Kate Fortune’s Journal Entry
It’s so difficult to stand by and watch my loved ones get hurt. Poor Allie. Her beauty has always brought her so much attention. And now an obsessed fan is after her. It breaks my heart. Luckily, I can count on bodyguard Rafe Stone to take good care of my granddaughter.
Allie’s not used to men loving her for herself. And Rafe’s own scars prevent him from believing in love. Now I hope the music box I left her will help them both realize the power of inner beauty. Though the box is chipped and marred on the outside, it still plays magical music.
In the meantime, I’m continuing to investigate who is after my family. Because I suspect this crazed stalker is after more than just my granddaughter….
A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoy reading Beauty and the Bodyguard as much as I enjoyed writing it. I got so caught up in the continuing saga of the Fortune family—aren’t they a fascinating, dynamic group? They certainly put the Carringtons and the Ewings in the shade!
I particularly liked writing Allie and Rafe’s story. She’s so strong, yet so vulnerable. She has to be in her profession. For all its glitz and glamour, modeling is one tough business. As I learned during my preparation work for this book, being a professional model takes discipline, patience, an ability to absorb endless criticism and, above all, a sense of humor. Allie certainly possesses these qualities, plus a few distinctive ones all her own. Rafe is just my kind of guy, too. A man who’s sure he’s seen it all—until he goes head-to-head with a certain determined female and discovers there are still a few surprises left in store for him.
Happy reading!
MERLINE LOVELACE
Beauty and the Bodyguard
To Marcy and Mike…thanks for making our return to New Mexico such a wonderful adventure of fun and friendship.
MERLINE LOVELACE,
as a career air force officer, served tours of duty in Vietnam, at the Pentagon and at bases all over the world. During her years in uniform, she met and married her own handsome hero and stored up enough exciting tales to keep her fingers flying over the keyboard for years to come. When not glued to the computer, she goes antiquing with her husband, Al, or chases little white balls around the golf courses of Oklahoma.
Merline loves to read and write sizzling contemporary stories and sweeping historical sagas. She enjoys hearing from readers and can be reached via her Web site at www.merlinelovelace.com.
Meet the Fortunes—three generations of a family with a legacy of wealth, influence and power. As they unite to face an unknown enemy, shocking family secrets are revealed…and passionate new romances are ignited.
ALLIE FORTUNE: This cover girl had learned that most men were after two things: her money and her body. Rafe Stone seemed different, but the sexy bodyguard was getting paid well to protect her. Could she truly trust him?
RAFE STONE: The ex-mercenary had been hired to keep Allie out of trouble, not in it! But trouble was what she’d find if she kept tantalizing him with her potent combination of beauty and brains!
KATE FORTUNE: The Fortune clan still thinks their beloved matriarch is gone, but Kate is secretly close by…watching over them. Not even her own “demise” can keep her from sharing the moments of her family’s lives.
MICHAEL FORTUNE: “Better dead than wed” had always been this high-powered executive’s motto. Could Kate’s bequest of a ruby ring persuade him to see what—and who!—is right under his nose?
* * *
LIZ JONES — CELEBRITY GOSSIP
Are the Fortunes doomed?
As if they haven’t had enough disasters befall them, now glamorous Allie Fortune, the new Fortune Cosmetics spokesmodel, has a crazed fan stalking her. Lucky for her she’s got that hunky bodyguard to protect her assets!
Kate’s recent death has brought about a massive reorganization within the Fortune empire, causing the stock values to plummet. And another mysterious break-in at the lab has caused further setbacks in the creation of some secret formula. Word has it, if this formula doesn’t get developed, the company will go bankrupt.
Just between you and me, I personally wouldn’t invest a dime in that sinking ship!
So, is this a professional or a highly personal vendetta against the Fortunes? Only time will tell. But if you’re like me, you’ll want to stick around for this ongoing saga.
* * *
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
One
She noticed his tie first.
Having spent ten of her twenty-five years as a model, Allie Fortune had seen every extreme of fashion. During her career, she’d glided down runways wearing items from collections the most generous critic could only describe as eclectic.
This particular piece of neckwear went well beyond eclectic, however, and got lost somewhere on the other side of atrocious. Red and orange fish-eyes splashed against a purple background made a fashion statement Allie couldn’t begin to interpret.
Wondering what kind of man would combine such an outrageous tie with conservative black slacks, a pale blue cotton shirt and a cream-colored linen sport coat that stretched at the seams of his impressive shoulders, Allie raised her eyes to his face.
She’d never met him before. She would have remembered him if she had. He stood out, even among the diverse crowd of advertising executives, art directors, photographers, chemists and production engineers gathered at the party her older sister had thrown for the people involved in launching Fortune Cosmetics’s new line. Under his neatly trimmed midnight hair, his face was lean and tanned and striking, despite the scars on his chin and neck…or perhaps because of them. Certainly she would have remembered his eyes. Silvery blue and framed by black lashes a good number of her friends would have committed serious mayhem for, they riveted hers across the crowded room.
For several long seconds, those cool blue eyes held her pinned. To Allie’s considerable surprise, his scrutiny sent a spine-tingling tension arcing through her. The tiny hairs at her nape lifted, as though stirred by an unseen breeze. A sort of prickly awareness drifted across her shoulders and down her back, left bare by the plunge of her dress. For a moment, the excited buzz of conversation about Fortune Cosmetics’s new product line seemed to lose its sharp-edged focus.
Being watched wasn’t a particularly unique experience for a woman who’d spent most of her adult life under the harsh, unforgiving eyes of makeup artists and stylists and photographers. Yet an inexplicable little shiver shimmied along Allie’s nerves as the awareness intensified. With the ease of long practice, she maintained an unruffled poise as she returned his stare.
Then, slowly, deliberately, his gaze traveled from the top of her upswept hair, down the soft lines of her lemon-colored chiffon tank dress to the tips of her open-toed sandals. When his gaze snared hers again, she felt a small jolt of surprise.
Allison Fortune had learned to expect a wide range of reactions in men’s eyes when they looked at her. Cool dismissal wasn’t usually one of them. Her interest piqued, she took a small sip from the crystal champagne flute she held in one hand.
“Would you like another glass?”
The deep, slightly slurred voice at her side pulled her attention from the dark-haired stranger across the room. “No, thank you, Dean. I’m fine.”
Dean Hansen’s blond brows slanted into a frown. “You’ve been nursing that glass for over an hour. It’s probably flat by now.”
“I’ve got to watch my calories,” she returned lightly. “I’m leaving for a shoot tomorrow, remember?”
Her escort’s scowl deepened, marring the lines of his handsome, classically Scandinavian features. “I remember. God, Allie, you just flew in from New York this morning. When are you going to spend a little time in Minneapolis? More to the point, when the hell are you going to spend some time with me?”
His voice rose querulously, carrying over the hum of conversation and the jazzy beat of the trio at the far end of the high-ceilinged living room. Several heads turned, and Allie caught sight of her older sister’s face, sharp-set with worry. As chief of marketing for the vast array of products produced by Fortune Cosmetics, Caroline Fortune Valkov shouldered a heavy responsibility. Since their grandmother’s death in a plane crash six months ago, those responsibilities had become almost unbearable burdens.
Although their father, Jake, had stepped in and taken over full control of the corporation at Kate Fortune’s death, he’d had to reorganize and streamline several subsidiary companies to keep the huge conglomerate afloat while the lawyers sorted through Kate’s financial affairs. As a result, stock values had nosedived. To make matters worse, a series of break-ins and a fire at their main chemical lab had caused several severe setbacks in the development of the new line of products Allie would help launch.
They’d staked so much on this new line, her father and Caroline and every other member of the Fortune family. Even without the secret “youth” formula her grandmother had been working on when she died, this collection of new beauty products would buy them time to pull the corporation out of its financial slump. Thousands of people worldwide depended on Fortune Cosmetics for their livelihoods. There hadn’t been a layoff in Kate’s lifetime. Jake was grimly determined that he wouldn’t be the first Fortune to send their workers to the unemployment lines.
Which was why Allie had put her budding acting career on hold and agreed to be the “face” for the new line. Why she hadn’t told anyone but her twin the precise details about the frightening phone calls she’d received. And why, with those sharp lines in Caroline’s forehead, she didn’t need Dean Hansen causing a scene at her sister’s party.
Allie studied the man she’d been dating off and on for several months. Dean’s flushed face told her this would be the last function she’d attend with him. The brimming tumbler of Scotch in his hand also told her he wouldn’t take his marching orders well. Deciding it was only fair to him to settle things between them before she left for New Mexico tomorrow, she set her champagne flute on a sofa table.
“Why don’t we go out on the terrace?” she suggested, nodding toward the bank of French doors lining one wall. With any luck, the breeze from the lake would counter the effects of his Scotch.
Dean’s frown disappeared. Amber liquid sloshed as he set his drink down beside her. “Lead the way, beautiful.”
Allie wound through the noisy crowd and stepped through the open doors. Crossing the wide terrace, she leaned both hands on the low stone balustrade and dragged in a deep, welcome breath of the August night. After two weeks of meetings and consultations with advertising executives in New York City’s sweltering mugginess, the Minnesota air felt unbelievably clean against her skin.
Dean’s uneven tread echoed on the flagstones behind her, almost lost in the rise and fall of laughter and music from inside. His big hand curled around her arm.
“Let’s get away from the noise. Walk down to the lake with me.”
Nodding, Allie slipped off her sandals and left them on the terrace. When she stepped off the stone stairs, her toes curled into the dewy grass. She’d run barefoot through these lush lawns with her twin sister so many times during the summers they stayed with their grandmother. She and Rocky had chased fireflies and giggled and shared their girlish dreams with Kate. Now Kate was dead, and Allie had put her dreams on hold.
With Dean beside her, she made her way down to the lake. The long, sloping lawn muted the sounds of the party. Gradually the noise died to a faint murmur. For a few moments, she heard only the lapping of indigo water against grassy banks and the cheerful chirp of cicadas. Then Dean’s hoarse voice disturbed the harmony of the night.
“God, Allie, you’re so beautiful.” Sliding a hand behind her neck, he turned her to face him.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she replied, “but…”
His thumb pressed her lips. “No buts. Not tonight. Not when you’re leaving in the morning.”
When he tried to pull her forward, Allie placed her palms against his chest. “We need to talk, Dean.”
“We’ll talk later.”
To her surprise, he dug his fingers into the back of her neck and dragged her forward. Frowning, she stiffened her arms.
“Dean, please!”
“Dammit, Allie, don’t do that! Don’t freeze up on me again.”
“You’ve had too much to drink,” she said evenly. “Let me go.”
“Not this time,” he growled, his breath hot and smoky with Scotch. “I’ve been dancing to your tune for months now. Every time I try to get close, you poker up or turn away. What’s with you, Allie? What kind of game are you playing with me?”
“I don’t play games, with you or anyone else.”
“The hell you don’t. What else would you call it when you put on that beautiful come-hither face, then pull back every time I try to touch you?”
Wedging her arms against his chest, Allie fought to keep her voice steady. Although she’d inherited a fair share of her grandmother’s fire, along with her hair, she’d long ago learned to hide her own emotions behind the smiling facade the public wanted to see.
“I’ve told you repeatedly. I like you…as a friend. I enjoy your company…as an escort. But I’m not going to go to bed with you.”
“Why not?”
He sounded so aggrieved, so much like a sulky teen denied the use of the family car, that she had to smile. “Because I don’t want to, Dean.”
As soon as the words were out, Allie recognized their truth. Her smile slipped a little.
The sad fact was, she hadn’t wanted to in a long time. Too long. With Dean or anyone else. Not since she’d discovered that men in general, and her former fiancé in particular, were far more taken with Allison Fortune’s face and money than with Allison Fortune herself. That rather humbling experience hadn’t totally turned her off either sex or men. She just hadn’t yet found a man who could see past her glamorous public image to the private woman within.
Dean Hansen was a case in point. Instead of accepting her blunt admission that she wasn’t looking for an affair when they first met, he’d taken it as a personal challenge. Every time she flew home to visit her family and agreed to dinner or a movie with him, he’d tried to tease and flatter her into having sex with him. Now, apparently, he’d run out of flattery.
His mouth twisting, he used his hold on her neck to drag her face a few inches from his own. “You don’t 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.
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