Page 218 of Duty and Desire

“No. My concern is with the press.”

I paused. “You think someone might have been listening into my conversations and that’s how the story got leaked?”

“It’s highly unlikely,” he said. “But I’d feel better if I checked and since I have the time...”

“All right. And thank you for listening to me moan before.”

“Anytime, miss. It’s all part of the service.” The skin around his eyes crinkled a little. It might be the closest thing to a grin I’d ever see on his face.

It made me smile for real.

He nodded as if pleased, then stalked off. The man was like a big jungle cat. I’d sauntered and strutted down plenty of walkways. But away from that world, I was more likely to stub my toe on a coffee table than move with any particular grace. Ziggy’s movements seemed innate. A quintessential part of him. Guess they probably trained you in the military to stand tall and walk like you mean it and everything. Kind of made me wonder how he did other things. Private things I had no business thinking about. I needed to stop sexually harassing the man inside my head. It was bad and wrong and I should know better. I really should.

A couple of hours later, Ziggy stood in front of my kitchen island, taking in the array of food on display. His eyes werethe size of plates. Guess I’d impressed him. My chocolate cake, brownies, and chocolate chip cookies sure impressed me. And chocolate was important for any sort of balanced diet. After all, I was a growing girl (spiritual growth mattered) who needed to keep her strength up to deal with the harsh realities of life and douchebags on the internet. After half an hour or so of book sorting, I needed to change activities. Maybe I had a case of the overtired freaked-out hysterics. But I had to be up and on my feet doing something and moving around. I had a killer of a sweet tooth so that made the decision easy.

“I stress bake. It’s kind of my thing,” I explained, wiping my hands on my apron. “Are you hungry? Do you like sweet things?”

“I love sweet things.”

“Excellent. Take a seat.”

He sat on one of the stools on the opposite side of the island, watching me serve him a fork along with a plate containing one of everything. The small walkie talkie looking type thing he’d been using to search for listening devices lay in front of him.

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

“No.”

“That’s good to know. Did you know desserts taste better when eaten with a fork?”

“Is that a fact?”

“Absolutely. Try it and see. The only caveat is to not attempt it with ice cream or pudding. That can get messy,” I said. “Milk or coffee?”

“Water will be fine. Thank you, Miss Cooper.”

I grabbed him a glass from the jug in the fridge then stood opposite him, eating my own slice of chocolate frosting covered heaven. How could you be down when you had cake? It was impossible. Ziggy ate with an economy and efficiency of movement. Not shoving it in like an animal, but not wasting time either.

“It’s good,” he said.

I smiled. “So what’s your job like?”

He did a one shoulder shrug. “It’s a job. It’s what I’m trained for.”

“You never wanted to do anything else?”

“Not really. Enlisted straight out of school then moved into close protection work once I left the Marines. What about you?”

“A modeling agent approached me at an airport when I was nineteen. Mom and I had just been on an epic trip to Disneyland for her fortieth birthday. We had such a good time.” I used my fork to carefully cut off another small piece of cake. Truth was, after all the cookie dough I’d digested, I wasn’t actually hungry. So I guess stress baking and comfort eating were two of my things. “I’d been working, saving my pennies, and hanging out with friends. But who wouldn’t want to be part of the glamour, getting to wear cool clothes and travel the world?”

“Is that what it’s like?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But more often than not, it’s boring and awkward and working long hours. You get to travel, but it’s rare that you actually get to do any sightseeing. Things tend to be pretty rushed on business trips. And when you’re starting out you have to stay in the model apartments. Imagine twelve people, some of whom have seriously dodgy hygiene, squeezed into a three-bedroom dump and paying through the roof for it half the damn time. Ugh. Listen to me whine.”

He did the solo brow raise thing. Such a cool move. “How is modeling awkward?”

“Have you never been backstage at a fashion show?”

“Can’t say I have.”