Читать книгу Captive but Forbidden - Lynn Harris Raye - Страница 7

VERONICA’S pulse skipped and bobbed like a white-water raft sailing toward a massive waterfall. But whether it was his insistence she was in danger or how closely he now held her, she couldn’t be sure.

He gripped her so tightly that she could feel the strength of the leashed power in him. A shiver skimmed over her. He’d scared her with his talk of danger—but she wouldn’t let him know it.

His hands splayed over her back. She could feel his breath on her face. She thought he might kiss her just to prove his mastery—and part of her longed for it.

Another part wanted to run as far and as fast away from this man as she could get. For whatever reason, he affected her. She’d thought herself immune to men after Andre—handsome, flashy, selfish Andre—but Raj was proving her wrong on that count.

She’d made the right decision when she’d told him she didn’t need his help. No way on this earth was she allowing him to pretend to be her lover. One way or another, it would be disastrous.

She strained in the dark to hear him, to feel him, to guess his intent. His breath was on her lips. If she tilted her head, would their mouths touch? She told herself not to do it, and yet her head moved anyway.

Abruptly, he released her.

“Come,” he said. “It’s time to take you back to your room.”

The light flashed on again, and she realized it was coming from his cell phone. His handsome face was in shadow, but she could see the gleam of his eyes as he stood and held out a hand to her.

She took it, let him pull her up, her pulse skittering wildly the instant he touched her.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself. “If I thought there was any real danger, I’d hire you in a minute. But there isn’t. The security I have can handle the day-to-day issues that arise.”

The steady look he gave her said he didn’t believe it for a second. “Instead of justifying it to me, perhaps you need to ask whether or not you’re being honest with yourself.”

Then he turned and opened the door instead of waiting for an answer. Not that she had one to give. He went through first, and then motioned her to follow. She stayed close behind him as they worked their way toward the upper floors.

The hotel was in disarray, but the staff had managed to get the emergency lights working in the main hallways and stairwells. Exit signs also provided light, though meager, and she heard scraps of conversation about the generator and its failure to provide backup power. Raj said nothing, simply led the way through the hotel until they came to her room. She was only surprised for a moment that he knew which room was hers.

Of course he knew. Brady had told him everything.

Before she could ask him how he planned to get inside with the power out and the card reader down, he had the door open.

“Behind me,” he said.

It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him for his help and tell him to go, but she said nothing. Instead, she did what he told her to do. Regardless of how she felt about him—or about Brady’s meddling—it was clear that Raj knew what he was doing. She felt safe, at least for the time being.

He gave her the motion to stay where she was, then went into each room of her suite in succession before returning and giving her the all clear.

Veronica let out a long sigh of relief—not that she’d expected anything to be wrong. She was just glad to be back in the privacy of her room again. She kicked off her platform stilettos, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Thank you for escorting me,” she said. “I’d offer you a drink, but it’s getting rather late. Tell Brady you tried your best. He knows how I am.”

Raj fished out a lighter from somewhere and lit the candles that were sitting on the tables. She’d thought they were merely decorative and, in truth, had forgotten all about them. Then he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and threw it across the back of a chair.

“I’m not leaving just yet.”

A hot bubble of anger popped inside her. She wanted to be alone, wanted to strip out of her gown, put on her pajamas and watch a little bit of television—assuming the power came back on—before she fell asleep. “I didn’t ask you to stay.”

He lifted his mobile phone and tapped a few buttons. “Until your security returns, I’m staying.”

“That’s really not necessary. I’ll lock the door behind you.”

“Forget it,” he said, turning away from her to talk to someone on the phone.

Veronica sank onto the couch and folded her arms over her chest. Damn the arrogance of the man. But she already knew it was useless to order him to leave. Useless to do anything but wait.

If she were lucky, Brady would come looking for her—and then she could give them both a piece of her mind. She’d had quite enough of being told what to do lately. She had to conform to a schedule as president, had to take meetings and attend functions, had to let her day-to-day activities be far more structured than they’d been since she’d lived on her own.

But she’d agreed to do those things when she’d decided to run for office. What she hadn’t agreed to do was let a dark, sexy stranger intrude on the very small slice of privacy she had remaining.

Her gaze drifted to Raj. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he seemed engrossed in his call. He was even more golden in the candlelight than he’d been in the low lights of the powder room. So handsome. So dangerous. Like the tiger she’d first envisioned when he’d filled the small anteroom and made her aware of him on a level she wished she weren’t.

A ring glinted on his right hand, a signet made of gold. She hadn’t noticed that before.

His white tuxedo shirt stretched across his chest, and onyx studs winked at her in the flickering light. He reached up and loosened the stud at his neck before yanking the bow tie off and tossing it aside.

She started at the small wedge of bare skin he’d revealed. He glanced up then, straight at her, and she twisted away, cursing herself for getting caught. A moment later he ceased talking and tucked the phone into his trouser pocket.

“Was that Brady?” she asked.

“No.”

Frustration knotted her stomach. Since she didn’t know what else to do, she reached up and began to unpin her hair, dropping the pins onto the glass side table with a clink, clink, clink. Then she threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair, loosening the glossy mass.

When she stopped, Raj was watching her. He stood in the same place he had been, his gaze hard.

Her stomach flipped, her pulse humming with energy. She looked away and began to remove her jewelry.

“Have you been doing this kind of thing long?” she asked. If he insisted on staying, then the least she could do was bore him with questions. Maybe he’d decide to leave her alone after all.

“A few years.”

“How exciting.” She slipped off the jewelry—bracelet, necklace, rings—and dropped everything on the table with the pins. “Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever worked for?”

“Confidential information.”

She glanced up at him, her heart squeezing as she took in the masculine beauty of his face once more. “Ah, of course.”

“Are you trying to interview me, Madam President?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching with humor.

She swallowed. Humor was not at all the effect she’d been going for. Veronica pulled her feet up beneath her and began to absently rub one instep while her blood beat in her temples, between her breasts. “Not precisely. But if we’re to be stuck here together for the foreseeable future, it seems a way to pass the time.”

It took her several moments to realize that the side slit in her gown had dropped open to reveal the curve of her legs. She resisted the urge to cover herself, though she suddenly wanted to do so. But she would not let him think she cared that his hot eyes skimmed her form.

“How does one get into the bodyguard business anyway?”

“You’ve certainly grown chatty,” he observed, meeting her gaze once more. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Then he shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was in the military. It seemed the logical thing to do when I got out.”

“Oh, I see. And do you work for a company that sends you out on these jobs?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said.

The humor was back, but this time she didn’t know why.

“If this were a job interview,” she pointed out, “I don’t think I’d be inclined to hire you based on these answers. You’re almost monosyllabic.”

He sank onto the chair opposite, his big form sprawling comfortably—as if he belonged here, in her suite. As if he were the one in charge and she merely a supplicant.

She didn’t like that he made her feel inconsequential simply by being in the same room.

“Fortunately, this is not an interview,” he said. “You don’t need me, as you’ve pointed out.” His golden eyes speared her so that, once more, she was mesmerized. “And I don’t do interviews. No one hires me. I decide if I’ll help them.”

“My, my,” she said, her face growing hot for some reason. “Aren’t you special?”

He leaned forward then, his gaze raking her. She only hoped he couldn’t see the tap, tap, tap of her heart.

“That’s the way your world works, Veronica. But not everything is a competition, and not every desire needs to be indulged. I know my worth based on what I’ve done in the past. I don’t think I’m entitled to anything because I deserve it. I’ve earned it.”

She didn’t know whether to be outraged or embarrassed. Heat flooded her, made her want to grab a magazine off the table and fan herself. She did not. She’d made her proverbial bed, after all. It was no surprise when someone forced her to lie in it.

But she would not apologize for her life, not to this man. He could know nothing of what she’d been through. No one could.

“Until you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, perhaps it’s unwise to make assumptions about them,” she said, her smile as brittle as she felt.

He inclined his head a fraction. “You do that so well.”

“Do what?”

“Indignation.”

She thought of a million responses, discarding them each as she did so. It was no use. There was no point in trying to make this man understand. He meant nothing to her and, after tonight, their paths were unlikely to cross again.

Veronica got to her feet and stared down at him coldly. Imperiously. Bastard. “I believe I’ve had enough of this charming conversation,” she said by way of dismissal. “I’m going to bed.”

“If this is how you intend to handle affairs of state, Aliz is in a great deal of trouble.” His words were mild, his tone nonconfrontational—but his eyes accused her, burned her.

“You are hardly an affair of state,” she said, picking up one of the candles from the table, proud that she kept herself from trembling with fury as she did so. “And I’ll not stay here and listen to you insult me. You’ve made up your mind about me. I see no need to waste my breath in pointing out the flaws in your logic.”

He flicked a hand in the direction of the bedroom. “Go, then. It’s far easier to run from your problems than to confront them.”

“In this case,” she said, “I believe it is.”

Then she turned and strode away, holding her hand in front of the candle to keep it from blowing out. She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her. Fury churned and roiled in her stomach, burning like acid. Why did she let him get to her? He meant nothing to her. His opinion meant nothing.

He was no one, she reminded herself, nothing more than hired muscle. She didn’t let her Alizean bodyguards irritate her half so much, so why was she allowing this man to do so?

Veronica shrugged her shoulders to ease the tension and began to get undressed.

It was a relief to shrug out of the beaded gown and into her flannel pajamas. The Christmas elves marching merrily across the fabric cheered her. She’d thought they were whimsical and cute and she’d bought them impulsively. They were warm and cozy, and she didn’t regret it in the least.

Veronica went into the bathroom and washed off her makeup, then returned to the bed and jerked back the covers without removing all the fluffy pillows. Something slightly heavier than a pillow came away with the last tug and bounced down the bed, landing in the middle. She didn’t remember leaving anything on the bed when she’d left the room tonight.

Curiously, she lifted the candle.

At first, she wasn’t sure what the dark blob was. But then her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, but her vocal chords had seized up. Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish gulping water.

“Raj,” she finally squeaked. “Raj. Raj! Raj!”

Each time she managed a little more breath, his name a little louder on every exhalation.

Until the door whipped open and he was at her side. He gripped her arms, bent his head until he was at her level. He looked concerned, intense. She realized he was speaking. Asking her what was the matter. If she were hurt.

She shook her head, turned away. She couldn’t look at that … thing … again.

She knew the moment he saw it. He stiffened. Swore.

Then he hooked an arm behind her knees and swept her up against his chest. She didn’t protest. She didn’t want to protest. Another moment and he was striding from the room. She buried her face in his shirt and let the tears fall.