“Tell me what you do,” she said. “I saw a very nice office with lots of room, but no clues.”

“I run Security International. We’re based here in Santa Barbara, although we operate all over the world.”

“What kind of security?”

“Personal. We provide bodyguards on a temporary or full-time basis. We have a security consulting division, and we will train other people’s bodyguards.”

She looked startled. “Like the movie?”

He knew which one she meant. “My people get fired for sleeping with a client.”

“That seems harsh.”

“They’re paid to stay alert, not get lucky.”

“Any famous clients?”

“Yes.”

She waited expectantly, then laughed. “You’re not going to give me any names.”

“Not even a hint.”

“That really big guy back at the office. Jason. He’s one of your bodyguards?”

Sam nodded.

“He wouldn’t exactly blend in.”

“Sometimes that’s not what the client wants.”

“Everybody armed?”

“Sure.”

“Even you?”

He gave her a slow smile. “Especially me.”

She picked up her wine. “Even now?”

“Want to see?”

Francesca was willing to bet Sam hadn’t spent more than fifteen minutes without a woman circling in his orbit. Her specifications had been clear-she would throw herself at the first eligible, attractive guy she ran into. She’d thought the situation might be nerve-racking and awkward; she hadn’t considered she would be a bush-league rookie playing with the pros.

“I’m not sure you want to flash the staff,” she said. “This is an upscale restaurant, and they frown on that sort of thing.”

She sipped her wine, which actually wasn’t bad. Not that she would be telling her sister.

“Afraid?” he asked. “The safety’s on.”

As if they were talking about the gun. “I’m cautious and sensible. Not afraid.” She put the glass down. “How long have you been in the security business?”