Guarding His Body

by KS Augustin

  “Mais oui. We should perhaps maintain the proprieties in front of my young and impressionable assistant.”

  There was laughter in his voice, but she knew without a doubt that he would indulge her in this. The man she had protected for the past week was the same one she made love to—strong, caring, and compassionate. It was enough to bring a lump to her throat.

  “We should get up,” she told him briskly, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. It was barely seven o’clock in the morning.

  He watched her with hooded eyes and, for a moment, Helen was terrified he would disagree—loving him as she did, how could she resist him if he insisted they stay in bed?—but eventually he agreed to her suggestion, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she reached for the T-shirt that lay on the floor. With such an uncertain future in front of her, it was important that she regain a grip on the reality of the situation as quickly as possible. No matter how painful that might be.

  Chapter Twelve

  “This is a very nice location for a house,” Yves commented, the brisk sea breeze blowing part of his words away.

  He and Helen were actually on the beach below the house, but she knew what he meant. She took a deep breath, and bent over, gently stretching her hamstrings. They had already run the length of the beach until well past the centre of the town itself, and Helen had beaten him back to the wooden staircase that climbed the cliff. He was in good shape, better than she thought possible considering his sedentary profession but, despite his longer stride, he couldn’t keep up with her. She was the fitter of the two which, considering her profession, was exactly as it should be.

  It must have been obvious to Guy what went on the night before. When she and Yves entered the kitchen, he was already there, humming softly as he read through the local paper. He had already walked to town to buy it, he told them, his expression bland. If there was approval, or even disapproval, in his gaze, Helen didn’t see it. Yves, too, seemed completely unperturbed, helping Helen as she got a simple breakfast together, then joining her an hour later for some exercise along the beach.

  “My parents bought the house not long after they got married,” she explained. “That was decades ago, when Byron was little more than a sleepy little town. Dad always had big ideas to remodel the house but Nick and I liked it just the way it was.”

  “Nick?”

  “My brother. He lives in Turin now, working as a programmer for an Italian company. We talk, but don’t get to see each other too often. The last time was a couple of years ago.”

  Remembering where her brother was reminded her of the place Yves was returning to. She twisted and started walking up the beach. Silently, uninvited, Yves matched her steps.

  This was a lovely part of the world, and Helen didn’t regret her decision to move here. Although not supporting the same kind of population that Brisbane did, Byron Bay was still a lively and internationally-minded township. The place hosted music festivals, book events, and was a popular tourist destination for families from up and down the eastern seaboard.

  There would be plenty to keep her occupied here, Helen told herself firmly. But she couldn’t help but think of the week ahead of her as days slowly slipping between her fingers, never to be recaptured. She knew she would never forget Yves, but would he feel the same way about her? Would he even remember her when he was at some chic Paris café, sipping coffee while a beautifully dressed European woman nattered away in a multitude of languages? Helen was proud of who she was, what she was, but she had to admit that, in Yves’ exclusive world, it added up to nothing more than another working girl, forced to use her wits and skills in order to make a living for herself.

  “You are walking as if the hounds of hell are pursuing you, cherie.”

  His dark, accented voice pulled her back to the present, and she slowed her steps with a quick smile of apology. She looked down the coastline, at the ribbon of white sand, glinting in the mid-morning sun. Was this what waited for her in the future? Long, solitary walks down the beach? Hours spent mulling over options that were never available to her? She doubted she would ever find the same kind of passion with another man as she had found in Yves’ arms, and that made the future look even bleaker. Before, she had been content with someone like Pete, steady, supportive and non-threatening. But now, after tasting heaven with Yves, she knew she could never settle for second-best again. Which meant she was looking at decades of a lonely life. She wanted to wail that it was all so unfair but she had brought this upon herself by agreeing to having sex with Yves in the first place. He had not forced her. She had made the decision of her own volition. And not just once. She would now have to bear its painful consequences.

  He took her hand, his fingers slipping easily between her cooler ones, and she looked up at him with surprise. He couldn’t know what she was thinking, yet his touch was warm and supportive, and Helen was torn in two.

  Without speaking, they walked down to the edge of the water, splashing in the occasional small waves that lapped at their feet as they strolled along the beach.

  If Helen wanted to save what little sanity she had, she should end it now. She knew that. Just holding Yves’ hand, knowing there was no future for them together, was like a knife in her gut. After one heavenly week together, she should distance herself from him, remembering the days that were inexorably ticking by, and start to shield herself from his inevitable departure—if she wanted to save her sanity. But she couldn’t think so logically, not any more. Not when her heart was involved.

  Put a knife-wielding assailant screaming and running towards them right now, and Helen knew instinctively what to do. But hold the hand of the man she had fallen in love with, and she was lost.

  “You are very quiet, cherie,” he finally remarked in a voice that barely carried above the gentle surf.

  “I’m just thinking,” she replied absently.

  He pulled her to a standstill, looking down into her face and searching her expression. Helen didn’t know what he was after. “Sad memories, perhaps?” he prompted.

  Oh no, those were yet to come. She tried to smile but knew it to be a small, sad thing.

  “Work,” she tried to say lightly. And both of them knew she was lying.

  * * * *

  The first night set the tone for the rest of their time together, a time of fantasy out of the drudgery of real life. Guy, astute and accommodating, made himself scarce, insisting that he was enjoying a time of relaxation quite rare while in Yves’ employ. He was so gracious and good-humoured that Helen had no choice but to accept his explanations.

  Both she and Yves woke late each morning, and the men worked in the corner of her living room while she got groceries, ran some errands and exercised. She took the opportunity to scout out some possible locations for her business while in town and had found a good potential site above a hair-dressing salon. The large, pane-glass windows along the front overlooked the ocean and let in the morning light, and there was enough space to hold small classes. In fact, the entire floor was completely bare, except for two bathrooms and a small kitchen that had already been built at the back, near the rear stairway. The place had been vacant for more than a year, and needed to be cleaned, painted, and re-floored, but Helen wasn’t afraid of the work involved. The rent, considering the length of the vacancy, was reasonable, and it was near the centre of town, which meant she could walk home if she was in the mood for a stroll. The money from her current assignment was more than enough to cover the first few months’ rental, leaving her time to sell her apartment in Brisbane. Yet, she still hesitated. Signing the papers meant committing herself to a life in Byron. A life without Yves. And she wasn’t prepared for that quite yet. Besides, as she told the real estate agent, the property had already stood vacant for such an extended period of time. An extra two weeks wasn’t going to make that much of a difference.

  In the afternoons, Yves and Guy really got busy, connecting to their colleagues in Europe at the start of their day. Helen could te
ll from the timing that most of Yves’ business interests were in Europe. The deal with Tech-88, he told her, was the first for him in the Asia-Pacific region, and he was hoping it would be the start of many.

  The two men would continue through to the evening, accepting a working dinner more often than not, and only finish in time for some late-night shows. Guy would take his nightly stroll down by the beach. And Yves and Helen would retreat to her bedroom for another night of glorious sex.

  Helen knew there was no other word for it. And, like a kid in a candy store, she couldn’t get enough. Every stroke across his body, across his hair-roughened chest and muscular brown arms, invited more. Every kiss they exchanged, deep and drugging, demanded a repeat. Every time they came together, Helen could only think of the unutterable pleasure he was giving her, and yearn for another passionate coupling. He whispered French words in her ear, the soft syllables zipping to her brain like the highest-quality aphrodisiac and, like an addict, all she could do was wish for more.

  It was a fairytale interlude and, like the tales in books she had loved as a child, Helen knew the time would inevitably come when Yves would leave. When she would be left, a ripped and broken heart in her hands, a shell of the woman condemned to greys after being shown the paradise of vivid colour. She wondered if she was strong enough to survive the inevitable heartbreak.

  * * * *

  “I’ve changed my plans,” Yves announced, on the eve of their departure back to Brisbane.

  Helen stilled from where she was drying and putting the dinner plates away and turned towards him. Guy, his arms in suds up to his elbows, quickly flicked the soapy water from his hands and did the same.

  “We have to return to Tech-88 to sign the final papers tomorrow,” he continued.

  Helen nodded. “That’s right,” she said slowly, wondering what he was thinking. “We’ll leave in the morning and get there in plenty of time for the afternoon meeting.”

  “Guy and I would then have to stay in Brisbane for three more days until our flight leaves for France.”

  Yes, she knew that, and swallowed hard, hoping he didn’t see the movement. What would they do for those three days? Come back to Byron? Stay at Heritage House? Or go somewhere else? She felt torn in two. Her brain told her that the sooner Yves and Guy left, the safer they would probably be. Her heart begged her to find some reason to keep them in the country.

  “But I have just been in contact with my office in Paris and with the police department in Lyons.”

  Yes, that would explain the quick French conversation that took place in the living-room. Yves was on the phone almost every evening, though, so she hadn’t thought much of it. She wondered whether it was a premonition that a wave of goosebumps now danced up her arms. Staying quiet, she clutched the plate tightly.

  “It appears,” Yves said to them, after a long pause, “that Leonid Alexandrov has been apprehended.”

  A grin of relief split Guy’s face. “Mon dieu! That’s wonderful news. Fantastique!”

  But there was something else. Helen saw it in the tightness around Yves’ eyes, and the stubborn set to those luscious lips of his.

  “Did someone get hurt?” she asked quickly.

  “Non. It was an early-morning raid, and they caught him without incident.”

  He locked gazes with her and, for a moment, it was as though they were the only two people in the room. In the universe. There was something he was trying to tell her, but she couldn’t read his expression well enough to decipher what he was trying to silently say. Finally, he broke the contact and took a deep breath.

  “With this in mind, I’ve changed our plans. We’ll be flying back to France early tomorrow evening.”

  Tomorrow?

  Helen’s head reeled and her hand closed over the dinner plate so convulsively she thought she might break it.

  “But,” she started to protest then ground to a halt. What did she want to say? But I don’t want you to leave? But I love you? But you promised you’d stay for a few more days?

  “We will still pay our agreed fee to you,” Yves assured her, obviously misreading the start of her protest. “Including a bonus for the additional telephonic and internet expenses. After we sign the papers, you can take us to the airport. We should be there in plenty of time to make our flight.”

  “I’ll call Ryan and let him know. He said he’d have someone else waiting for us at Tech-88. But what about your clothes in Heritage House?” she asked through bloodless lips. Her voice sounded faint in her ears.

  Yves shrugged, a typical Gallic gesture. “I’ll organise to have our things packed and shipped back to us after we leave.”

  Of course. As if she needed reminding of the chasm between their positions, here was one more piece of evidence showing Helen how unsuited they were together. Yves just had to snap his fingers to have people halfway around the world running to do his bidding. She could barely sign a lease contract without double and triple-thinking through the financial ramifications. Suddenly, despite the warmth in the house, she felt cold seep into her body.

  She nodded at his words, not trusting herself to speak.

  Yves hesitated for a second then, with a curt movement of his head, moved back to the living-room to where he’d set up his laptop, leaving Helen gripping the tea-towel much too tightly while she hoped the ground would open up and swallow her.

  * * * *

  Things had not gone precisely the way he’d anticipated.

  Yves bit back an exhalation of frustration and tried to relax in the car. Beside him, Helen drove with a single-mindedness that verged on abnormal, her hands tight on the steering wheel, her head shifting neither left nor right. Guy wasn’t saying a word either. It was like sitting in a moving tomb.

  He knew she was hurt by the sudden change in his plans, but he didn’t care…did he? Helen Collier might be beautiful, strong, capable, and yet achingly vulnerable, but there were other duties and tasks that awaited him on the other side of the world. Tasks that didn’t include a blonde with uncontrollable hair and eyes the colour of sparkling tourmaline.

  Don’t forget the passion.

  Merde, as if he could do that! He shifted once in the seat, despite himself. The passion. No other woman had ever come alive in his arms the way she did. She made up for her relative lack of experience with a tight body that drove him wild, an enthusiasm that seemed boundless, and the face of a wanton angel. Just the thought of her writhing in his arms was enough to make him hard, and Yves tried thinking of his house in Grenoble in order to distract him from his carnal thoughts.

  It didn’t help.

  The spacious rooms and features that he had thought and planned over for months now seemed cold and austere in his mind. There was no sense of pride in what he had accomplished. It was, after all, too big for just one person, and he doubted his sister and her brood would be visiting any time soon. Not if an unforgiving Theron had anything to do about it.

  He brooded on his brother-in-law, a man he always thought of as the eternal playboy, and how he had changed after marrying Adrienne. Did Theron, before his marriage, have the kind of conflicting thoughts that were currently plaguing Yves? Did Theron yearn to show Adrienne his family estate in the Champagne region in the same way he wanted to whisk Helen away to the glittering lights of Paris and the calm serenity of Grenoble? Could he have developed feelings for his bodyguard?

  Certainly, there was something there, deep in his heart. Something special in a place he thought no woman would ever reach. But was it love or just a special variation of lust? Would it burn itself out in a matter of weeks, or did it have the potential to lead to something more permanent?

  He shook his head slightly and stared out the window, as the outskirts of Brisbane flashed past. Neither Helen nor Guy were to know, but the reason he so ruthlessly cut short the trip by three days was so he could return to work. Return to work and clear the backlog of decisions and appointments that he knew waited for him as quickly as he could. For he ha
d already convinced himself that a return trip to Australia was warranted. Not that it was the concern of anyone else, but he had to know if what he’d found with Helen Collier was just the reaction of sex with an attractive woman in unusual circumstances. Or something more. Maybe, in the interim, she would forget him, although the passionate, almost desperate, response he’d wrung from her the night before seemed to indicate otherwise. On the other hand, maybe he would forget her, finding more important things to capture his energy and focus. Somehow, he doubted it, but he still had to be sure. His reputation, even in situations of risk, was one of supreme confidence in the quality of his own decision-making. Whether it was business or personal, that remained true.

  He had to be sure.

  It seemed they took a fraction of the time to reach Brisbane than the time it had taken to leave it. Helen tooled the car into Tech-88’s car-park with confidence. Yves could almost feel the cloak of her profession settle around her again, turning her from a lively and smiling young woman into a cool and controlled professional. As impressed as he always was by her attitude, he couldn’t squash an errant feeling that he preferred Helen the person to Helen the bodyguard.

  The meeting with Scott Nelson and Ian McFarlane was almost anti-climactic, the signatures only a formality to close off the current stage of negotiations. Helen was silent throughout the signing, looking impassive. Only the brighter shine of her eyes indicated there was anything other than aloof interest in the proceedings.

  With a small smile, Yves took his leave of his new Australian partners and, with brief wishes that they would meet again soon, the three of them walked back to the car-park.

  “You’ll be wanting to go to the airport now?” Helen asked, and the control in her voice was admirable. Despite her tone, however, she looked distracted. He wondered if that was because nobody from Greenwood’s security firm had met them yet. Still, in two hours’ time, it wouldn’t matter.