Pawn (Ironclad Bodyguards 1)

by Molly Joseph

  He heard the rest of what she said, but he got stuck on I’ve never...well. He was pretty sure she was going to say I’ve never had sex. He couldn’t figure out why he was surprised. Who would she have had sex with? One of the elderly chess gurus she spent her days with? There was only Fredrik, and thank the lord, that hadn’t happened. Which meant that Grace Ann Frasier was a virgin.

  Thank God. Thank fucking God he hadn’t slept with her last night. Virgins deserved more than an impulsive, heat-of-the-moment drilling. Virgins deserved care and patience. Lovemaking.

  She was folding her coffee lid, bending it into lines and patterns. When she was done it looked like a snowflake. She propped her head on her hand and left the lid lying on the table.

  “We should get back,” he said. Before I say something stupid.

  Because a lot of really, really stupid ideas were roiling around in his head.

  *** *** ***

  Grace was trying hard to act normal, but that was never easy for her. It was much harder now that Sam had held her and kissed her.

  She wished they could talk about it some more. Honestly, she wished he would kiss her again. She’d never forget the firm, engaging warmth of his lips. Maybe after Dubai...

  But after Dubai he might want to go home. He had a home in New York, a life. She was only a short-term client and last night, maybe, had just been a moment of weakness for them both. He was nice to her, and protective, of course. He held doors for her, and walked on the outside of the sidewalk so she didn’t have to step in the snow drifts. But would they have been attracted to each other outside their little otherworld?

  She wanted to reach for his hand but she couldn’t. She shoved her hands in her pockets instead, and strolled along looking into shop fronts. Shoes. Purses. Cell phones. Men’s couture.

  A Marie Antoinette-style wedding gown.

  Grace halted in front of the bridal shop window. There were suits and tuxedos inside, and sequined gowns, and an ivory floral dress in the window that looked like it had come straight out of an armoire at Versailles.

  “That could have been her dress,” Grace breathed. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Sam peered into the window beside her. “Whose dress?”

  “Marie Antoinette’s. Look at the ruching, the lacing and embroidery. All the detail in the front.”

  She couldn’t turn away from it, and she couldn’t make herself go. The fabric was patterned with flocked roses, and embroidered with a delicate line of flowers at the neckline. The skirt was so full, it looked four feet wide. Sam nudged her.

  “What are you waiting for? Go in and try it on.”

  “I can’t. This is a wedding store. For brides and stuff.”

  “So?”

  “They only let you try stuff on if you’re really getting married.” She flushed, remembering an embarrassing encounter at a bridal shop in Soho. “I know because I attempted it once before.”

  “They told you you couldn’t try something on unless you were getting married?” Sam took her elbow. “Come on. You’re trying this dress.”

  That was one of the things she really liked about Sam. He didn’t just think about things. He acted. Like last night when they’d been staring at each other, wanting to kiss each other, Sam was the one who’d actually done it.

  Inside the shop, a statuesque woman with a pinched expression sashayed over on five inch heels. “Hyvää huomenta,” she said in greeting.

  “We’re Americans,” Grace blurted.

  Her pinched expression turned downright unpleasant. “Can I help you?”

  While Grace stood, speechless, Sam spoke up. “My fiancée would like to try on that dress in the window. We’re looking for something really outrageous for our wedding. The bigger the better.”

  She looked Grace up and down. “I’m not sure we have your size.”

  “We’ll wait while you check,” said Sam in his firm bodyguard voice. Grace felt giggles rising in her throat. The saleslady tottered off in obvious consternation.

  “They might not have your size,” Sam said in a loud, fake voice. “She’s going to see.”

  “You’re bad,” she mouthed.

  “This was your idea,” he mouthed back.

  She gawked in outrage. “This was your idea!”

  He gestured for her to be quiet. Another saleslady looked up at them from across the shop and came to take their coats. Grace drifted around and pretended to look at other things a bride might be interested in, shoes and veils and rhinestone chokers. Sam came up behind her and fitted a tiara onto her head, resting it atop her bangs.

  “All hail the Queen of Chess,” he intoned. “Bow down before her.”

  “I have this—” The saleswoman stopped with the gown hanging from one arm as Grace convulsed in giggles. “I have this one you might try, Miss...”

  “Marie,” she said, composing herself. “Marie...Pommesfrites,” she said, blurting out the French word for French fries.

  “Miss Pom-freet,” she said, attempting the name. Sam made a faint, choking sound. “It would need alterations.” The woman followed that announcement with a scathing look at Grace’s body.

  “Alterations aren’t a problem,” Sam said. “Where can she change?”

  The woman showed them to a large curtained room with velvet drapes and bolster pillows. And pins, lots of pins.

  “Would you like me to come in?” the woman asked.

  “No, I think I can manage myself.”

  “There are a lot of laces and buttons...”

  Grace shut the velvet curtain on Sam and the saleswoman both, and threw the plastic back from the confection of a gown. A glance at the price tag astonished her, then she remembered it was in European currency. Still, it was a lot.

  She bundled into the gown, feeling the weight of all the fabric as well as the softness of the silk’s caress. The arms fit okay, but it was loose around the middle, and too long. She gathered up bunches of the skirt’s material and dropped a stately curtsy in the mirror. Yes, Louis, let’s have another baby.

  Outside, she could hear Sam bullshitting the saleswoman. “The wedding’s next month in Dubai. Huge, huge event. It’s going to have a Marie Antoinette-and-chess theme. Kind of a mash-up.”

  Grace smothered more giggles with her hand, then said, “Can you come in here?”

  “You mean me, darling?” Sam called.

  “Yes.”

  She turned toward the door and tripped on the long skirt, so when he slipped inside the curtain she was tangled in a crumpled pile of fabric, laughing so hard she couldn’t get up. “You’re telling so many lies,” she whispered. “Please...help me.”

  He hauled her up by her elbows. She fluttered at the skirts, smoothing the fabric. “I think I need gloves or something.” She looked up at him, and then, like the silken slide of the fabric against her skin, he leaned toward her.

  He kissed her once, twice. She reached for him, needing some center of balance. The memory of his heat and closeness flooded her.

  “Do you need any help?” the saleswoman called from outside.

  They broke away from one another. “No,” he said, when Grace failed to push any sounds past her lips.

  Grace stared in front of her, at her fingers splayed on his chest. “You said...we shouldn’t…”

  “I’m sorry. It’s the white dress. I thought we were at the altar for a moment.”

  “That’s your excuse?”

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “Do you want me to fasten you into this thing?”

  She nodded because it was something safe, some task to do that wasn’t gazing longingly into each other’s eyes. Unfortunately, she could still see him in the mirror behind her, his dark brows drawn down and his lips pursed in concentration as he fastened buttons and tugged at the laces on the back of the bodice. Slowly, the gown took shape. The neckline dipped, exposing part of her push-up bra and a modest expanse of breast. The waist pulled in and the skirt flared out to define hips where she had no hips. She
took off her glasses and held them at her side.

  “Well, hello, Marie Antoinette,” Sam said in a voice that wasn’t precisely jokey. In fact, for the first time since they’d entered the shop, he looked serious. “It’s beautiful on you, Grace. You should buy it.”

  Her first impulse was to scoff. “I can’t buy it. I’m not getting married.”

  “Ever heard of dress up? It’s a fun game. Grown-ups can do it too.”

  She turned to him, shaking her head. “Please, don’t try to talk me into it. It’s way too expensive to buy for fun.”

  “You have tons of money.”

  She turned back to the mirror, smoothing her hands over the fitted bodice and the rows of lace and flowers. The embroidery was so complex and finely done. It was so tempting to buy it. She probably would have, except that it was a bridal gown and it seemed like such a lie.

  “Maybe I can find a costume like this,” she said wistfully. “One that’s not so expensive.”

  “Mm. A costume wouldn’t be as nice.”

  “Anyway.” She shoved her glasses back on. “Will you help me undo the back so I can take it off?”

  He took out his phone first and snapped a picture. Grace looked at it. She had a wonky smile on her face that said “I really want to buy this dress.”

  But she wouldn’t. Too embarrassing, too pitiful. She was supposed to be preparing for a chess match, not dressing up in wedding gowns. When he had all the buttons and laces undone, he left the room so she could get dressed in private. She didn’t know what excuses he made to the saleswoman, but he must have come up with something plausible, because when Grace came out with the dress carefully rearranged on its hanger, covered in plastic sheeting, the woman took it away without further comment.

  “Thanks for your help,” Sam called as they got their coats and went back out into the cold, snowy streets. “And you are majorly lame,” he added as they started in the direction of Huvilakatu. “Marie Antoinette would have bought that dress. She would have bought two or three just in case she spilled wine on the first one.”

  Grace wanted to smile but she wasn’t in the mood. “I’m not Marie Antoinette,” she said.

  “That’s probably good, since they chopped off her head.”

  “I think you had too much coffee this morning.”

  “Grace Ann Frasier?” A Finnish man ducked in front of them, impeding their way with the diffident politeness of a Scandinavian. “It’s you, yes?” he asked excitedly once he studied her face. She could feel Sam tensing beside her, sidling closer even though this man didn’t seem a threat.

  He might become a threat, now that he’d recognized her.

  He held out a hand. “My name is Paavo. I’ve followed chess for many years now.” She shook his hand through a double layer of gloves. “Wow, I can’t believe it. There was a rumor you were in Denmark or Sweden this winter but now I see that you’re here in Helsinki. Preparing for the big match, yes?”

  “I’m here for the moment,” she admitted. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t spread the word. I’m trying to keep it quiet.”

  The young man nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, your secret is safe with me. This is so exciting.” His glance flicked to Sam, and traveled up to his glowering face.

  “This is my second,” she lied, gesturing toward him. “His name is...”

  “Peter,” Sam said, holding out his hand. “Peter Pommesfrites. I’m Canadian,” he added with a little too much gusto. “I’m used to the cold.”

  “That’s good, that’s good.” The Finn nodded a few more times. “Well, I won’t tell anybody anything.”

  “You can’t say anything online either,” Grace reminded him. “Even to your chess buddies. You know how news travels.”

  “I won’t say a word. I’ve followed your play for two years now. I’m hoping for you to win the Championship Match. First woman ever.” He made a pumping gesture of victory that had Sam clutching her elbow again.

  “Well, Paavo, thanks for your support,” she said. “It’s kinda cold here in Helsinki though, so we’re going to get going.”

  “Yes, it was very nice to meet you both. Maybe I’ll see you again. I live near Liisankatu.”

  If he was angling for a dinner invitation he wasn’t going to get it. She waved goodbye as Sam nudged her into motion.

  “Fan or spy?” she asked as soon as they were far enough away.

  “Fan. You can’t fake that kind of breathless adulation. He’s probably been masturbating to your chess games for months now.”

  “Eww.” Grace didn’t want to think about happy, smiling Paavo whacking off to one of her bishop/knight endgames. “Do you think he’s going to tell people I’m here?”

  “Yes. If you met someone you idolized, wouldn’t you want to tell someone about it? If you knew a big secret no one else knew?”

  Grace sighed. “I suppose he’ll tell everyone about my second, too.”

  “Yes. By this time tomorrow everyone’s going to know about Peter French Fries, your tall, protective Canadian second. I suppose it was inevitable.”

  She looked sideways at him. My God, the way his lips looked when he smiled… It made her think of last night, when those lips had kissed her. He’d touched her everywhere. She could hardly believe it had happened, that the huge, sexy man beside her had slid his hands up under her shirt and traced her nipples, and pressed his cock against her through layers of clothes. He’d held her in a way that made her feel excited and protected. She had felt so ready. Big and threatening as he was, she hadn’t been afraid.

  But it was back to business now. Bodyguard. Client. Business. They’d made a plan and everything. What was the plan again? Oh yes, to stop worrying about losing. To stop running scared. To stop having nightmares and mental breakdowns that drove her into his arms.

  But they were such beautiful arms.

  “Everything okay?” he asked. He’d caught her staring.

  “Yes, everything’s okay,” she said quickly.

  “You’re remembering, aren’t you?”

  Grace met his gaze, and he was there, the passionate man who’d held her and kissed her the night before. “It’s hard not to,” she said.

  “If I wasn’t your bodyguard…”

  He didn’t have to fill in the rest, because she knew. She’d felt it last night, the things he wanted to do to her. The things she really wished he would do.

  “But you are my bodyguard,” she said. “For now.”

  He took her arm and pulled her against him, and gave her a hard, fast kiss, so fleeting that by the time the excitement of it registered, he’d already leaned away. “For now,” he said, gazing down at her. “And that’s the last time I’m kissing you. Bodyguards don’t kiss their clients.”

  He said it sternly, like he was trying to convince her, or convince himself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t working. His intent eyes still resonated with lust, and she craved him with a nagging ache.

  He guided her back toward Huvilakatu and they plodded along, side by side, through slush and snow. The match. The plan. Gracie, keep your mind in the game. That was one of the very first things Zeke had taught her about chess. But if he wanted her to keep her mind in the game, why had he hired such a magnificently sexy bodyguard?

  After Dubai.

  Everything had to wait until after Dubai. There was no other way.

  Chapter Seven: Beyond Reason

  WORLD CHESS CHALLENGER LOCATION AND IDENTITY OF SECOND REVEALED. CLICK TO SEE...

  Grace stared at the ChessNews.com landing page in irritation. “That asshole. He lied to my face. He said he wasn’t going to tell anyone.”

  Zeke huffed over the phone line. “Well, he told someone. Now everyone knows you’re in Helsinki. Be careful, Gracie.”

  “I’m being careful.”

  “So, who the hell is Peter Von Crete?”

  “Peter Pommesfrites. It’s a stupid name I made up for Sam. I lied and introduced him as my second because I knew that guy was go
ing to blab everywhere.”

  Zeke gave a gravelly chuckle. “Good.”

  “I kissed him.” Grace clapped a hand over her mouth. Why had she confessed that?

  Zeke didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re talking about Sam, I assume? Not the blabbing guy?”

  “I...yes. I didn’t mean to do it,” she said. “Sam didn’t either. It kind of just happened, but then we stopped. Well, he stopped and said it wasn’t appropriate.”

  “I agree, it’s not.” She heard consternation in Zeke’s tone, but kindness too. “Did you enjoy it?”

  “It was...nice. We kissed again the next day in a bridal shop.”

  “A bridal shop?”

  “We were just there for fun. I tried on this dress and I tripped, and I started laughing, and then we were kissing. But then we stopped again.” Stop talking. Just stop.

  Zeke was quiet a bit longer this time. “What kind of kissing are we talking about here? Playful kissing? Pass-the-time kissing? Or falling-in-love kissing?”

  Grace didn’t answer right away, because she didn’t know how to answer. “I’m not sure,” she finally said. “It’s hard to tell right now with everything else going on. He said maybe...after Dubai...we can reassess how we feel about each other.”

  “Well. That was very sensible of him. If you have feelings for each other, that would be the better time to explore them, once the stress of the match is over and you can focus on other things.”

  “I’m definitely focused on the match. It’s my number one priority. I’ve been playing with Fredrik and Krishna every day, and me and Renzo have been going over Al Raji’s games looking for patterns—”

  “Gracie. Honey. It’s okay to take time out too. It’s okay to kiss someone you have feelings for.”

  “But he’s my bodyguard.” She heard Sam’s voice downstairs, and turned toward the sound like a needle pointing north. “I don’t know. It’s really confusing right now.”

  “I imagine so. I wish I had sage advice for you, but I only have old man ramblings. Protect your heart, be honest, love is worth fighting for, etcetera and so on.”