NICK WATCHED SAMANTHA’S EYES. He’d wrangled enough tough negotiations to know that her initial reaction would map how he proceeded. Yet he almost felt like a novice going one-on-one with Samantha. She was tough, confident and sassy. And sexy. Oh, yeah. Sexy as sweet, silky lobster served with the finest Italian wine. Yet an elusive vulnerability lingered, teasing him like a secret. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that recognizing her allure would counteract the mind-numbing effects. Women like her always had a trick up their sleeve.

Her thick-lashed lids narrowed. The irises he’d considered exotic, blue like a tropical liqueur, darkened to a fascinating, faceted sapphire, clear of any anger or insult from his purposefully bold, charged-by-design suggestion. In fact, he couldn’t read her reaction at all. But just in case, he held her hand tightly, prepared to deflect a slap.

When she glanced down, he realized that Samantha Deveaux didn’t have to use her hands to punish his presumptuous proposition. She shifted her knee ever so casually.

Fortunately for his family jewels, she had a sense of humor to go with her proclaimed black belt. Her expression turned from cool to bemused, forcing him to replay the words in his head one more time. He’d been trying to disarm her with an outrageous idea, but his words rang a little too cocky and arrogant, even for him.

She obviously didn’t seem to mind. By the time he released her hands with a groan, she was laughing out loud. Which knocked his naturally-bred arrogance down a substantial peg.

“I didn’t mean that exactly the way it sounded,” he said, grumbling.

“I should hope not. I mean, do I look like Julia Roberts in this get-up?” She took a deep breath to tamp down her laughter. “Cause you, pal,” she pointed for emphasis, “ain’t Richard Gere.”

Nick met her smirk with a reluctant, albeit agreeing grin. No, he wasn’t Richard Gere. He never wanted to be Richard Gere or any other celebrity for that matter. He just wanted to run the family business and turn their healthy profits into steady millions. He wanted to expand the product line. Make “LaRocca” a household word for pasta sauce like “Kleenex” was for facial tissues. Ensure that everyone who shared his blood had a chance at a prosperous future.

Since his appointment as CEO, he’d schemed and planned and jockeyed to put his company, relatively small and still privately operated, into the leagues where only conglomerates dared to tread. Big dreams, but he was so close to achieving them. The livelihood of his entire family depended on him. He just needed more time--more single, unattached, undistracted-by-a-wife time.

Samantha could buy him his needed reprieve. And maybe a little excitement, too. Excitement that had been sorely lacking in his life for way too long, a reality this sexy security guard effortlessly proved.

“If I’m going to get any business done, I need a bodyguard,” he said, determined to clarify his point. “You’ve convinced me of that. If we lead everyone to believe that we are an item, that would give you a reason to be with me all the time. Which would...”

She nodded as she took over his sentence, her laughter dying as business encroached. “...save your big male ego from admitting you need protection.”

“Yes, well,” he admitted, wondering how this stranger knew him so well in less than an hour’s time. “My big male ego does sometimes need saving, but I have a higher payoff in mind. If the general public believes that I’m no longer available...that half of my net worth will soon be spoken for...”

Sam applauded. “Nice twist. You convince all those single women that you’ve made your choice, and they set their sights on the next rich bachelor.” After a moment, she wrinkled her nose. “But you know, if I’m going to play your bimbo for the whole world to see, I think I’ll rescind the discount offer. We’ll call it danger pay. I do have a reputation to protect.”

Nick grinned. He’d had no idea that Samantha would be so easy to convince. She either needed the money or she didn’t want to wait to become a bodyguard. Either reason, he respected her lack of self-doubt.

They were two peas in a pod. Which added a layer of protection to his plan. Nick might no longer be entirely clear on the kind of woman he really wanted to marry someday, but he was quite certain he didn’t want a woman who operated exactly like he did. Career first, money second, reputation third--and in a succession that ran so close, the distinction between each goal was acutely hard to decipher.

“Samantha Deveaux has a reputation?” He hummed his interest, wiggling his eyebrows to make sure he needled her sufficiently. “It’s been a long time since I hung out with a girl who had a rep. One of the DiCarlo sisters, if I remember correctly.” Now wasn’t the time to point out that he never had and still did not date “bimbos.” Even the DiCarlo sisters back in high school had just been looking for a little harmless fun. But he didn’t want Samantha to think that he rarely dated anymore, true or not. And he’d expect such an assumption. Why else would his grandmothers have stirred the wild, single masses in the first place. Unfortunately, Nick couldn’t remember his last date. He’d broken off his engagement to Sophia over two years ago, and hadn’t seen anyone else since, first out of respect for Sophia and then because he didn’t have the time. Dating required way more effort than he was willing to spend...especially since he no longer knew what he wanted.

He’d dated a lot during college, but as soon as his company went public four years ago, he’d met Blair, the sophisticated daughter of a Chicago entrepreneur who should have understood his devotion to business pursuits, but didn’t. She was too cool, too calculated and required way more attention than he had time to give. Sophia, a friend from the old neighborhood, should have been perfect. She embraced all the traditional values he thought he treasured. She ended up driving him crazy and he doubted he was any picnic for her either.

He suspected Samantha Deveaux would drive him crazy, too, but in an entirely different, entirely desirable way.

“So tell me about this reputation of yours,” he said. “I’m utterly intrigued.”

Samantha stood, her lips pressed tight but her eyes smiling. “I’ll bet you are. But,” she said with a sigh, “this is the unfair part of the protection game. I get to know everything about you and my life is off-limits.”

Nick had no idea if she realized that she’d just issued a delicious challenge, but he guarded his expression. He nodded as if he agreed to her terms.

One quick call to his attorneys, who would in turn contact their private investigation division, could garner him each and every detail of Samantha Deveaux’s life within an hour or two. If he gave them a whole day, the high-priced sharks he kept on retainer could write her biography, complete with photographs of her twelfth birthday and an interview with her third-grade boyfriend.

But damn, it would be so much more fun to discover her secrets himself.