Beauty and the Bodyguard. Merline Lovelace
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want to, huh? Maybe I should make you want to.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t. Let me go, Dean.”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.”
“Yes.” She ground out the word. “This time!”
He wasn’t expecting the sharp elbow jab to his stomach. His breath whooshed out, and his hold slackened enough for Allie to wrench free. She stepped back a few paces, holding on to her temper by a thread.
“Get out of here,” she told him coldly. “Don’t come back to the party. You’re no longer welcome.”
She turned to head back to the house. When his hand wrapped around her upper arm again, Allie’s temper slipped its tight reins. Whirling, she planted both palms against his chest and shoved.
Taken by surprise, Hansen stumbled backward, his arms windmilling wildly. Too late, Allie saw that the combination of Scotch and his own momentum was going to take him into the lake. In his inebriated condition, the fool would probably drown.
“Oh, for—!” She jumped forward, grabbing for his jacket lapels. “Dean, watch out!”
Frantically he snatched at her. His hand snagged one of the thin straps holding up her tank dress. The strap dug into her shoulder, then snapped. With a comical look of surprise on his face and a swatch of lemon chiffon clutched in one fist, Dean splashed into the lake.
His uncoordinated entry sent a wave of cold water splashing over Allie. Moments later, his clumsy, cursing exit added considerably to her drenched state. By the time she’d helped him clamber back onto the grassy bank, her irritation had given way to the sense of the ridiculous that helped her through long, exhausting shoots, when everything that could possibly go wrong did. Biting her lower lip to contain her smile, she held her soggy dress up with one hand while Dean tried to swipe thick, oozing mud off his face and hands.
Her escort didn’t appear to share her humor at the situation. Cursing, he shook his hands to fling off the mud, then advanced on her, his blond hair straggling down his forehead. In the pale moonlight, his eyes glittered with fury.
“You little…”
“I’d suggest you take a hike before you end up in the lake again. This time permanently.”
The deep, drawling voice spun both Dean and Allie around. Peering through the darkness, she spotted a shadowy figure lounging against a tall, silver-barked river oak.
Shoving his wet hair out of his eyes, Dean glared at the shadowy figure. “Who the hell—?”
“You’ve got about ten seconds to get out of here, pal.”
“Look, pal…”
“Yes?”
The combination of polite inquiry and deadly menace in the single syllable made Allie blink and Dean’s cheeks puff up like a blowfish. Indignant but more wary now, he tried to bluster it out.
“This is a private conversation.”
Levering his shoulders away from the trunk, the intruder strolled into the wash of moonlight. Allie drew in a quick breath as she identified the gaudy collage of red and orange and purple.
“According to the lady, the conversation’s over,” the stranger offered casually. “I make it about five seconds now.”
“Who is this character, Allie?”
Since she had no idea, she ignored the question. “I think you should leave, Dean. Now.”
His jaw worked for a few seconds. Then the stranger sauntered forward, with a coiled, controlled economy of movement that sent the bigger man back a pace.
“Fine,” Dean snarled. “I’m leaving. It’s time I found a real woman to spend my time with instead of a plastic-faced doll, anyway.”
Neither Allie nor the man beside her said a word as Hansen stalked off, his shoes squishing lake water at each step. With his departure, the summer night settled around them like a cloak. Only this time, Allie wasn’t conscious of the wavelets lapping against the banks or the chirping cicadas. This time, the man before her absorbed her entire attention.
His eyes a pale silver in the moonlight, he surveyed her with the same dispassionate objectivity he’d displayed earlier. Once more, he measured her from head to toe, only this time his gaze lingered on parts in between.
Belatedly Allie realized that her gauzy tank dress was plastered to her like a second skin. Since Dean had taken a good chunk of its bodice into the lake with him, she could only hope that her bikini panties and scrap of a bra concealed more than they revealed. She was sure the cool breeze had puckered her nipples, along with the rest of her flesh, into giant goose bumps.
At the thought of this enigmatic stranger’s eyes on her breasts, Allie’s fingers scrunched on the torn chiffon. For the second time that night, an unfamiliar sensation rippled through her. Not quite attraction. Not exactly curiosity. More an awareness that crept through her at some subconscious level and left her feeling off balance.
With some effort, she controlled an instinctive feminine impulse to cross her arms over her breasts. She hadn’t felt this self-conscious about her body since she’d posed for the college classmate who’d begged her for some test shots to add to his portfolio. Those shots had launched both Dominic’s career and her own, and Allie had shed her prudish modesty under the unforgiving eye of the camera. Or so she’d thought.
When his gaze finally made it back to her face, his eyes held a predatory male gleam that Allie recognized instantly. A slow, liquid disappointment spilled through her.
Earlier, this man’s cool detachment had intrigued her almost as much as his tie. For a few moments, she’d imagined he was different. That he didn’t care about appearances. She’d actually let herself believe he was trying to see past the image she projected to the person within when he pinned her with that cool look.
He wasn’t detached now, if that brief flare of masculine interest was any indication. Telling herself she was crazy to be disappointed because a man appreciated the exterior packaging she worked so hard to perfect, Allie lifted her chin.
“I don’t think we’ve met before.”
“No, we haven’t.”
When he didn’t appear inclined to elaborate, she extended her free hand. “I’m—”
“I know who you are, Miss Fortune.”
Her hand dropped slowly. The fact that this stranger knew her name didn’t particularly surprise her. Mass marketing and the explosion of media interest in the lives of top models had made them into the superstars of the nineties. As a result, Allie’s face usually garnered instant recognition whenever she walked into a room.
Lately, it had garnered something else, as well. Something dark and frightening.
An echo of the call that had dragged Allie from sleep only last night whispered through her mind. She bit her lip as her inexplicable preoccupation with the man standing before her slipped, like a car skidding on a patch of ice, then skidded into unease. Silently she stared up at him.
Etched by moonlight, his face showed no softness, only sharp, uncompromising angles. A square chin, darkened by late-night shadow. A nose that had collided with some solid object once or twice in its past. Lean cheeks. And those scars on the left side of his chin and neck…
Swallowing to clear a suddenly dry throat, Allie broke the little silence. “Well, you may know me, but I don’t know you. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“My name’s Rafe Stone. I’m your bodyguard, Miss Fortune.”
Stunned, Allie stared up at him. “My what?”
“Your prospective bodyguard,” he corrected. “I’ve been asked to take on the job of guarding your person.”
“By…by whom?”