One Night with her Bodyguard (3 page)
Read One Night with her Bodyguard Online
Authors: Noelle Adams
“I’m
afraid so. My people say it would help if I could remind folks that I’m a
family man.”
Claire’s
fist tightened in her lap. “Oh, no, Dad.”
“I’m
really sorry. You know I only ask when it’s important.”
It
was true. He knew how she felt about mingling in his social circles, and so he
almost never asked her to do so.
She
cleared her throat. “What is it?”
“A
cocktail party. Tonight. You’d only have to stay an hour or so. And it’s here,
so it will be familiar territory.”
She
was swallowed in cold dread at the idea of mingling and making superficial
conversation with a houseful of rich, gorgeous, intimidating strangers.
Her
father needed her help, though—he wouldn’t have asked otherwise. And she’d betrayed
him every Thursday night for six weeks by sneaking away from her bodyguard.
“Okay,”
she said in a choked voice. “What time?”
“You
won’t need to go down until after nine, but come over early so you won’t have
to get through the mob of people.”
She
nodded, a little stiffly. “Okay.”
“Be
brave.”
He’d
always told her that—since she was five years old and paralyzed with terror
about going to the first day of kindergarten.
It
might not take courage for most people to face something as innocuous as a big
party, but Claire had to be brave every time.
“I
will.” She pushed the fear to the back corner of her mind for the time being,
the only way to make it through the day before a dreaded event. “I’ve got to
get to work.”
“I
know. Thank you for helping me out. I’ll see you tonight.”
She
nodded again and accepted the hug her father gave her as she started to leave.
As
she was walking out through the large airy living area that connected to the
formal dining room and the marble-floored main hall, she stopped short,
imagining the huge spaces full of people.
People
she didn’t know and to whom she would have to make charming small talk tonight.
For
just a moment, she froze.
Before
she could work herself into a state of paralysis, she felt a pressure on her
back.
Michael
was pushing her, his hand planted just below her shoulder blades.
He
wasn’t rough or even particularly rude, but his hand was a force that couldn’t
be resisted.
So
she kept walking until she made it to the car, where Roger was waiting to open
the door for her.
Michael
got into the backseat with her. Usually the bodyguard escorting her sat in the
front with Roger or whomever was driving the car. Sometimes Michael sat in the
front too, but at other times he joined her in the back. She never knew what
decided the difference.
He
was on the phone when the car started off, talking to someone about
arrangements for her protection at the party tonight.
His
low voice drifted over her consciousness, so familiar it was almost comforting.
Being
with him was like being with Stella, or her father, or her best friend Maria.
His
presence didn’t stress her out or make her anxious. If he was on bodyguard duty
around the clock, she might not always feel like running away.
When
he hung up, he just looked at her, no emotion reflected on his face.
She
looked back at him, thinking his eyes would be absolutely beautiful—such an
unusual silvery blue—if they weren’t always so expressionless.
Then
she remembered something.
“You
might have fooled my dad, but you and I both know that you had no idea I was
going out on Thursday nights.”
She
must have surprised him into showing a genuine response. His eyes widened. “I
did know.”
“You
did not. You were long gone every night I snuck—”
“You
left at ten-thirty on the last six Thursday evenings and went to your friend’s
art studio in Melrose. You painted for about four hours each evening. Two
Thursdays ago, you stopped for a decaf latte on your way home.”
Her
mouth fell open. “How did you know?”
“I
made sure to know. I wouldn’t leave you unprotected.”
“But
Rick had no idea.”
“That’s
why Rick isn’t working for us anymore.”
“But
how did
you
know?” She was torn between a shocked betrayal of privacy
and a bewildered admiration.
“I
could see you getting restless. I knew you’d try to do something, so I made
sure we knew when you did.”
She
wondered how he could have seen she was getting restless, that she was feeling
imprisoned by her security measures.
It
was strange that he knew her so well.
“You
didn’t tell me you knew?”
“As
I told your father, it was important for you to feel alone, and I didn’t want
to take that away from you unnecessarily.”
She
peered at him suspiciously. “You weren’t just smugly holding the secret over my
head so you could lower the boom at the worst possible moment?”
“That
too.”
She
stared at him a full thirty seconds before she realized he was making a joke.
He wasn’t smiling but his eyes warmed briefly.
She
was surprised by a rippling laugh. While laughing at his unexpected wit was not
the best way to hold her own with him, her sense of humor was tickled and she
just couldn’t help it.
He
still didn’t smile, but something almost softened on his face. Something she’d
never seen before. Something that made her heart beat faster.
Then
his expression changed again. His brows drew together. “You really thought I
was someone who would lie like that?”
“I
just thought you were…you were covering.”
“You
thought I lied to your father’s face.”
She
had, and she suddenly realized it had been a ridiculous thing to believe about
Michael. She licked her lips and didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve
never lied to your father, and I’ve never lied to you. I never will.” His face
was stoic again, but there was an earnestness in his eyes that was as
uncharacteristic as the warmth.
She
responded to it, her heart strangely fond for no reason she could understand.
“Okay,” she murmured. “Sorry.”
They
stared at each other for what felt like a long time.
Then
his expression changed yet again. No trace of warmth or earnestness. Just tension.
“Wait a minute,” he demanded. “Wait just a minute. You thought I lied to your
father back there?”
She
frowned, feeling flustered by her strange responses to him and by the sudden
shift in mood. “Didn’t we just cover this?”
“We
didn’t cover the implications. You thought I lied to your father about knowing
you were sneaking out and you never said a word about it?”
It
sounded like an accusation rather than a question, and her shoulders stiffened
defensively. “What’s your point?”
“You
never
do that. Do you hear me? You never let anyone get away with a
lie—not if it’s about your safety.”
She
was breathless again. He seemed angry. Simmering with something else she’d
never seen in him before. “I was trying to…I mean, it wasn’t just anyone. It
was
you
. It was my fault. I didn’t want you to get in trouble for it.”
“I
don’t care. It wasn’t your fault. If I didn’t know you were going out on those
nights, then I deserved to be in trouble. I don’t care who’s doing the lying or
how much you want to help them—you
never
let them get away with it.”
He
was tenser than she’d ever seen him—the muscles of his neck and shoulders
rippling slightly. His blue eyes blazed with something she didn’t recognize,
and she was hypnotized by his sudden intensity.
She
just stared at him, suddenly hit by an overwhelming attraction.
She
wanted to grab him, kiss him, pull him down over her and feel him against her.
She
wanted
him. She wanted
him
.
What
the hell was wrong with her? This was just Michael—pushy, stoic, obnoxious, an
inescapable part of the background of her life.
And
he was being particularly obnoxious right now. She shouldn’t be attracted by
it.
“Do
you hear me?” he demanded. He actually reached out and took her by the
shoulders. His hands were warm and strong through the fabric of her jacket, and
his grip was hard and unshakeable.
“Yes,
I hear you.” She was hot and confused and overwhelmed with how much she wanted him,
how much she wanted all of that intensity he kept hidden from the world to be
directed only toward her.
She
pulled out of his grip and then clasped her hands in her lap. She kept looking
at him, though. Couldn’t look away.
After
a minute, his whole demeanor changed. He seemed to rein in whatever had gotten
loose earlier, and his expression became blank and professional again.
His
eyes searched her face. “Are you all right?”
She
didn’t answer him. She didn’t feel all right. It felt like Michael had become a
stranger, and she had never been able to talk easily to strangers.
“Claire,”
he said sharply. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I was too rough just now. I didn’t
mean to scare you.”
He
hadn’t scared her. But she
was
scared.
“Claire,
talk to me.”
She
swallowed. “You didn’t scare me.”
“Then
what’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She rubbed her face with both hands, trying to get her mind to work again. “I’m
fine.”
“I
don’t think you are, but it doesn’t look like you’re… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t
have…” He looked away, to the side, trying to get a grip on whatever was
threatening to escape again.
All
this time, and she’d never known there was any sort of intense emotion that
might try to escape from Michael. The idea of its presence behind his handsome,
impassive face was almost…thrilling.
“I
told you that you didn’t scare me. You’re not that intimidating. Don’t flatter
yourself.”
He
turned back to face her and something twitched at his mouth. Almost but not
quite a smile. “I am sorry, Ms. Kenyon. It was unprofessional.”
Maybe
it was unprofessional, but Claire desperately wanted to see it again.
Since
she could hardly admit that to her bodyguard, she said instead, “If you really
want to be unprofessional, you might think about cracking a smile every once in
a while.”
Three
Claire ducked into a
small anteroom off the entertainment areas of her father’s mansion and took a
few ragged breaths.
Her
heart raced brutally, and she was momentarily nauseated as she fought another
wave of anxiety.
She
walked over to an ornate wall mirror and pretended to be primping, just in case
one of the guests wandered in and wondered what she was doing.
At
the moment, however, the room was blessedly empty.
She’d
made a last-minute appointment at her salon that afternoon so she would be
presentable for the party. She’d gotten some lighter blond highlights in her
hair, which they’d blown out into a smooth, shiny fall around her shoulders. They’d
given her a manicure and pedicure and even done her makeup. She wore a slinky
chocolate brown sheathe gown and her favorite gold-tone heels. She thought she
looked as pretty as it was possible for her to look.
But
her cheeks weren’t as rosy as usual now, and her eyes looked unusually large.
It felt like she was staring at a sexy, sophisticated stranger.
She
took a few minutes to catch her breath. Then knew she needed to go back out.
She’d
been standing near her father for the last half-hour, trying to reply sensibly
to the hordes of guests who came over to talk to her. She’d become more and
more tongue-tied and self-conscious as the minutes passed until she’d finally
had to escape. If she didn’t return soon, though, her father would worry. And
people would wonder why she’d barely put in an appearance at the party before
she disappeared.
She
sucked in a deep breath and tried to gird herself for battle.
She
would go back now. She would smile and be charming. She would casually chat about
the latest movies, debate local politics, and complain about taxes. She
wouldn’t freeze up or shut down mid-conversation.
She
would pretend to be someone else—someone who was able to work the room and be
the center of attention.
She
gripped the back of a chair and didn’t move.
The
door to the anteroom swung open, and she gasped before she realized it was just
Michael. He’d been waiting outside the door for her, but maybe he was worried
because she was taking so long.
He
wore a dark evening suit, and he wore it so well she’d lost her breath earlier
when she first saw him. His suit looked expensive—she even wondered if it had
been tailored to fit his broad shoulders and long limbs so smoothly. He must
have shaven again that afternoon because otherwise he’d be bristly this late in
the day. His eyes looked startlingly blue.
She’d
seen him in eveningwear before, but ever since she’d experienced that bizarre
attraction earlier today, she couldn’t look at him without feeling it again.
“Ready?”
he asked with his normal expression of bland inquiry. He nodded toward the
party, the buzz of voices audible through the closed door.
She
nodded, trying and failing to smile as the instinctive attraction was smothered
in a new wave of fear about reentering the room full of strangers.
She
managed to take two steps toward Michael but then stalled again.
“We
can leave in another half-hour.”
She
looked at him blankly for a few seconds until she realized he was trying to be
encouraging. She appreciated the rare gesture, so she nodded again. This time,
when she tried to smile, she took a loud, raspy inhalation instead.
Embarrassed, she stared down at the floor. Her pretty toe nails were peeking
out of her shiny shoes.
She
usually did better than this—even at cocktail parties, which were the worst of
her social horrors. She could usually put on a mask that hid her real feelings.
The stress from earlier in the day and from the last two months of being
surrounded by bodyguards must have intensified her normal responses, and she
couldn’t maintain her mask this evening.
“Do
you need me to talk to your father?”
She
wasn’t looking at him, but she recognized his voice as gentler than normal. He
felt sorry for her. He thought she was going to cave.
She
wasn’t going to cave.
She
shook her head urgently and stiffened her shoulders as she met his eyes.
“Okay.
Then let’s get out there.” He stepped over to her side and put a familiar hand
on her back, urging her out of the room.
She
let him guide her to the door but, just before they reached it, she resisted
the force of his hand.
She
dropped her eyes and shut down for a few seconds.
When
she looked back up, Michael was waiting patiently. “Who do you know out there?”
he asked, unusually quiet.
She
swallowed. “No one.”
“That’s
not true. Don’t think of it as a room full of people. Think of the individuals.
Tell me who you know. Who have you liked talking to in the past?”
She
scowled at him, since he was being bossy, but he stared at her like he was
expecting an answer.
Because
she wasn’t in any state to argue, she thought about the question. “Parker
Bowles is here. He has eleven grandkids he likes to talk about. One of the
girls is really shy and never wants to do anything but read.”
Michael
nodded. “Who else?”
She
tried to remembered, but the room outside was just a blur.
He
opened the door halfway so she could look out. “Who do you know?”
She
took a quick look around the room before she pulled back. “Rosemary Turner has
two huge Neapolitan Mastiffs. They’re like big teddy bears. I went to a party
at her place with my dad last year and spent the whole time playing with the
dogs.”
“Good.
Who else?”
“Gino
Martin and his wife own an art studio. They’ve got a really good eye for
contemporary art.”
“Okay,”
Michael said. “You’ll go talk to Bowles about his grandkids. Then you’ll talk
to Rosemary about her dogs. Then you’ll talk to the Martins about any new art
they’ve acquired. By then it will be time for you to leave.”
It
sounded easy. It sounded simple. It sounded like something she could do. She
liked talking to people when they were by themselves and not all gathered in a
huge mob in the same space.
“It’s
not a room full of people,” Michael murmured, placing his hand beneath her
shoulder blades again. Her dress was cut low in the back, and she was suddenly
conscious of the feel of his palm against her bare skin. “It’s three private
conversations with people you know and like. Bowles. Rosemary. The Martins.
Then you’re done.”
She
straightened up, taking one more breath. “What if they don’t want to talk to
me?”
“Of
course, they’ll want to talk to you.” Michael’s voice sounded inexplicably
thicker so she looked up at his face, not very far from hers.
“Believe
it or not, I’ve never been the most popular person at any party.” She tried for
a wry smile and almost managed it.
He
shook his head. “That’s only because you hide from people. You don’t let them
get to know you. Claire, if you let them see who you really are, every person
in that room would adore you.”
She
gulped and gazed up at him with wide eyes, her heart racing again but for an
entirely different reason.
She
saw something in his eyes—something real, deep, irresistible. “Really?” she
breathed stupidly.
“They
would adore you. I promise you it’s true.”
Claire
swayed toward him, wanting to kiss him so much she almost just pulled his face
down toward hers. Her blood coursed through her veins, and a ripple of excited
pleasure swept over her. Only a loud laugh from not far outside the door
stopped her, distracted her.
Michael
gave his head a strange little shake, and that very particular look disappeared
from his eyes. “Ready?”
She
was a bit disoriented by the swell of feeling she’d just experienced, but at
least she wasn’t panicking anymore. “Ready.”
Then
she walked out into the room.
***
She made it forty-seven
minutes, rather than just a half-hour. She would have made it even longer
because Parker Bowles wouldn’t stop talking about his grandchildren. She’d had
to talk to Rosemary and the Martins first because Parker was occupied when
she’d first come back out.
Claire
was mid-conversation with him—not incredibly stimulated by the good-hearted
elderly man but at least comfortable in a secure conversation, which was rare
for her in such a gathering—when Michael stepped to her side unexpectedly.
“It’s
time for us leave, Ms. Kenyon,” he murmured in the low voice he always used in
public. “If you’ll please excuse us, Mr. Bowles.”
Parker
gave her a friendly farewell and said he hoped to see her soon, even sounding
like he meant it.
Claire
went with Michael without argument. He’d never pulled her away like that
before, so he must have a good reason for it now.
Michael
had his hand at her back as they walked to the front door of the house, pushing
more than supportive. When they reached the car parked at the front entry, she
grinned at Pete, one of the bodyguards, who was getting into the front
passenger seat.
“Hey,”
she said, “Did you get stuck with night duty today?”
“Something
like that.”
Claire
didn’t get a chance to follow-up on the greeting because Michael put his hands
on her waist and hoisted her bodily into the backseat of the car.
She
gave a surprised huff as she straightened up, since she’d almost face-planted
into the cushy seat. She didn’t get a chance to settle, however, since Michael
got into the car right after her, forcing her to scoot over to make room for
him.
She
tried to roll down the window between the front and back seats to say hello to
Roger, but Michael stopped her by putting his big hand over hers.
“What
the hell?” she snapped, scowling at him.
Michael
raised his hand in a silent gesture that she should wait.
She
tightened her lips but didn’t protest. She waited until Roger had started the
car and driven out through her father’s front gates.
Michael’s
phone must have vibrated because he pulled it out and glanced at it, but he immediately
slid it back in his pocket.
“Can
I talk now?” she asked, sounding just a little testy.
“Yes.”
She
rolled down the front window and said hello to Roger, asking if his wife was
feeling better. When she’d been assured that she was making some improvements,
Claire rolled up the window and gave Michael a challenging look.
He
just returned her gaze blandly.
“There’s
no way you’re getting away with not giving me an explanation,” she bit out.
“There
was potential danger, so we needed to get you out quickly.”
“Thanks
for that very helpful piece of information. Obviously, I knew that much. I want
to know what this supposed danger was.”
“
Is
.”
She
stared at him. Her pulse was racing a little, but it wasn’t really from fear.
She still couldn’t imagine a random threat from two months ago could really
pose a danger to her.
But
being with Michael excited her in a way it really shouldn’t.
“Was.
Is. Whatever. Tell me what happened.” She lifted her hips to straighten her
slinky skirt, which had bunched up around her thighs. When Michael didn’t
answer, she groaned in frustration. “Damn it, Michael. What’s going on? Did my
dad get another threat? Is he all right?”
“Yes,
and yes.” He paused a beat. “The threat wasn’t directed at him.”
She
made a face. “I guess that means it was aimed at me again. This all sounds very
sketchy. Is there any evidence at all that I’m in real danger. He gets crazy
letters all the time. One guy wrote to him and demanded he make a movie about
the Titanic but have Leo play the iceberg this time—and if he didn’t this guy
would start killing all the Bichon Frises in L.A. I really don’t think you need
to be wasting your time responding to every wacko who sends my dad a note.”
“It’s
not a waste of time. It’s my job. Your father ordered me to protect you, so
that’s what I do. It doesn’t matter if he thinks the threat is coming from a
rabid squirrel, my job is to make sure you’re safe from it.”
There
was nothing light or warm about Michael’s unreadable expression, but his choice
of words made her choke on a surprised laugh.
Michael’s
phone must have vibrated again because he pulled it out to check it again.
As
he did, Claire glanced out the car window. “Wait a minute. Where are we going?
I need to go home.”
“You
can’t go home.”
“What?
Why not?” She was starting to get nervous for the first time.
“Your
apartment is too difficult to secure, since so many other people live in the
building.”