Free Barefoot With a Bodyguard by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

because I’m a trainer, not a…” He closed his eyes, realizing how easily she got him to talk about things he didn’t want to, and shouldn’t. Not to mention they were supposed to be honeymooners. “You don’t follow orders very well, do you?”
    She let their footsteps fall into sync as they neared the end of the path and reached a little wooden bridge, one of several that crossed from the walkway over sea oats to the wide-open white sands of the bay.
    “It’s not that I can’t,” she finally said. “It’s that I’ve followed orders for so long that I don’t want to anymore.”
    He thought about that, pretending to take in the water view, but really thinking about why a strong and brilliant woman would let herself be pushed around.
    “My dad is overbearing, as you might have guessed.”
    “And your mother?”
    She sighed. “Lost her when I was fifteen.”
    He felt the tug of sympathy, knowing the pain so well. “I was thirteen when my dad died.” The words were out before he even knew he said them.
    She nodded, as if she understood, too.
    “He had cancer,” he added, hating that he couldn’t seem to stop himself from confiding in her, which broke the first rule. Doing it outside of the villa broke the second rule. Not caring about breaking rules was probably the third of Gabe’s rules he was smashing. “Your mom?”
    “Car accident,” she said, looking out to the water. “I was driving the car.”
    “Oh, man.” It was the pain in her voice that twisted his gut, much more than the history she was sharing. “That sucks.”
    She sighed and feigned a smile. “Sure does. I was on my learner’s permit and made the stupidest of rookie errors, a blind left turn and…” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Long story short, I’ll never forgive myself for making that turn that killed her, and turning my dad into the most overprotective parent on the planet. He practically threw me into the arms of one of the top criminal defense attorneys in Boston. He saw Steven as another man to ensure I don’t make bad left turns in life.”
    No wonder she hated this situation. He squinted into the sunlight pouring over the creamy building, glinting off some bright blue square tiles.
    “You want to know something interesting?” he asked.
    She looked up at him, either studying his face or her own reflection in his sunglasses, but didn’t answer, so he decided to tell her anyway.
    “A couple built this resort.”
    As he’d hoped it would, that made her smile. “You really power-studied that brochure. I might need some tips for torts.”
    He laughed, guiding her toward the grand entrance of the hotel. “She owned all the property and grew up on this island, and lived in a little house right over there somewhere. About six years ago, a hurricane blew it down, and she spent the night in the bathtub with her teenage daughter.”
    “Get out!” She leaned back, her jaw loose. “That can’t be true.”
    “No, it is.” He felt a weird satisfaction that he’d taken her mind off her sadness. “After the storm, she decided to build a bed-and-breakfast-type place, but the architect she hired came up with this whole high-end resort idea. And then she married him.”
    “Really?”
    “Some friends of hers invested in the place, and they all work here, and it’s grown massive and successful, with corporate investors now. They named it Casa Blanca after their favorite movie.”
    She let out a sweet laugh. “That is a great story.”
    “Or they made the whole thing up to get more people to come here, I don’t know.”
    “A made-up marriage?” she asked as he held a heavy glass door open for her. “Lots of that going around, I hear.”
    He shot her a warning look as they walked into the cool of the lobby, pausing to take in the long marble floor and Middle Eastern-looking rug hanging on one wall. But he no sooner saw the decoration, than he spotted a small crowd in the middle, and cameras flashing all