The 9-Month Bodyguard. Cindy Dees
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was talking about other bodyguards, or about more? Much more. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure, herself, just how much she’d meant by the question.
He answered so low she almost didn’t hear him over the sound of pavement beneath the tires. “Yeah. I do mean it.”
Now, that definitely sounded as if he was talking about more than keeping her alive. And darned if her pulse didn’t race even faster, her heart pounding even harder against her ribs.
He reached up to push a strand of white-blond hair out of her face. He whispered, “You’re even more beautiful in person. And I’ve always secretly thought you were a knockout. Are you really real?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m just a normal girl who’s been lucky enough to live an extraordinary life.”
He smiled as if he didn’t quite believe her. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the guy was a little starstruck. “How ’bout you? Are you real? I thought superheroes only live in comic books.”
His grin was a little unbalanced. “I’m just a regular guy who’s been lucky enough to get some extraordinary training.”
“I think there’s more to you than that, Austin Dearing. A whole lot more.”
“I could say the same of you, Silver Rothchild.”
She gazed deep into his eyes. Shockingly, she didn’t see deception. Not an iota of greed or social climbing or self-interest. Was this guy for real? Everyone always wanted something from her—money or fame or a leg up on an entertainment career. Was it possible that he liked her just for her? That all those sparks zinging back and forth between them were real?
A rumble of laughter vibrated deep in his chest. “I have a sinking feeling that you’re going to lead me on a merry chase before this is all said and done.”
She grinned up at him. “Sounds like fun.”
He sighed, but the smile didn’t quite leave his eyes. “If I’m going to do my job, we need to get a few things straight between us.”
She couldn’t resist. She snuggled her hips against his—and gasped at the feel of him, huge and hard between her thighs. “Everything feels straight to me.”
He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened them, she was disappointed to see that he’d shifted into business mode. “I was trying to talk to you about the rules of engagement we’re going to operate under when you kept running away from me.”
“I wasn’t running away from you!”
He quirked an all-too-knowing brow. “What would you call it?”
She replied defiantly, “Creative avoidance.”
His crack of laughter inexplicably warmed her heart. She liked making this man happy. Wanted to get to know him better. To explore this thing between them. What was up with that? He was her father’s lackey. She ought to hate his guts. But somewhere in the past five minutes, in the midst of their heated argument and diving for cover, something had changed between them. Radically. It was almost as if someone had waved a magic wand and cast a spell over the two of them. Talk about going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat…
Weird.
His arm lifted away from her waist. The movement felt reluctant, like he didn’t want to let her go. That was lovely. He sat up and helped her twist around and sit up without coming out of her dress. And that was lovely, too. Considerate. Far too few people in her life showed her simple courtesy not because she was a rock star but because she was a human being.
She scowled at her dress as she gave the dowdy thing one last tug. It figured that she’d meet the man of her dreams the one day she was wearing something this goofy looking—her, the ultimate fashion diva, who never appeared anywhere without looking like the cover of the latest pop culture magazine. But her father had a cow whenever she wore anything even remotely sexy, and she hadn’t wanted a fight with him at her birthday party. So she’d chosen this high-necked, long-hemmed, multilayered affair in a demure shade of pink.
“Shall we go for the gusto and actually try using the seats?” he asked wryly.
She felt her dimples pucker up. “If we’re gonna hijack a limo, we may as well enjoy it before we go to jail.”
He grinned. “Good point.” He knocked on the glass partition, which had closed sometime during their exchange on the floor.
The chauffeur looked back at them in his rearview mirror. “We safe now?” the guy asked.
Austin nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. Mr. Rothchild’s going to be very grateful that you saved his daughter’s life.”
The guy snorted. “Mr. Coddington’s going to be very not grateful that I took off with his limo.”
Silver knew Albert Coddington. She jumped in, waving a casual hand. “Albert’s a dear. Once he knows what happened, he’ll be delighted to have helped.”
The driver muttered, “Maybe. But Mrs. Coddington sure won’t like having to wait for her ride.”
Silver laughed. “I give Mrs. Coddington-Number-Five six more months before she’s outta there. No need to worry about her. Albert’s determined to be just like Henry VIII, and he has one more wife to go.”
Austin’s gaze swiveled to hers. “The man’s had five wives? What’s wrong with him?”
She grinned at him. “He has a weakness for gold diggers and gets suckered, like clockwork, every ten years. But give the guy credit for style. The current Mrs. Coddington is younger than I am. By a lot.”
“You’re not exactly an old lady.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I can lie to you about my age. After all, you met me at my birthday party.”
“You’ll like being thirty—”
She cut him off. “Don’t tell me my thirties will be my best decade yet. I made a pact with myself that I’d murder the next person who said that to me.”
He shrugged. “Okay, how ’bout this? My thirties have been great to me so far. Wouldn’t trade ’em for the world. I hope yours are the same for you.”
“I’ll let you know in six weeks,” she replied ruefully.
“What happens in six weeks?”
She opened her mouth to tell him about her upcoming gig at the Grand, when the driver spoke from up front. “Sir, when do you want me to head back to town? We’re gonna have to turn around now or go straight for about a fifty miles and get gas before we turn around.”
Austin frowned. “Let’s head back to town. Does the Grand have a private entrance?”
Silver and the driver answered simultaneously, “Yes.”
Austin looked over at her. “I forgot. You grew up there, didn’t you?”
Indeed, she had. She was plenty familiar with the underground loading dock for the many deliveries it took to keep the Grand running. Rather than have trucks constantly clog the busy streets around the hotel, they unloaded underneath it, out of sight and out of the way. Which also made for an ideal entry for celebrities in search of privacy—or safety.
“We’ll have to call ahead to use it. Security’s very tight down there,” she said. “Particularly in the late afternoon. The casino gets its shipments of cash in at about this time of day.”
Austin pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your dad’s personal phone number?”
She rattled off the number and Austin dialed it quickly. She listened unabashedly.
“Hi, sir. This is Austin Dearing. I wanted to report that your daughter is unhurt and with me…that’s correct…what are the police saying about the shooting? Any trace of the gunman?”