by KS Augustin
She didn’t see the expression on his face, but heard the promise in his reply.
“For now,” he said. “For now.”
* * * *
Yves wasn’t quite sure he’d correctly heard the words from Helen’s mouth. He looked from her to Guy. Night had fallen and they were seated on the wide verandah facing the river. The ripples from the water picked up the reflections from the office towers further upstream, making them glitter and dance in the warm air.
The staff from Heritage House had set up a small rectangular table, lighting its length with candles. This was the result of another compromise between him and Helen. She had wanted dinner to be inside, with all curtains drawn. He thought that was an overreaction and wanted to enjoy the weather of the city he was visiting. In the end, they had settled on an outside venue with flickering illumination. Helen joked that their greatest fear was a drive-by boat guided by gangsters with machine guns, but he saw the thought troubled her, and so acquiesced without further argument.
But now, halfway through their main meal—a superbly cooked steak with steamed and buttered vegetables—Helen had come out with a statement that had him staring at her in disbelief. He had, of course, known women who were determined to hook their claws into him on a more permanent basis, but even they had not been so blatant. Was she trading on her performance earlier on in the day in order to grab a more permanent meal ticket? The thought was as repugnant as it was sudden. And, unfortunately, it made all too much sense.
“Pardon?” he asked, slowly putting his fork and knife down on the fine porcelain plate. “Did you just say you want to sleep with me?”
Not that Yves was averse to the idea, not at all, but he expected—and usually received—more discretion than what was currently being exhibited. A curl of anger threaded through him at her impudence in mentioning intimacy at all around his assistant. Of course Guy knew how his life ran; after all, the young man was responsible for organising most of it himself. But this bald statement, at an otherwise light and pleasant meal, was beyond the realms of good taste, even if it involved a woman that he found more fascinating than any other he had met.
At least she had the grace to look a little abashed, he thought, watching her. But there was still no excuse for what she had just said.
“I didn’t say I want to sleep with you,” she corrected. “I said you should not sleep alone.”
Yves glanced at Guy, but he looked as confused as Yves himself felt. “I’m afraid the subtle difference between those two statements escapes me,” he said coolly. “Perhaps you’d care to explain it yourself.”
Helen took a deep breath. “You sleep in the downstairs suite, don’t you?”
“Oui.” He shrugged. “I like strolling into the garden in the morning. It’s a nice contrast to the hotels Guy and I normally frequent.”
“Well, what if Alexandrov decides to send a couple more men after you?”
She stared at him with those big eyes of hers, shaded now by the low illumination but still large and engaging. He thought of naked swims in some exotic lagoon, feeling topaz blue waters engulf his body, and had to force himself away from those thoughts.
“You’re saying they could break into my suite.” Of course, it was obvious to him now.
Helen nodded. “You refuse to give me an answer on hiring more security, and I’m presuming you’ll refuse to change suites.” He nodded curtly at her assumption. “So, the only option left is to not let you sleep alone.”
He should have known better than to think she had her own sexual agenda. The kiss they’d exchanged earlier that day convinced him that Helen Collier was a woman fighting herself as much as she was fighting him. He didn’t know exactly what it was that stopped her from succumbing to his last kiss, but it was something sad and personal—not a promise but an experience. An abusive old boyfriend? Certainly she could take care of herself now—he still marvelled when he thought of the way she had so neatly despatched their two attackers—but had she been like that in the past? Maybe her independence grew out of a need for protection. The idea of someone hurting Helen made him draw in a quick breath, but he could be working on a false assumption. Maybe it was something more recent. In any case, he would make it his business to find out the reason…and soon. His body remembered the imprint of her curves against him, hot and smooth. He wanted a repeat of that night. Badly. And he was determined to cut through her resistance in order to sate his need.
“Are you inviting yourself to my bedroom?” Now that he was sure of her motives, he could relax and tease her a little. It surprised him how much pleasure he got from doing it, enjoying the look of embarrassment that slowly bloomed on her face. In truth, he found her usual self-discipline formidable, and liked to uncover the warm and attractive woman that he knew existed under all that serious focus. Helen was too lively a person to be buried under such crushing responsibility. As what he was now putting onto her, he realised with a pang.
“I’m sure we’ll come to some arrangement that offers us both some privacy,” she replied shortly.
Yves dabbed at his mouth with the corner of his linen napkin, hiding a smile. “I’m sure we will.”
Why was he being so frivolous about his personal safety? Even Guy had alluded to it earlier in the day, while they were finalising their agenda for the business meeting the following day. He was usually a cautious man and events had already indicated that Leonid Alexandrov was not a person one lightly crossed. While it was true that he was half a world away from his home, Alexandrov had already found him soon enough. What Helen had suggested throughout the day was logical and sensible, yet he still refused to listen to her.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Helen because she was a woman. In fact, and he startled himself by admitting this, it was the complete opposite. There was something about being with her that was out of time, out of his normal experience. And he didn’t want it to end. It was as simple as that. He didn’t want another bodyguard, as sensible as that idea was, because he didn’t want another person intruding on the dynamic currently at play. Guy had been his assistant for several years now and was able to competently read the non-verbal wishes of his employer. And Helen was the woman he wanted to currently pursue. Yes, it was foolish and selfish, and he knew he might pay a heavy price for it, but he didn’t want anyone else around. For a start, he knew Helen was serious enough to use any newcomer as a shield against him. Further, if the extra bodyguard turned out to be Ryan Greenwood himself then Helen might as well be locked within a bank vault.
The ideal situation would be to hire someone extra, see through this trip in peace, then pay another visit to Australia in the future when the situation had been resolved to his satisfaction, and he could sleep peacefully again, knowing that Alexandrov was in jail where he belonged. But Yves knew the hectic pace of his own schedule. The hurried nature of this particular trip meant that several important meetings had been shoved to one side. The resultant jam of appointments resembled an accordion, pressed up close to one another for the next few months. It was an impossible situation.
Non, whatever he wanted to do with Helen, he had to do now with as few distractions as possible. Even if it meant that his personal danger increased. Yves’ own sense of confidence was based on what he knew of Alexandrov’s character. The reason the man had approached him in the first place was because of their common Russian heritage. Yves’ grandmother had fled Russia at the cusp of the Revolution as a child with her aristocrat parents, and their standing in society had only been strengthened through subsequent marriages into French society. Alexandrov, a social climber himself, found the combination irresistible. When he met Yves, he insisted on a partnership based on what he termed ‘blood ties’, meaning Russian blood. Before he rejected the financial overtures, Yves had had the Russian investigated, and knew how the man thought.
Alexandrov was known not to trust people in general, so he would not leave the intimidation of a business rival, especially someone he perceived t
o be a fellow Russian, who had turned him down, to any run-of-the-mill criminal gang. The way he operated, Leonid would always go looking for the personal touch. And that meant tapping into the local Russian population. Yves hadn’t told even Guy, but he had investigated the size of that potential local group before they left Grenoble, and was relieved to see it numbered only in its hundreds. There was a risk that he was wrong, of course, but Yves doubted that such a small population produced professional killers, eager to do the bidding of a dangerous criminal thousands of kilometres away. The two who had attacked them in New Farm were exactly what he expected—young and inexperienced, possibly even broke—and he wasn’t anticipating any further opposition to be too different.
He had meant to make that observation to Helen, but the day had been too busy, and now she suggested that she sleep in his bedroom? Yves hadn’t risen to his current level of success by ignoring the potential of situations. And he wasn’t going to start now.
Chapter Seven
He was a stubborn man, and she wanted to kick him. Why someone supposedly as successful and smart as he was, couldn’t see that it would be better for all concerned—herself included—if he hired another bodyguard was beyond her. It wasn’t that he was a miser; the fact that he rented out Heritage House entirely, just for his and Guy’s initial residence proved that. But she just couldn’t get over this particular example of his pigheadedness.
Helen grabbed a pair of jogging pants and tank top from her dresser with a sharp yank. It couldn’t be that he actually wanted to spend some time in her company. Not after her last rebuff. She was sure Yves de Saint Nerin was used to much easier conquests, and he had probably put her in the ‘too hard’ basket by now.
She walked to the bathroom to start getting ready for the night. The fact of the matter was, she wanted someone else around, as a distraction if nothing else. She was unnerved by the intensity of Yves’ looks, as if she was a delectable morsel that he wanted to savour. Her resolve failed her at times like that, because she wanted to be savoured by him and feel the hard muscles of his body next to hers. That first night of lust with him had kick-started all kinds of distracting and unproductive thoughts, and, rather than getting her fill of him, she wanted more. Maybe if someone else was around, it would give her time to put the relationship on a more rational footing, but he remained stubborn and obstinate in that regard. Damn the man!
How much easier it would be if she wasn’t paid to guard him, but could just be his female companion for a while. His mistress? Helen had never ever seen herself in such a position but now, for the first time in her life, she understood what drove women to become the kept companions of men. If they looked and acted like Yves de Saint Nerin, with his abundance of charm, good looks and wealth, then it was no surprise that women were prepared to give up only their principles to be with them. Given half a chance, Helen didn’t doubt that she might do that herself.
And that brought her back full circle. She briefly thought of just calling Ryan anyway and explaining why she needed him—now!—on the job with her, but she wasn’t the client. She didn’t have the authority to do such a thing. Just strongly suggest it but not do it.
Helen finished brushing her teeth. After rinsing and drying her mouth, she pulled on the pants and shimmied into the jewel-toned tank top, brushing back her hair before finally giving up in exasperation. Her blonde locks were just what they were, and there was no use trying to wish them into something else. She looked at herself in the mirror, noting her too-bright eyes and the flush that delicately outlined her cheekbones. Her body was looking forward to this with a longing that went beyond decency. She shook her head and the reflection in the mirror had the grace to look rueful. Her suggestion to spend the night in Yves’ suite was the right one to make, and she would have made it regardless of whether she was paid to guard an old, fat, businessman or Yves himself. She just wished she could be a bit more objective about the looming situation.
With set lips and a determined tilt to her chin, Helen walked the length of Heritage House, leaving the refuge of her own suite and, after a perfunctory knock, entering Yves’ territory.
She heard the shower running as she neared the main bedroom, and briefly wondered what to do before her feet took over, walking her through the door, past the bathroom and over to the sofa that sat between the bed and the doors leading out to the balcony. Logically, this would be where she spent her night. Boldly going through the closet, she managed to find a spare pillow and a blanket and was making up her bed on the sofa when the bathroom door opened.
Wincing, she shut her eyes for a moment then forced an impersonal expression on her face and turned to face Yves.
This is nothing you haven’t seen before, Hel. Plus you used to train with a whole squad of buff males, remember? They used to walk half-naked around you all the time, dripping testosterone like some expensive aftershave. You never even noticed them after a while.
But those were just her training partners. None of them, not even Pete—at the start of their friendship—had elicited the kind of response Helen felt zapping through her body right now.
His hair was still damp and long enough to form attractive spikes that dripped errant drops of water down the side of his face. Helen swallowed and followed the progress of one such drop, watching as it clung to his skin, rolled down the taut brown of his throat, over his collarbone and into the thin mat of dark hair that covered his chest. The drop was lost, but her gaze continued downwards, over a well-toned torso and a fine narrow dusting of fuzz that arrowed downwards beneath the blazing white towel that encircled his hips. His entire body was an even nut-brown, a detail she hadn’t noticed before, much to her shame, indicating that he sunbathed–
“So you are determined to do this?” he asked.
The light behind him was still on, so it was difficult seeing his full expression, but Helen heard the amusement in his voice. The small smile that quirked one side of his gorgeous lips was only just visible.
She turned back to the sofa and plumped the pillow. “It’s part of my job,” she said pertly.
Silence pooled in the room, and Helen knew he was watching her. She felt his gaze bore into her back.
“It won’t be very comfortable on that sofa,” he finally remarked, his voice casual.
“I think it’ll do just fine,” she replied, still not facing him. She picked up the blanket, that was only slightly in disarray, shook it open and started folding it again.
“If I promise to be a gentleman,” that voice of chocolate went on, “would you consider sleeping in the bed with me? Only sleeping,” he reassured quickly. “The bed is big, and I could put a pillow between us if it would make you feel better.”
He was being so nice, so gallant, that Helen felt like a shrew with her back still facing him. She threw down the blanket with a sigh and turned around. The truth of the matter was, it wasn’t him she was worried about, it was herself. She wouldn’t put it past her suddenly over-wound libido to jump a fence of razor-wire that separated her from Yves, especially if it was situated on a piece of furniture as tantalising and full of possibility as a bed. All it would take would be one careless flick of a limb, or the smell of his warm body slumbering close to hers. It was going to be difficult enough settling nearby. But both of them in the same bed together? Impossible.
“Thank you,” she finally said, trying to muster some semblance of graciousness in her reply, “but I think it would be for the best if I sleep here tonight.”
He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a drawer.
Oh God, he’s going to change in front of me!
Her cheeks flaming, Helen spun away from him. Suddenly, the neutral tones of the linen curtain absorbed all her attention. But with Yves’ shadow projected onto the fabric, together with the accompanying sounds, Helen might as well have been watching him directly.
She heard the slither of material as something was pulled from the drawer, and a clunk as it was pushed back in. Yves shook i
t out and Helen saw the bulk of a pair of pants…they must be pyjama pants. Probably with stripes—cool, blue stripes that lengthened his legs and looked serious and sexy all at the same time. She wanted them to have a different pattern—stupid hearts or hairy black monkeys cavorting all over it—but knew her luck wouldn’t hold. There was nothing in the room to laugh at.
A quick flick sent the towel flying onto the bed. Helen saw the unmistakable shape of a discarded towel with her peripheral vision, and her eyes widened.
He’s completely naked now, all that length of man on full display. I wonder if I could sneak a look. Oh God, if only I could sneak a look!
Then the slither of his legs as he put on the pants. He reached for the towel that lay on the bed.
“You can turn around now,” he said, and it was plain he was laughing at her. Most probably the women of his acquaintance kept watching when he changed, yearned to be there while he discarded all clothing. Did they drool, she wondered, or just smack their lips in anticipation? Here he was, thousands of kilometres from home, and instead of some open admiration, his tough, no-nonsense bodyguard behaved as though she was a priggish, born-again virgin.
“I believe in giving all my clients a sense of privacy and respect,” she said, trying to explain her actions.
“I’m in no doubt of that, Helen.” He rubbed his hair with the end of the towel. “I’m going to put this towel back then brush my teeth. I’ll be five minutes.”
Helen nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak, waiting until he disappeared into the bathroom once again, shutting the door behind him, before she relaxed.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she railed at herself in an angry whisper. “He’s only a man, for God’s sake. Okay, so you want to jump his bones. But you can’t. You had your chance, and that’s all you get. He’s a paying client, and you have a job to do.” She moved the pillow to the opposite end of the sofa, so she wouldn’t see him walk back into the bedroom when he was done.
