Guarding Jess

by Shannon Curtis

  Noah chewed the inside of his cheek. The woman had just escaped death. Maybe she was still in shock, or denial. “From what the fire marshal said, that letter bomb was small, probably designed more to injure than kill, but you were lucky. At the very least, you could have been blinded.”

  Her face paled, and the fingers playing with the pearls froze. Her chin lowered, and she cleared her throat. “I understand,” she began softly. She cleared her throat again.

  “But I’m in a delicate position at the moment.” This time her voice was stronger, and her hand fell to her lap. She met his gaze, and he read the anxiety in her blue eyes. “My book is due to be launched in just under a month. It needs to be successful so that I can pay for all of this,” she said, gesturing to the blast-ridden front reception. “I need my clients, Noah. My business is built totally upon my reputation. Any breath of a scandal can put my business at risk. For now, we’ll keep this little hiccup between the four of us.”

  “If this is a hiccup, I’d hate to see you burp,” Gwen commented as she rose. “I’ll call the repairers, and reschedule the next few days’ classes.”

  “Thanks, Gwen. I appreciate it.” Jessica rose, too. “I’m going home to change, and then I’ll be going to the hotel.”

  Oliveria sighed. “Well, if you’re going, I’m going, too.” She waved her shoe with the broken heel at Noah. “But if there is another bomb, I’m hiding behind you.” She got to her feet. “I’ll meet you at the hotel. I seem to have had a slight wardrobe malfunction.”

  Noah stood as Jessica neared him. He couldn’t help noticing the difference in their heights. She barely reached his shoulder. Yet despite her diminutive size she had an impressive presence. He still wanted to tuck her up under his arm and shield her from her stalker. His lips twisted. Miss Prissy had quite the independent streak, and would probably reprimand him soundly for thinking such a thing. He followed her out to the fire exit, but held her back until he’d checked the stairwell. The elevators were closed as a precaution until further notice, so they would have to take the stairs down the four flights to the parking garage underneath the building. He nodded to her, and they stepped briskly down the stairs.

  “Have you kept copies of any letters this guy has sent you?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational.

  She faltered briefly before nodding. He noticed the hesitation. No matter how she tried to dismiss the danger, she was still spooked. That was good. It meant she was smart enough to recognize the threat this guy posed. That would make his job a whole lot easier than a client blithely disregarding the jeopardy he or she faced.

  “Yes, they’re at home.”

  Noah nodded. “I want to take a look at them.”

  Her hand moved, and he realized she was checking her watch. “All right. You can go over the letters and emails while I go to the luncheon. That should also give you enough time to check out my place and make whatever security recommendations you feel are necessary. I’ll meet you at my office at about, oh, three o’clock. Is that good for you?”

  Was she serious? “No. That’s not good for me. I’m your bodyguard, remember? Where you go, I go.”

  Jessica sighed. “I just thought that would be a more efficient use of our time.”

  Noah blinked. She was serious. “The most efficient use of my time is protecting you. Period.”

  She nodded. “Of course. Sorry. I’m just not used to having a bodyguard.” He glanced back in time to see a quick spasm of worry cross her face before she masked it. He turned to face her. He was three steps below her, so that put him at direct eye level. He saw the color of her eyes deepen to a blue-gray, saw the awareness darken her gaze. Well, good, because he was too aware of every feminine inch that stood in front of him, of the way her breasts rose with every breath, of the silky length of her legs, of the determined jut of her chin.

  “Get used to it. I am now your shadow. Everything you do, I do. Everywhere you go, I go,” he told her. Something unreadable flickered in her eyes. Her reaction perplexed him. Instead of reassured, she looked, well, perturbed, and then the expression was gone, replaced with a smile and a nod.

  Why wasn’t she happy having a protector?

  He watched her for a moment longer, then turned around and kept walking down the stairs. A moment later he heard the precise click of heels behind him.

  * * *

  Jessica jiggled the key in the lock. “The new lock is still a bit stiff,” she explained to Noah. She fought the heat rising in her cheeks. He would be the first man to step inside her home.

  She took a deep breath. In the past four months she’d grown anxious when dealing with men. She looked at all of her known male associates with suspicion. Any one of them could be the crazy maniac stalking her. That was the frightening thing. It could be someone she dealt with on a day-to-day basis, someone who enjoyed terrorizing her, yet acted sane when they met. She knew she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t help it. It was beginning to affect her work. She was reluctant to take on new clients, just in case he was the one. She had to steel herself to shake hands, and the handshake was a crucial part of business etiquette and protocol.

  Noah’s hand closed over hers. She froze.

  “Let me,” he said.

  She was sure he hadn’t intended to whisper it into her ear, or to shut down all of her motor skills. But, well, he had. She couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

  She watched with wide eyes as his hand wrapped around hers and turned the key. His hand was so large. Warm. And successful. The lock clicked. He withdrew his hand, but remained where he stood. Right behind her.

  She took a breath. Relaxed. He was behind her. He had her back. For some reason just the thought had her stepping over the threshold with a semblance of her old poise. It took her a moment to realize that she wasn’t afraid of Noah Samuels. Aware, yes. Afraid, no. He was the first man in a long time with whom she felt secure. She told herself that it was because he came highly recommended from a trusted source, and that she’d already seen him in action. It had nothing to do with that linebacker body of his, or the tangible strength of the man.

  He entered close behind her, shut the door and halted her progress with a hand on her arm. “Stay here.” He dropped his bag to the floor.

  It certainly had nothing to do with his taciturn manner, she thought dryly as he stepped into the living room. A gray streak ran out, and Jess caught Tom as he launched himself at her. Noah leaned out and glanced at the cat, then looked at her.

  She smiled. “This is Tomcat. There’s no need to be scared of him,” she said as she rubbed her cheek against the purring cat’s fur. She wasn’t sure if she was reassuring Tom or Noah, as they both eyed each other warily. Noah turned and made his way through to the dining room and kitchen. After he checked those rooms, he strode down the hall.

  Jessica waited patiently at her front door, patting Tom. Noah was just doing his job. Just because he was searching her home didn’t mean he was going to pry into her life. Put her under the microscope. Jeer at what he found.

  “Clear,” he called after checking both bedrooms, the bathroom and the laundry. He sauntered back toward her. He had a rhythmic stroll, his broad shoulders rolling with each step he took. Poetry in motion. She shook her head. He was her bodyguard. Period. And definitely not the kind of man she should be drawn to.

  “How many tenants in this building?” he asked. He was surveying her living room.

  “Besides me, just one. Mrs. Archer lives upstairs.”

  She tried to see her home through his eyes. Cream walls, cream furniture with timber accents, and splashes of color. Warm, inviting. That was the feel she was hoping for. This was her haven, her bolt hole away from the meetings, the parties, the networking. This was where she could just be herself, without the scrutiny of others. And nobody was going to take that away from her, damn it.

 
“I’ll want to talk to her later.” He turned to look at her. Jessica felt as though she was getting the same inspection he’d just given her home. He was a quiet man, but for all of his considerable build, his eyes showed a keen intelligence. He wasn’t just brawn. The man was observant. She got the impression he noticed a lot more than just her cream decor.

  “Mrs. Archer is away. She left a note about three weeks ago. Her daughter was having some problems, so Mrs. Archer has gone to help her with the kids. I kind of miss her. Or at least, the thump, thump, thump of her cane.”

  Noah arched an eyebrow. “You can hear her?”

  Jessica smiled. “Yes, on the odd occasion. This is an old building, it used to be one residence, and then at some point the owners created two apartments by just slapping in the dividing floor and ceiling. Most of the construction is made out of timber.”

  Noah nodded. He still didn’t look away. His gaze was dark, penetrating, as though he could see all the secrets she tried to hide.

  “You’ll probably want to freshen up,” she murmured, and indicated he follow her down the hall. Distance. She just needed a little distance. He grabbed his bag. She led him to the second bedroom.

  “You can sleep in here. Bathroom is through there,” she said, jerking her chin to the door. It led to the two-way bathroom. “We’ll be sharing.” She wasn’t going to blush. She averted her eyes. Tom wriggled in her arms and she put him out in the hall.

  Noah glanced around the room. She did, too, just to make sure nothing was out of place.

  “You always have the bed made up?” Noah asked. She smiled. The cream comforter was quite a find. It had a crimson floral pattern that was similar to her aunt’s own linen.

  “Yes. This room is for my aunt, when she visits.”

  Noah nodded. “She visits often?”

  Jessica’s smile faltered. “Uh, not exactly.”

  Never, exactly.

  Noah’s eyes slid to meet hers, and she read a glint of curiosity before it was blanked out.

  “Cool.” He dumped his bag on the bed. It looked heavy. She doubted she could lift it. Her gaze slid back to Noah. He was a big man. Probably had an appetite that wouldn’t be satisfied with the yogurt and salad ingredients in her fridge. She made a mental note to go shopping for more “manly” food.

  “Exactly how long were you planning to stay?” she asked. Then blinked. Oh, goodness, that sounded rude. “I mean, you’re quite welcome to stay, don’t get me wrong, I was, uh, just wondering, well, how long?” she finished lamely.

  “As long as it takes.”

  “Oh.” He could be living with her for a while, then. Her eyes bugged. Living with her. Constantly around her. Sleeping in the next room. That big, linebacker body. Oh, lordy.

  “So, where’s the stalker stuff?”

  Jessica blinked. Stalker stuff? “Oh, you mean the letters?”

  She led him back to the escritoire in her living room. She’d bought it through one of her aunt’s antique dealers. As yet, she hadn’t been able to show her aunt her spectacular find. She opened one of the small drawers and removed a bundle of red notes. “Here you go.”

  The one on top glared up at them, scarlet and angry.

  “I’ll never be like you. Nobody should have to be like you.”

  She wasn’t going to let it get to her. That would give her stalker too much power. She handed the letters to him. Their hands touched. Again, she felt that little tiny zing, only this time it was stronger. Her gaze flicked up to his. He was staring at her closely. He had beautiful eyes. Chocolate.

  She blinked. “Shower.”

  His eyebrow rose.

  She blushed. “I should, uh, go take that shower,” she said hoarsely. “Excuse me.” She left the room swiftly. She needed a cold shower to cool her flaming hot cheeks.

  Chapter Three

  Noah’s lips twitched as he strolled back to his bedroom. For an etiquette specialist well versed in the art of conversation, Miss Prissy seemed easily distracted. He’d seen the attraction, the curiosity in her gaze. He didn’t mind. Despite her poised perfection, her calm demeanor, he found her very attractive, too. Maybe it was because of her propriety. He was tempted to ruffle her hair, to do things to her that would put her perfectly presented clothing askew, that would set her cheeks, and those freckles she tried to hide, on fire.

  Girlie explosion surrounded him. The bedroom she’d assigned him was a blank wall of cream with frequent bursts of femininity.

  He shook his head at the bed. It matched the decor of the rest of her apartment. All cream with pretty girlie frou-frou stuff. Even the wood bits looked feminine, all slim and curvy legs. He thought of her legs, long and slim. He pressed his hand to the ultra-pretty bed. His eyebrows rose. Surprisingly firm, but with a good bounce.

  He pictured Jessica sprawled across the bed, looking all tussled and wild. He jerked his hand back from the bed as though burned. Heat bloomed in other parts of his body. What the hell was he thinking? She was the target. He was supposed to protect her, period. She was not his type. He’d dated society princesses in the past, and had the scars to prove it. Jessica Pennington lived in a world where a smile masked a thousand lies, where people placed more importance on image than on substance. He liked the real deal, not the fake facades this woman peddled. He’d left that kind of life behind, and he’d do well to remember the reasons why. He unzipped his bag roughly and started unpacking, shoving clothing into the pretty dresser drawers.

  He could hear the shower running in the bathroom next door. His fingers clenched around the ornately carved drawer handle. He was not going to imagine his target naked. He was not going to burn for a woman who epitomized the very world he’d left behind. His job was to protect her, not lust after her. He turned back to his bag and reached inside. His hand hit the cold surface of a small case. His cards. He always carried two decks. He’d play a game of patience. That always calmed him. Cleared his mind. His jaw clenched as he heard humming from the bathroom.

  He closed his eyes. Damn, he was hot for Miss Prissy.

  * * *

  “How long has this guy been contacting you?” Noah asked as he steered Jessica’s car through the midday traffic toward the Marriott. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Two blocks from Jessica’s home a dark blue sedan had pulled into traffic, keeping one car between them, and was still following them.

  “It’s been about four months, now,” Jessica responded quietly. She was sitting in the front passenger seat, despite his recommendation for her to take the backseat. She’d told him, ever so politely, that she had no intention of taking the backseat. Noah’s mouth quirked. He got the impression she wasn’t just talking about the car.

  “How did it start?” If he could get some sort of background on the timeline, and the activity, they might be able to track down the person responsible for terrorizing Jessica. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. That letter bomb had meant business. He’d called the cops just before they’d left Jessica’s home. So far the forensic team had turned up only generic materials used in the construction of the bomb, readily available to anyone with half a mind to visit the local hardware store. Hopefully they’d get lucky, and find fingerprints on some of the evidence they’d managed to retrieve.

  “It started with one letter then, a week later, another, etcetera.” Her hand waved casually.

  Noah was driving Jessica to her speaking engagement, and the woman wasn’t thrilled to have him at her side. Oh, she hadn’t said anything directly, but her body just screamed reluctance to having anyone tail her. He noted the car in the rearview mirror. Problem was, he wasn’t the only one watching her.

  “Why don’t you want a bodyguard?” he asked her.

  She shot him a surprised look. Her mouth opened and then closed, as though about to deliver a polite disclaimer, but then apparentl
y she decided against it. Her mouth opened again, and he had to force himself to turn his attention back to the road, and away from her lips.

  “I don’t like to be under watch,” she told him, and he realized from the flicker in her eyes that her honesty made her feel uncomfortable, and vulnerable. He checked the mirror, and made a sudden right turn.

  “I don’t like having my every move scrutinized, my every word judged. To have a bodyguard shadowing my every move is a little disconcerting.”

  Noah cocked an eyebrow. “You already have a stalker shadowing your every move. I’m just here to stop him.” He checked the mirror again. Yep, the car was still following them, despite the series of turns he’d taken.

  “I’m going to need a list of all of your boyfriends, past and present. Anyone you’ve ever dated. We need to check out all possibilities.”

  His passenger gave a delicate snort that had his lips curling before he could control them. He turned right down California St., the clang of the cable car ringing out a block behind them.

  “I try to help people feel less awkward in a social setting. That’s all. I’m not some major celebrity, and I’m not some movie star look-alike to inspire blind devotion.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t date very often. Not the way you mean.”

  Noah’s eyebrows rose. What other way was there? You liked someone. You dated. Period.

  “I accompany clients on social occasions, to help ease them into conversations and such.”

  “You’re a companion? An escort?” Wow. He hadn’t seen that one coming. Miss Prissy was an escort.

  She gasped. Loudly. Then choked. “No. I’m not an escort. I accompany them—” She broke off. “I mean, there is no romance or sex involved, they pay me to—” She stopped again and pinched the bridge of her nose. “That sounds even worse.” She took a deep breath, and lowered her hands into her lap.

  “I am a consultant,” she began slowly. “I help people with the proper behavior and protocol in social and business settings. Sometimes I accompany my clients to help with their confidence, and guide them in difficult situations until they feel they are capable of doing it on their own.”