The Bodyguard's Baby (Billionaire Bodyguard Series)

by Kristi Avalon

  She slanted him a look. “What, is that your IQ?”

  He snorted. “The number of tiles in the ceiling. One hundred and twenty.”

  She blinked. “How did you know…?”

  “You’re looking up and tapping your fingers on your thigh like you’re counting. Thought I’d take away the suspense and just tell you.”

  “Thanks.” She crossed her arms. “I was using that as a distraction.”

  “Nervous?”

  She frowned. “A little.”

  “Don’t be.”

  “Slone, my career pretty much hinges on this meeting going well.”

  “I checked out Dr. Hudson’s credentials online last night. He spent four years in the Navy. Sit tight while I do the talking.”

  Rest my future in someone else’s hands? Not a chance, she thought. Her future seemed precarious enough, and the thought of giving up control over any part of it sent her pulse racing. “Why should you do all the talking, because you were both Navy guys? Does that bond you in some brotherhood sort of way? No girls allowed?”

  “Just let me handle it.” He went back to reading the article.

  She changed the subject. “I didn’t see you look at the ceiling once since we sat down. How did you know the exact number of tiles?”

  “Same way I know there are five potential exits, your superintendent has a fascination with rulers, and you’re nervous as hell. I’m paid to be observant.”

  Sure enough, as she scanned the waiting area she noticed a tape measure tacked to the door to chart a child’s height. Two rulers stuck out of a coffee mug alongside a collection of pens. Across from them a larger-than-life cartoon was painted on the wall of an animated ruler with big eyes and a wide smile, appearing to converse with a similarly animated pencil. “Okay, but I don’t see five exits.”

  He flipped another page. “The door we entered. Two windows with clamp-style handles that open outward. The superintendent’s door. And the ceiling.”

  A laugh sputtered from her. “How is the ceiling an exit?”

  “Depends on the circumstances,” Slone said. “In an emergency, like if a madman took students hostage in a classroom, I’d lock the doors to this office and locate the intruder by entering the ceiling.”

  Perplexed, she asked, “But how?”

  “Take the chair, set it on the desk in the corner, pop off a ceiling tile, and hoist myself up. Crouching, I’d follow the ventilation shafts, balancing joist to joist. I’d head toward the noise or threat or gunfire. Once I found the right classroom, I’d listen to judge exactly where he’s standing. I’d slam my heel against the tile, drop down and tackle the bastard. Disarm him in two moves. Then I’d hold him at gunpoint until the authorities arrived.”

  Was it bad he made her all hot and bothered when he went into Rambo mode? She swallowed. “All that?”

  “Well, after I locked the superintendent’s door, I would’ve shoved you out the window to call for help.”

  “So gallant of you.”

  “I know.”

  She fought a smile. “Do you really walk into every room and calculate the worst case scenario?”

  “Yep.”

  “Isn’t that exhausting?”

  “Nope.”

  Admittedly impressed, she sighed. “You really were born to do what you do.”

  He shrugged. “By the way, it’s a hundred and forty.”

  “Are we talking about tiles again?”

  “No, my IQ.”

  Okay, she tried never to judge people, because looks were deceiving. But hearing the astronomical number, she needed to pick her jaw up off the floor. Slone’s IQ was higher than any of the men she’d considered for her baby’s genetics. Even the doctor.

  “Marissa was right,” she said in awe.

  “About?”

  “You—I mean, Navy SEALs. Brains and brawn. They really are the whole package.”

  A faint smile tucked into one cheek, and he flipped another page of his magazine.

  If it were possible, she swore her ovaries swooned and dropped an egg on the spot. She fought to calm the flare of overwhelming attraction to him. She found herself doing that a lot lately. Ever since he’d warned her not to touch him in the bathroom the other morning, or he’d throw her down on his bed and ravish her.

  Or perhaps that was her interpretation of what he’d said.

  Regardless, her body reminded her constantly of the passion she was missing in the sterile doctor’s office in her efforts to achieve insemination. She shivered.

  “Cold?” he asked, eyeing her with concern.

  “No.” She burrowed into her puffy winter coat.

  She couldn’t possibly explain the insistent urge to beg her bodyguard to sleep with her. To make a baby with her.

  So inappropriate, she scolded herself, w hile her lust-charged hormones screamed in disagreement.

  Unsettled and out of sorts, she forced herself to paste on a smile as Dr. Hudson turned the handle of his office door from the inside. When he opened the door, she straightened.

  In a gregarious booming voice, he spoke to the two parents he escorted into the waiting area. “Next year’s budget is looking far better, and we will have the funding to reinstate the music and drama classes.”

  The couple nodded and thanked him.

  Then he turned to her. She noticed the filaments of white at the edges of his reddish-blonde hair and beard. “Ah, yes, Miss Graham. Please step into my office.”

  Both she and Slone followed Dr. Hudson’s gesture and sat in the two comfortable, maroon leather chairs across from his desk, similar to the ones in the waiting room. “Thank you for making time in your schedule to see me, sir.”

  As she glanced around she noticed several more rulers placed in various spots throughout his personal office, and she found herself again admiring Slone’s impressive powers of observation. Above a long beautifully carved mahogany sideboard hung his numerous diplomas and accolades alongside strategic glossy photo ops. Her nerves deteriorated.

  Before seating himself, Dr. Hudson extended his hand to Slone. “Who is this strapping fellow?”

  “Slone Rowan.”

  “What a fine Irish name,” Dr. Hudson said with the hint of a Gaelic accent, like the impersonations she heard on radio commercials around St. Patrick’s Day.

  Dipping his chin in acknowledgement, Slone shook the superintendent’s hand. “A pleasure, sir.”

  “That’s quite a grip,” Dr. Hudson said, taking his seat. “You’re confident and direct. I like that. So how can I help you two today?”

  Lindsey shifted in her chair. “It’s a small…situation,” she began.

  Slone stood and strolled to one of the many framed photos on the pale blue walls. “You were a Staff Sergeant in the Navy.”

  Dr. Hudson practically preened. “Yes, how did you know?”

  Slone pointed to the young Hudson’s uniform. “Operation Desert Storm?”

  “Right again. I was stationed on a naval vessel in the Shatt-al-Arab waterway.”

  “An excellent preemptive tactic, proving our military advantage and how serious we were.”

  Appearing impressed, Dr. Hudson nodded. “My ship never engaged the enemy, but we offered a presence no one in the Gulf dared attack or question. Are you a military man, Mr. Rowan?”

  Slone shrugged. “An oh-five Commander in the Navy SEALs.”

  “Well.” Dr. Hudson clearly shared Lindsey’s admiration for her bodyguard. “What brings a fine man like yourself to my office?”

  Slone didn’t respond directly. “I noticed your affinity for rulers.”

  Dr. Hudson chuckled. “Very observant. But then, men of your caliber generally are.”

  “I was raised Irish Catholic, too.” Slone rubbed his knuckles. “I remember those nuns and their liberal use of rulers. It’s obvious you don’t subscribe to that method, yet you keep reminders of those days, that respect for discipline, surrounding you.”

  Dr. Hudson sat back in his chair,
looking stunned at the Navy SEAL’s scary-accurate insights into people’s personal motivations.

  Welcome to the Slone Effect. Lindsey sat back too, curious exactly where he was going with all this “small talk” he claimed to be so lousy at doing.

  “Indeed,” Dr. Hudson stated. “Discipline is vital for children to excel in school, but there’s no need for a heavy hand. Passion, guidance and consistent correction are the keys to productive teaching and learning.”

  “And parenting,” Slone added.

  The comment caused Lindsey’s head to snap up. Where was he going with this?

  “I agree,” Dr. Hudson said, “but since we can’t regulate what happens in the home, we can give children the tools for success while they’re in our classrooms.”

  “I like your pedagogy,” Slone remarked, leaving Lindsey gaping again. She wondered how he knew the teaching-specific term, amazed because he’d used it correctly. “You run a tight ship, no pun intended.”

  Dr. Hudson grinned. “I do my best.”

  “I respect that.” Slone nodded and resumed his seat beside her, setting his elbows on the arms of his chair as he leaned forward. “That’s one of the reasons we requested an audience with you today, sir.”

  Ah, now she understood Slone’s angle. Point out their similarities and create unity, before throwing in the hitch.

  Dr. Hudson steepled his fingers. “I’m listening.”

  “You see.” Slone cleared his throat, infusing deference into his tone. “I don’t want my presence in Miss Graham’s classroom to cause a problem or disrupt the way you run things. I understand there are rules in place for a reason. At the same time, I have an important job to do, and I’d appreciate your understanding and support in this sensitive matter.”

  Dr. Hudson glanced at her, then back to Slone. “Does this have to do with the ‘situation’ Miss Graham mentioned?”

  “Yes. As a civilian private contractor, I have my own orders to follow. And they require me to be at Miss Graham’s side at all times.

  Concern drew Dr. Hudson’s eyebrows together. “May I ask what this involves?”

  Not sure how to answer, Lindsey nervously bounced her leg up and down.

  “I’m her protective order,” Slone said.

  Lindsey froze, holding her breath.

  Dr. Hudson tapped his steepled fingers against his bearded chin. Was that a frown beneath his mustache?

  “I know it’s an awkward request, to ask if Slone can come to the school with me.” Anxiety tightened into knots in her stomach. “The threat won’t affect the children. It’s aimed at me.”

  Dr. Hudson held up his hand. “You don’t need to explain the difficult details, Miss Graham. I’ve worked as a vice principal, principal, and superintendent for eleven years. This isn’t the first time a teacher has faced an ex with stalker tendencies.”

  Lindsey licked her lips. “This isn’t exactly—”

  “Thank you for your compassion,” Slone cut in.

  “Yes, thanks,” she echoed, annoyed at her bodyguard’s overbearing attitude.

  “I’m aware protection orders are easily violated in what are perceived to be public places. It happened to a teacher I knew a few years back, who ended up moving to escape the threat. I’d hate to see that circumstance happen to you.” Dr. Hudson softened the gravity of the situation by smiling kindly at her. “We only recently hired you for next year. Where would we find another exemplary replacement on such short notice?”

  Her lips parted. “I… Thank you, sir.”

  “Although this is highly unusual, I believe, for your welfare and the sake of my second graders, extra protection will help instead of hurt.”

  “The parents might have some concerns,” Slone said. “Understandably.”

  She wanted to kick his ankle to keep him quiet.

  “For simplicity’s sake, should I explain Mr. Rowan is an observer from the State Board?”

  “Instead of deceiving them,” Slone offered, “we could tell parents and the other teachers that I’m a plain-clothes security officer. Here to keep order and safety, considering the rise in school shootings happening across the country.”

  With a considering nod, Dr. Hudson rested his forearms on the desk. “Excellent suggestion, Mr. Rowan. A far better solution. This is something I’ve considered for some time, as a matter of course. I wish we could hire you in that capacity.”

  A slight grin tipped Slone’s lips. “No offense, sir, but you couldn’t afford me.”

  Dr. Hudson chuckled. “You’re undoubtedly right.”

  “Then it’s settled. I’ll accompany Miss Graham to and from the school. While I’m here, I’ll act as a security guard.” Slone pushed to his feet and shook hands with Dr. Hudson. “Thank you for your time, sir.”

  “The pleasure is mine.” Dr. Hudson came around the desk and led them to the door. “Stop by any time.”

  Once they were in the hallway that shone with a fresh waxed coating, she nudged Slone’s arm and smiled up at him. “I can’t believe how perfectly you played him.”

  Pleased with himself, Slone grinned. “I didn’t play him. I did a little…finessing.”

  “Or coercing.”

  “Hey, he agreed of his own free will.”

  Lindsey peered at him. “Were you an interrogator overseas?”

  Without warning, his expressed closed. “That’s classified.”

  “Of course it is.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, nice job. Everyone wins.”

  “That’s the way negotiations are supposed to work.”

  She snorted. “Tell that to our politicians.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “Did you know in ancient Rome the most successful emperors were former generals who’d commanded the Roman army, before they acquired their positions of power?”

  “That’s smart if you think about it. They had tactical skills, war experience, and the drive to promote the good of the empire as a whole.”

  “Like many of the Founding Fathers of the United States.”

  “Good point. Hey,” she said brightly, “maybe you can teach a history lesson or two for me.”

  As Slone shook his head his eyes darkened. “I’ll spare you and all your innocents by not recounting most of what today’s politicians order Special Ops to do for the sake of the empire.”

  “Fair enough.” Though his refusal left her intensely curious about the stories he refused to tell. “When other men with your level of training and skill return to civilian life, are they all as well adjusted as you?”

  He smirked. “What gives you the impression I’m well adjusted?”

  “Oh, come on.” On the way out she nudged him. “You’re pretty normal. You have a good job, a good sense of humor, a good moral compass.”

  “Smoke and mirrors, sweetheart,” he said without looking at her. “I’m just as scarred as the rest of them. Besides, how normal is it to be living with the girl I’m protecting, for who knows how long?”

  Another good point.

  They left the building and she cringed against the cold blast of wind that sank into the spaces between her scarf and coat. Stepping outside of herself and her personal baby drama—with her emotions driven to extremes by the added hormones—she considered the arrangement from his perspective. He was essentially stuck with her ranging bitchiness twenty-four/seven, except for sleep. Probably the only hours of the day he looked forward to. She couldn’t seem to tap into her old, optimistic, carefree self anymore, and that bothered her.

  At least if he was a bodyguard to some Head of State or a celebrity, he’d have personal time. He could even bring a girl home if he wanted to, without a long explanation and a good dose of awkwardness. It wouldn’t be rude, exactly, though for some inexplicable reason she knew she’d feel bad if he brought home a random female to spend the night. She knew that was totally unfair. After all, she had her man files, picking out a sperm donor right under his nose. God, this arrangement was fraught with uncomfortable scenarios they had to na
vigate through with each other, practically strangers, forced to work through their differences regardless of their personal desires.

  Then she wondered…what kind of women did Slone date?

  A few light flurries caught in her eyelashes as they walked toward his gigantic Dodge Ram 4x4 truck. For some reason she felt colder than she should in thirty-eight degrees. The chill seemed to sink into her bones, and she pined for the dry Las Vegas heat. But the warm recollections of her hometown didn’t hold her attention for long. Her thoughts continued circling back to Slone. Specifically, what kind of woman he’d have in his bed if he wasn’t glued to her side. A blonde Barbie doll like Logan Stone’s wife Allison? Or lean and lithe like Devon, Trey Soren’s wife? Or maybe, possibly, extra curvy like Kylie—like herself?

  As she hopped up into the passenger seat, she frowned. No way would he go for an overweight hormonal female, trying to get pregnant by a stranger, who laughed at his dry humor one minute then snapped at him the next.

  What does it matter? she thought, as he pulled out of the parking lot. He’s not an option, so don’t go down that dead end street. No matter how much you want to imagine how good it would be…

  Right then and there, she decided on the doctor.

  The man wasn’t Slone, but that’s the closest she would come to her perfect ideal.

  No expectations. No regrets.

  No minds changed last-minute.

  No hearts broken.

  Chapter 3

  Late in the evening, long after Slone had masterfully convinced her superintendent to allow him to join her at school, Lindsey stared into the fire and wondered when her emotions had become tangled up in Slone.

  By all accounts and outward appearances, they had nothing in common. They didn’t even like each other. They argued far more than they got along.

  Earlier at dinner he’d made fun of her eco-friendly lifestyle when she blew up at him for not recycling his Red Bull can. He’d muttered something about her being a tree-hugging hippy, informing her of all the gross acts of environment negligence rampant in the world. She told him to shove it and stomped off—after throwing her dinner in the garbage.

  Real mature, Lindsey.