His Bodyguard

by Greiman, Lois

  She came finally and they stood up together, gazing downstream where the moon glistened off the water like a thousand diamonds and the land seemed to roll away forever. A magical night in a magical place.

  Finally, they made their way back to shore. Their clothes were much more reluctant to get on than to get off. But they managed it with some effort. The ride home was quiet. They turned their horses out to pasture and headed for the house. Brenna turned off the alarm system and let them in, but when she reached up to flip on the light, Nathan stopped her.

  “I like the dark,” he said softly and kissed her.

  “Nathan…” She breathed his name against his lips. “I thought—”

  “Right. I know. It’s out of our systems.” He pushed back her hair, heavy and damp. “We’re just buddies now.” Looping an arm around her back, he pulled her an inch closer. “So surely I can give you a friendly kiss.” He kissed her again, slowly this time, lingeringly, letting his tongue sweep the swell of her bottom lip. “Can’t I?”

  “Umm…” She felt limp in his arms. “Sure.”

  He smiled and, reaching out, took her hand. “Come on. I’ll escort you to your room.”

  Moonlight streamed onto her bed, picking out a few colors of the patchwork counterpane and casting the rest in moonbeam shadows.

  “Better get out of those damp clothes,” he said.

  “I—”

  “Here,” he said. “I’ll help you.” “Nathan, I think—”

  “Just buddies,” he said and reaching for her buttons, peeled her shirt away. The sight of her breasts in the moonlight was almost his undoing, but he kept his tone brusque. “Lie down.”

  “What?”

  He tossed back the blankets on her bed. “Lie down. I’ll help with your pants.”

  To his everlasting gratitude, she did so, lying back on the bed, with the moonlight soft and silver upon her. He untied her shoes and pulled them off. Then he unsnapped her jeans and finally tossed them on the floor.

  “There. Slide in.”

  She did so and he swept the covers over her. He meant to leave then, to give her a chance to dream about the hours just past, to remember the beauty of their time together. To realize how right they were together. He’d just kiss her good-night and then go. Bending sideways, he brushed his lips against hers. But drawing away was more difficult than anticipated. He did so with great effort.

  “Good night,” he breathed, determined to make her realize her mistake by his absence.

  “Good night.” Her voice was whisper soft. So soft that he had to lean closer to hear. And once he was closer, it seemed so right to brush his lips across hers just once more. When he drew away this time he was breathing hard and starting to sweat. The upside was that her small fists were curled into his shirt with darling ferocity.

  He smiled inside. That was just where he wanted her—needy, achy, lonely. He’d leave now, give her time.

  “I’ve got to go,” he said, but his tone didn’t sound good. Rather like a parched man left too long in the sun.

  “Nathan.” She breathed his name.

  “What?”

  She paused, seeming to fight a battle with herself. “Maybe…maybe twice would be okay.”

  Oh God, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, his body screamed. But his head reprimanded him. “I’d like to…” More than anything on earth! “But I think you’re right We have to set boundaries. It’s out of our systems now. I don’t want to be the death of your dream. You’ve worked so hard.”

  “Hard…” She pulled him closer, her fists still clenched in his shirt. He tried to resist, but she was really strong, he told himself. Her lips touched his. “Hard’s good.”

  He allowed one brief kiss—one brief, drawn out, hotter-than-hell, curl your toes kiss.

  “No. O’Shay…really.” He made a feeble attempt to pull away, but just at that second, her hand slipped beneath his shirt. Her fingers felt like heaven against his taut muscles, and dammit, even the moonlight was against him.

  With a martyred sigh, he lowered his body to hers and kissed her.

  THE DAYS HURRIED BY in a wild rush of teasing and laughter, of long midnight talks and late-morning breakfasts.

  Brenna tried to feel guilty, to remember her duties, her profession. But each time a smidgen of guilt crept in, Nathan would kiss her, or touch her hand, or look at her with his maple syrup eyes, and all would be forgotten.

  They made love on the butcher block kitchen counter, in the oversized bathtub, and once in the attic, while supposedly searching for misplaced cowboy boots.

  Brenna told herself she should be ashamed, but try as she might, she couldn’t conjure up even a modicum of worthy guilt. So she told herself she was doing the right thing—getting him out of her system. But with each day that passed, he seemed more and more a part of her life, a part of her well-being, a part of her.

  Weeks flew by, although Brenna couldn’t say how many.

  It was on a lazy Wednesday afternoon that Nathan decided Nuf needed a bath. Certain she didn’t want to get involved in the argument between the two of them, Brenna declined the offer to assist him. But being near Nathan under any circumstances was preferable to being apart from him, and finally she was drawn into the melee. They emerged from the bathroom only slightly wetter than the cat, spattered with soapsuds and laughing too hard to actually find the tom who had darted, soaking and furious, toward the kitchen.

  Nathan finally trailed him by his slippery path of water and Brenna followed. The kitchen, she noticed, looked much as they had left it the night before when they’d been too distracted by miscellaneous body parts to tidy up. The truth was, neither of them were great housekeepers, and were it not for Tyrel’s ancient housekeeper, Pansy, who came once a week to do a mercy cleaning, the place would probably have been condemned long ago.

  “There he is,” Brenna said, spying the tawny cat couched behind a spattered mixing bowl. She noticed his flattened ears and less-than-ecstatic expression. “I think Nuf has had enough.”

  Nathan laughed. “Geez, you’re clever, O’Shay,” he said, watching the cat. “Catch him and I’ll do something special for you.”

  His hand touched the small of her back, and like Pavlov’s dog, every nerve ending in her immediately started to hum.

  “Something special,” she said, turning toward him.

  “Yeah.” He raised his brows, then let his gaze skim the cluttered counter. “With the cooking oil.” His fingers snuck beneath her blouse and made an intriguing little circle on her back.

  She locked her knees and guessed, “You’ll make fried chicken?”

  “Not exactly,” he said, and leaning closer, whispered in her ear. Her face felt warm and her hormones dizzying.

  “Think you can catch him?” Nathan murmured, kissing her ear.

  “Olive oil or corn?” she asked, sighing as she closed her eyes to the luscious feelings.

  “Olive,” he whispered.

  She moaned slightly as his kisses trailed lower, then with a brave effort, turned away. “Well, for olive oil,” she murmured. “Come here, cat. You’re about to be sacrificed for the good of—”

  But her words stopped dead. “Nathan,” she whispered, barely able to breathe. “Where did that paper come from?”

  He moved closer again, his fingers light against her skin. But her flesh had turned cold.

  “Nathan! It’s a letter!”

  He straightened, his hands going still and his body tense. “Where?”

  “By the flour bin.”

  They moved toward the counter together, their fingers somehow clasped between their tense bodies.

  It was written on a plain sheet of narrow ruled paper ripped from a spiral notebook and said simply, “You’re too damned lucky.”

  THE POLICE CAME, ASKED QUESTIONS, took the letter, searched the house for any clues, came up with nothing, and left.

  Night settled in.

  “I think you should hire someone else,” Brenna said. The livi
ng room, which usually seemed so warm and friendly, suddenly felt chill and empty. “Another bodyguard.” She rose to her feet and paced the length of the room, crossing the Navaho rug where they’d made love only two days before. The memory haunted her now. Had someone watched them? Had someone been standing in the shadows, planning evil? “Several bodyguards.”

  Nathan followed her with his gaze from the settle upholstered in hunter green. “Wouldn’t they kind of cramp our style?”

  She turned on him in wild frustration and biting fear. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Fox?”

  He shrugged and grinned a little, though his posture seemed stiff. “I’m horny?” Her jaw dropped and he laughed as he rose to his feet. “Listen—”

  “No!” She snapped the word at him. “You listen. Someone’s threatening your life. Someone was here. In this house. Someone—”

  “They didn’t threaten my life. They just—” he shrugged again, but his brow furrowed “—left a note.”

  “In your house! In your kitchen! They snuck past the security system. That means they know all about you. They’ve been watching your every move.”

  Nathan shook his head. “Maybe I forgot to turn it on.” He smiled. “I’ve been a little distracted, you know,” he said and leaned closer to kiss her.

  She jerked away, terror and guilt spurring through her. “No more.”

  “What?”

  “We won’t be distracted anymore,” she said. “You’ll stay inside and wear a safety vest. I’ll hire extra guards and a private detective. We’ll find out—”

  “No.”

  “Nathan—”

  “No,” he repeated softly. “This is me.” He motioned toward the things around him. “This is what I am. I’ve given up enough for my career. I’m not going to give this up, too.”

  She ground her teeth. “So you’ll give up your life!”

  “My life!” He yelled the words, then pivoted away to yank his fingers through his hair. “No one has actually threatened me, O’Shay. There’ve just been a few letters. That’s all.”

  “Threatening letters!”

  “Threatening!” he scoffed. “We don’t know they’re threatening. Maybe they’re just pranks.”

  “Pranks. Who—”

  “I don’t know who. I’ve met a million people in the past ten years. It could be any one of them. Someone I’ve played a trick on. Someone I went to school with. Someone who’s seen me on the news, read about me in the paper, met me backstage.”

  “You’re right,” she said, managing to calm her voice. “It could be anyone, and that’s why you’ve got to be more careful. Cancel any public appearances. Cut down on your—”

  “No.” His voice was calm now too. “I won’t do it.”

  “Please.” It seemed she wasn’t above pleading. She bit her lip, trying to retain some pride, to remember why she had first met him. But it was no use. Their relationship was no longer even recognizable as that of an employer and employee. “Please. If you won’t do it for yourself, will you do it for me?” she asked shamelessly. “Because I…” She stopped, breathless, hopeless, terrified.

  “Because what?” he asked.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  He stared at her, his eyes hard, and then, silent and angry, he turned away and left the house.

  15

  “SEVEN POINT TWO SECONDS.” The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker. “Let’s hear it for North Dakota’s own Fox brothers. Nathan and Tyrel.”

  Several thousand fans screamed.

  Brenna plugged one ear and spoke into her headset, her gaze never leaving Nathan as he waved to his fans.

  “They’ll be leaving the arena in just a few seconds. Make sure the exit is clear. I want two men at the gate and five lining each side of the barrier between Nathan and the crowd at all times.”

  Nathan kneed Lula forward and loosened his lariat enough to flip it off the steer’s horns. Tyrel did the same, freeing the steer’s hind legs. The animal shook his head and trotted irritably toward the exit.

  With an additional wave, the Fox brothers left the arena.

  Brenna followed along the steel railing, trotting to keep up and giving orders into her headset all the while. Near the corral where the bulls milled, she saw Shauna and Sarge and a few boys from the band, but she ignored them and managed to reach the exit just as Nathan did. Pushing through the crowd with some effort, she nodded to a beefy security man who held the mob at bay and hurried along beside the brothers’ horses.

  In less than sixty seconds they had reached their stalls. Nathan stepped smoothly out of the saddle. “Think you got enough security, O’Shay?”

  She ignored him and spoke into her headset again to one of the men she’d hired against Nathan’s will. “Well, tell them to figure out when he rides next I want to know what bull, what chute, what time. Got it?”

  “Maybe you better find out what color bull I drew,” Nathan said.

  She turned toward him, anger shot through her. “If you don’t want security, Fox, don’t take risks.”

  “Risks!” He snorted. “You think putting syrup on my pancakes is too risky.”

  They stood faced off, surrounded by a half dozen guards. In the past week, they’d barely spoken ten words to each other. But now, standing so close to him, Brenna felt all those hot, distracting emotions rush back in like a curling tide. She held them at bay with a tight rein.

  “You’ve done the team roping, Fox,” she said, careful to keep her tone level “Go home now.”

  He stared at her, and for one wildly hopeful moment, she thought he might agree. But finally he shook his head. “I’ve got a bull to ride, O’Shay.”

  She tried to remain strong, but despite her best efforts, she could not “Please,” she said softly.

  “I gotta do this. You, of all people, should understand that.” He took a step toward her, but she regained her composure before he could touch her.

  “Fine,” she said, and turning away, snapped a half-dozen orders into her headset.

  The time passed like a speedy dirge, with Brenna tailing Nathan every moment. Each time he turned around she was staring him in the face, but his glare did nothing to make her back off.

  The afternoon wound down.

  “Bull riding!” the announcer boomed, his voice dramatic. “The most dangerous sport in America today.”

  Brenna ignored the knot in her stomach and ran her hands down Nathan’s rigging one more time. Made of thick cowhide, it felt solid and whole.

  “Want to check it after we cinch it on him?” a cowboy asked, nodding to a red bull confined to a narrow, highwalled chute.

  Brenna couldn’t tell if the cowboy was being facetious or honest But it didn’t matter, for she was far past being either intimidated or embarrassed. “Yes,” she said, and handed him the rigging. Walking over to the chute, she looked through the bars. The animal was as big as a bus with twelve-inch horns and a nose that bowed out like a wildebeest’s. He turned toward her and glared through red-rimmed eyes. He was sweating, and there was a tiny smudge of blood on his shoulder where one of the other bulls must have scraped him with a horn, but despite all that, he seemed quiet enough.

  Brenna prayed that looks weren’t deceiving.

  The first two cowboys mounted their bulls and completed their rides unscathed. Brenna refused to look. A thousand carefully chosen words ran through her mind as she watched Nathan step over the top of the chute to straddle the bull’s back. But in the end she could think of only one thing to say.

  “Please be careful.” The words were whispered, but he turned to her nevertheless, his lips canted into that heart-stopping half smile that was so uniquely his.

  “I love you,” he said softly and settled onto the bull’s corded back.

  Brenna’s mouth fell open, her heart raced like a runaway horse, but she was given no time to respond.

  The chute gate swung wide. The bull turned his head toward the opening and stared. The crowd was
expectantly silent. But suddenly a cowboy leaned over the chute, flapping a hat.

  The bull started, and suddenly, like a mad spring hare, he launched from confinement Bucking erratically, he thundered toward the side rail and crashed into the fence. Nathan was tossed sideways like a tortured rag doll, but he managed to hang on.

  The crowd gasped. The bull was already turning. Staggering away, he began to spin madly, throwing his body in every direction like a crazed dervish. But suddenly, without a moment’s warning, he collapsed on his side, pinning his rider’s leg beneath him.

  “Nathan!” Brenna screamed his name. Sarge reached for her, but she yanked out of his grip. She was over the fence in an instant, but the bull was up just as quickly, leaving his rider behind.

  Foam dribbled from the animal’s gaping mouth as he turned his wild eyes to Nathan.

  “No!” she screamed again, racing across the arena, oblivious to everything but Nathan’s final words. He loved her. He loved her.

  From her right, a clown tried to snare her, but she dodged past him.

  Nathan had gained his feet. The bull lowered his head.

  “Here! Here!” Brenna screamed and waved her arms, drawing the bull’s attention.

  He turned his eyes to her, tossed his head once, and charged.

  Brenna pivoted away, heart pounding. Hoofbeats thundered behind her. Terror rode her. The rest was a blur of colors and pain. She felt her ribs creak, saw the world fly by below her. And there, seeming a universe away, was Nathan hanging onto the bull’s tail.

  Damn him. She was supposed to be protecting him, Brenna thought, and fell headfirst into oblivion.

  “YOU’RE AWAKE,” NATHAN SAID, barely able to breathe for the hot tide of relief that rushed through him. The bull had only hit her once, then had turned in an attempt to remove Nathan from his tail. In moments, the animal had been shagged from the arena and the ambulance had arrived almost immediately. Still, it seemed that a lifetime had passed since he’d watched her fall.

  “Nathan.” She breathed his name. “You’re all right?”

  “Sure.” He squeezed her hand and longed to pull her into his arms. But bull riding had taught him too much about internal injuries to risk it “I got you as a bodyguard, don’t I?”