Pleasure Island Page 4

  6

  Mila

  “Hello, darling…”

  The cultured tones of my grandmother, Millicent Thatcher, had me smiling. Taking the phone over to the couch, I stretched out as I greeted her, “Grandma. How are you doing?”

  “Still wishing they’d come up with a better term for grandparents than grandma and grandpa,” she retorted with a sniff.

  But I heard the smile in her voice. “I can always use French. Would that make it better?”

  She laughed. “No. Because I’d know what it meant.”

  “I know what it means too,” I said. I knew how to get to her. “It means you’re one of my most favorite people in the world.”

  Another laugh, followed by, “I better be.”

  “So, to what do I owe this honor?” I asked. We’d just talked a few days ago. I tried to remember to call her every weekend, and if I recalled correctly, we’d talked on Sunday.

  “Can’t I call and talk to my one and only granddaughter without any ulterior motives?” she asked loftily.

  “Of course you can.” And I waited.

  She sniffed. “Very well. I was wondering if you had plans on Friday. I’m coming to town, and I’d love for us to have lunch and catch up.”

  Considering my last meeting/meal with a family had almost landed me with a migraine, one might think I’d be reluctant to take on another so soon. One would be wrong.

  I adored my grandmother. While I loved my father, he and I didn’t always sync. It was the opposite with Millie. There were times when I was convinced she was my best friend in the whole world, never mind the age gulf that separated us.

  “I’d love to have lunch with you. What time do you think you’ll be in?”

  “I’m not sure yet. Do you have appointments? I can meet you at your office.”

  Millie, unlike my father, didn’t so much as bat an eyelash at what I did for a living, but then again, Millie was a recovering hippie. Although she might not exactly consider herself recovering.

  She was open about sex as much as I was and was comfortable with her own sexuality. I had no doubt she still entertained lovers on the side of her rather busy lifestyle. Lovers of both persuasions too. Millie had confessed to me years ago that she was bisexual. It was possible that her open acceptance of sex and sexuality was part of the reason I’d ended up being the woman I was.

  My mother hadn’t been Millie’s opposite, but she’d been more reserved. As time went by, I ended up talking to Millie when I was having guy problems, rather than my mother.

  “Absolutely you can come by – just promise not to flirt with anybody you might find attractive. Remember some of the people I work with do have serious issues.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  We talked for a little while longer before agreeing on a rough time to meet.

  “I can’t wait to see you, darling,” she said.

  “Same here.”

  My client left before Millie arrived.

  I was more than a little glad.

  Not that I doubted her promise to behave, but Millie sometimes let her mouth, and the fun of life, run away with her.

  I didn’t need her flirting with the client. He was a young man, younger than those I normally saw, having issues with sex due to trauma in his early life. He’d seen several standard sex therapists with little help and had gotten my name from the internet.

  I liked to think I was helping.

  Today had been one of the first days I’d really gotten a glimmer of hope that I might be too. He’d gotten aroused during the session. We’d done nothing but talk about his fantasies but having him relax enough to actually speak about his fantasies had been a milestone for him.

  Then for him to really start playing into the idea of a fantasy?

  I hadn’t expected that. Not yet.

  Sitting at my desk, I made notes about the session on my computer, keeping a close eye on the time.

  I didn’t have any other appointments for the day and could spend the entire afternoon with Millie if I wanted. And I just might. But only if I finished recording everything from my last session.

  I’d just finished the last keystroke when I heard Millie’s familiar voice echo through my office.

  I had several rooms in my ‘office,’ a waiting room where I greeted my patients as they arrived, the main room where I handled the therapy sessions, then the real office, complete with a desk and computer, files and books lining the walls.

  “I’m in the back,” I called out.

  She found me as I was shutting down the computer, a mock pout on her face. “None of your clients are here,” she said with a theatrical sigh.

  “As I’d planned,” I responded tartly. “Remember, what I do is confidential. My clients prefer confidentiality.”

  “Which is why you always have me coming after everybody’s left for the day. I just want a peek.” She winked at me. “Do you have one who is so well-endowed, he can’t find a lover? I’ll help him out.”

  I made a face at her. “That’s not the typical referral to a sex therapist, Millie.”

  “Well, you’re not a typical sex therapist. You’re a sex specialist.” She grinned broadly at me.

  I made a show of tossing one of my books at her before getting up to go kiss her cheek. She smelled of Chanel No. 5 as she always did. “You look beautiful,” I told her.

  And she did.

  She was seventy-three, but I imagined she could pass for her late fifties or early sixties, despite the snow-white hair twisted up into an elegant chignon. Her green eyes met mine, a misty smile on her face. “You’re such a sweet girl.”

  “No.” I laughed as I gathered my things. “I’m a lot of things, but sweet isn’t one of them. Are you ready? I am starving.”

  I let my grandmother make the lunch plans. That could always be entertaining – there had been a time or two when we’d ended up having lunch at Hooters or some similarly styled pub.

  This time, though, she chose an Asian-fusion place not far from where I worked. We took a cab, chatting about odds and ends and she mentioned needing a shopping trip.

  I hoped I covered my wince well enough. I loved to shop, but Millie could almost put me flat on my back when she got into a mind to hit the stores. She caught sight of my face and laughed. “Relax. I’m not going to drag you into it. Although you need to build up your stamina if shopping with me is so exhausting.”

  She waggled a finger at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “When you get in the middle of a sale, you’re like the energizer bunny on speed. Please. I’d need pharmaceutical help to keep up with you.”

  “That’s what my current man says.” She grinned at me.

  I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing and leaned over to hug her. “I love you, Grandma.”

  We’d nearly finished our meal when she looked at me.

  Over the remains of fried rice and some fusion dish neither of us had cared for, Millie studied me, her green eyes sharp and insightful. “Are you happy?” she asked softly.

  “Happy?” I blinked, thrown by the question. “I…well…”

  I thought about it because I knew my grandmother. She’d want an honest answer. After a few moments, I shrugged. “Most of the time.” I managed a wobbly smile as I said huskily, “I miss Mom. Every day.”

  She covered my hand with hers. “So do I.”

  Mom had been gone for two years now when chemo failed and breast cancer killed her. For so long, I didn’t think I’d be able to live with the pain.

  We shared a moment, the kind you only know when you’re grieving. Then I forced myself to smile and continue.

  “But I’m doing better. Like you told me after she died, the grief never really goes away, but it becomes a part of you. You learn to live with it. That’s where I am.”

  Millie nodded, and judging by the gleam of wet in her eyes, I knew she understood exactly what I meant.

  For a moment longer, I was silent, then I continued, going slowly
as I worked my way through my thoughts. One wouldn’t think it was a complicated question – am I happy? But I did have to think it through.

  “I wish my father and I could be closer. I wish he wasn’t so…him. But we love each other. I’ve got a career that makes me happy, and it’s growing. So…I guess I am happy.”

  She tightened the hand that still covered mine.

  But when I looked at her, she didn’t say anything.

  I worked my hand free and reached for the wine, needing to wet my suddenly dry throat.

  “I’ve been thinking about making some changes. I wanted to see how you were before I started. But…” She paused, studying her wine for a moment before looking up at me. “Things are a-changing, sweetheart.”

  “What things?” Nonplussed, I studied her. “You…Grandma, please tell me you’re not sick.”

  “Always so quick to assume the worst.” She sighed and took my hand once more. “No. I’m not sick. There are just…changes coming. And they’ll affect you, darling.”

  7

  Liam

  I tried to tell myself as I opened the door that I wasn’t getting in over my head.

  I’d been trained in hand to hand.

  I knew how to shoot.

  I was observant.

  Even though I hadn’t enjoyed it, I’d even used my training to take lives.

  The job description had specified they’d love to work with former military.

  I was former military.

  Still, I’d never worked as a bodyguard a day in my life.

  And that was the job I was applying for. At least I assumed it was.

  I sure as hell hoped I wasn’t at Steadman Security for a job as the night janitor. I hated cleaning, and I seriously hated staying up all night unless there was a good reason. A paycheck wasn’t a good reason.

  Approaching the desk, I met the gaze of the young woman speaking into a headset.

  She mouthed to me, please sign in.

  I did so and turned away, moving over to the sitting area. Nerves chewed at me. I’d had four interviews my entire life, and two of them had to do with getting into the military – those were also the most recent.

  I sat in silence for several minutes, off-handedly listening to the one-sided conversation taking place between the cute redhead who sat at the receptionist desk and whoever she was talking to.

  There wasn’t anybody else in the sitting area.

  At least not at first.

  After about ten more minutes, a guy wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt came in, signed the slip and came to sit across from me.

  I summed him up about as fast as he did me.

  “Army?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Just got out.”

  He looked all around. “Navy. Wondering why I got out. I want to get back on the water.”

  “You here for the interview?” I asked.

  He gave a short nod, and we both lapsed into silence.

  After another minute or so, the redhead at the receptionist desk called my name, and I returned to where I’d signed in.

  She gave me a bright smile and turned over a clipboard.

  “If you don’t mind? They’ll be with you soon.”

  Soon was actually another thirty minutes.

  Navy guy got up to pace more than once, returning the clipboard he’d been given before coming back over to where we’d been sitting.

  “Not exactly big on being prompt, are they?” he asked.

  I shrugged and turned another page of the magazine I wasn’t really reading. “Things happen.”

  I figured I’d give it another fifteen minutes before I left.

  Navy guy left after another five minutes.

  I figured I wasn’t far behind him.

  But then a door opened.

  “Liam?”

  Then again, maybe not.

  Five minutes later, I was sitting in an office with a cup of coffee while the man in front of me skimmed over my resume, piss poor as it was.

  Michelle had helped beef it up, focusing on the military experience. I didn’t know if it was going to make a difference. I still didn’t have experience in this field.

  “Have you ever worked security before?”

  I met the gaze of the man conducting my interview. He’d introduced himself as Steve. “Four years in the infantry had me working security quite a bit,” I replied. “Mine, the security of those in my unit.”

  “But you’ve never done bodyguard work before.”

  “No.” Couldn’t really lie about it.

  He made a humming sound under his breath, then asked, “What do you do if it comes down to protecting your charge and taking the life of somebody threatening him or her? What do you do?”

  “I’d hope that my training would help me find another way than to use deadly force,” I said slowly. “But if it comes down to a person I’m supposed to protect and somebody who poses a threat to that person, then I’d use deadly force.”

  Steve nodded. “And if it comes down to you stepping between a bullet and your charge?” He cocked a brow. “My group has managed to avoid that, but on rare occasion, there is such a threat. How do you handle it?”

  “I’ve stepped in front of bullets before,” I said. “It’s not my idea of fun, but if I’m supposed to be protecting somebody, and that’s what’s called for, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Putting my resume down, Steve studied me for a long moment. “Would you be available this weekend to go through some basics and get your feet wet, so to speak?”

  The question caught me off guard. Completely off guard. I’d assumed I’d leave here with a disinterested, we’ll be in touch, and I might or might not hear from them.

  So, this question was totally out of the blue for me.

  “I’d be available,” I said cautiously.

  “Good.” He stood up and gestured for me to follow him. “I’ll be honest, you’re a little greener than most of my men, but we have to start somewhere. I’ve got a new client that I’ll need to put somebody on, and my team’s a little short. You’ll get oriented this weekend, and we’ll see how you do. If things work out well, you’ll start next week.”

  “Next week?” I repeated.

  He cocked his head. “Is that a problem?”

  “No, sir.” I just thought I’d have some time to do a little more preparation than…oh, say…the weekend.

  “You’ll hit the ground running this weekend.” He led me from the office and took me back to the receptionist’s desk. “She’ll go over all the paperwork. If you have questions, ask her. She probably knows the answers better than I do.” He gave me another hard look. “You have more suits like that?”

  The suit belonged to my cousin. Hopefully, he’d have a few more he could lend me until I could go out and buy some. I might have to take Jake with me, because as far as buying suits went, I had even less experience there than I did at the job I was applying for. Or maybe I’d already been hired. Things were moving too fast for me to tell.

  “I have suits,” I said as Steve continued to wait for an answer.

  “Good. You’ll need them. That’s standard work wear for the men and women who work for me. If you don’t have at least five suits, let Leslie know, and she’ll advance you some cash for your bonus. FYI, if you don’t last long enough to get the bonus, I’ll take it out of whatever money you make while you’re here.”

  “I’ll last,” I replied calmly. I’d never quit yet, so that had to count for something. “But I’ve got funds to buy a few suits.”

  He grunted under his breath. “Once you’re done here, if you’ve got time, I want you to speak with Chris Mendoza. He’s one of my top guys, and he finished up an assignment, so he’s here in the building. He’ll give you a crash course before we really put you to the test over the weekend.”

  “Thank you.”

  Steve slanted a look at me and shook his head. “You might be ready to quit before Mendoza is through with you. So, don’t thank me yet.”
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  It was a good three hours before I left Steadman.

  I had an identification card tucked into my wallet and the address of a club I needed to be at the following afternoon.

  Mendoza had said he’d meet me there, then clapped me on my shoulder.

  I could see why Mendoza was one of Steve’s best.

  He’d put me through the wringer, and my body already ached despite the fact that we’d gone at each other fairly lightly.

  He’d wanted to assess my hand to hand skills and had decided there was no time like the present.

  He must have been pleased enough with what he saw because he grinned at me as I sat down and sucked water from a bottle after a hard thirty minutes on a mat with him.

  And I’d been in a pair of dress shoes that were a half-size too small and a suit that probably cost more than I made in a month. He’d let me take the jacket off, but that was it.

  Now the suit was wrinkled, and it looked like I might have been sleeping in it.

  But what did any of that matter?

  I had a job.

  I just hoped I didn’t end up in over my head.

  8

  Mila

  The sound of somebody knocking on the door to my brownstone had me scowling.

  I stood in my bathroom, fighting with the clasp on my bracelet, still not done with my makeup or my hair. I was already running behind, and I didn’t have time to go entertaining any early morning visitors.

  Not that I ever really got any of those.

  There was another knock, and I swore, moving out of the bathroom and hurrying for the stairs.

  Who in the world went around knocking on doors at eight in the morning anyway?

  I didn’t know but was already putting together a nice little, please leave before I kill you, I didn’t have my coffee yet speech when the knock came again.

  Polite.

  Firm.

  Which was what I would try to be when I opened the door.