Zachary’s thoughts trailed off to a dead stop. He’d seen the woman before on television and had a file pic that Lowell had sent to his BlackBerry— but seeing her in person was something entirely different. It took him a second to get his bearings before he could finally admit the fact that he’d been a man starved of the basic American pleasure of seeing a gorgeous woman maneuver on her own and uncovered in public.
Sure, he’d enjoyed the eye candy on his way home from overseas and on his way here, but damn . . . some of the garden spots he’d been in, just looking too hard at a woman could get you caught up in an angry mob, stoned, or worse, could cost an innocent woman her life.
Over the past year and a half of sensory denial, he’d learned to divert his gaze and only keep a passerby female in his peripheral vision as a potential suicide bomber. Although Anita Brown wasn’t carrying C-4, what this lady walking across the lobby had detonated was blowing his mind.
He’d expected to see her surrounded by an entourage of security and for her to be wearing some outrageous outfit. But she walked off the elevator like a normal person, alone, carrying her own bags, no makeup on, wearing jeans, a sexy orange tank top, and sneakers.
For a moment he couldn’t move. She was so naturally pretty that it didn’t make sense. Her skin looked like a piece of caramel satin— not a flaw on it . . . and her thick chestnut-brown hair was swept up in a simple ponytail. The orange color of her tank top drew him right to her rack and he was thankful for the aviator sunglasses that helped him keep a poker face as he began to walk toward her.
Instinct made him spot potential threats in the lobby. One small group of weekend gamblers started to move in on her, but then thought better of it as they caught his stare. True, it wasn’t a part of his detail; he was just the driver. But the lady’s expression seemed tense, like there was no one there for her to keep the public back. Not on his watch.
Huge designer sunglasses hid what he knew had to be a pair of drop-dead gorgeous eyes, and the entire package of her five-foot, seven-inch frame was so built that jeans on her ought to have been against the law. He felt his body begin to react, but gave it a swift mental down boy, and kept walking; he had a job to do. More importantly, her expression seemed so lonely that it made her seem vulnerable. He knew he needed to get to her before others in the lobby recognized her and then tried to accost her for autographs and invade her space.
“Ms. Brown?” he said, trying to remember to breathe. There was no way in the world that his buddy could have prepared him for her. The light scent of a delicious female fragrance instantly surrounded him, making it hard to form complete sentences. “I’m Zachary Mitchell, your driver.”
Her pretty mouth remained tight as she stared up at him and then began to fumble in her handbag for her cell phone.
“May I take that for you?”
He wasn’t prepared for her to jerk away from his reach for her luggage.
“I need to be sure you are who you say you are first,” she snapped and then whipped out her phone. She studied him as though he were a felon while she waited for the call to connect. “Mr. Lowell Johnson? Yes, well, it’s Anita Brown— tell me what this guy Zach Mitchell looks like.”
“I can produce ID for you, ma’am,” Zachary said calmly as she listened to Lowell’s description of him.
“Okay. Fine,” she said into her cell phone, but kept her eyes on him. “I’m being stalked, so I have to be careful. Thanks.” She ended the call and released a weary sigh, then glanced over her shoulder at the elevators before turning her back toward the crowd that was beginning to gather. “The bellman is bringing the rest of my bags. Just show me your ID and then get me out of here.”
He gave her space as he dug in his suit pocket for his wallet. “Here’s my driver’s license— and you’re right, you do have to be careful.”
She let out another exasperated breath. “It’s been a really rough day already . . . I didn’t want it to end with me being abducted from a freakin’ parking lot.”
“Neither do I, Ms. Brown,” he said, reaching for her luggage again. “Let’s get you to your limo and back home so you can relax.”
CHAPTER 2
OF ALL THE days for a tall, semisweet chocolate hunk to be her driver. Anita climbed into the backseat of the limo as the man identified as Zachary Mitchell held the door open for her and then closed it behind her.
Even the man’s driver’s license photo looked good! But now was not the time to be having a hormone flashback. Abstinence kept her mind on her money and her money on her mind. She was nobody’s fool— at least she wouldn’t be again. So what the man was fine? But he did have a swagger that couldn’t be denied. Just a look had backed up a bunch of autograph seekers.
His entire vibe was no-nonsense, and when she’d seen him coming toward her, she had to admit to herself that she’d freaked out a bit. The first thought that came to her was, if this was her stalker, she was a dead woman walking. Everything about the man seemed like he could make a swift decision kill. But then she’d found out he’d been the one sent to drive her. Anita briefly closed her eyes and tried to allow the tension to drain from her shoulders.
Now that the unsettling feeling of danger had passed she could really appreciate all of Zachary Mitchell’s many attributes. Peering through the window, she tried to get discreet glimpses of him through the darkened glass while the bellman put her luggage in the trunk. He was definitely someone who could make her go off her man-fast, she thought.
But he was her limo driver, for God’s sake. Hired help always sold your last shred of personal business to the tabloids. The finer the man, the more dangerous— because it was easy for the most sensible woman to lose perspective. She sat back with a frustrated huff and peered at Zachary Mitchell from a sidelong glance, watching him round the vehicle to put away her garment bag last. Yeah . . . he was the type who probably had a string of women, no doubt, with a build like that. Smelled too good, too. No cologne, no fancy anything, just basic male, clean-shaven . . .
She jerked her attention forward and tried to appear nonchalant when he came back to check on her and tapped gently on the window.
“Excuse me, ma’am . . .”
She pressed the window button and tried to remain bored by his presence as the darkened glass lowered. But it was impossible not to stare at his handsome face or drink in the way his full mouth moved as he spoke . . . or look at his white, white even rows of teeth.
“There is spring water in the refrigerator, juice, wine, champagne, a small salad, fresh fruit . . . in case you haven’t had time to eat. If you need me to open anything for you, just let me know before we head out on the road.”
He had a fabulous bar
itone voice that resonated in her belly, but he sounded like he was speaking from a memorized script.
“I’m all right,” she said, not looking at him.