Guarding Jess

by Shannon Curtis

  “Oh, how wonderful.” Doris clutched the envelope to her chest. “I think I might even go out and buy an outfit for the occasion.”

  Her genuine pleasure sparked a resulting warmth in Jessica that reminded her why she’d chosen a career in etiquette and image consultancy. Doris had enrolled in the general etiquette course at the Pennington Business Academy as a painfully shy young manager wanting to work on her confidence and image. For the woman to actually anticipate attending a function just proved how her social skills and confidence had developed over the last four weeks.

  “Hmm, good idea,” Rachael said, eyeing Doris’s conservative suit with a disparaging eye. Jessica tried not to purse her lips. There were times, like now, when she wished she wasn’t the etiquette expert she was reputed to be. Then she could tell the woman exactly what to do with her acidic remarks and selfish attitude. But that would be rude. And it would make the others in the class uncomfortable. And it would further embarrass Doris. And, well, she needed the money this inconsiderate client brought into her business academy. Besides, she didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings or embarrass them—no matter how much they were asking for it.

  Ooze tranquility. She smiled at Doris. “I’m sure you’ll look lovely, no matter what you decide to wear.”

  She strode to the front of the classroom. “Okay, so we’ve covered dining etiquette with invitations and menu planning, as well as seating and flatware usage. We’ve done a run-through in our dining room set-up down the hall. Next week’s class will have the practical component. Instead of coming here to the academy, we will be meeting at Perbacco for dinner. Dress code is standard business, and class will start at seven o’clock, sharp.” She smiled at her students, and tried not to look like she was singling out Rachael. “Are there any questions?”

  A hand rose from the back. Jessica kept the smile in place. Ooze tranquility.

  “Yes, Rachael?”

  “Are you on Good Morning, San Francisco on Friday?”

  Jessica nodded. “Yes, I am. I also have the weekly radio segment with Hamish Stewart on Thursday mornings, if you’re interested.”

  “How do you organize your schedule?” John asked. “TV, radio and now a book? Don’t you also write a column in the San Francisco Times, as well? I don’t know how you fit everything in.” Jessica’s smile wavered at his admiring gaze. Is he the one? She recovered quickly. This was her classroom, her domain. Her students were vetted, she had staff outside the door, and building security downstairs. She was safe.

  “It’s all about prioritizing and time management.” She was happy with her businesslike tone. It gave away nothing of the fear that clenched her stomach.

  “Yes, well, the reigning queen of modern day manners can do everything in the blink of an eye, isn’t that right?” Rachael said dryly.

  “Not quite,” Jessica replied calmly. “Miracles take a little longer.” Like turning an insensitive woman into a gracious lady. She immediately chided herself for the unkind thought. Rachael may lack some social graces, but she wasn’t overtly nasty. She just had no clue when it came to tact. And Jessica’s job was to give her that clue.

  She smiled brightly and wrapped up the class, walking her clients to the door and murmuring goodbyes. She purposely carried her folder, diary and class notes in both hands. Greetings and goodbyes were so important in the business world, yet she had developed a reticence for contact. She couldn’t offend by not shaking hands when her hands were full. Couldn’t be touched by a nutcase, either.

  “Oh, Jess, there you are.” Gwen Banks, her receptionist and assistant-extraordinaire, bustled up to her. She held the disconnected lead for the headset she was wearing in one hand, and a small brown box in the other. She held up the parcel. “This arrived for you while you were in class.”

  Jessica faltered. Another delivery. She didn’t want it, whatever it was. Her brow wrinkled. It was probably something completely innocuous, like the book-flyer samples she’d ordered. She took a deep breath and smiled. “Thanks, Gwen.” She lowered her bundle of papers so that Gwen could place the parcel on top. She didn’t want to hold it. She almost asked her assistant to open it, but bit her lip. If it was one of those deliveries, she didn’t want to subject Gwen to the contents.

  “So, how did it go with the dragon this morning?” Gwen asked, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

  Jessica darted a glance past her. All the students had left reception and were out in the corridor waiting for the elevator, including Ms. MacNeil. “Shh. She’s still there, and you shouldn’t call her that. It’s not nice.” Despite her admonishment, she couldn’t help the twitch to her lips.

  “Sweetie, you might have to play nice, but I don’t,” Gwen said as she made her way back to the reception desk. The elevator dinged, and Jessica turned toward her office, hiding her smile.

  “Oh, wait up, Jess.” A lightly accented voice hailed from the corridor.

  Jessica paused and turned. Oliveria Vega, her agent and manager, waved as she stepped through the crowd. Jessica’s lips quirked. Ollie was a curvaceous raven-haired bundle of energy, and one of her best friends.

  “Good morning, Ollie.” Her lips lifted in a genuine smile as the woman approached.

  Ollie cocked an eyebrow at the brown parcel in her hands. “Is that another one?”

  Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know yet. I was just about to go into my office and open it.”

  A movement caught her eye, and she glanced past Oliveria. She stiffened. A tall, dark, dangerous-looking figure had followed her friend into their office suite.

  “Oh, hey, I want you to meet someone.” Ollie glanced over her shoulder and took a quick step to the side. “This is Noah Samuels, the gentleman I was telling you about. I just picked him up from the airport.”

  Jessica’s eyebrows arched. She vaguely remembered Ollie discussing a prospective client from out of town. She smiled. She’d drilled into her staff the importance of quality customer service. Ollie had definitely gone the extra mile for this customer. She turned to fully face the client. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  He was, well, arresting. That was the word for him. She stared up at him. He wasn’t handsome in the Hollywood sense. Dark hair that was a trifle long gave him a shaggy, almost wild look. Dark stubble did nothing to hide the strong jaw and angular cheekbones, but it was the eyes that caught her attention. Chocolate. Smooth, dark chocolate. Her favorite. She swallowed.

  He dropped his duffel bag to the floor and stuck his hand out, and she automatically juggled her pile of paperwork in order to greet him. Her hand was engulfed in his strong clasp.

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said. She wasn’t sure if it was the deep timbre of his voice or the zing of awareness his touch provoked that had her wanting to twirl a finger in her hair and giggle. And Jessica Pennington didn’t giggle.

  “Uh, hello, Mr. Samuels.” She cleared her throat. She was a businesswoman, for heaven’s sake. She met men all the time, so why couldn’t she put her brain into gear and make some sort of effort at clever conversation? Her reaction was hardly professional. That last thought had her straightening to attention.

  So, this was her new client. Well, this man definitely needed her help. Ollie had mentioned the client was about to step into an executive management role. His greeting needed work, as did his presentation. She gingerly extracted her hand.

  “You have a strong grip there, Mr. Samuels.” She’d meant it to come out calm, professional. Not all breathy, darn it.

  “Uh, I’m sure we can work together,” she said a bit more briskly. She hoisted her folder and papers onto her hip as she took in the man standing in front of her. “I think we’ll start with a haircut. You’d be amazed at how much that impacts your appearance.” His eyebrow rose as she slowly walked around him, mentally taking inventory.

  “Hmm, I think we’ll
need to do a bit of shopping,” she said absently. He was dressed in dark blue jeans, the denim softened by numerous washings so that it followed the line of his muscular thighs with the familiarity of a silk sheet over a lover’s body.

  He was tall and broad, and the black leather jacket he wore highlighted the strength in his shoulders, the arrogance of his stance. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was a black T-shirt he was wearing underneath the jacket. The soft cotton clung to his torso, delineating pectoral muscles beneath before draping over a flat stomach. A black T-shirt? It was just as well this man had come to her for an executive makeover. That outfit looked more at home in a barroom brawl than a conference room.

  She nodded. “We’ll definitely need to get some tailored suits happening,” she said, then halted. She was standing behind him, and, well, that tush needed no improvement.

  “Oh, no, not that guy.” Ollie sprang to the side to meet Jessica’s eyes, waving her hand and shaking her head, her dark curls bouncing. “No, not the client—” Something clicked loudly in the brown parcel Jessica was holding, and all three of them looked at it. Jessica froze, a chill spreading over her shoulders and down her arms.

  Ollie froze. “Was that—?”

  “Yes,” Jessica whispered.

  The man standing in front of her moved with a speed that left her stunned. He grabbed the parcel from her arms and ran to the office corridor. He pulled open the garbage chute and tossed the package in. He turned and raced straight for her.

  “Take cover,” he yelled.

  Jessica’s mouth dropped open in horror as screams filled the office. Before her brain could register the danger, a hard body hit hers, tackling her to the ground and rolling her along the carpeted floor. An explosion splintered the glass doors to reception. The floor they lay upon trembled. Jessica managed a terrified peek over a broad shoulder before it obscured her view, and the hard body covered hers protectively.

  Smoke filled the reception area, and foul-smelling embers floated to the floor.

  She turned wide eyes from the falling ash to the man lying on top of her, his chocolate-brown gaze eyeing her with a calm intensity.

  Ollie’s pale face popped into her peripheral vision.

  “He isn’t the client, Jess,” she said shakily. “He’s your bodyguard.”

  Chapter Two

  Hours later, Noah saw the building security manager, fire marshal and Detective Louise Carmichael of the Special Investigations Division, a slim redhead who spoke little but seemed to notice everything, out the door and turned back to look at his client through the glass wall of her office. Throughout the reception area and foyer, the forensics unit was still meticulously cataloguing the scene. Only the front section of the academy was damaged. All the interior offices and classrooms were unaffected by the small blast.

  Jessica sat behind her desk. Her assistant, Gwen, sagged in one chair, holding her head in her hands, her spectacles dangling from her pinkie finger. Oliveria sat next to her, leaning forward in her chair, her expression concerned. Gwen had been closest to the explosion, but the most protected behind her tall reception desk. Oliveria looked shaken. He could understand that. The brunette had just missed being blown to kingdom come, as had both he and Jessica. Oliveria’s hair was mussed, her jacket and blouse askew. She held a shoe in one hand, its heel missing. Glancing across the desk to his client, he was surprised and maybe a little impressed by her calmness. She’d managed to answer all questions from the police detective and fire marshal with patience. Any distress or emotion she might have felt was under tight control.

  She now sat regally in her chair, her blond hair sleek in its fashionable bob. Although a little rumpled and smudged with ash, she still wore her navy suit with dignified pride, and it hugged her figure to perfection.

  Noah’s mouth turned down at the corners. Not that he should be noticing just how perfect her figure was. He knew she had a ladder in her stockings, but he’d only noticed that when she’d walked away from him because he was staring at her legs.

  She had great legs.

  He remembered his first impression upon seeing her in the reception area. Stunning, and scared as a jackrabbit. She was an image and etiquette consultant, whatever the hell that was, so he supposed that accounted for her fastidious attention to her appearance now.

  If he hadn’t felt her body tremble beneath his, or seen her pale and shaken expression as she’d stared in horror at the broken glass doors, he would never have imagined she’d just cheated death, or at the very least, a nasty injury.

  He shook his head. He’d met many women like Jessica Pennington, but she carried herself with a quiet grace that was unique. He noticed the lifted chin, the straight shoulders and the subtle swell of bosom beneath her jacket. She might be a lady, but she was definitely all woman. He still felt the imprint of her slight curves against his body. He blew out his cheeks.

  He was familiar with her type. She was a society belle just like his ex, Adriana. More interested in looks than substance. Jessica Pennington had carved out a lucrative career of helping people look and sound just so, if her up-market offices were anything to go by. Despite the explosion of garbage, it was easy to see the tastefully decorated interior. There was no hiding the feminine touch. Walls and carpets were in various shades of blues and mauves, while chrome trim in the furniture gave a stylish, modern flair. He’d instinctively checked the soles of his shoes before he’d entered the office suite.

  Well, time to get to know his client. His lips tightened. He’d felt her trembling when they shook hands and had noticed her apprehension when they first arrived. He could almost smell her fear. No matter what the woman did for a living, or how her personal views may differ from his own, she didn’t deserve to be terrorized, or nearly killed. And he was here to put a stop to it. She needed him.

  He strode into her office. Conversation broke off immediately between the three women inside. Jessica looked up at him.

  “The fire chief says there is no structural damage. The building manager is going to pull surveillance footage so the police can try and ID the courier who delivered the parcel.” He wasn’t optimistic. All witnesses had given a description of a slim person wearing a hooded sweatshirt. No real description at all, Detective Carmichael had conceded. He took the seat next to Oliveria. Jessica nodded.

  “Thank you, Mr. Samuels,” she said smoothly. He blamed the rising hairs on the backs of his hands to her words, and not her low, husky tone.

  “Mr. Samuels is my father.” He suppressed a shudder. He never wanted to be mistaken for that man. “Call me Noah.” He removed the deck of playing cards from his jacket pocket and started to shuffle them absently.

  “Oh. All right, Noah.” She nodded, eyeing the cards, then lifting her gaze to his. “I must admit, your arrival was not exactly expected. But very welcome,” she added hastily, before lifting an inquiring brow at her manager.

  Oliveria sighed. “Your publisher organized the security detail.” Her brown eyes flicked to Noah.

  “You mean Jeff did,” Jessica said brusquely.

  Oliveria shrugged. “I don’t care who did, really. I’m just glad Noah was here when we needed him.” She shuddered.

  Gwen lifted her head long enough to fix him with a steady eye. She was an older woman in her fifties, with expertly coiffed gray hair and the barrel-chested build of a bulldog. “Perhaps you can convince our esteemed leader to take the rest of the day off?”

  “Gwen. I have to go.” The remark was quietly spoken, and Jessica leaned back in her chair.

  Noah cocked an eyebrow and glanced across the desk. “Where? When?”

  Jessica sighed. “I’m due to give a talk at a business women’s luncheon at the Marriott.”

  He stared at her. “You just came close to decorating your walls, and you want to go chat and eat at a fancy hotel? I think you need to
cancel all appointments, immediately.” Most clients in her position would be scurrying to hide under a bed somewhere.

  Jessica looked at him, her face impassive. “The event is in just under two hours’ time. If I cancel now, they won’t be able to organize a replacement. I am fine. If I don’t turn up, it will inconvenience the event organizers and disappoint the patrons.” Her shoulders lifted ever so slightly. “Besides, it would be rude to leave them in the lurch.”

  Her hand rose to toy with the pearl necklace resting on her collarbone.

  Noah watched the movement. Oh, she was good. She had her poker face on. Her expression was calm, inscrutable. Her voice was even and determined, yet there was just the slightest tremor to her fingers as they stroked the pearl strand, easily missed if you weren’t watching for it. He didn’t know whether to roll his eyes at her foolhardiness, or admire her conviction and courage. Keeping to an advertised schedule was like sending out a personal invitation to a stalker. Was pride forcing her to take this action, or was there another reason why she would put herself in danger?

  “What did the police tell you?” he asked. She’d been thoroughly interviewed by the detective, and forensics had combed every inch of the reception. There was still yellow tape around the chute and reception entry. Downstairs was cordoned off, and no members of the public were allowed access to the building until the forensics team gave the all clear—which could be anytime from a few hours to a few days.

  She shifted in her seat. “They said to take care.”

  “Tell this luncheon organizer of your circumstances—” he began smoothly, but she shook her head.

  “No. The police also said it was important to keep some perspective, and to maintain a normal lifestyle, just with a varied routine. We are not broadcasting my troubles to all and sundry. This is a personal matter, and we’ll handle it privately. The only people aware of the situation are sitting here in this office right now, and the police, and I want to keep it that way.”