Guarding His Body

by KS Augustin

  “So have I,” she replied. Her voice was a bit distracted but friendly enough, indicating he had hit just the right topic and tone of delivery with her. Bien.

  She frowned at the windscreen. “I’ve been wondering how they knew where we’d be.”

  “You don’t think they followed us to the restaurant and laid in wait?”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense. But why attack us in such a semi-public place? If they had followed us there, wouldn’t it have made more sense to have just ambushed us at Heritage House in the first place?”

  “There are always one or two staff around the House,” he countered.

  “Yes, but these were three big guys. And there are more likely to be police near the Mall where we were than close to Heritage House. It seems they chose an awfully risky plan.”

  “Are you thinking they were not from Alexandrov at all?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” she admitted candidly. “One thing is for sure. I didn’t quite expect the assignment to be quite so, exciting.”

  Yves tightened his lips in sudden guilt. That was his fault, of course. He could have made it easier on her by agreeing to hire a second bodyguard, but he had let his own personal and selfish desires overrule his logic.

  “I mean, I know you paid a lot of money,” she added in a hurry, obviously misreading his guilty silence for censure. “And I don’t mean to imply that I didn’t expect to work—”

  “You misunderstand,” he interrupted. “I am blaming myself. I should have taken your advice and contacted Ryan Greenwood after the first incident. I will never forgive myself for putting a woman like you in harm’s way.”

  How could he live with himself if anything happened to her? Already, he feared that her quirky and amusingly barbed nature had burrowed under his skin. Whatever happened between them, it would be a long time, if ever, before he forgot Helen Collier.

  “A—? Sorry, what did you say?”

  He stared out the window and didn’t really notice the rising edge in her voice.

  “It’s true,” he murmured, idly counting the street lights that whizzed past. “Putting a woman in harm’s way? Depending on her to stop a criminal? I think I must have rocks in my head.”

  “Rocks,” she said softly. “Oh yes, I think I agree with that.”

  It was the silkiness in her tone that finally triggered a degree of alarm in him.

  “Pardon?”

  “So you think that a woman can’t be depended on to stop a criminal? Did I hear that right?”

  Yves replayed the words he said in his head and winced at their obvious ambiguity. In truth, he had spoken without thinking too deeply on the interpretation which, he now admitted, could really be badly construed. He must be more tired than he thought.

  “You misunderstand.”

  “I don’t think so, Mr. de Saint Nerin.”

  Ah, she must be upset to say his name thus. Usually, it was “Yves”, like a lover’s whisper after the tumult of orgasm. He always enjoyed hearing his name from her lips.

  “I did not mean to imply that you are somehow,” he searched for the appropriate word, “unskilled in the matter of looking after my person. I just meant that this is no job for a woman.”

  If he was hoping to mollify her, he feared―judging from the set look on her face, formidable, even in profile―that he had just done the equivalent of throwing petrol onto a blazing fire.

  “And what would be the correct job for a woman? A mistress perhaps? A maid to follow you around and pick up your things?”

  “Mais non,” he protested, stifling a yawn. What were they arguing about again? “I’m a very tidy man. I pride myself on being organised.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  But he heard the small filament of laughter in her voice. Had he said something funny now? He hadn’t thought so, but he was not going to lose such a slim advantage. Wisely, he kept quiet.

  “Women don’t like being coddled.”

  “I fear to disagree,” he said, imagining exactly how he’d like to coddle her. She wouldn’t protest. Purr perhaps, he would bet on it, but he doubted she would protest.

  “Well maybe the women in your world like to be coddled,” she corrected. “But, in my world, they just put their shoulders to the wheel and keep going.”

  Ah, he could disagree with her on that count. Delphine, for example, was someone who also worked hard, despite the fact that she managed to look like an ethereal deity while she was doing it. But he wasn’t going to bring any women of his acquaintance into this discussion. That would certainly take the conversation in a direction he didn’t want it to go.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said softly.

  She shot him a quick look of disbelief. “It’s true. I don’t expect anyone to treat me as less than his equal.”

  “That’s something different. Equal. Coddle. They are two separate arguments. I respect your abilities as a fighter and a bodyguard. But I could also spoil you. The two are not mutually exclusive.” He paused, and knew she didn’t believe him. She shifted in her seat, stretching her back a little and that gave him an idea.

  “When was the last time you were given a shoulder massage?” he asked.

  “A shoulder massage?” She snaked him a wary look.

  “Oui. Last month? Last year?”

  “I…last year, I suppose.”

  “Your boyfriend? He did this for you?”

  She hesitated. “Er…yes.”

  “Did you feel that he was somehow trying to rob you of your independence by doing such a thing?”

  “No, of course not.” She snorted then her face cleared. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “But of course it is.” He leant forward, closer to her. “If I chose to indulge you, that would not mean I didn’t respect you.”

  He was so intent on the changing expressions on her face that he didn’t realise they had been travelling along an inclined driveway. The ground levelled out and, with an audible sigh of relief, Helen pulled on the hand brake and switched off the engine.

  “We’re here,” she said. “Welcome to the safe house.”

  Chapter Ten

  Helen had never been so happy to reach the Byron house before. Without waiting for a response, she quickly stepped out of the car, the slam of the closing door jolting Guy, still asleep in the back, awake. She heard the scuffle of their bags then both sets of doors on the passenger side opened.

  Not waiting for them, she walked up the short pathway to the verandah then paused. The moon was hidden behind clouds so the outline of the house was indistinct, but the sound of waves crashing on the beach below was like music to her ears. Helen took a breath of the sea-kissed air and felt herself relax. Coming to her parents’ house at Byron always affected her like this. It was a refuge for her away from the crowds and pressures of her other life.

  She jiggled the keys in her hand, found the right one and slipped it into the lock. The air inside was a little musty—it had been more than two months since she last visited—but inviting, as if the love between her parents, the happy holidays the whole family had spent here, had soaked into the wood, the very foundations of the house itself. It reached out, enveloping her, and Helen couldn’t help the smile that curved her lips as she stepped forward, past the sun room and small living room, to switch on the light in the corridor that led to two bedrooms, divided by a single bathroom.

  “There are two beds in that bedroom,” she told the two men, who followed close behind her, indicating the room at the back of the house. “Feel free to make yourselves at home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She turned and walked back to the kitchen, switching on the light and glancing quickly at the wall clock that ticked quietly away next to the refrigerator. It was two-thirty in the morning, and she felt a strange mixture of excitement and exhaustion. In an attempt to calm her nerves, she opened the fridge door and grimaced, knowing she wouldn’t find anything us
eful there, but just checking anyway. Grocery shopping was obviously going to be the first thing on her list for the morning, especially with two adult males in the house.

  She heard a noise behind her and knew, even as she turned around, that it was Yves. He looked tired but still irresistibly handsome, his dark hair a bit tousled, and his shirt rumpled. She realised she hadn’t given either man enough time to clean up or get changed after their assault in the mall. Just barked orders at them then drove them interstate to the safest place she could think of. Her eyes moved down his shirt and to his right hand, which was bruised and crusted with rusty flecks of dried blood.

  With a gasp, she hurried forward. “When did that happen?”

  He looked down, as if he had forgotten about the injury. “When we were attacked. I think I must have hit my attacker a few times, although I don’t quite remember it.”

  She led him to the sink and put his hand under the tap, letting cool water run over it. “That must hurt.”

  With his free hand, he turned her hands over. “You don’t have such marks.”

  “No. I don’t really hit people that way.”

  “Oh.”

  A grin quirked Helen’s lips. He didn’t really understand what she was saying, but that was all right. After all, he wasn’t the one being paid money to keep someone else safe.

  Yves looked around as he let the water soothe his bruising. “Where are we? Is this place yours?”

  “It used to be my parents’ place.” She switched off the tap then grabbed a tea towel and gently patted his hand dry. “But it’s mine now.”

  “And we’re south of Brisbane?”

  “Actually, we’re in another state. We’re in New South Wales, just on the outskirts of the town of Byron Bay.”

  “I see.”

  “We’ll be safe here,” she assured him. “Not even Ryan knows exactly where this house is.”

  He took the towel from her and finished drying his hands then threw it casually onto the kitchen counter top. His eyes, looking shadowed and impenetrable under the cool fluorescent lighting, never left her, and Helen swallowed nervously. This was why she had felt that strange frisson of excitement when they entered the house. Because she knew that she would be forced to keep close to Yves for the next week, until he got back on that flight to France. Close enough to feel the heat from his skin and to breathe in the masculine scent of him. The house was superbly situated on one of the coastal bluffs overlooking the sea, but it was small, and there wasn’t much room to avoid another person. The animal part of her knew that, and revelled in the fact that she would be close to the man she’d fallen in love with.

  The revelation made her thunderstruck. Was it true? Did she love Yves? She looked up into his handsome features and moved away, slipping sideways past him in one economical movement.

  Yes.

  What she’d feared in the car, on her drive to Heritage House, was unfortunately correct. Yves was safe, but the pounding of her heart had still not subsided. It was irrational. She had not gone looking for it, content to continue quietly grieving for Pete, but it had come crashing down on her head. Love. And only with one of the most unattainable men on the planet.

  Misery kept Helen’s feet moving as she avoided Yves, stepping into the small living room that served as her study. A desk was pushed up against the window, overlooking the overgrown garden at the side of the house. When she finally moved down here that would be something else she’d have to take care of.

  “There’s internet access,” she told him a little breathlessly. He moved silently, following her, tracking her footfalls. “If you need to check anything.”

  The recognition of her feelings was too raw, too immediate. She had to get away. Flashing him a quick grin while looking just over his shoulder, she moved to the corridor. “It’s really late, so I’ll say goodnight.”

  “Shall I switch off the lights in the house then?” he asked, his voice mocking. He knew that she was avoiding him yet again, but not why. Oh, please God, not why!,

  “Yes, thank you.”

  She was past embarrassment. She fled to her room and closed the door quietly behind her. Not even daring to switch on the light, she leaned back against the timber and closed her eyes as she tried to steady her breathing.

  In love.

  Now that she knew what it felt like, she wanted no part of it. It seared her, burning away the logic she had always prided herself on. It made her put every rational thought to one side, wondering only whether Yves was all right, whether he could love her, whether the trembling wish for a future together was mere fantasy. Why couldn’t it be someone more accessible that she felt this yearning for? One of Ryan’s group of competent and likeable instructors or a charming man she might bump into while shopping at Chinatown? Why did it have to be a super-rich European businessman, who had flown to Australia on a flying visit? A one-off event caused more by the machinations of a criminal than any genuine curiosity on Yves’ side.

  Helen knocked her head against the door then stopped, in case Yves heard the thumping and wondered about its source.

  The only way she could consider even beginning a relationship with Yves was if he was out of danger. She knew he was interested in her, those intense gazes of his burned through her clothing and caused her skin to combust. And the sex between them was dynamite. But it was the wrong thing, at the wrong place, in the wrong time. So where did that leave her?

  Helen moved across the room, slowly peeling off her clothes and finding a pair of pyjamas by touch in the dresser drawer. She kept the curtains drawn, knowing the strong morning light would slant through and wake her up in any case. It was almost three o’clock in the morning, and it felt like it, the burden of the preceding hours weighing heavily on her shoulders.

  Exhausted, Helen collapsed onto the bed, not even pulling the bedspread down first, and instantly fell asleep.

  * * * *

  Helen woke to a phone call on her mobile. She glanced at the bedside clock and groaned. She had been asleep for a little more than three and a half hours. Still, she reached for her small phone—she would have to charge it that day with the spare lead she always kept at the house—and pressed the green button.

  “Hel, it’s Ryan. Call me.”

  The sound of Ryan’s voice was enough to snap her to wakefulness. Not even bothering with a reply, he terminated the call. A part of her wondered how much of Ryan’s command was his desire to play at spies. Then again, in his line of work, one couldn’t be too sure.

  Still yawning, Helen padded out to the phone in the living room, using the land line to call her old instructor. He picked up the call before the second ring began.

  “I’ve got some good news for you,” he started, without preamble. “Those thugs at the mall weren’t Alexandrov’s men.”

  “What?” Helen frowned at the receiver.

  “After I spoke to you, I got down there with a couple of the lads and started asking questions.”

  Despite the early hour, Helen couldn’t help the grin that split her face. She was sorry she hadn’t been around to see that, a vengeful Ryan mercilessly questioning all the denizens of the shadowy, not quite legal environment around Queen Street

  . The police force had lost a tenacious recruit when Ryan Greenwood had decided to take up martial arts instead of law enforcement.

  “And?”

  “They were a new gang, up from the south. The usual crowd were only too happy to turn them in, considering they were encroaching on their territory.”

  “They were blow ins?” Helen asked, surprised. She used the slang for strangers in town.

  “Looks like it. We had a bit of a ‘talk’ with them, and they should already be on their way home by now.”

  “Did they hurt anyone else?” She had to know.

  “No. You were the first. And last. You gave them a good run for their money, Hel. I had a look at them more closely before we sent them packing. They’ll not be forgetting Brisbane hospitality in a h
urry.”

  “Yves helped too.”

  “The Frenchie? He can fight?”

  “Didn’t do a bad job,” Helen remarked, a smile in her voice. Then she sobered. “So you’re saying it was complete chance that that gang ran into us?”

  “Seems like it.”

  “And it had nothing to do with Alexandrov?” Helen didn’t care that she sounded like a moron. She had to make sure she had the facts right in her head.

  “No.”

  She almost started dancing on the spot. It had been nothing but an episode of bad luck. Yves was safe after all! “So we can return to Brisbane then?”

  “I don’t know that I’d be in such a rush, if I were you.” Ryan’s voice was slow, and it was obvious he was thinking as he spoke. “I think I know roughly where you are, and it’s where Alexandrov can’t easily find you. If you were back in Brisbane, that would give him time to watch you and your movements. Right now, he’ll be planning in a vacuum. Do you even need to come back here?”

  Helen sobered. “There’s a business meeting set for next week. And I’m told,” she added ruefully, “that it’s critical for Yves to attend.”

  Ryan sighed. “That’s always the way with these rich business types.” The pause after his statement was pregnant with meaning, and Helen’s fingers tightened on the receiver. “They don’t care about much, except making money. You know that, don’t you?”

  Had she given herself away so transparently? That was Helen’s first thought. Ryan had the reputation of being able to pluck facts from the thin air, which was ridiculous. So what had she done or said that made him issue that warning?

  She didn’t reply to the question.

  “Is it going to be a problem keeping them there?” he continued after the extended silence.

  “No.”

  “Then that would be my recommendation. Lay low for the next few days and give me time to nose around. I may turn up something interesting. Can you keep your two occupied till you need to return?”

  Helen blushed. “I, I’ll have a think about what to do.” She willed her mind not to wander off in a well-anticipated direction. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready to drive back into Brisbane.”