“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?”
“By your father.”
For several long moments, Allie could only gape at him. Then anger washed through her. Swift, hot anger that she refused to let this stranger see.
Jake Fortune couldn’t stop trying to control her, any more than he could his other children or his wife or his thousands of employees. On the heels of that bitter thought came the cynical realization that her father was just trying to protect the “face” that he’d staked his company’s future on.
“When did my father hire you?”
“We haven’t closed the deal, but the understanding was I’d start tonight, if I decided to accept the job.”
“Tonight?” She lifted a scornful brow. “Then why didn’t you intercede a little earlier, Mr. Stone? You must have seen me struggling with Hansen.”
“I haven’t negotiated the terms of my contract with your father yet. Besides,” he added, his gaze drifting to the wet fabric bunched in her hand, “for a while there, I wasn’t any surer than your over-muscled Viking friend just what kind of game you were playing.”
Allie stiffened. “Then I’d say you’re not very perceptive, for a man who makes his living watching people.”
One dark brow lifted sardonically. “Perceptive enough to see who invited whom for a stroll in the dark.”
“You know, Mr. Stone,” Allie replied, spacing each word carefully, “I don’t think I particularly want you guarding my person.”
“Maybe you should talk to your father about it.”
“I will.”
She tried for a dignified exit, which wasn’t easy, with her French twist scraggling down her neck and her dress clinging to her thighs with every step. The walk up to the house seemed to take several lifetimes longer than the walk down to the lake.
Rafe followed at a more leisurely pace, his eyes on the slender figure ahead of him. He wondered if she had any idea of the way that wet handkerchief of a dress clung to her body, or what it did to his lungs. Rafe grimaced at the thought. Of course she did. Women like Allison Fortune were probably born knowing their impact on men.
All right, so her wide-spaced eyes, full mouth and endless limbs were the stuff of late-night fantasies. So he’d felt an immediate, gut-level urge to stroke his thumb across those impossible cheekbones when he first spotted her across the noisy room. Rafe possessed what he assumed was a normal testosterone level. Any man’s hands would itch to touch her skin, just to see if it was smooth and creamy as it looked.
Unfortunately, his initial reaction to Allison Fortune had been mild compared to the one Rafe experienced now. Watching her stride up the sloping lawn with an easy, long-legged grace detonated small implosions of heat, one right after another, just below his belt line. For all her almost boyish slenderness, the woman had a figure that would stop traffic on any street, in any city, on any continent.
Good thing she didn’t want him guarding that body, Rafe thought cynically, any more than he wanted the job. He didn’t need the staggering sum Jake Fortune had offered, nor did he need the kind of complications his involuntary reaction to Allison Fortune could cause. The reputation he’d earned in certain circles for his ability to penetrate seemingly impossible locations and extract hostages brought him more business
than he could handle. He’d succeeded in that dark and dangerous world because of his ruthless ability to focus on his target. If he let himself get involved with the person behind that target, he’d lose the razor edge of concentration his work demanded.
Besides, Rafe had survived one disastrous experience with a beautiful woman, and he was a man who learned from his mistakes. His ex-wife wasn’t anywhere near Allie Fortune’s class in looks, of course, but her breathless baby-doll beauty had turned more than a few heads.
Phyllis had left him three years ago, when it became clear that no amount of surgery would erase the scars left by the bomb that had almost killed him and his client. Rafe had made it a point to steer clear of any entanglements ever since…which made him all the more wary of his instant animal attraction to the woman in front of him. With each step, his resolve to tell Jake Fortune to find another man hardened.
Among other things.
She reached the stairs that led to the terrace, and Rafe wondered idly if she intended to march into the brightly lit living room with her every curve on display. Probably. According to the dossier he’d had compiled on Allison Fortune, there weren’t many parts of her that hadn’t been captured in explicit detail on film and displayed to the eager public. Despite her huffy little speech to Eric the Blonde a few moments ago, this woman had made a career of playing games. When she draped herself across a rock on some mistswept shore, as she had in a full-page ad that had made Rafe break out in a cold sweat, she was trying for an effect. The ad might make the female half of the population want to run out and buy the tiny scrap of fabric the manufacturers called a bathing suit. The male half, Rafe among them, fantasized about sliding the straps down her arms and…
She halted abruptly, with one foot on the first stone step. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she glanced up at the open French doors, then turned to Rafe.
“Would you go inside and find my father? Ask him to meet me in the library in fifteen minutes.”
Rafe had never been real good at taking orders, even during his years with Special Forces. In this instance, though, he was as anxious as Allie Fortune to terminate their association before it officially began.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled with exaggerated politeness.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you this sarcastic with all your prospective clients?”
Silently acknowledging that he wanted to be a whole lot more than sarcastic with this particular prospective client, Rafe shook his head. How the hell could a simple collection of flesh and bone stir such atavistic male urges in him? He hadn’t felt this powerful an attraction for any woman since Phyllis. Hell, he hadn’t felt it for Phyllis.
“No, Miss Fortune. I’m not.”
Before she could respond to that one, he started up the broad stairs. His footsteps rang on the flagstones as he headed into the house, determined to tell Jake Fortune he wasn’t interested in the job.
Two
Rafe soon discovered that Jake Fortune didn’t take no for an answer. For all his aristocratic airs, the man had the instincts of a street fighter. Tall, silver-haired, and impeccable in a gray Armani suit, he leaned his hips against the leather-topped desk that dominated the library, crossed his arms and cut right to the bottom line.
“I’ll double your retainer fee.”
Rafe regarded his would-be employer thoughtfully. He knew the value of his services, and felt no compunction about charging his clients according to their ability to pay. That Jake Fortune would double his initial offer without a qualm told Rafe there was more to this particular job than the client had admitted.
There always was, he thought cynically. He had the scars to prove it. Still, he didn’t need the money, and he sure as hell didn’t need to fan the small, hot flames Allie Fortune lit in him.
“It isn’t a matter of money,” he told her father. “My specialty is extraction under hostile conditions, not baby-sitting.”
Both men turned at the sound of a small laugh. A willowy blonde stood framed in a side door.
“It’s usually a matter of money where my husband is concerned, Mr. Stone.”
Annoyance flickered across Jake Fortune’s face before he wiped it clean of all expression. “In this instance, at least, you’re right. Come in, Erica. Perhaps you’ll be more successful than I’ve been in convincing Mr. Stone to provide Allie protection.”
When Erica Fortune walked into the oak-paneled room, Rafe detected traces of the daughter in the mother’s elegant carriage and cool, controlled grace. But the older woman’s stunning beauty seemed fragile, almost brittle.
The dossier on Allison Fortune included several pages about her parents, as well. A former beauty queen and the first model for Fortune Cosmetics, Erica Fortune had enjoyed what the media painted as a fairy-tale marriage to the founder’s son. Judging by the tension she brought into the library with her, Rafe wouldn’t have put a lot of credence in the happily-ever-after part. Whatever was causing the obvious stress between Erica Fortune and her husband, however, she put it aside in her daughter’s interest. Her green eyes softened as she pleaded with Rafe.
“Please reconsider, Mr. Stone. I don’t know how much my husband told you about these calls my daughter has received, but they worry us.”
“He mentioned that a fan got hold of her unlisted number and made some highly erotic remarks.”
“Erotic?” Erica sniffed. “They’re obscene. The man’s a pervert.”
“Until the police track him down, I agree it’s wise to provide your daughter with security, Mrs. Fortune. I just don’t think I’m the right man for the job.”
“Why not?”
Rafe tugged at his tie. He couldn’t exactly tell this woman that he didn’t want to spend two weeks with her daughter because she generated a few highly erotic thoughts in him, too.
“Look, Mrs. Fortune…”
“Erica, please.”
“Erica. I…”
A sharp rap on the massive double doors that led to the main hallway cut off Rafe’s reply. When Allison Fortune swept in a moment later, she cut off his air supply, as well. Irritated anew by her impact on him, Rafe stopped fiddling with his tie and shoved his hands in his pockets.
She was punctual, he had to give her that. True to her word, she’d taken less than fifteen minutes to change into a silky-looking pair of turquoise pajamas with one of those little Chinese collars and fancy embroidery. If her makeup had been disturbed by her dousing from the Nordic type she’d been stringing along down by the lake, she’d repaired it quickly enough. She looked untouched, and eminently untouchable.
Her glance flicked over Rafe, then settled on the older woman. A small frown marred the smooth perfection of her forehead. “I thought this bodyguard business was Jake’s idea. Did you know about it, too, Mother?”
Interesting, Rafe thought. She referred to her father by name, but not her mother.
“He told me about it when Mr. Stone showed up at the party tonight,” Erica replied.
“Oh? Well, he neglected to tell me.”
As his daughter turned to face him, Jake Fortune’s patrician features took on a hard edge. “You’re always so adamant about preserving your privacy, Allie. I knew you might object to having someone with you twenty-four hours a day. I thought it best not to discuss the matter with you until I ascertained Mr. Stone’s availability and finalized our arrangements.”
“You were right. I do object to Mr. Stone’s presence twenty-four hours a day. So you can unfinalize your arrangements.”
Rafe thought about setting them both straight. He hadn’t agreed to any arrangements, final or otherwise. But neither Fortune seemed particularly interested in his input at that moment.
“I’d like you to think about this. You know how important you are to—”
“Yes, I know. To Fortune Cosmetics.”
Jake’s mouth thinned. “I was going to say, how important you are to the entire family. I don’t like the idea of some obsessed fan worrying you and disrupting your
life.”
“Or the shoot,” she added softly. Her tobacco-brown eyes held her father’s for a long moment.
His jaw tight, Jake Fortune turned to his wife. “You talk to her. Evidently I can’t anymore.”
Brushing past her husband, Erica moved to her daughter’s side. “Please be sensible, darling. This campaign is so important, not only to Fortune Cosmetics, but to your career.”
“I’m starting a new career after this campaign, remember?”
“I know, I know. And you’re wise to think about acting as a full-time career. Modeling is a brutal business, where a woman’s worth is measured only by her looks.” Erica’s musical voice took on a bitter edge. “Unfortunately, that’s true in more than just modeling.”
She didn’t turn her head, didn’t so much as glance at her husband, but Jake Fortune stiffened. If his wife noticed his reaction, she ignored it.
“But you’re just reaching your peak, Allie. You’ve got years ahead of you yet.”
“Mother…”
“You’re more photogenic than I ever was, and you’ve agreed to launch the new line. If it’s as successful as we hope, you’ll reach the highest plateau in your career. I just wish we had decided on a studio shoot for this campaign, instead of a natural setting,” Erica continued, her voice sharp with worry. “I don’t like the idea of you all alone for two weeks, out in the middle of nowhere.”
The corners of Allie’s full mouth edged upward. “Come on, Mother,” she teased gently. “A five-star resort a few miles outside Santa Fe is hardly the middle of nowhere. And you know as well as I the size of the team necessary for this shoot. I’ll hardly be alone.”
Later, Rafe would tell himself that he would have walked out of the library as planned, if it hadn’t been for the hint of laughter in her voice. And for that damned almost-smile. It softened the lines of her face. Added a gleam to her eyes. Hit him somewhere in the vicinity of his left kidney.
Beauty and the Bodyguard Page 2