Bedded by Her Bodyguard (Billionaire Bodyguard Series)

by Kristi Avalon

  Bedded by Her Bodyguard

  by

  Kristi Avalon

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover Design: Kim Van Meter

  Editor: Jen Fitzgerald

  Bedded by Her Bodyguard, Copyright © 2013 Kristi Avalon. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Mindy Sanders woke to find her forehead pressed against hot male skin.

  The clean scents of soap and nautical themed cologne enveloped her. Oh, God…she must have fallen asleep and accidentally snuggled into the cozy spot between her travel companion’s warm neck and broad shoulder.

  Snapping straight in the airplane seat, she quickly checked the corners of her mouth for dampness. God forbid she’d drooled on the man’s expensive suit. Although she couldn’t possibly be the first woman to drool over Isaac Atlas. Having endured the New York City media circuit during her mother’s parties where attractive men were in abundance, she’d never met a guy so completely secure in himself. He had every reason to be—with those pitch black eyes that absorbed a woman until she forgot her own name. And the way he carried himself, with innate confidence that made lesser men squirm. He walked into a room and people paused just to notice him. A spectacular specimen of the male species, he drew appreciation wherever he went.

  “Good morning.” Isaac’s sexy grin compounded her embarrassment.

  Her cheeks burned. “Sorry about that.”

  “I didn’t mind.” When his dark gaze lingered on her for a long unsettling moment, her insides tightened with a spiral of attraction. Her mouth parted, and his glance dropped to focus on her lips. An electric awareness sizzled between them, and she wondered if the heat in his eyes was real or if she was imagining things.

  A flight attendant stopped by, leaning a little too close as she rested her hand on his shoulder, her breasts directly in his line of sight. Apparently no woman was immune to his swarthy good looks. The brunette had a lilting French accent when she asked him, “May I freshen your beverage?”

  “No, I’m fine.” He turned to Mindy. “Need anything?”

  “A bottled water would be great.”

  The attendant barely acknowledged her request. “Please let me know if you need anything, Monsieur Atlas. I am at your service.”

  “Thanks, I will.” Unaffected by her attention, he casually returned to reading a case study in the low lights of the cabin. The study lay on top of a stack of printed pages and news articles detailing the Markov’s business. Probably refining his sales pitch that was already stellar.

  Whereas she was going into this international sales attempt completely blind. That kind of pressure had never made her mother buckle. On the contrary, Helen Sanders thrived when tensions were high. Mindy wished she could be half the professional barracuda her mother was. She tried to think back on suggestions Helen had offered her when she’d graduated from NYU and entered the working world as a public relations specialist. The only one that sprang to mind was Helen’s sharp voice saying, “Take ‘em by the balls and don’t let go until you get the answer you want.”

  Well, that advice wouldn’t help in her current situation. In fact, when she’d told Helen she was leaving for Russia on a business trip with her company’s director of sales, she learned her mother had been a young journalist reporting on international politics toward the end of the Cold War. Her mother had been extradited from Russia for her big mouth, relentless tenacity, and snooping behind the Iron Curtain. Mindy hoped Helen’s brazenness wouldn’t impact her and Isaac entering the country. That would be the worst case scenario. The name association with her mother was often a curse more than a blessing, and she always felt people were comparing her to Helen in every aspect, especially her media success. Or lack thereof.

  When the plane suddenly bucked, she gripped the armrests. Isaac’s soda leaped out of the cup and ice scattered. She tossed him a stack of napkins leftover from dinner and helped him mop up the mess before it spilled onto his suit. Their fingers brushed in passing, and she noticed his long tanned fingers looked strong and competent compared to her small pale trembling hands. The airplane shook and bounced in the air three times, then settled as they dipped lower in the sky.

  “I hate turbulence.” It set her teeth on edge. “I’ve never spent fourteen hours straight on a plane in my life, and I’m so ready to land.”

  “I know it’s a long flight.” A worry line formed between the bold, dark slashes of his eyebrows as his glance swept over her face. “I should’ve taken that into consideration when I booked the dinner meeting for tonight. A casual get-to-know-you, but still you can’t be expected to be at the top of your game after twenty seven hours of travel.”

  “As long as I don’t feel like I’m on a rollercoaster thirty thousand feet in the air, I’ll be okay.”

  Sliding up the oval shade, she glanced out the window. Sheets of snow created a whiteout, and she couldn’t see a thing. She figured the northern swath of the country stayed chilly throughout the year, but squalls? “How can it be snowing in the middle of October?”

  He checked his gold watch. “We’re flying over a mountain range right now. Should be in the clear soon, landing in an hour.”

  Skeptical of his accuracy, she eyed him. “How can you tell the time when Russia has like ten time zones?”

  “Eleven. And I’ve made this trip once or twice,” he said dryly.

  Of course. From what she remembered in passing conversation, his parents had emigrated from Russia, though his inflection held no trace of an accent. “When did you come to the States?”

  “My family moved to the U.S. when I was six.” That explained his lack of an accent. “We were the last of the relatives to make the trek. My aunts and uncles and cousins had already established themselves in Las Vegas by the time we joined them.”

  Established was a serious understatement of his large family’s vast wealth. There were enough Atlases to form their own genetic map. They owned three mammoth casinos and numerous other businesses in Sin City. The immigrant work ethic had paid off for them, since they made the average concept of the American Dream look like checkers while they’d mastered chess.

  Isaac’s familiarity with his motherland and his impressive salesmanship made him the perfect candidate to pitch Soren Security’s bodyguard services to their first international client. She, on the other hand, had zero experience in this realm.

  She twisted her hands in her lap. “I’m nervous about the dinner meeting.”

  Compassion softened his intense black eyes. “Don’t be. Cade Soren has faith in you. So do I.”

  A nervous swallow stuck in her throat. “I wish I had your talent. You could sell swampland to an alligator. And then make a pair of boots out of him.”

  He gave a low, sexy laugh. “Let’s hope the Markovs are as easy as alligators. Because their teeth are just as sharp and their bite of the precious metals market is impressive.”

  That didn’t bode well for her lack of experience. What did she know about precious metals? Or how personal security bodyguards could help their bottom line
or peace of mind? The only item she knew enough about to discuss was the prototype of their new SOS technology. Her shoulders sank as she tried to picture the sort of businessmen they’d encounter based on Isaac’s analogy.

  Not the type of person who handled cutthroat situations very well, she tended to panic or babble incessantly or simply shut down in the face of confrontation. Those were the times she wished she’d inherited Helen’s toughness and guts, instead of her father’s mild-mannered repute. Helen Sanders thrived when tensions were at their highest. Her mother hadn’t received the moniker Helen “Slanders” for no reason. Some days, Mindy wished she could be half the woman her mother was.

  As the plane descended and then thumped onto its landing gear, a swirl of apprehension became a tornado of doubt inside her. By the time they entered the long line for customs, worry became a constant companion.

  There in the customs line, her worst case scenario—the nightmare she feared—came true.

  Singled out from the crowd, she watched with growing concern as two unfriendly looking men in uniforms approached her. She tugged on the sleeve of Isaac’s suit coat. “Isaac…”

  Dragging his attention from the pamphlet in his hand, he leaned into her, bent his head and pressed his left palm against her back. “What is it?”

  Neither his touch nor his attentiveness could warm the frigidness coalescing inside her. “This doesn’t look good. They’re coming for me.”

  He blinked. “I can’t think of anything they’d hold you for—”

  “Ms. Sanders.”

  Oh, God. The wintry tundra of Siberia could rival the frozen marrow in her bones. At their stony greeting, she reluctantly peered up at them. “Yes?”

  In a smooth voice Isaac asked, “Can I help you gentlemen?”

  They ignored him and the taller of the two addressed her. “Are you Ms. Sanders?”

  I swear if this has anything to do with my mother, I’m finally going to tell her how much she’s ruined my life. But that might require a novel. These men clearly wanted quick, concise answers. “I’m Ms. Sanders.”

  “Then you will come with us.”

  “Wait.” Isaac appeared stunned. “There must be some mistake.”

  “No mistake,” the pale-eyed guard said. “We will take the lady for questioning.”

  They each took one of her arms and escorted her out of line, toward a series of rows of doors with very tiny windows. Isaac pitched a fit, for which she thanked him.

  Except she had no idea what he said to them, since he spoke entirely in Russian. And she hadn’t had a chance to proclaim her innocence.

  Before the guards settled her into a closet-sized room, she glanced back at Isaac. Worry in his eyes, he mouthed, “You’ll be okay.”

  Doubt tightened her chest.

  Forcing a calm she didn’t feel, she sat at the metal table on a folding chair. Cold and minimalist, the room seemed to match the demeanor of the guard who took a seat opposite her.

  A single fluorescent bulb hung from the ceiling, casting mean shadows on the guard’s face. His pale eyes assessed her, flat and emotionless.

  He held out his hand. “Your passport.”

  Fingers trembling, she withdrew it from her purse and handed it to him. He peeled it open then used a hand-held tablet to enter her information.

  Frown lines bracketed his mouth. He glanced at the tablet, then at her. “This is not you?”

  Holding the device up for her to view, he pointed at the screen. Mindy saw a near-replica mug shot of herself. Only it was Helen, eyes full of fire and conviction. “That’s not me,” she said. “She’s my mother. I have nothing to do with her.” Her statement held with more honesty than she cared to admit.

  The guard grunted. A crackling sound caught her attention. The guard pressed a fingertip to his earpiece and brusquely excused himself from the room. Leaving her alone, shivering, and miserable in her confined cell.

  Unable to sit still, she approached the small window. At five-foot-two in heels, she didn’t have a hope of glimpsing anything beyond. She strained to hear Isaac’s voice, but they must’ve ordered him away from the containment area.

  A lonely, hollow sensation crept over her. But she knew Isaac wouldn’t abandon her in a strange, foreign country where she couldn’t speak the language. While she respected many things about him, one trait stood out in her mind. He always took responsibility for his people. She’d seen that aspect of him in action a dozen times. If his sales team didn’t meet their quota—a rare occurrence—he put the balance on himself. If something wasn’t right, he went out of his way to fix it. If someone needed him, he dropped everything to accommodate. He managed to keep the big picture in mind as an overall goal, yet he appreciated each person’s individual needs in any given scenario.

  This unexpected captivity, coming up on an hour, gave her way too much time to think. Never a good thing for someone with the astrological sign of Pisces. People born in March over-thought everything, desperate to find a happy medium between everyone’s emotions. Sensing others’ emotions was what she did best. Except when it came to Isaac. He proved a sexy enigma she couldn’t solve. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was a water sign like her—maybe a Cancer or a Scorpio. All water signs hid their depths.

  Wracking her brain, she tried to think back on her horoscope for that morning, the one she paid too much for in exchange for a personal astrologer who sent her daily, weekly, monthly, and yearly forecasts. Shockingly, even Helen believed in astrology, employing her own astrologer out of L.A., even though Helen lived in New York City. Helen had once told Mindy that President Ronald Reagan had consulted an astrologer when it came to the most pressing matters of his presidency.

  Regardless, Mindy believed in the stars and the maps they created across the sky, as well as the traits they imbued to each individual. Yes, she could spend hours imagining how her sign might be compatible with Isaac’s, but while that might put her mind at ease for a while, she was growing more restless by the second. Being caged was not a situation that settled well in her psyche.

  After another ten minutes of pacing, she finally heard the lock on the door twist. Her head snapped up. The light-eyed guard entered again, while the other one stood outside to prevent disruption. Isaac’s voice, though muted, eased the butterflies in her stomach. She really didn’t want to throw up in front of this guy.

  Drawing from the endless reserve of anger her mother held for the opposite sex, Mindy ignored the flutter in her stomach. “I’ve answered your questions. I’m not Helen Sanders. You need to release me. Now. Or my company’s lawyer will show up on the next plane and make you a fool for holding me here for no reason.”

  She’d completely fabricated that, but if her mother had taught her anything, Helen had demanded respect and wouldn’t accept anything less. At least after all this time, Mindy could impersonate her mother’s impressive sneer. Even if she was faking it. Miraculously, the guard backed off and swung the metal door open wide.

  He swept his arm to the side. “You are free to go.”

  An exhale of relief shot from her lungs. “Thank you.”

  “A mistake.”

  Wait. That was their big whopping explanation for separating her from the only person in the country she knew for two hours, while bullying her into admitting something that wasn’t true?

  When they released her from the tiny dark room, she blinked to adjust to the bright lighting in the main customs area. Isaac raced up and took her into his arms in a much-needed hug. He slid his hand along her stiff spine, his warmth easing her tension slightly.

  Then he drew back to look down at her with an expression of regret. “We’ve run into a complication.”

  She groaned. “What now?”

  “Our luggage has been…misplaced.”

  Dropping her forehead against the palm of her hand, she wondered if this trip would be nothing but one disaster after another. If this went badly, she knew Cade wouldn’t give her a second chance to represent their co
mpany. Not because Cade was a mean boss or hugely results-oriented, but because she wanted this to work. This offered her a wonderful opportunity to shine, to prove herself. So far, all she’d proven was her lack of grace under pressure.

  “Dang it.” Her instincts had proven right. “I should’ve known better than to travel during Mercury Retrograde.”

  “You should’ve…” Isaac shook his head as if to clear it. “Mercury what?”

  “Mercury Retrograde.” She stared at him solemnly. “In astrology terms, four times a year the planet Mercury appears to spin backwards.” Her personal astrology had warned her about this problem. She’d thought, falsely, she might be immune to the planetary influence. But, as always, she’d been wrong to assume the planets couldn’t dictate her life. Time and time again, the stars aligned in ways that were uncanny. “See, Mercury is the planet of communication. It rules all things to do with communication, including travel plans, communications, computers, email, basically anything to do with making this sale going through.”

  “Are you serious?”

  As she looked up at him, she crinkled her nose. “Well, yeah, I’m serious. Look what’s happened so far? Absolutely everything the planet Mercury presides over has gone awry. That’s not a coincidence. Our flights were delayed. I got detained in customs. We lost our luggage. We’re late for our appointment with our contacts. What more proof do you need?”

  “Um. Does it matter if you don’t believe?” Isaac wasn’t big on mysticism. He preferred the facts.

  “Nope, it still hounds you. Like it has with us. You can’t escape the rotation of a planet, Isaac.”

  If he’d wanted to laugh, her last comment stopped him. Hey, who was he to disagree with a planet’s rotation? He wasn’t an astronomer.

  All he cared about was the sale.

  If his partner in this deal doubted that they’d make the sale, then they would fail. It had nothing to do with a planet reversing orbit. It had everything to do with her own self-doubt, turning into a self-fulfilling prophesy. He’s seen this pattern play out time and time again with his salespeople over the years.