Operation: Monarch. Valerie Parv
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thought. She forced a grin. “How long has it been?”
He placed the weights on the floor and swabbed his face with a towel, although he had barely raised a sweat. “Years. I heard you left Solano after graduation.”
Unwillingly pleased that he’d tracked her progress for a time at least, she nodded. “I went to the police academy.”
If she had hoped to impress him, he didn’t show it. Merely nodded. “Quite a switch for you, wasn’t it?”
“Modeling was my parents’ choice for me, not mine. I gave it up as soon as I was of age.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “I hope I didn’t have anything to do with that?”
Annoyed because he had, she shook her head, feeling the old attraction resurface. Along with something far less welcome. Desire. Hot, potent, stinging because she didn’t want to feel it. She had been talking to him for less than five minutes out of thirteen years, and already she wanted to be in his arms so much she could taste the need. Some people never learned.
“You have a high opinion of yourself,” she said, then felt even more annoyed because she had said the same thing to him after they kissed.
He remembered too, she saw in the sudden gleam of interest flaring in his gaze. The flame died as she watched. “Always did,” he said easily, but the trace of pain in his voice wasn’t lost on her.
She touched his arm. “I’m sorry about your parents’ accident.”
He half closed his eyes, then opened them, his expression impassive. Too impassive, she thought, as if he was suffering but didn’t want anyone to know it. Same old Garth Remy, she thought. Never let anyone get too close.
“I meant to get in touch and thank you for the wreath,” he said.
She’d ordered it after seeing the news on television, telling herself it was the decent thing to do, not because she expected a response from him. “That’s okay. It can’t have been an easy time for you.” She hadn’t meant her tone to soften in concern for him, but it happened anyway.
“I’m fine.”
He moved to a mat on the far side of the bench press, snaring a length of resistance tubing as he went. Dropping to the floor, he stretched his legs out in front of him and anchored the tubing around his feet, then exhaled as he pulled the tubing in to his abdomen. The rowing movement was harder than it looked, she knew, and would help to account for his washboard-flat stomach.
Picking up another length of tubing, she joined him on a neighboring mat. She preferred the cable-row machines but they were on the other side of the room, hardly conducive to continuing a conversation. Not that he seemed to welcome her company. His body language told her he considered the reunion over.
She didn’t.
She looped the tubing around her feet. “What have you been doing with yourself?”
His slow exhalation as he pulled the cable taut was the only sound between them. She had decided he wasn’t going to answer when he said, “I worked my way through college. You might recall I had some catching up to do.”
The defensive tone reminded her that he had been the oldest boy in their high school. His parents had pulled him out of class to help in the family business so often that he had fallen behind academically, although his IQ was the equal of hers. Being older than their classmates, he’d endured considerable teasing, not all of it good-natured. “Good for you,” she said sincerely. “What did you do then?”
“Joined the navy.”
Her arm muscles protested as she paused with the cable at full stretch. “I joined the police, you joined the navy. Interesting.”
“Not particularly. It was the only way I could make a career out of diving.”
“You didn’t want to work with your folks on their boat?”
Seeing his mouth tighten, she cursed herself for mentioning the boat. Its shabby condition had always been a sore point with him. Now it also reminded him of his loss. “Not enough money in it for three people,” he said. From what she remembered, the boat had barely supported the family all along.
Too many questions would make him suspicious. She decided to try another angle. “A few years ago, I moved from the police to the R.P.D., the Royal Protection Detail,” she explained.
“I know what the R.P.D. is. I’ve seen you on TV, shadowing Prince Lorne. Being beautiful must be an asset in royal protection.”
Torn because he thought her beautiful, but obviously still believed she traded on her looks, she let her anger surface. “I was hired for my skills, not my appearance.”
“Such as a black belt in shopping?”
Goaded beyond her limits, she vaulted to her feet and lassoed his broad shoulders with her resistance band, hog-tying him before he had time to react. Leaning back to tighten the band, she let it bite into his flesh just enough to get his attention.
He didn’t move but his gaze held a new glimmer of respect. “Old habit. And you are beautiful.”
“And you’re the same old pain in the—”
Before she could finish, he flexed his muscles, loosening the band enough to throw it off. Yanking on it, he toppled her against him, making her think she was going to find herself in his arms for the second time in her life. The prospect caused her heart rate to rocket, hammering at her shield of professionalism.
For a heartbeat she was back in school, her teenage body pressed against him as her mouth shaped hungrily to his. The memory of his indifference rolled over her anew, giving her the strength to straighten away from him. She could swear he knew what she’d been thinking and had provoked her to see how she’d react.
When she moved back he tossed the apparatus to her, almost but not quite dissipating the unwanted feelings. “You made your point. Both points,” he said, sounding world-weary. Surely he hadn’t wanted her in his arms?
It wasn’t exactly an apology but it would have to serve. Unnerved by the easy way he’d demonstrated his greater physical strength, she dropped to the mat and continued her workout. After a few repetitions she reminded herself she had a job to do. Her own feelings couldn’t be allowed to get in the way.
“Are you on leave from the navy?” she asked.
His powerful movements made the resistance band stretch and contract like breathing. “I left the service after a disagreement with the brass.”
She wanted to say, “I know, and I don’t believe you were at fault,” but couldn’t without betraying how much she knew about him. Instead, she said, “You never did like authority much.”
“I don’t have a problem with authority provided it isn’t wielded by fools,” he growled.
“Such as the man who got you fired from the navy?”
The cord snapped to his feet as he swung his gaze on her. “I didn’t say I was fired. I said we parted company.”
“My mistake,” she said mildly, although her heart was pounding.
He retrieved the cable and resumed his methodical rowing movements. “As it happens, you’re right. Not that it matters who’s at fault when a trainee under my care comes close to getting killed.”
It mattered to him, she saw, impressed that his concern was all for the injured diver. There wasn’t a trace of self-pity or justification in his tone. “You don’t believe you were at fault, do you?”
The mask lifted for a moment. “I know I wasn’t.” Then the shutters came back down. “For all the good it will do me.”
“Couldn’t you get a lawyer to defend you?”
He unhooked the cable from his feet and looped it around his hand. “What’s