Читать книгу The 9-Month Bodyguard - Cindy Dees - Страница 8

Silver froze as the world went mad around her. She registered a flash of motion. A shout of warning from behind. And then an explosion of noise so loud it made her teeth hurt. A giant sheet of glass crashed down a few feet behind her, showering her with shards of exploding glass.

People screamed and were running and ducking and falling everywhere. She didn’t know what to do. Everyone around her melted away, leaving her standing all by herself in a sea of glass, marble and glittering chrome. The torrent of crystal prisms fell like rain around her, each with its own rainbow of slivered light trapped within it. So pretty. The thought floated through her head, completely detached from reality.

Mark was a dozen feet away, cursing at the top of his lungs. He was turning in circles, as if he was looking for somewhere to run and hide but couldn’t decide which way to go.

And then something hit her from behind. It felt like a freight train had just slammed into her at seventy miles per hour. It drove her to the ground, face first, crushing her in darkness and suffocating weight. Panic struck her then. She couldn’t breathe! She had to run! To get out of here, away from this insanity. To protect her baby!

“Let me up!” she tried to scream. It came out no more than a breathy gasp devoid of sound.

“Are you hit?” a deep voice asked sharply in her ear.

Austin. A wave of relief washed over her, so powerful and warm it nearly made her faint. “I don’t think so.”

He shouted from above her, “Sampson! Clear the lobby! Set up suppression around the exterior perimeter so the subject can be evacuated!”

“Huh?” Mark obviously didn’t have the slightest idea what Austin had just told him to do.

Violent swearing erupted in her left ear, much of it dealing with Mark’s questionably human parentage and complete lack of training. Then Austin was giving her instructions, urgent and low. “We’re getting up and running like hell. We’re gonna zigzag back and forth so the gunman has less of a shot at you.”

Gunman? Gunman? Was that what that noise had been? A gunshot? Ohmigod.

“Let’s go!” Austin bit out.

All of a sudden his bulk was gone, replaced by light and air and an awful sense of exposure that made her want to curl up in a little ball with her hands over her head and never move again. But then Austin was pulling at her, yanking her to her feet. She managed to stay vertical and keep up with his zigzagging run until they burst out from under the covered overhang into the blistering late afternoon sun. Austin paused, looking around quickly.

“Hey! Let go of her!”

Mark again.

“Give it up, Bubba. You don’t know a damn thing about being a bodyguard. Get out of my way before you get your girlfriend killed. Let me do my job.” Austin sounded like he’d about had it with Mark.

Austin was dragging her forward again, toward a long, black stretch limo parked on the far side of the sweeping circular drive.

“That’s it, pretty boy!” Mark shouted. “You and me, right here, right now—”

“Shut the hell up, Sampson.” And with that, Austin yanked open the back door of the limo and surprisingly gently pushed her inside. Her heel caught on the thick carpet and she stumbled, landing on her knees on the carpeted floor as something big blocked the light behind her. The door slammed shut, and yet again, Austin banged into her.

“Oomph,” she grunted as she went down on her side.

The glass panel between them and the driver was sliding down. A pale, shocked face stared at them from under a chauffeur’s cap.

“Get this car moving if you don’t want to get shot!” Austin ordered the driver in a tone of command that brooked no disobedience. The vehicle lurched into motion violently, dumping Austin on the carpet beside her. Tires screeched, and the vehicle made a sharp turn before accelerating powerfully.

She blinked over at Austin, lying no more than a foot away from her. His eyes were green, a deep, shadowy shade like the darkest part of a forest. She said dryly, “We have to stop meeting on floors like this.”

He grinned back at her. “I haven’t been horizontal this many times with a woman without being in bed with her since…ever.”

In bed with him? Whoa. Now there was a thought. A tingle of that same electric attraction that had about jolted her out of skin the first time he’d tackled her shot through her now.

His pupils dilated hard and fast. All of a sudden, his gaze went so black and hot she could hardly bear to look at him. Other details started to register. His arm, heavy and muscular, lay across the indentation of her waist. And his leg was thrown across hers. If she leaned forward just a little bit, she could cuddle up against that big, brawny chest of his. Her face would fit in the strong curve of his neck, and his shoulder would make a perfect pillow for her head. A lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead, and her fingers itched to reach up and push it away.

“Are you okay?” he asked so tenderly it made her heart ache a little.

“Yeah.” And then an awful thought hit her. “Are you okay?” she blurted, alarmed. Her hands splayed across his chest of their own volition, searching frantically for injuries.

He grinned then, a lopsided thing oozing so much charm it ought to be illegal. “I’m fine. I’d have been glad to take that bullet for you but no, I’m not hit. Thanks for asking, though.”

Her hands stopped, somewhere in the middle of all those acres of muscle. “Take a bullet for me?” she repeated blankly.

“Yes. I’m a bodyguard. It’s what I do.”

“Get shot?”

Another one of those lethal grins. “Well, the idea is to avoid either one of us getting shot in the first place, but if it comes down to you or me, it’s my job to take the hit.”

She shuddered at the thought of deadly lead slamming into this man and erasing that smile forever. “Don’t take a bullet for me, okay?”

He drew her closer against him, and funny thing, she had no desire whatsoever to resist. That volcano of heat and lust that had erupted between them back in the casino exploded again, spewing steam and fire and molten images of sex with him all over the back of the limo. She’d been no saint in her day and had certainly partaken of meaningless sex just for the sake of it now and then. But never, ever, had she been bowled over by an attraction to any guy this instantaneous and this incendiary.

Her entire body felt liquid, flowing over and around him, seeking to engulf every inch of him. His arms tightened around her like tempered steel bands, and his desire rose to meet hers, towering every bit as powerfully as hers. For an instant, fear flooded through her. What had she unleashed between them? It was so big, so overwhelming, she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle it. She looked up, and Austin was staring down at her, looking every bit as stunned as she felt. Well, that was something, at least. Somehow, the idea of him being blown away, too, calmed her.

She relaxed once more in his arms, her trust restored. This was not ops normal for him, either. Something gigantic had happened between them. She hadn’t imagined it.

Wonder filling his dark gaze, he murmured, “I’ll do my level best not to have to take a bullet for you. But rest assured, I will do it if necessary. I’ll die for you.”

The import of those simple words slammed into her like a boulder. She stared at him for a long time, trying to absorb what it truly meant. Finally she managed to mumble, “Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me. Ever. Do you really mean it?”

His gaze locked with hers, as he clearly weighed what she’d just said. Was he trying to figure out if she was talking about other bodyguards, or about more? Much more. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure, herself, just how much she’d meant by the question.

He answered so low she almost didn’t hear him over the sound of pavement beneath the tires. “Yeah. I do mean it.”

Now, that definitely sounded as if he was talking about more than keeping her alive. And darned if her pulse didn’t race even faster, her heart pounding even harder against her ribs.

He reached up to push a strand of white-blond hair out of her face. He whispered, “You’re even more beautiful in person. And I’ve always secretly thought you were a knockout. Are you really real?”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m just a normal girl who’s been lucky enough to live an extraordinary life.”

He smiled as if he didn’t quite believe her. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the guy was a little starstruck. “How ’bout you? Are you real? I thought superheroes only live in comic books.”

His grin was a little unbalanced. “I’m just a regular guy who’s been lucky enough to get some extraordinary training.”

“I think there’s more to you than that, Austin Dearing. A whole lot more.”

“I could say the same of you, Silver Rothchild.”

She gazed deep into his eyes. Shockingly, she didn’t see deception. Not an iota of greed or social climbing or self-interest. Was this guy for real? Everyone always wanted something from her—money or fame or a leg up on an entertainment career. Was it possible that he liked her just for her? That all those sparks zinging back and forth between them were real?

A rumble of laughter vibrated deep in his chest. “I have a sinking feeling that you’re going to lead me on a merry chase before this is all said and done.”

She grinned up at him. “Sounds like fun.”

He sighed, but the smile didn’t quite leave his eyes. “If I’m going to do my job, we need to get a few things straight between us.”

She couldn’t resist. She snuggled her hips against his—and gasped at the feel of him, huge and hard between her thighs. “Everything feels straight to me.”

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened them, she was disappointed to see that he’d shifted into business mode. “I was trying to talk to you about the rules of engagement we’re going to operate under when you kept running away from me.”

“I wasn’t running away from you!”

He quirked an all-too-knowing brow. “What would you call it?”

She replied defiantly, “Creative avoidance.”

His crack of laughter inexplicably warmed her heart. She liked making this man happy. Wanted to get to know him better. To explore this thing between them. What was up with that? He was her father’s lackey. She ought to hate his guts. But somewhere in the past five minutes, in the midst of their heated argument and diving for cover, something had changed between them. Radically. It was almost as if someone had waved a magic wand and cast a spell over the two of them. Talk about going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat…

Weird.

His arm lifted away from her waist. The movement felt reluctant, like he didn’t want to let her go. That was lovely. He sat up and helped her twist around and sit up without coming out of her dress. And that was lovely, too. Considerate. Far too few people in her life showed her simple courtesy not because she was a rock star but because she was a human being.

She scowled at her dress as she gave the dowdy thing one last tug. It figured that she’d meet the man of her dreams the one day she was wearing something this goofy looking—her, the ultimate fashion diva, who never appeared anywhere without looking like the cover of the latest pop culture magazine. But her father had a cow whenever she wore anything even remotely sexy, and she hadn’t wanted a fight with him at her birthday party. So she’d chosen this high-necked, long-hemmed, multilayered affair in a demure shade of pink.

“Shall we go for the gusto and actually try using the seats?” he asked wryly.

She felt her dimples pucker up. “If we’re gonna hijack a limo, we may as well enjoy it before we go to jail.”

He grinned. “Good point.” He knocked on the glass partition, which had closed sometime during their exchange on the floor.

The chauffeur looked back at them in his rearview mirror. “We safe now?” the guy asked.

Austin nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. Mr. Rothchild’s going to be very grateful that you saved his daughter’s life.”

The guy snorted. “Mr. Coddington’s going to be very not grateful that I took off with his limo.”

Silver knew Albert Coddington. She jumped in, waving a casual hand. “Albert’s a dear. Once he knows what happened, he’ll be delighted to have helped.”

The driver muttered, “Maybe. But Mrs. Coddington sure won’t like having to wait for her ride.”

Silver laughed. “I give Mrs. Coddington-Number-Five six more months before she’s outta there. No need to worry about her. Albert’s determined to be just like Henry VIII, and he has one more wife to go.”

Austin’s gaze swiveled to hers. “The man’s had five wives? What’s wrong with him?”

She grinned at him. “He has a weakness for gold diggers and gets suckered, like clockwork, every ten years. But give the guy credit for style. The current Mrs. Coddington is younger than I am. By a lot.”

“You’re not exactly an old lady.”

She shrugged. “It’s not like I can lie to you about my age. After all, you met me at my birthday party.”

“You’ll like being thirty—”

She cut him off. “Don’t tell me my thirties will be my best decade yet. I made a pact with myself that I’d murder the next person who said that to me.”

He shrugged. “Okay, how ’bout this? My thirties have been great to me so far. Wouldn’t trade ’em for the world. I hope yours are the same for you.”

“I’ll let you know in six weeks,” she replied ruefully.

“What happens in six weeks?”

She opened her mouth to tell him about her upcoming gig at the Grand, when the driver spoke from up front. “Sir, when do you want me to head back to town? We’re gonna have to turn around now or go straight for about a fifty miles and get gas before we turn around.”

Austin frowned. “Let’s head back to town. Does the Grand have a private entrance?”

Silver and the driver answered simultaneously, “Yes.”

Austin looked over at her. “I forgot. You grew up there, didn’t you?”

Indeed, she had. She was plenty familiar with the underground loading dock for the many deliveries it took to keep the Grand running. Rather than have trucks constantly clog the busy streets around the hotel, they unloaded underneath it, out of sight and out of the way. Which also made for an ideal entry for celebrities in search of privacy—or safety.

“We’ll have to call ahead to use it. Security’s very tight down there,” she said. “Particularly in the late afternoon. The casino gets its shipments of cash in at about this time of day.”

Austin pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your dad’s personal phone number?”

She rattled off the number and Austin dialed it quickly. She listened unabashedly.

“Hi, sir. This is Austin Dearing. I wanted to report that your daughter is unhurt and with me…that’s correct…what are the police saying about the shooting? Any trace of the gunman?” Austin listened a long time, then commented dryly, “With all due respect, sir, that Bubba who calls himself her bodyguard doesn’t know his nose from his ass. You made an exceedingly wise decision to hire me.”

Silver’s jaw dropped. Mark would go ballistic if he heard Austin say something like that! Everybody knew to tiptoe around his hair-trigger temper. She thought she heard tinny laughter emanating from Austin’s phone.

“We’ll be arriving at the underground entrance of your hotel in…driver, how long till we’re back at the Grand?”

“Twenty minutes, sir.”

“…in twenty minutes. Right. Thanks. No sweat.” Austin pocketed his phone.

She liked to think of it as healthy inquisitiveness, but nosiness was one of her greatest weaknesses. She liked to know everything that was going on around her. When Austin made no comment, her curiosity quickly got the best of her. “So, what did my father say?”

“He’ll have someone waiting at the gate for us.”

She huffed. “No. About the shooting? Did the police catch the guy?”

“No.”

“Who was he shooting at? Was anyone hurt? C’mon, Austin. Gimme the scoop.”

Amusement glinted in his green gaze. “I don’t need the police to tell me the gunman was shooting at you. I saw the guy make his move. And, no, no one was seriously hurt. Some guests and staff have cuts and bruises from twisted ankles and falling glass.”

She was still stuck on his first sentence. “The gunman was shooting at me? Are you sure?”

That earned her an annoyed look. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s what I do, remember?”

“How do you know?”

He sighed. “I saw the gunman dart out of hiding and pull out his weapon. He timed his move for when Bubba had stepped away from you to give the cameras his best profile. He really is a jerk, you know.”

“The shooter or Mark?”

Austin grinned. “Both of them.”

She rolled her eyes. The guy was trying very hard not to be informative with her. She prompted him again. “Then what did the gunman do?”

Austin crossed his arms. “He took aim at you with a large-caliber handgun and fired. One thing we know about him—he’s a crappy shot. He should have nailed you cold. Any eighteen-year-old raw recruit could make that kill.”

“Well, thank God for small favors,” she replied dryly.

He glanced over at her. “Seriously. It tells us a lot about the guy. If he were a professional hit man you’d be dead. This guy’s an amateur with something personal against you. Can you think of anyone who might want to kill you? Maybe get revenge for some past wrong?”

She frowned hard, not liking the turn this conversation was taking one little bit.

“Any old boyfriends you had ugly breakups with? Anyone you crossed swords with during your career? Anyone who might feel slighted by your success?”

She gifted him with an annoyed look of her own. “Yes to all of the above. Times about a hundred. In case you didn’t know it, my former singing career was…slightly tumultuous.”

He laughed. “The way I hear it, that’s an extreme understatement.”

Sometimes it got really old having a public past like hers to live down. With a long-suffering sigh, she replied, “There you have it. The list of people who want to see me dead is long and distinguished. Take your pick of who the gunman could be.”

For a moment sympathy shone in his eyes. But then his gaze went flinty hard. “Never fear, honey. I’ll figure out who he is and take the bastard out. Nobody shoots at someone I’m responsible for and lives to tell about it.”

She sank deeper into the plush seat, taken aback at his abrupt shift of mood. Maybe Mark was the one who ought to be worrying about ticking this man off, and not the other way around.

“What’s the Tears of the Quetzal?” he asked abruptly.

“It’s a diamond. It’s set into a ring, and my father calls it his most prized possession.” As Austin quirked a skeptical eyebrow, she added, “It’s a super-rare stone that changes color. It’s called a chameleon diamond. When you heat it up it changes from violet to green.”

“Cool.” A pause. “Why do the police have it?”

She sighed. “Candace borrowed or stole it—depending on who you talk to—the night she was murdered. The ring was gone when her body was found.”

Austin’s face lit up. “So if the cops have the ring, maybe that means they’ve got a lead on her killer.”

Silver replied fervently, “I hope so. That would be great news.”

“Yeah, but if the police are closing in on her killer, the guy’s probably hiding or on the run.”

His question sobered her sharply. “I dunno.”

“No idea at all?” he asked.

“Nope. None.”

Austin went silent, tugging absently at his left ear and staring out the window broodingly. She didn’t interrupt his thoughts, whatever they might be. She’d like to think a little of his steely resolve to keep her safe had to do with their two intimate exchanges, but that was probably wishful thinking. Now that she was sitting up in her own seat, not in physical contact with him, the crazy attraction of before seemed a little hard to believe. She’d been scared and high on adrenaline and had overreacted. Yeah, that was it. Her temporarily heightened senses explained it.

But they didn’t explain the thick sludge of disappointment that abruptly chugged through her veins. It had been an amazing feeling while it lasted.

A few minutes later the driver swung smoothly past the Grand’s acres of swimming pool and tennis courts and into the black maw of a gated entrance that looked like it led to a parking garage.

Before their rear fender had barely cleared the entrance, a reinforced steel gate was already sliding closed behind them. Darkness closed in. The limo spiraled down a long ramp, and then light flared ahead. She spied a familiar silhouette and started. Her father was down here personally to meet them? Either she was in big trouble for her display to the press, or Austin was about to get fired.

Reluctantly she reached for her door handle. Time to face the music.

A big, warm palm clamped down lightly over her hand. “Lesson number one in being a good protectee. Never get out of the car first. I will always get out before you and have a look around. Please don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe. Ever. Got it?”

She looked up at him, startled. Mark had never made her go through any routine like that. “So you’re pretty much always going to be a gentleman and get my door for me? I think I can get used to that.”

That killer grin of his flashed briefly, then was replaced by an expression more akin to sympathy. He seemed to understand that she was joking about this security procedure to hide her dismay at the seriousness of the situation.

His finger brushed her temple, pushing back that pesky strand of hair again, and then the quick, light touch was gone. But the earthquake it left behind continued to shudder through her for several long seconds. Whoa. No adrenaline heightened senses could explain away that.

Eventually her breathing restarted as she stared at the back of his head. Who was this guy whose casual touch made her all but orgasmic?

“Here we go,” he muttered.

As advertised, Austin stepped out of the vehicle and paused directly in front of the door. Heck, she couldn’t have gotten out even if she’d wanted to. It did, however, give her an excellent and isolated view of his buns. Tight. Muscular. Made for driving into a woman strongly enough to know she was with a man—

Good grief! She had to get control of herself! Heat climbed her cheeks just as he murmured, “Okay, you can come out.”

Her heart all but palpitating, she took the hand he offered and climbed out of the limo. Sheesh. She was a mess.

Her father exclaimed, “How’d you get her to do what she’s told like that? I’ve been trying for twenty years and never got her to behave.”

Without stopping to think, she snapped, “He said please.”

She wasn’t in the habit of sassing her father—she never won and it wasn’t worth the hassles to follow. But it had been a rough day. She braced herself, waiting for his explosion. But today Harold made no comment at all. Which was testament to just how upset he must be over the shooting.

She was stunned when he merely turned to Austin and said quietly, “I suppose it goes without saying that I’m grateful to you for pulling my little girl out of there.”

Her jaw dropped. Her father never said things like that! She frequently wasn’t at all sure he actually felt softer emotions like love or concern for his family.

Harold passed a small white object to Austin. “Your room key.”

Austin nodded his thanks. “You understand that nobody is to know that she’s with me. Nobody. The staff can just think that I eat like a horse and like to make my own bed for a few days.”

Harold nodded. “It’s taken care of.”

“And maybe you could thank Mr. Coddington for letting us commandeer his limo like that.”

Harold grinned. “I know just the thing. I’ll give the guy a fat stack of thousand dollar chips, which he’ll promptly lose back to me at the tables.”

Silver snorted. That was vintage Harold. Give someone a generous gift that he knew was going to come right back to him. But then he did surprise her by pulling out his wallet, extracting a thick wad of hundred dollar bills and handing them to the limo driver. “Here’s a small token of my appreciation for helping save my daughter’s life.”

Silver stared as the driver stammered his thanks. Well, knock her over with a feather!

Austin said, “Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Rothchild,” Austin said. “Fire that Sampson guy. He’s worthless as a bodyguard.”

Harold grimaced. “Believe me, I’d get rid of him if I could. But I don’t employ the guy. You’ll have to take that up with Silver. He works for her.”

Austin’s eyebrows shot up, but he made no comment to her. She got the distinct feeling they were going to converse more on the subject very soon, however.

While Austin steered her toward the elevator, she chewed on her father’s vehement comment about Mark. She’d had no idea Harold disliked him that much. Why hadn’t her father said something to her about it before now? Although, to be brutally honest with herself, if she’d known it would tick off her father, she might have made the relationship with Mark real just to get her father’s goat.

Maybe Harold wasn’t as dense as she thought he was. Maybe he’d finally learned not to push on the subject of her boyfriends and let her discover their schmuck-like qualities for herself. And they always turned out to be schmucks in the end. The sad fact was she had terrible taste in men. It was why she’d taken the drastic measures she had to have a baby.

As the elevator door slid shut, Austin called, “Thank you for your help, Mr. Rothchild.” Examining both sides of his plastic key, he asked, “Where’s my room?”

“Lemme see.” She took the card and turned it over. Wow. The New Yorker villa. It was one of the Grand’s four incredibly swanky penthouses that shared the roof of the forty story tall hotel. “You’ve got one of the penthouses. You put your key card in this slot to activate the elevator to the top floor.” She demonstrated, and then passed the key back to him. With a quiet, powerful whoosh, the elevator shot upward.

The metal encased space took on a heavy silence she had no interest in disturbing. At some point, Austin was going to start asking her questions—lots of them—and not a one of them was going to be easy to address.

The door opened on a quiet, oak paneled hallway lit by lamps on console tables. Fresh flower arrangements and thickly padded carpeting added to the overall ambience of European style.

“Let me guess. You want to get out of the elevator first, too,” she mused.

“Fast learner,” he murmured as he stepped out and took a hard look around.

“Your suite’s the one to the left.”

He nodded and gestured for her to follow. He all but ran down the hall, and for a man as tall as him, that was really moving. She had to break into a jog to keep up. Note to self: wear flats around this guy. She would only come up to his armpit that way, but at least she wouldn’t be forced to run in heels.

Austin hustled her into the suite and closed the door quickly behind them. His mental sigh of relief was nearly audible. She knew the feeling. The last hour had been a heck of a ride. Literally. Man, she was getting old. There was a time when this amount of excitement wouldn’t have fazed her. But now, the danger and racing around in fear for her life were simply exhausting.

A single thought exploded across her mind. I’m pregnant.

She really shouldn’t be doing crazy stuff like getting shot at anymore. Her wild days were, indeed, officially over. Now, they just had to convince an unnamed gunman of that fact.

“You hungry?” Austin called from the far side of the living room. He’d been looking carefully out of each of the floor to ceiling windows—probably checking for snipers or something.

Actually, she was vaguely nauseous. “Not really. You?”

“Starving. Adrenaline always makes me hungry.”

“Typical man.”

“Honey, I’m a lot of things, but typical isn’t one of them.”

She grinned over at him. “I gather modesty isn’t on your list of major attributes, either.”

He shrugged. “I call it as I see it, darlin’.”

“Want me to order up a steak for you from Room Service? The prime rib here is to die for if you’re a carnivore.” She started to reach for the phone, and Austin moved to her side so fast he was practically a blur.

He snatched the phone out of her hand. “Nobody’s to know you’re here. As of now, you’re officially in hiding.”

A moment’s relief at the idea of being safe gave way to dawning horror. “Small problem, big guy. I don’t have time to hide. I have only six weeks to pull together the show of my life.”

He scowled down at her. “Sorry. Not happening. What part of ‘someone just tried to kill you’ didn’t you get?”