“I didn’t hurt you, did I, ma’am?” he asked, his head cocked as his senses opened wide to resolve the mystery behind her worry.
“Oh, no. It’s my fault. I am so, so sorry,” she cried. But then she brushed her fingertips over his chest as if trying to make a boo-boo better. Which was just plain endearing. There was no way this fluff of femininity could’ve bruised a former SEAL in the first place, not by bumping that soft, warm body into him. “I didn’t know you were talking with anyone, Mark. But I… Darn, I’m sorry I’m really late again. But I’m here now, and I’ll stay after to make up for not being on time.”
Jameson caught the impression of her running her other hand through her hair. Which was long enough he could hear its silky strands flutter over her shoulders and fall down her back like a very quiet waterfall. The gentlest cascade. That’s where the lavender scent came from. Her shampoo. The zinging stress and peppery pheromones were all her.
This was when he missed sight the most. Around women. Was she blonde, and how long was her hair? What color were her eyes? Blue or green? Brown like his? Did they sparkle? He’d detected no foreign accent, not like that meant anything. His Navy days had made one thing abundantly clear. It was a great big world out there, most people were good, and women everywhere were be-a-u-ti-ful.
Her fingertips stopped tapping, and for a split second, he enjoyed the scintillating warmth seeping from her light-as-a-feather touch, through his dress shirt, to his skin. The internal firestorm he’d weathered every day since the incident that changed his life, suddenly calmed. Whoever she was, this woman’s touch was magic.
An odd sizzle started humming at the base of his spine and quickly tap-danced up each vertebra to the back of his neck, making all those tiny hairs stand up. This woman might sound timid, and her touch was a balm to his whole being, but she was chock full of vibrant electricity that speared straight through him. He was caught on an invisible lure. Hooked. And he didn’t even know her name.
“No worries, Maddie. Relax.”
Ah, Maddie. How lovely.
“How’s Alex’s wife? Umm, Kelsey. I really wanted to be there with everyone at the hospital, but something came up, and I… I’m so sorry.”
“Kelsey’s fine, so are Alex and their son. They named him Bradley Patrick Stewart after Alex’s Irish grandfather.”
“Aww. How much did he weigh? How long is he?”
Maddie’s anxiety over missing her boss’s son’s birth seemed out of proportion. She was trying too hard, which to Jameson meant she was hiding something.
“He’s a big boy, weighed in around ten pounds, I think. Not sure how long he is, but mother and baby are doing great. This guy here is Jameson Tenney, our newest agent. He’s decided to work with us, starting today. Since Beau hasn’t come in from the hospital yet, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he took the rest of the day off, would you mind introducing Jameson to the gang and being his driver tonight? It’s for an easy bodyguard op. Just grab one of The TEAM limos and make sure he hooks up with Lucy Shade at her hotel. She flies out at ten, so be there by nine thirty.”
“Nine,” Jameson interrupted. “I like to be early. Gives me time to familiarize myself with the location.”
“Fine, nine it is,” Mark agreed. “Then drive Jameson and Shade over to Reagan National and wait until Shade’s onboard. Maddie, her network’s private jet will be parked near the east hangars. Look for their logo on the tail. In the meantime, show him around the office, get him situated at his desk, and tell him the rules.”
“Sure, Mark, but, umm, what rules?”
Jameson was sure Maddie had just tipped her head, that she took everything too seriously. Which was sad, but kind of cute, too. She needed to learn what he’d realized after the incident: Life was short. If it handed you lemons, by hell, make the best lemonade ever. Drink it up, and never let the burn slow you down.
“Kidding, Maddie. Just a joke,” Mark teased. “Jameson’ll need to know where to store any personal weapons, as well as what to wear when he’s on active ops.”
“Mark, do you have a minute?” Mother called out.
“You bet. Later guys. It’s gearing up to be a busy day.”
“Copy that,” Jameson replied as Mark stepped away.
“Sure, yeah. I guess,” Maddie answered tightly.
Jameson offered his hand and said, “Pleased to meet you, Maddie.”
Unfortunately, that handshake ended quicker than he would’ve liked. Tactile contact provided intel. The key was to maintain physical contact long enough to pick up pulse rates, heartbeats, breaths, all those little tells most people didn’t realize they gave away. But Maddie had all but tossed his hand back at him after a brief, mostly insincere clasp. All he’d learned was, yes. Stressed.
“Pleased to meet you, too,” she said. But her tone said otherwise. She wasn’t pleased. Not at all. And that handshake had been more like gripping tense pencils instead of warm fingers. “I’m sorry I ran into you. I was in a hurry, then you were there, and… and…” She stammered. “I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’m sorry.”
The sorry part he believed. But Maddie seemed as if she’d been in more than just a hurry, almost as if she’d been running from something. Or someone.
“Apology accepted and forgotten,” he replied, gesturing for her to walk ahead of him. “Lead on, and I’ll follow. Just don’t stop too short.” He tapped his index finger to his dark glasses in case she hadn’t noticed. “Blind man coming through and all that. And never move the furniture. That’s not funny.”
“I would never! That’d be mean.”
Joking about himself always did the trick. Her heartrate settled into a normal rhythm. She stepped to the side of his walking cane and waited on him
