by KS Augustin
Yves nodded, and turned to the car.
He was too relaxed. Later, that’s what he would tell himself as he replayed the awful events of the following minutes in his mind.
First, there was a flurry of movement. He turned, in time to see a desperate-looking youth coming straight for him, a handgun in his shaking right hand. He only had time to widen his eyes in shock, to wonder what in the world was going on, before Helen stepped in front of him.
Everything stilled to slow motion, frame by frame. His mind appeared to be working at normal speed, but his body was like a stick of clay, stuck to the floor and immovable.
Non, Helen! You cannot do this!
Guy was on the other side of the car, too far away to do anything. There was another movement off to his right, from the direction of the car-park’s entrance, but Yves couldn’t seem to make his eyes work the way he wanted them to. All he could do was stare at the terrible scene unfolding in front of him, while thoughts ran through his head faster than action.
She moved forward, swiftly yet calmly. Another figure approached from the side. The young man stared at him for a moment from beyond Helen’s shoulder, a look of surprise and panic on his face. Then came the terrible, flat sound of a gun discharging. Helen’s body, carried forward by momentum, crashed into the attacker. And the second man, not coming for him, finally snapped into focus as he threw himself into the middle of the chaos.
“Helen!” That voice, so full of fear and pain, was that him?
Yves didn’t care. When time once more resumed its normal pace, and his limbs could finally move, he rushed over to the small group on the floor. There were things that didn’t make sense here, but he didn’t care. Careless of whether his attacker was still in possession of his weapon, he grabbed Helen and pulled her away, running a frantic gaze down her body. She was dishevelled, breathing heavily, her clothes were askew but—to Yves’ eternal relief—there were no splotches of sticky, red blood anywhere on her.
Yves hand began shaking, and he didn’t know whether to release her or hold onto her and never let her go. Helen, oblivious to the thoughts ricocheting through his mind, turned to the second man, visibly steadying her breathing.
“Thanks.” There was such a wealth of emotion in that one word, Yves couldn’t help the spike of jealousy that ripped through him. Who was this man who had stopped the attacker? Yves didn’t care. He wanted to kill him as well.
“My fault. Should’ve been here quicker.” He was an older man, moving with steady grace. He bent down and restrained the attacker by moving the young man’s hands behind his back and restraining them with a plastic tie he flicked out of his pants pocket. As he stood, he flipped a phone out of a different pocket and put a call in to the police.
What the hell was going on?
Yves looked from one person to another, but the only person who met his gaze was Guy. His assistant was as stunned and confused as he was.
“Would someone care to explain exactly what’s happening?” Yves demanded. He sounded angry, even to his own ears. Good. That meant nobody would notice the abject terror that had held him motionless when he’d thought Helen had been shot.
Helen pinned a tired but sincere smile on her face, clapping the older man on his shoulder. “Yves, I’d like you to meet my employer. Ryan Greenwood.”
Ah.
“Under the circumstances,” Yves told him dryly, “I’m very glad to meet you.”
Ryan looked him up and down, lingering on Yves hand where it still held onto Helen.
He must have noticed the tremors in Yves’ fingers. And perhaps more, because his gaze became speculative. “You must be Yves Nerin.”
“Oui.” He nodded to his assistant. “And this is Guy Aubrac.”
“I’m sorry I’m late, but Nicolas here was a bit of a difficult one to track.”
“Nicolas?” Yves frowned but stubbornly retained a grip on Helen. And Ryan Greenwood could make of that what he damn well pleased. “That sounds—”
“Yep. Russian. Another one of Alexandrov’s little, second-rate thugs.”
“But Alexandrov has been apprehended,” Helen cut in. “Yves told me last night that he’d been arrested.”
“Maybe,” Ryan commented, “but Nicolas didn’t know that. Listen, can we save all this for the police? I don’t want to have to repeat myself.”
A look of understanding passed between Helen and Ryan. A look Yves didn’t like. It hinted at something special between the two of them. Like a thunderbolt, Yves realised that he didn’t want anything special to develop between Helen and another man. Friendship was bad enough, but anything more was unbearable. He gritted his teeth and looked away, but kept the grip on Helen, as if she was his lifeline. And he was a drowning man.
* * * *
“You’ve missed your flight,” Helen said softly, as they exited into the night.
It had been a gruelling five hours at the local police station, explaining everything that had happened, from the initial assault at New Farm to Ryan obtaining information on the second of Alexandrov’s petty criminals to the delay in getting to Helen before the young Russian did.
“I knew I was supposed to meet you at Tech-88,” he told Helen apologetically, “but my source was late to our rendezvous. By the time he told me what was going on, and what Nicolas was planning, I barely had time to get there. I had to park in another street and jump a couple of fences or risk Nicolas escaping.”
“You’re obviously fitter that you look,” she teased, but didn’t try to shield the gratitude in her eyes.
The police officer who took their statements was furious that the two Frenchmen, Helen and Ryan had kept quiet about the entire episode from the start. They all knew there were more explanations they’d need to make. But, for now, they were free.
Already, night had fallen, although there was still a tinge of pale blue at the western horizon, and it was clear they were all exhausted.
“Could we invite you to Heritage House?” Yves asked Ryan. “I’m sure we could all use a good meal.”
“I have one waiting for me at home,” Ryan demurred. He eyed Yves with a keen gaze. “I don’t think you need to worry about more attacks. For real, this time. Nicolas mightn’t have got the message this morning that his employer had been arrested, but I’m sure the news would’ve reached everybody else by now. Have a drink for me, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He paused next to Helen. “You take care.”
She punched him playfully in the arm. “Of course I will.” And she watched him disappear into the darkness.
The three of them were silent as they caught a taxi to the riverside residence, as if adrenaline had overloaded their systems, leaving neither the will nor the energy for conversation. The staff welcomed them in without a flicker of surprise, and an order for food was sent to the kitchen straight away.
Helen, at a loose end, unsure of what to do, walked to the large glass doors at the back of the foyer and let herself out into the back garden. She knew she should have gone for a shower, to wash the events of the last few hours from her skin, but she was too restless for such a mundane task. Someone came to stand next to her, and she closed her eyes as she breathed in Yves’ distinctive cologne. It was faint and mixed with sweat, dust and an undertone of car grease, but it was still the most erotic aroma she had smelt in her life.
“As Ryan said, nobody should be bothering you any more,” she remarked not knowing what else to say. Leonid Alexandrov had more important things to worry about now than getting even for a failed business proposal months before.
“Non.”
It took every ounce of self-control she had, but she turned to face him. His face was dark in the shadows, and maybe that was for the best, although she couldn’t help but wish for one more look into that gorgeous face of his, to stamp it into her memory for the long years ahead.
“You don’t need a bodyguard any more, do you?” she asked baldly.
He shook his head. “Non.”
That w
as her answer. There wasn’t even a moment’s hesitation in his voice. He didn’t need her. So what was she doing still hanging around, like a forlorn puppy? Yves had made his feelings clear and, if she had any scrap of pride left, she should pack her things and leave.
She straightened her shoulders and stepped around him. “Then I’ll go pack.”
He caught her arm, just as he had in the car-park, where she had imagined she felt tremors against her skin. Except the thought was preposterous. It must have just been reaction on her part. Just like now, when the touch of his hand on her flesh sent spears of excitement rippling through her.
“Non.”
He was making things unbearable. She wrenched her arm from his grip.
“I think it would be best for all concerned—”
“It all happened in slow-motion,” he said, interrupting her. He looked at the river, the ripples like white glittering threads amongst the darkness. His voice was quiet, as still as the rest of his body. Helen stared at him, unnerved by the lack of expression in his voice, and the profile that seemed carved from ice.
“And I couldn’t move,” he continued, still staring at the far shore. “It was as if my feet were stuck in cement. All I could do was watch. It was like a nightmare. Like one of the worst movies I’ve ever been forced to see. I wanted to...” He made an abrupt movement with his hand. “I wanted to rush. To save you.” He looked down at her, and there was an unusual glitter in his eyes.
Gasping, Helen took a small step closer, her own face compressing into lines of anguish.
“Yves—”
“And it occurred to me that nothing I had was worth anything. I could not use my money to save you. To stop that crazy, young man. Not my money or my influence. In fact…” He swallowed. “It was because of my money that your life was in danger to begin with.”
She couldn’t stand him like this. Where was the playful, arrogant man she’d fallen so much in love with? This side of Yves had the capacity to rip her apart. She put her left hand over his clenched fist.
“That’s my job, Yves,” she told him softly. “That’s what you paid me for.”
He shook his head, slowly. “Then I was wrong. And I shall pay for such a mistake for the rest of my life.” He gripped her hand. “Come with me. To France.”
They were exactly the words she’d hoped for, yet Helen was shocked to hear them in the night air. “But—”
His eyes softened. “Let me show you my world. Let me worship you with my body. Helen Collier…” He took a deep breath. “Marry me.”
“M-marry?”
He took a deep breath. “It seems strange that I have to thank a young thug for bringing me to my senses, but so be it. I wanted to come back to this country—that’s one of the reasons I was in such a hurry to leave, so I could tidy up my affairs before heading back—but I still blinded myself to how much you meant to me. Foolishly, I tried to demean you to the status of a mistress, of fleeting enjoyment. Until that moment in the car park, when I wanted to give my life for yours, and accepted that I had fallen too deeply in love with you to further delude myself.” One corner of his mouth curved upwards in a crooked smile. “If you’ll have me, that is.”
Helen laughed, but it came out as a half-sob. With her left hand captured so effectively, all she could do was bang on his chest with her right fist. “Oh, you devil. I was prepared to walk away, and since this afternoon, you’ve been thinking of proposing.”
He brought both hands against his chest as he chuckled. “Do you love me?”
“God help me,” she said, struggling, “but I do.”
“Enough to put up with me for the rest of your life?”
She stopped and looked up at him in wonder. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Do you doubt it?” he asked, a touch of his usual hauteur colouring his tone.
“No,” she smiled, “no I don’t.”
“Then after we seal this latest bargain, I suggest we go in and share our good news with Guy.”
But it took a long time before Guy found out. And they both looked tousled as they imparted it.
Tousled. And smiling.
About the Author
I am a child of the global South. In the past, I have run my own IT consultancy business, bookshop, gym, swimming pool business and martial arts school.
So far in my life, I have been a corporate trainer, lecturer, satirist, martial arts instructor, project manager, political essayist, small business owner and am now proud to call myself a fiction writer. Although I love romance, I have to admit my first love is science-fiction and the opportunity to combine both genres was irresistible! I do hope you enjoy reading my stories.
Together with my husband, we have lived and worked in Europe, Asia, Australia and North America. We adore our two children and tolerate as necessary evils our two grumpy, fur-shedding cats.
Email: [email protected]
Kaz loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
Also by KS Augustin
On Bliss
Prime Suspect
A Pirate’s Passion
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