds ever since she stepped off the elevator, now it felt as if they were old friends. Nothing like surviving a walk through a blizzard to create a bond.

They stomped the snow off their boots just inside the lobby. Vaguely, she was aware of other guests occupying the armchairs by the hearth, and someone checking in at the reception desk. Everyone else seemed to form a kind of hazy backdrop, however. Her attention was entirely focused on the man carrying her cases as if they weighed no more than a pizza box.

There was just something about Granger. Something outsized. Fascinating. As if winning his approval would be like climbing a mountain.

She’d noticed a deep groove in his left cheek. Just the left. Not the right. Even though his face lent itself to a harsh expression, there was a plushness to his lips that hinted at something more sensual. They were pillowy, those lips. What would they feel like against hers? Or on her skin? Her naked skin, say, right above her collarbone? Or in the dip below her hipbone?

The explicit thought snapped her out of her reverie. She had no business indulging in sexual fantasies about a man she’d just barely met, a man who was pretending to work for her. She had an active fantasy life, and normally she didn’t police it at all. It was her consolation prize for having no sex life. She’d made a bargain with herself early in her career, once she realized how the business could turn into a meat grinder. No sex. Make money. Get out.

Rarely was she even tempted, because she stood by her decision one hundred percent. This reaction to Granger was new. Unsettlingly so.

“Bliss?”

She turned to see her half-sister advancing toward her with open arms. Carly’s green eyes sparkled with joy; in fact, everything about her radiated contentment. Apparently falling in love was a fantastic beauty aid.

“Hey you!” Bliss dropped the bag she carried and dashed the rest of the way toward Carly. They collided in a laughing embrace. “I’m so happy for you!” Bliss murmured in her ear.

“I didn’t know you were arriving today!”

“You know me.” Bliss shrugged and squeezed her more tightly. “Queen of the last-minute plan change.”

“There should be a word for that, like people who sneak away from a party. Irish goodbye, right? I guess this is an Irish hello.”

They drew apart, though Carly still held onto her hands. “You can stay with us, you know. We have a den with a pullout couch.” She winced as the words left her mouth. “Yeah, I just heard that. Never mind. You made the right choice.”

“It doesn’t sound bad at all,” Bliss assured her. “But you know me. I love my privacy.”

Carly’s gaze slid to Granger, who stood a few feet away, probably unsure if he should hang around to get introduced.

“Head of security,” Bliss explained. It wasn’t really a lie, but she’d explain the whole situation later, when there weren’t other people nearby. “Meet Earl Granger.”

“Just Granger,” said Granger. He set down a case and shook Carly’s hand. “Congratulations on your upcoming wedding.”

“Thanks.” Carly looked a little bemused by the sight of the large man shaking her hand. “And thanks for taking care of Bliss. How long have you worked for her?”

“I’d have to check my records,” Granger said gravely.

Bliss’ lips twitched.

His manner sent a clear message to stay away from that topic, or any topic really. Amazing how he dialed into badass mode so effortlessly.

“Okay then,” said Carly. “Well, let me know if you need anything. It’s pretty quiet here in the winter, so you might get a little bored if you’re used to fending off bad guys.”

“I don’t get bored.” Granger’s deep voice acted on Bliss’ nervous system in the weirdest way. As if he was both soothing her and exciting her simultaneously.

“Hm.” Carly seemed almost as fascinated by Granger as Bliss was, but nevertheless she switched her attention back to Bliss. “Things are crazy right now, obviously, but you have to come over as soon as possible. And we need to talk about the wedding. Are you still up for…”

“Hair and makeup? Of course! Nothing fancy, though. I’m not a trained professional, just someone who’s watched about a million hours of real makeup artists working their magic.”

“Hey, I’ll take it.” Carly hugged her again. “Thank you, Bliss. Oh! I thought of something else. Gault’s apartment in the Blue Drake might be available. Conor had been staying there, but then he rented an office where he was spending most of his time. He and Emmaline got back from Hawaii a couple weeks ago and they’ve been looking for their own place. You could—”

Bliss cut her off before she went any further in that direction. “I can’t stay at Daddy’s place. No way.”

“That’s what I thought at first, too, but then I tried it and found it almost comforting.”

Bliss kept shaking her head. It felt like the head-shake that would never stop, as if Carly would leave, night would fall, the sun would rise, and she’d still be shaking her head. There was no way on this earth she was going to set foot in her father’s old apartment. If she did, she’d start crying and possibly never stop. “Thanks, but no, I’m very happy with my hotel room. I spend most of my time in hotel rooms anyway. Life on the road, you know.”

Carly gave up, though Bliss could tell she wanted to say more. This was what always happened with her and her siblings. Why couldn’t she just say the truth? Everyone else seemed to have come to terms with Gault’s death, but she was still stuck in shock and denial, as if a sudden freeze had encased her in ice.

But she didn’t know how to talk to her siblings. They always treated her like a cute baby duckling who had no worries in the world. To be fair, that was how she generally acted, so how were they to know any different? It was her fault, not theirs. But after all this time, she didn’t know how to fix it.

They made plans for a dinner gathering at Carly and Thomas’ house, then said goodbye. During the elevator ride back to the suite, neither she nor Granger said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, Bliss found it relaxing. She could let her thoughts run free without having to worry about carrying on a conversation.

Granger seemed like the type of person who took part in conversations only when necessary. Maybe that was why she felt oddly comfortable with him.

Or maybe it was because he seemed uniquely unimpressed with her. For once, her modeling fame meant nothing to him. What a relief.

He followed her into her bedroom and set her luggage down. A forbidding expression had settled onto his face; maybe that was his resting-face. “I’ll let you get settled in.”

Why did that deep voice of his affect her so much? She shivered slightly, then nodded. “Have a good night.”

He continued as if she hadn’t said anything. “Once you’ve unpacked, we need to have a conversation.”

“A what?”

“That thing when people exchange information.”

She laughed. “That’s not what a conversation is. A conversation is about getting to know someone, creating a bond.”

“Then we’ll skip the bond part and focus on the information exchange. I need to know what I’m potentially dealing with.”

“Did that dinner invitation scare you? Don’t worry, my sister’s much less annoying than I am.” She gave him a teasing smile, hoping for a crack in his stern expression.

If anything, it did the opposite. “That remains to be seen.” His dry-as-a-desert tone delighted her. “Besides, that invitation wasn’t for me.”

“It is now.” She made that decision on the spot. “If you’re going to be my bodyguard, isn’t that exactly the kind of thing you should do?”

“Head of security, and no, family reunions are a whole different can of worms. Unless…” He cocked his head and glanced down at her with a frown. “Are you worried about your own family? Is that why you need security? I did some research before you arrived and found out that your father died of a heart attack onboard an airplane. Do you suspect foul play? Maybe there’s an issue with your inheritance?”

The thought was so ridiculous that she burst into laughter. “Do you always jump right to the worst-case scenario?”

“Yes. I find it saves time.”

She laughed again. “Well, it’s nothing like that. You should really work on your pessimism. I can recommend some self-help books and mantras that can really make a difference. If you like, you can stay right here while I smudge my room. Have you heard of it? It means burning sage to chase out the negativity. Maybe it will work on you if you…”

She trailed off, fighting back laughter, as he backed out of her room, wearing a horrified expression.

“I’ll have the fire extinguisher on standby,” he said as he closed her door.

Mission accomplished. She wasn’t ready to answer his questions. Her hippie-chick schtick had bought her some time.

four

Granger had to hand it to Bliss. She’d outwitted him without breaking a sweat. She’d used his previous comments about “hippie-chicks” to deflect his very reasonable demand for information.

Note to self: she’s not nearly as flighty as she seems.

Note to Bliss: you have no idea how persistent I am. You can’t avoid my questions forever.

The scent of burning sage drifted from under her door. Unless that was…weed? Either way, it worked even better than a “keep out” sign.

Grinding his teeth in frustration, he decided to focus on anything other than Bliss Gault. He grabbed his laptop and sat on the couch, stretching out his legs. The world was not made for people his size. Even the keys on the laptop were too small for him.

One thing he liked about Minnesota was the sense of more available space. Ever since he’d arrived, he’d been able to breathe just a bit easier.

He checked in with Kirk, who was currently in a nearby hospital along with his sweetheart, Gina Moretti. “How are you both doing?” he texted on his laptop.

We should be released soon. Thanks for showing up when you did.

Why I’m here.

In truth, Kirk and Gina had handled the situation just fine by themselves. An obsessed fan with daddy issues had followed Kirk to Lake Bittersweet, then decided to grab Kirk’s niece as leverage. Gina had prevented the kid from throwing himself off a balcony, and then Granger had taken him into custody. He’d been assisted by Thomas Cooper, Bliss’ soon-to-be brother-in-law.

He wouldn’t mind having dinner at Cooper’s house. He’d liked the guy, especially because he hadn’t kicked up any kind of fuss about an FBI agent being part of the scene.

What are your plans now? Kirk texted.

Good question. After the big wedding, he should probably go home. But he didn’t want to. He was enjoying his time in this tiny, snowy dot on the map. Besides, he still hadn’t spent any time pursuing the second reason he was here, the one he still hadn’t mentioned to anyone.

Enjoy the rest of my vacation.

You have a funny idea of vacation.

True that. Need a pickup from the hospital?

No, Gina’s family is all over it. Expect a full-on convoy.

Granger chuckled out loud at that, picturing the Moretti family in a parade of trucks and Mustangs accompanying Kirk and Gina home from the hospital. Kirk was lucky, about to join a family like that. His own family was a mess; that was something he and Granger had in common. Kirk’s father had been an addict, while Granger’s…well, he had no idea, and that was why he was in Lake Bittersweet.

He pulled up a tab on his computer. He knew this page by heart. It was a biography of Alvin “Redfish” Carter, legendary blues musician and current heart and soul of Alvin’s Burgers and Blues. He stared at the array of photos on the page. A young Alvin grinning over a bass guitar. Crooning into a microphone. Arm slung over the shoulders of a young Steven Gault. Then more photos through the decades, performing to bigger crowds, even Carnegie Hall. Accepting a Grammy. More photos with Steven Gault. They’d been extremely close friends.