“Legal red tape. International codes of conduct. Information I’ve been researching for years. I need to have it down when I give my spiel, so I can talk their language.”
“You read that cover to cover?”
“Memorized it.”
“The entire thing?”
“Pretty much.” He shrugged. “A refresher never hurts.”
For the next hour he scanned the pages as fast as a world-class speed reader. He appeared to absorb information lightning quick. No surprise. Before accepting his offer, she’d done her own research on him. Besides his dual bachelor’s degree in electrical engineering and U.S. history, his community of peers regarded him with a mix of jealousy, amazement and respect. Some called him lucky, others said genius. Beyond his degree, he must’ve honed his engineering skills in the military to have created the Elite System.
She, on the other hand, had acquired only an associate’s degree—liberal arts, with a concentration in graphic design—but for how long it took and what she’d gone through to acquire it, she treasured it like a Ph.D. She grimaced, recalling how she’d pursued her education in secret. She’d attempted to do it openly, until Trevor went on a tirade about how no wife of his needed college. He’d educate her on what he wanted her to know.
An unacceptable answer, so she’d taken classes sporadically. Some online when available, a full load when he was out of the country on assignment. She’d also taken a job on the military base as a facilitator instructing new recruits on social aspects of military life, which Trevor grudgingly permitted. If he’d known she could translate that into a well-paying career as a corporate trainer, he never would’ve allowed it. She’d used those part-time funds to pay for courses in cash and rented a mailbox at the community college so no paper trail led to her. When she finally completed her degree, the sense of accomplishment was indescribable.
Except, she’d made a terrible miscalculation. She’d canceled the mailbox at school too early. Trevor came home one blistering summer afternoon for lunch and intercepted the mail the day her diploma arrived at their house. He opened the package, found out what she’d done behind his back, and flew into a rage. He shredded her diploma in front of her, screaming mad, and then shoved it down the garbage disposal until it was pulp. That wasn’t the only thing he’d destroyed that day.
They both knew it was only a piece of paper. The real damage was already done. She’d lied, and he never let her live it down. Her life became a prison of suspicion and misery, anger and violence.
A year to the day of receiving her diploma, she found the last shreds of courage to leave him. There were some things Trevor could never take away from her, including her education. She’d packed her bags and filed for divorce. She only wished she could say she’d never looked back. Unfortunately, for the past four years Trevor made that wish impossible.
She glanced at Logan. “Is there anything I can help you with?”
Absorbed in study, he shook his head. “I’m good.”
Leaning over the aisle, she read the page header. “Are you sure I can’t quiz you on ‘The Decade of Terror After 9/11’?”
“It’s more frightening than fascinating. Not what you’d call quizable.”
She fidgeted. “I’m no engineer, but if there’s something I should know to do a better job—”
“You’re exactly what I need,” he stated. “You know my system. You have the demonstration skills I don’t and the language skills I never will. Bring those things to the table, that’s all I ask.”
“I can do that.” She hoped she’d accomplish her vow to get him this contract.
“Which reminds me.” Setting the tome aside, he withdrew something from his suit coat pocket. “Here.”
He handed her a little black box. She stared at it dubiously in the palm of her hand. “What’s this?”
“Insurance.”
Wary, she pried open the velvet box. Her eyes flew wide. A diamond the size of her thumbnail sparkled like a disco ball. “Cripes, Logan!” She snapped the box shut. “Is it real?”
He slanted her a look. “What do you think?”
“Take it back.” She held it away from her. “I don’t want it.”
“Just put it on.”
“Why would you purchase such a thing?”
He rolled his eyes. “Stop reading into things.”
“It looks an engagement ring.”
“Trust me, when I ask a woman to marry me I’ll know the answer is yes.”
“Why do you want me to wear it?”
“I told you, insurance. In case you get morning sickness in the middle of the presentation. And I have to explain why you ran out of the room abruptly.”
“It’s not so bad,” she insisted. “I can control it.”
“That’s not what my sister tells me. She says it sneaks up on you out of nowhere. Dizziness, too. Especially after air travel.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Two. But only Stephanie talks to me about that stuff.”
That explained a lot. His protective instincts had become embedded through years of honing. “Your concern is touching,” she admitted, “but unnecessary.” She didn’t want him to see the part of her that melted.
“Humor me.” He dropped all pretenses. “The Suits on Capitol Hill have distrust down to an art. Maybe because they earn a living speaking half-truths and making promises they probably won’t keep. Regardless, if you show signs of pregnancy and you don’t at least have a ring to show for it, that typecast can influence their decision.”
The idea was ridiculous, totally outdated. “Single mothers make up a hefty chunk of their constituencies.”
“These aren’t just American politicians. There’s top military men, ambassadors, security heads. They want proof of stability in my company and employees. It’s subtle, but it’s part of the game you have to play.”
“Hardly fair,” she muttered.
“All’s fair in war and politics.”
As she slowly opened the box again, the enormous diamond caught the sunlight through the oval window and nearly blinded her. “What if I lose it?” she asked nervously.
“Then some sucker will get lucky. And I call my insurance company to handle it.”
“Oh.” So practical.
It’s not a real engagement ring. It never will be .
Why did a sad, hollow feeling creep over her then?
Reluctantly, she removed the faceted jewel from its satin cushion and slid it on. An exact fit. She stared at its over-the-top dazzle, shocked to see her left ring finger occupied. The first time since she’d removed her wedding band, left it on the kitchen counter, and walked away from her life with Trevor.
Memories and emotion welled up. Tears sprang to her eyes.
Crazy pregnancy hormones .
A tear slid loose and trickled down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly so Logan wouldn’t notice.
But he did. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“No, nothing.” Her nose started to run. “I’m just… I have to go to the bathroom.” Unbuckling her seat belt she darted toward the rear of the plane.
Safely locked inside the small restroom, tears tumbled down her face. So many conflicting feelings from the past and present converged. An internal typhoon hit her. Sobs wracked her chest.
This is stupid , she berated herself between hiccups. She didn’t miss or want Trevor, not for all the castles in France. Yet she still remembered so clearly the hope and promise of those long-ago vows, the pretty fairytales and happily-ever-after her wedding ring had signified. She also acutely experienced the sense of failure for leaving the man she’d sworn to love and stand by for all time. No matter what an awful person he was. So much pain and loneliness, so many nights in agony, tortured and broken-hearted. She thought she’d thrown off Trevor’s chains, the manipulations he’d used to keep her shackled to him. She’d never stopped running, never stopped fearing. She hadn’t felt safe enough to pause and heal the d
eeper hurt still lingering in the defeated places in her heart.
The ring she wore now held no expectations, no promises. No sentiment from Logan.
No surprise, considering she was closeted in a bathroom crying her eyes out, an ungodly mess. The man didn’t deserve this kind of baggage.
Neither did she.
She had to let this go. The disappointment over her failed marriage may linger forever, but now that she was pregnant, the murky past was overshadowed by brighter possibilities. A baby, a pure little life undisturbed by history, didn’t deserve to know the brutality one human being could inflict on another.
Trevor may have defeated her spirit once. But she could break this pattern of fear. No matter how vulnerable it made her, the defensive walls she clung to must fall. Though she wasn’t clear on how to accomplish the fearlessness she envisioned for herself and her child, she believed her new determination was a good beginning.
The tears stopped. She reached for a fifth tissue and noticed a strange lightness within. She felt better, like she’d actually be okay.
As she blotted her face, the diamond on her finger glinted, a gentle wink. It was nothing more than a prop, a glittering shield to hide her pregnancy symptoms.
Yet somehow the physical solidness, the weight of it on her finger and the screen of protection it offered gave her comfort. She could be sick to her stomach, dizzy, or burst into tears…and it was all right. No need for excuses, or to pretend she was something she wasn’t. The jewel symbolized a safety net that would catch her if the weight of her reality became too heavy to bear.
She heard a noise outside the bathroom door.
“You okay in there?” Logan’s concerned voice penetrated the drone of the plane’s engine.
“Never been better.” Ironically, it was true.
She didn’t dare look in the mirror. She blew her nose one more time and then opened the door. As if falling to pieces in an airplane bathroom and sobbing for ten minutes was perfectly normal.
When she stepped out, Logan assessed her. Seeing deep grooves crease his forehead, she assumed she must look awful. She brushed past him.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked.
“Can we talk about food? I’m starving.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
His gaze was probing. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
After he had her fed and content, she drifted off to sleep. At one point her head dropped forward, her hair sliding over her face like a variegated blonde curtain.
Worried she’d wake with a stiff neck, Logan crossed the aisle with a pillow. He lifted her face gently and tucked the pillow between her head and the window casing. He lowered the shade and let her sleep. She obviously needed it.
Her makeup was streaked from tears. He wanted to hold her, watch her sleep in his arms. His gaze drifted to her finger.
A thrill of triumph went through him. She still wore the ring, which sparked a reckless hope he had no business considering right now. As long as he didn’t say anything to make her run for cover, he stood a chance.
While he had a decent well of patience, he was no saint. He wasn’t a man to wait for what he wanted. With her, he had no choice. He sent her a look that carried the burden of his wordless thoughts. One that would’ve sent her into surefire flight-mode had she been awake.
Restlessness was a shadow he couldn’t shake. He wondered how long his wait for her would be. Or if it would ever end.
CHAPTER 8
He knew she was good. That’s why Logan was paying her twice the rate he’d shell out for another instructional designer and trainer to assist in presenting his system.
But Logan had no idea Allison could wow an audience—him included—for three hours straight. Despite her minor upset on the plane, she stood by his side looking flawless. She gave a world-class presentation she must’ve spent weeks preparing. Every frame of the slideshow was a work of graphic art genius. Every statement she offered to back up his theories and claims showed her masterful knowledge of his system and salesmanship. Her well-timed wit sent chuckles rolling through the panel. Her smiles were infectious. Her personality dazzling.
She was in rare form, and she made it look effortless.
Logan was blown away.
So was the panel, because when the presentation concluded, their influential audience asked her as many questions as they asked him. She deferred to him often, but they fielded inquiries as a team. No one could’ve invented a more ideal partner for him. Like gift-wrapped perfection on Christmas morning.
Turned out she was right, the ring was unnecessary…as far as her health was concerned. She never gave a sign she was exhausted or uncomfortable or sick. And hot damn, she was a trophy in her red skirt-suit that molded to her curves, made more voluptuous by her pregnancy.
He wasn’t sure whether to gloat or be offended by men’s appreciative glances. Those glances weren’t as irritating as the outright lecherous stares, when the less discreet men in the room undressed her with their eyes. And whatever the hell else they were doing in their imaginations that put perma-grins on their faces when they spoke to her.
Their indecent attention was more pronounced at the gala hosted by Senator Coffee at his McLean, Virginia, estate outside of D.C. Logan had been invited there after the presentation, the perfect opportunity to pitch his system. Allison had instantly agreed to go with him. She knew how to work a marketing angle—and a room—as well as he did. Or better, by the looks of things.
From his position at the senator’s well-stocked bar, he watched her charm middle-aged opportunists. She seemed enamored with every guy who started a conversation with her. They stood too close, touched her too often. He wanted to shove into the circle of testosterone surrounding her and claim her like a damn Neanderthal.
He tossed back his scotch, set the glass down hard.
I could buy and sell any one of them ten times over . The self-righteous assertion annoyed him even more. He wasn’t the type of guy who needed reassurances.
“Can I get another drink over here?” he barked.
The bartender approached, bottle in hand. He pulled out a twenty, stuffed it in the tip jar and emptied this glass faster than the first.
Logan had experienced jealousy before. But nothing that compared to this gut-clenching, white-hot possessiveness that could make a man physically ill and half-insane.
Worst part was that if Allison knew what was going on in his head, she’d walk right out his door. If he showed any sign of possession or domination, she’d be gone.
Not an option.
So he suffered in silence. He needed to take his eyes and mind off her long enough to throw out some sales pitches, his whole reason for being here.
A familiar face approached the bar. Logan recognized the man from their presentation. He mentally snapped his fingers—the defense minister from Brazil.
“Evening, Mr. Olarez.” Logan held out his hand.
Horatio Olarez smiled and clasped his hand around Logan’s. “Quite the presentation today, Mr. Stone. I am most impressed.”
Logan smiled. “Glad to hear it was worth your time.”
“ Si . I know potential when I see it.”
That sounded promising. This was normally where Logan launched into conversation, playing to basic human needs and how he solved them. Tonight those well-rehearsed lines escaped him. “It would be my privilege to invite you, all expenses paid, to the Stone Security facility. My setup there provides a better model of what I can make happen on a broader scale.”
Olarez’s expression was unreadable as he peered at Logan. “You are a man of fine tastes.” He gestured to Logan’s empty glass, and the bartender refilling it with expensive scotch. “Join me in the courtyard? I have brought the finest cigarillos in all of South America. A shame to keep them to myself.”
Logan nodded. “Lead the way.”
He could use some fresh air.
The moon hung low and br
ight in the sky, a night when the lunar terrain etched visibly on the glowing surface. His wool suit shielded him from the bite in the November air. He accepted a cigarillo and Olarez flicked open a lighter. The scent of butane preceded wood-smoked cherry. He let the smoke fill his mouth with a pleasant sting.
Pondering the skyline, Olarez said, “I hear that in the District of Columbia no building may be taller than the Washington Monument.”
“That’s the deal.”
“Why is this?”
Logan blew out a stream of smoke that shone blue in the moonlight. “The pyramids of Giza, the Tower of Babel, the Washington Monument. They’re all beacons of hope, of strength. Structures of significance to the people. For us, the monument signifies courage in the face of oppression.”
Horatio tilted his head. “A fine explanation. You know American history well.”
“I love my country. Served it faithfully for ten years. I protected it with my life, and now I plan to protect it in a different way.”
A comfortable silence passed. They puffed their cigars.
Then Horatio spoke again. “The woman who presented with you today. She wears a ring. It is yours?”
Logan paused a beat. “Yes.”
“Ah.”
Glancing askance, Logan noticed a twinkle in the man’s eyes. When Horatio said nothing, Logan filled the quiet. “I’m glad one of us finds it amusing.” Realizing how the statement sounded, he backpedaled. “What I meant was—”
Horatio held up a hand. “I understand. This is new for you.”
“What is?”
“You find that someone else is more important than what you want for yourself.”
Incredulous, he wondered how they’d gone from iconic structures to his barely-requited love life. “You got all that from two minutes of conversation?”
“It was the two minutes before our conversation that intrigued me.”
Considering his foul mood as he’d watched Allison from a distance, the impression couldn’t be good. “So I’m that transparent.” Great .
Horatio chuckled. “I believe the American phrase is ‘it takes one to know.’”
Billionaire Bodyguard Page 12
