Page 152 of South Beach Bodyguards

The image of her with a gun in her hand popped into my head. She had looked awfully comfortable.

I was in love with Miranda.

But now I was wondering who the hell Miranda really was.

Making smoked mahi with a pineapple chutney, I was checking the sear on the fish when I heard it again—a weird clicking noise from the unit next door. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, or if there really were unexplained sounds emanating from the other side of our shared wall, but it seemed like every day there was something that set me on edge.

I hated it.

Everything else in my life was perfection. I didn’t start classes until the summer session so I had time to kill during the day. I had gotten a part-time job at a restaurant, figuring I needed to learn to take the heat of an actual kitchen, as opposed to cooking just for myself and Alejandro. So far it was educational and everyone was friendly.

And Alejandro.

We were barely in to his thirty days and I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was falling in love with him. He was the most bewildering combination of sweet and forceful. He had a tenderness that made me melt. I knew I was skating on thin ice but I also knew I couldn’t resist him. There was no way I could cut our time together short, not when every moment was fun. He made me laugh, he made me feel beautiful. He made my body do things I hadn’t even known it was capable of.

I also knew that I would be pregnant by the end of the month. It felt destined to happen. The thought gave me all the feels. All the warm and fuzzy and loving thoughts and sometimes I wondered if Alejandro might want to stick around.

But the only thing interrupting all my unexpected bliss was the weird lingering feeling that something next door was off, and that it involved me.

So turning the stove burner off, I decided that enough was enough. I was going to make someone answer the damn door if I had to pound on it all night. If the dinner I was making for Alejandro got ruined I was really going to be pissed, but I needed answers.

Getting my phone, I marched out the front door and knocked aggressively on the door. Nothing. The wind was blowing up in pre-storm gusts and I pushed my hair out of my eyes. I knocked again to no answer.

Going back through my house I got my gun, then went out the back door. I peered in the windows of the kitchen. With a start I jumped when I realized there was a man staring out at me.

Max. It was Max.

My entire body went cold and I froze, wanting to blink and make sure I wasn’t seeing things but afraid to open my eyes again and there be nothing there. Before I could react and actually do anything, the door opened and an arm grabbed me and hauled me inside. The gun went flying out of my hand.

Instinctively, I fought, but strong arms wrapped around me and pinned my arms at my sides. I would have kicked but then there was a voice in my ear, familiar, echoing the past. “Stop, Miranda. Why are you fighting the love of your life?”

Goose bumps rose all over my flesh. I went still again, shock and memories washing over me. “Max?” I whispered, tears suddenly in my eyes. The timber of his voice was more mocking than I remembered, but his scent, his feel, shoved me backwards in time to countless days and nights when I had felt safe and loved. Proud to be with him.

“The one and only.” His arms relaxed slightly. “If I let you go are you going to fight me?”

“Of course not. I didn’t know it was you. I just saw a man.” That wasn’t true but for whatever reason I felt like I needed to say it. Distance myself. I tried to turn but his grip tightened again.

His lips burrowed into my hair. “You look good, Mandy. Sexy.” He inhaled a deep breath.

It made me shiver. I was confused that he was here after all these years. And he sounded… predatory. “Where have you been?” I whispered, taking in the stark kitchen around me. It was mostly empty except for a table to my right. “Why haven’t you contacted me? We had a plan.”

“Things changed. I had to think on the fly.” He kissed my head. Then he started to slowly turn me again.

And suddenly I was face-to-face with my ex. Who I had never intended to be my ex. Who I was certain was dead. And everyone else was certain had just run off.

“I thought you were dead.” Tears sprung to my eyes. I reached out to touch him, tracing a line down his cheek and over his mouth. He looked older, harder. Thinner. He had a scar under his left eye, straight and sharp. Like a razor blade. There were dark smudges under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept well in ages. “I was sure you were dead.”

His head tilted. “Sometime I wanted to be.” His hand covered mine. “So how do I look?”

I was too stunned to be anything but honest. “Like you’re being hunted.”

He gave a sharp crack of laughter. “You could say that. But you, on the other hand, look like life is treating you well. You look hot as hell.”

Lust had appeared in his eyes and I felt the first tremors of alarm, thawing my icy numbness. “Thank you.” It should have been a compliment that made me feel good, but I just felt unnerved.

There was no attraction to him. I was staring at him and I felt no love, no desire. I didn’t want to hug or kiss him. What I felt was unease, and an overwhelming sense of anger and sadness and confusion over what I had thought ten minutes ago was love lost. “I don’t understand,” I said, because I didn’t. “Where have you been?”

His thumb stroked the back of my hand on his cheek. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere where I could keep you safe.”

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