His to Defend (The Guard Book 2)

by Em Petrova

  Driving always helped the tumblers of his mind spin until they fit together, opening the idea into full view so he could examine it. Not so with Lillian. The longer he drove, the more confused he became, and fuck—he knew why too.

  He’d somehow allowed the woman to edge into his heart.

  He took an exit and in minutes navigated the street leading to the sisters’ house. He’d been so sure Francis and Amelia would be the right fit for Lillian, but after seeing her, he questioned himself. She was like a wild animal ripped from their natural habitat and dropped in a foreign land, unsure how to survive.

  His heart squeezed as he parked the car and hastily climbed out. The meandering cobblestone path leading to the front door always reminded him of France, and that key feature had only validated his thought that placing Lillian in this safehouse would be best for her.

  However, she didn’t see the front walk, because upon arrival, he’d taken her in through the back door under cover of darkness. She never got the opportunity to see one thing that might have made her feel more at home.

  The pale blue front door invited him forward. His chest did a wild churn as excitement and dread warred like two weather fronts meeting to create a hell storm.

  He rapped on the door.

  Inside, he heard a scuffle. What felt like long minutes passed before Francis opened the door with a tilt of her lips he could only describe as awkward. Behind her, Amelia stood to the side. A glance down revealed she wrung her hands.

  Panic hit his chest, and he crowded into the house. “She’s worse. What happened? Does she need a hospital? Why didn’t you call me?”

  They stared back at him, frozen in place.

  “Dammit, is she okay?” he demanded.

  Neither answered.

  He spun on his heel and stormed through the house to the stairs that would take him up to the back of the home and Lillian’s suite.

  “Now what!” he heard one of the sisters exclaim.

  He took the steps three at a time, long legs eating up the space separating him from Lillian. When he reached the door, he didn’t bother to knock and threw it open. The door hit the inner wall with a bang.

  He walked in and swept the room in one long, thorough glance. Lillian wasn’t sitting on the sofa petting her cat. Nor did she stand at the window. The balcony with the river view was empty as well.

  He rushed to the bedroom as the sisters spilled through the door. A single glance at the neat bed and he knew Lillian wasn’t here.

  Whirling, he bellowed, “Her things are gone!” He stalked back out and faced the women with a glare. He wasn’t in the habit of terrifying ladies, but he needed some goddamn answers, and now.

  Amelia wrapped her arms around her middle. “Mr. Ivanov—”

  He swept a hand through the air. “Where is she? At a hospital? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “She’s not ill, Lars,” Francis said quietly.

  Her sister shot her a look. Something unspoken passed between them.

  The tight clamp on his control blew, and he exploded. “Where the fuck is my ward?”

  They blanched at his bellow. He stepped forward in slow, measured steps, trying to soften his eruption while forcing the women to give him answers.

  “You let her leave.” His deadly tone caused them to wince.

  Francis shook her head. “No, she didn’t leave.”

  “Well, she isn’t here either, is she? Has she vanished into thin air?”

  “You saw yourself she wasn’t doing well.” Amelia straightened her shoulders in a display of defiance.

  He raised a brow. “So you took her someplace else. Without my permission—behind my back!” With every word, his voice doubled in force.

  “She asked us to help her find a new situation,” Francis added.

  “I was under the impression that she’s my ward, and I decide what’s best for her.” He resisted his habit of cracking his knuckles, not wishing to scare these women any further. But dammit, he needed an answer—right the fuck now.

  And he wasn’t even going to consider Lillian’s reasons for leaving yet. Soon enough he’d learn the truth.

  He approached the ladies. They stared up at him.

  “Give me the address.” His voice took on a deadly calm.

  * * * * *

  Lillian hadn’t made the right decision. She might have escaped Lars in the physical sense that he didn’t know her whereabouts, but she couldn’t outrun her thoughts of the man.

  The reason stared her in the face.

  No getting away from it.

  She was falling for the man.

  Sure, she had guessed at it back at the sisters’ home. Now, the signs were very clear to her.

  As well as stupidly falling for her bodyguard, she felt doubly ignorant for making the decision to sneak out from under his nose. While the ladies made certain she had a safe place and good caretakers, Lillian realized the world was less about a person’s surroundings than what lived in her heart.

  All this time, she thought her true self lay in the French countryside. For years she hoped and dreamed of owning property. The idea had always been a “someday” thing. Then her dreams had come within reach, when while talking to a man who produced a commercial with Pierre Moreau, she learned about a property coming onto the market at a bargain price. The place, though going for cheap, was still priced out of her reach. After getting that loan rejection, she put the entire affair from her mind and gone back to her pipe dreams of “someday.”

  Now she understood herself more. That peace she sought might not have a thing to do with a stone home or pastoral fields as much as a feeling one found from within. When in Lars’s arms, she knew a belonging unlike any she ever felt before. The one thing she traveled far and wide to discover lived in the wreath of that man’s arms.

  “Damn.” She turned from the window with a view of a small fenced in garden. On occasion, she watched birds land on the fencing, but she didn’t enjoy her new safehouse or the hosts as much as the sisters.

  She didn’t even know their last names, which ate at her. She would like to call them or write someday, to thank them for their hospitality and friendship in the most trying time of her life.

  That was, if she ever got home, back to her world…out of this mess.

  She directed a wave of hair behind her ear and sank to the edge of the bed. Too often, tears edged close to the surface, just at the backs of her eyes. She never let them fall—not once. She wouldn’t waste the energy, not for being frightened. Not for homesickness…and not for Lars.

  Each time she thought of him, she shoved him from her mind. She didn’t dwell on his chiseled jaw or the depths of his green eyes that made her feel warm and safe.

  She definitely did not linger over the talks they shared, either. Even though they were some of the most real discussions she ever held with a man. He never expected her to do something to benefit him, like the people she dealt with for work.

  Falling for her defender was all wrong. She didn’t possess the emotions for this. She lived for her work, for each goal that drew her nearer to the success of her client.

  Where was Pierre’s career now? In the toilet, she supposed. As far as the public knew, he survived a crash and then ran from the scene with his press agent before anybody could stop him. After that, nobody could get word to either of them.

  She cringed to think of the news stories and rumors that must be flying about the event. Would there be any return from such a thing?

  For the next few hours, she sat in the corner of the small, less cozy room than the one she occupied at Francis and Amelia’s house, and she daydreamed ways to save Pierre’s career.

  How must he be feeling right now? Hidden away, the same as her. She almost giggled at the fate of his poor bodyguard. Moreau was difficult to manage in the best of times, and this certainly didn’t come close to the best.

  I could hype the whole matter as a big publicity stunt.

  Once they came forward a
nd told the story of him walking away from that fiery, near fatal crash, Pierre would hands down be the top driver in the world. His skill would surpass no one’s.

  Except Lars’s.

  Lars had walked away. Lars had…

  She shut off the thought like clamping off a spurting artery. Opened up, she found it difficult to stop the flow.

  The sounds coming from the lower level of the house reached her faintly at first. She didn’t process the noises for several heartbeats, and then she bolted upright at the heavy, stomping steps on the stairs leading to her room.

  Panic struck as she recognized those footsteps. They could belong to only one man.

  The door flew inward, and she jumped back, gaze locked on the opening and the huge pissed-off bodyguard bearing a scowl aimed to make grown men wet their pants.

  His stare dropped over her, head to foot, then returned to her eyes as if he’d satisfied himself that she was unharmed.

  His mouth twisted. “Why?”

  She raised her chin and squared her shoulders to face down Lars’s wrath. “I felt this was a better fit for me.”

  “Not good enough.” One long stride placed him feet away from her. If he reached out, he could grab her, bring her against his body…

  “Lars—”

  “You better start talkin’, Lil. Right. Now.” He punctuated his words by stepping closer.

  “I…” How to explain what she hardly understood herself? She met his gaze. “I ran,” she said simply.

  “I fucking know that. Why?” His rapid French contained an edge of tightly leashed fury.

  Releasing a shaky breath, she steeled herself. “Because after what we shared, I couldn’t face you. I’m a coward.”

  He slashed a hand through the air. “I don’t buy it. Tell me the truth.”

  She searched his face. “That is the truth.”

  “You’re telling me that you removed yourself from the safehouse to get away from me because we fucked.”

  She winced on the outside, but deep in her heart, she withered at him referring to their coupling as a cheap fuck, when it meant so much more to her.

  Those tears stung again, and she stuffed them down. She lifted a hand to her lips, biting off the hot words she definitely should never utter.

  “What of the loan, Lil?”

  Her brows pinched. “Loan?”

  “Yes, you applied for a loan to buy some property. A country estate. You never told me about it when you talked about your dream. Why?”

  “Because the deal fell through. I couldn’t raise the money, and I didn’t feel I should dwell on the loss when the property wasn’t meant to be mine.”

  He eyed her, but she didn’t like this look from him, not one bit. He seemed to swell, growing larger until he overtook the entire room. She could barely draw breath.

  “So you hatched a plan with Brun.”

  She shook her head. “What?”

  “You and Brun took out a life insurance policy on Moreau. Were you going to split the money after the driver’s death?”

  She reeled backward. “You think I…” Her voice gave out, and her knees threatened to as well. He was accusing her of hiring the hit on her own client—of lying, cheating, with murder on the mind and the end result a pretty little patch of earth to call her own.

  “It sounds as if you have it all figured out,” she spat.

  The glare he gave her cut through her like a hot knife. She resisted the urge to double over at the pain.

  A rap on the open door jerked her out of her misery and fury to see another big muscled man standing there.

  “Roman.” Lars faced him with obvious shock on his features.

  The man shot a look at Lillian and then shifted it back to Lars. “We need to go. Now.”

  “Is this about me?”

  Roman cocked a brow but said nothing.

  Without a backward glance at her, Lars stomped to the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving her out in the cold with nothing to grip on to left within reach.

  Chapter Ten

  “What the fuck are you doin’, man?” Roman pitched his voice low as they exited the safehouse and strode to the SUV Roman drove.

  “Shut the fuck up, Roman.” Lars climbed into the passenger seat and fastened his belt.

  Seconds later, Roman jumped behind the wheel and did the same. “Again, I’ll ask. What the fuck are you doing with her, Lars?”

  “My ward left the safehouse where I put her. Did you know she moved?” He glanced at his fellow guard’s profile. “Goddammit, you did. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “The sisters who run that safehouse called in.”

  “Who took the call? Tell me it’s not Oz.”

  Roman shot him a sidelong look.

  “Fuck, it’s not. It was Madeline. Jesus Christ, she’s already out to cut the chip out of my wrist and turn me out of the Church. You better fucking start at the beginning and tell me everything.” Lars clenched his hands into fists. His heart still raced with the effects of seeing Lillian again, but her silence that had met his confrontation gave him enough of an idea of what side of this crime she stood on.

  “I’m not answering your questions until you tell me what the ever-lovin’ fuck is going on with that ward of yours. You’re fucking her, aren’t you?”

  He whipped a hand through his hair and barked out a laugh. “You jump to the worst conclusions.”

  “Bullshit. I saw the way you looked at each other.”

  “What you saw was me facing her with the evidence.”

  “Keep lyin’ to yourself. But I can see you put your hands on her, and now you’re tangled up somehow.” He stomped on the gas, and they shot out of there, headed to whatever mission came next in the long line of endless bullshit he was beginning to believe made up his life. The only break he got was with Lillian in his arms, and now that crashed and burned too.

  “Where are we going? What did you find out?” Lars demanded.

  Roman didn’t look away from the road as he laid on the gas and overtook two cars. “The fuckers just crossed the Atlantic.”

  His brows shot up. “The guys after Lillian?”

  “Yeah. Took them long enough. I guess their intelligence is behind ours and they just now managed to put it together that it’s us after them.”

  “So we’re meeting them at the airport?”

  “Cutting them off.” He threw a glance over the seat where the black case sat on the back seat. It contained all the tools necessary to control the situation, from handcuffs to garbage bags to clean up any mess they made.

  He pushed out a breath. “Let’s do this, then.” Once they ended it, Lars could stop thinking about Lillian.

  “You still haven’t answered me about that woman. Are you fucking her?”

  “No.”

  “Ahhh.”

  “What the hell does ‘ahhh’ mean?” He balled his fist, gauging whether or not, if he punched Roman’s lights out, if he had time to jump into the driver’s seat and control the SUV before they careened off the road.

  “You didn’t fuck her—you made love to her. Don’t deny it. I can fucking see it on your face, man.”

  “Nothing matters now, asshole.”

  “Did she actually admit to masterminding all this? She wanted the money and took out the insurance policy?”

  “She didn’t deny it.”

  “Well, that won’t stand up in a court of law. She might have been so shocked that she didn’t respond to your accusations,” Roman said.

  “Are you actually arguing that she didn’t commit this crime and place herself in harm’s way to shift the spotlight from her?” He gaped at Roman.

  “No. But you’re the most goddamn intimidating interrogator in the Church. I wouldn’t know how to answer you either.” Roman gave him a trace of a grin.

  “Fuck.” He looked out the side window, his mind miles back with Lillian. Had he tossed all this at her, and like Roman said, she had no idea how to deny it?


  Maybe. I did blast through the door. Me finding her would have been shock enough.

  Now that he thought back on it, he recalled the bright burn in her eyes that people got right before they burst into tears.

  “Let’s just focus on what’s ahead of us and I’ll figure my ward out later,” he muttered.

  Roman threw him a glance. “Seems like you have a lot more than your ward to figure out.”

  “Like what?” He hardly gave a damn what his fellow guard answered.

  “Like the fact you’re in love with her. Now what the fuck are you gonna do about that?”

  “Bullshit.” Even as he spat the curse, he questioned the truth. What the hell was love? He couldn’t define it. Back in his final year of high school he thought he might be in love, but that turned out to be a heavy case of lust, and once he had the girl in the back seat of his Ford, he stopped thinking about her pretty quick.

  He’d had Lillian in his bed—several times. He only wanted more. But he wasn’t so unsavvy about relationships to believe wanting more sex from a woman slapped the L word on it.

  “Whatever you say, man.”

  Lars shot Roman a look. “Are you tryin’ to sabotage me by making me confess to something? So you can run back to Oz and Madeline and the others with the news that I need stripped of my position in the Church?”

  Roman didn’t remove his stare from the road. “No.” His tone came out soft. “Despite our head butts of the past, Lars, I consider you a friend.”

  He arched a brow. “A friend.”

  “Yeah, it’s a new concept to me too. Working with a guy and considering him a buddy are separate in my mind, so when I started worrying about you when you went missing in Russia months ago, I had to ask myself why I cared.”

  Lars considered several replies. One, give him some snark about growing mushy in his older age, and by the way, did he realize he was balding? Or option number two, consider that the guy wasn’t talking out his ass. After all, what did he have to prove by lying?

  “I appreciate your concern…then and now.”

  Roman waved a hand of dismissal, and they spent the rest of their journey in silence. Once they neared the airport, Lars said, “What’s the plan of attack?”