Indigo pulled back. “That’s a lot of talk there, Soldier. You think you can really do that? You can’t possibly think of every scenario, because that would be ridiculous.”
“I guess I deserve that nickname, huh?” He didn’t mind her calling him “soldier,” because that was what he was. That had been his identity for a long time, and in a sense, it still was with the work they did for the AFP.
Her lip quirked up in a cheeky smile. “You do.”
“I can live with it.” As much as he loved having her in his arms, he needed to put some professional distance between them. “I’m going to get my computer. Make sure you lock the door after I leave and only open it to me when I knock. I’ll be five minutes, max.”
“You really are going to stay here tonight?”
“I am.” He released his hold on her and stepped back. “My job is to protect you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Chapter
Eleven
Indigo rested her head against the car’s backrest, and let her eyes drift shut. They were on their way to Margaret River for the second leg of their itinerary. The rest of the shoot on Rottnest Island went off without any dramas.
There hadn’t been any more messages, but that didn’t mean anything. They could be just biding their time. Jeffrey, in consultation with Wilt, had employed a private chef named Rick, who’d done twenty years’ service in the Army, to prepare their food. He’d been at the set when she’d arrived. How he’d gotten there so quickly, she didn’t question. Jeffrey had the money to ensure his wishes were answered promptly.
Indigo had to admit the food he’d served up was delicious, but he hadn’t lost that military edge. Even though he’d told her he’d been out of the service for a decade, he’d been aware of everything going on around them.
She’d watched him prepare a meal, and the way Rick had yielded a knife had been impressive. Not only with his chopping skills, but she could picture him tossing the knife at an assailant and getting him in the neck without blinking.
Having him there, alongside Wilt to lend a hand should it be needed, helped a little with her anxiety about being the target of someone’s ire again.
“We shouldn’t be too much longer. According to the GPS, we’ll be arriving at the accommodation in about twenty minutes.”
Indigo flicked her eyes open and glanced at Wilt. He’d been nothing but professional since the night they’d talked in her bungalow. He’d been true to his word, and had come back to her with his laptop tucked up under his arm, along with some other computer stuff.
She watched him set it all up, and when he’d put his glasses on, she’d hightailed it to her room. There was something about those glasses that had her thinking of strolling over to him and straddling his lap while she kissed him senseless as he wore them. Then she would whip them off before removing his shirt.
Indigo shifted in her seat as a sudden arousal drenched her body. He hadn’t made any attempt to kiss her, or even hold her like he had on the beach and in her bungalow.
He’d remained close to her side, his touch light and professional as he escorted her to the lighthouse, and had been on the periphery the whole day. It had unnerved her initially, and she couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t any different to the previous day. Maybe it was because the threats were fresh and in her mind. Vincent had told her over and over she was too tense and was wasting good light and his time. After the third time of his grumbling, she’d pulled her head out of the clouds, donned her professional cloak and ignored Wilt to ensure the best possible photos were taken.
If anyone had thought anything weird about how she was acting, they didn’t say anything. Or they put it down to the threat toward her.
“Okay,” she said, finally acknowledging the information about the arrival time. “Do you know anything about where we’re going?” Indigo shifted in her seat again.
“Which place? Where the photos are being taken, or where we’re staying?”
There was no censure in his voice, but she couldn’t help but think he was admonishing her for not knowing the information.
It wasn’t in the itinerary. She’d read that thing four times. The times and locations were imprinted on her mind, but there were no finer details. Like how big the winery was, would tour groups be roaming the property, or was the house they were staying in big or small. Would it have five bedrooms or one.
One bedroom.
One bed.
A snort of laughter bubbled out of her at the thought of the place only having one bed. That was a classic romance novel trope. Reading romance novels was her favorite thing to do on long flights. They were so easy to fall into and escape with.
“I didn’t think my question was that funny.” Wilt spared her a quick look before turning his attention back to the road.
She was glad he didn’t stare at her while he was driving. When she’d been in Italy, their driver had looked over his shoulder when he talked to her as she’d been sitting in the back of the car. After the fifth time of him doing so, she’d assured him that he didn’t need to look at her every time he spoke, and to keep his focus on the road.
He hadn’t taken the hint, and she’d been stressed when she’d arrived at her destination after at least four near misses.
After that, she’d made sure she sat in the front, even if they encouraged her to sit in the back. She’d tell them that if she sat in the back she’d throw up, which wasn’t true, but it had been effective. That was the last thing they wanted to happen in their cars.
