Beguiling Delilah: Romancing the Guardians, Book Six

by Lyn Horner

  “But . . . but my husband snores,” she protested, the only excuse she could think of off the top of her head. “I must have my own bed.”

  The young man shrugged helplessly. “I am very sorry, Madame, there is nothing I can do. However, the available rooms each have a king size bed. Will that help?”

  Leon had been listening to their discussion which was, of course, in French. Now he asked, “What’s wrong? Are there no rooms?”

  “Oh, there are rooms, but they all have only one bed.” Upset, she threw up her hands in frustration.

  “Ah, I see.” Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he asked, “Do you want to try a different hotel?”

  Scraping a hand through her cap of short hair, she gave a gusty sigh. “I suspect they will all be crowded with vacationers the same as this place. We may as well stay here.” She smiled tightly. “If we each keep to our own side, a king bed should do.”

  “Or I can sleep on the floor again,” he said ruefully.

  She frowned, recalling how pained he had looked the other morning after a night spent on the floor. “No, that will not be necessary.”

  They registered as Monsieur and Madame Williams. She thought it best to use an English name since her husband obviously did not speak French. Leon went to move the car to a distant spot as he had planned, leaving Delilah to take their meager belongings up to their room on the second floor. She was glad to find the space clean and fresh scented, and the bed with a firm mattress that did not sag in the middle.

  Unpacking clean clothes for tomorrow, she hung them in the small closet before strolling to the room’s wide window. Beyond the hotel parking lot and a checkerboard of rooftops, the distant mountains glowed a soft blue-gray in the waning winter light. After admiring the view, she decided to relax on the bed until Leon returned. She kicked off her shoes, lay back and closed her eyes.

  The next thing she knew, the room was almost dark. She had fallen asleep, she realized. Sitting up, she found Leon sprawled in an easy chair near the window. Hands folded loosely in his lap and chin on his chest, he appeared to be sleeping, but he must have heard her move because he lifted his head.

  He smiled. “You had a good nap.”

  “I’m sorry, I did not mean to fall asleep.” She switched on the bedside lamp, blinking fast in the sudden brightness, and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  “Do not apologize. You are tired from the drive.” Rising, he stretched, arms over his head. “It has been a long day. I think we should get something to eat downstairs and turn in early.”

  “Excellent idea,” she agreed, stepping back into her shoes.

  They shared a meal in the hotel restaurant, not nearly as tasty as the lunch they’d enjoyed, then returned to their room. Delilah showered, dried her hair and donned a baggy sleep shirt that reached almost to the middle of her thighs. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the bathroom to find Leon lying on the far side of the bed, eyes closed. Hoping to dive under the covers without him seeing her, she froze when his eyes opened to stare at her bare legs.

  “I’m done,” she said, voice squeaking.

  “Mmm-hmm, and ready for bed.” He smiled. “I like that shirt. What does it say?”

  She glanced down, mortified to see her nipples outlined against the soft pink cotton. Words printed in black script were scrawled across the front, right over her breasts. “It says je ne sais quoi.” Striding to her side of the bed, she lifted the covers and hastily slipped beneath them, turning away from him.

  “Sounds nice. What does it mean?”

  Feeling the mattress shift slightly as he got up, she explained, “It means literally I know not what. You might say a place has a certain je ne sais quoi, a certain something you can’t put into words.”

  “I see. Then the words on your shirt must mean you have a certain something.” His teasing remark made her squirm.

  “You be the judge,” she snapped. Hearing him chuckle, she wished she had left the stupid shirt at home. She thought sleep would be long in coming, but she was exhausted from the day’s long, difficult drive and the fear that they were being followed. Moments after Leon closed himself in the bathroom, the sound of running water in the shower lulled her to sleep.

  Leon knew Delilah was a smart, independent businesswoman, yet under her hard shell he recognized a soft, rather shy female. He liked teasing her but knew he shouldn’t. He had volunteered to find her and bring her to meet with the other Guardians. She was his mission, his responsibility, nothing more. Remember that, he told himself for the umpteenth time as he finished his shower. Toweling dry, he donned clean briefs and a t-shirt – he didn’t own pajamas – and padded quietly out of the bathroom.

  Hearing Delilah’s deep, even breathing, he was glad she’d fallen asleep, but when he slipped under the covers across from her, he discovered he would not be so lucky. Although the large bed kept them well apart, the sweet scent of shampoo and woman tantalized him. He was startled when desire sent hot blood coursing to his groin, a reaction he had not experienced since Yolanda left him to join their ancestors. Alarmed by his attraction to the beautiful Frenchwoman, he took a long time to relax and sleep.

  He dreamed of Yolanda. Young and beautiful as she had been when they first fell in love, she smiled and gestured at a ghostly woman’s figure hovering beside her. She whispered something Leon failed to grasp, but then her companion came into focus and he recognized Delilah. Pointing at her again, Yolanda spoke, and this time he got the message. She said the other woman was meant for him, an idea he scoffed at in his subconscious.

  The dream repeated throughout the night, disturbing his sleep and causing him to thrash about. Shortly after dawn, he became aware of a warm, yielding body pressed to his. Lifting one eyelid, he found Delilah snuggled up to him with his arms draped loosely around her and her breasts pillowed against his chest. His body instantly reacted. He longed to tighten his hold and kiss her, yet even in his sleep-clouded brain, he knew she would not be receptive.

  He needed to move away before she became aware of his aroused state, but he feared waking her. Finally, though, he couldn’t stand the torture any longer. He had to move. Unfortunately, when he started to slip his arm out from under her, she groaned and opened her eyes. She surprised him with a drowsy smile. It lasted barely a heartbeat. Then she obviously felt his rock-hard penis jutting against her belly. Her eyes widened, she growled furiously and pushed at his chest.

  “How dare you!” she screeched, scooting away and sitting up.

  “I did nothing,” he said defensively, rising on one elbow. “I woke up with you shamelessly plastered against me. Feeling your breasts poking into my chest, I reacted as any man would.”

  Face a mask of rage, she spouted a stream of angry French. Then she jumped from bed, grabbed a pile of clothes and stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door. Leon flopped back on his pillow, wanting to kick himself. He should have taken the blame for his lusty condition, not insulted her. He was in the doghouse now, as Yolanda had told him more times than he could count.

  Sighing, he rolled out of bed and got dressed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Leaving their room, Delilah marched toward the elevators at Leon’s side, not speaking. She hadn’t said more than a dozen words to him since he’d accused her of shamelessly plastering herself against him, all but calling her un putain, a wanton. When he’d attempted to apologize, she had cut him off, telling him coldly not to bother. She wished only to get going.

  He had insisted they eat before moving on, pointing out that she needed food to give her energy for the drive ahead. She’d grudgingly agreed. Thus, they were on their way to breakfast downstairs, after which they would collect their belongings. All she carried now was her shoulder bag.

  Reaching the bank of elevators, Leon punched the down button while she crossed her arms and stared at the floor until the car arrived. During the brief ride to the ground floor, she continued to ignore him.

  As she stepped off the
elevator, she happened to glance toward the front desk, where a man and woman were speaking to the concierge. Gasping in shock, she grabbed Leon’s arm with both hands, dragging him to a halt. “It’s her!” she whispered. “The woman in the car.”

  He looked at the couple. “Are you certain?”

  Just then the blonde woman shifted slightly, giving Delilah a better view of her profile. Garbed all in black in a wind breaker and tight pants, she was taller than her male companion. “Yes! And she’s the same one who spotted us in Paris.”

  As if sensing she was being watched, the woman suddenly swung around. Her eyes homed in on them and her jaw locked. Elbowing her partner, she pointed their way. At the same moment, Leon caught Delilah’s hand and rushed her into the hotel restaurant.

  “Where are you going? We must get out of here,” she cried.

  “We will. There’s a back way out through the kitchen.”

  “How do you know that?” she demanded as they wound between linen covered tables, some occupied by startled customers.

  “I checked last night while you were showering.”

  “Oh.” Grateful for his forethought, she followed him through swinging doors into the over-heated kitchen. Inhaling the aroma of breakfast meats and other foods cooking on a large commercial range, she barely glanced at the alarmed staff as she trotted past.

  “Hey! You are not allowed in here,” the head cook shouted in French.

  Ignoring him, she dashed out the back entrance with Leon, instantly struck by a cold wind. Merde! She wished for her coat as the door slammed shut behind them.

  “This way!” Leo ordered, tugging her into a run down the alley.

  They’d run thirty or forty yards when she heard the Hellhounds burst out the door after them. Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, she saw the blonde woman and heard her yell something at the man beside her.

  “Don’t look back, just run,” Leon shouted. He hauled her around a corner and they ran on, racing through a maze of alleys and streets.

  Losing track of where they were, Delilah fought for breath against the frigid wind, but she was in no shape for a protracted run. Staggering on her feet, she stumbled and nearly fell. Leon grabbed her arm to steady her.

  “I can’t . . . go on,” she gasped.

  “You must.” Breathing hard himself, he wrapped his arm around her waist and, practically carrying her, struggled onward, rounding yet another corner. “If we can find a place to hide . . .” He halted abruptly, muttering in angry Navajo.

  She saw why. They’d run halfway down a blind alley with a brick wall at the far end. Leon pivoted, holding her tight to his side, obviously intending to reverse their course, but it was too late. The Hellhound pair stood at the mouth of the alley, an evil grin spreading across the woman’s mouth.

  “You are trapped,” she called in English. “You may as well give up.”

  “Do you want to surrender to them?” Leon asked Delilah without taking his gaze off the slowly approaching villains.

  “No! They must not capture me. Not alive.”

  Darting her an alarmed glance, he drew a ragged breath and nodded. “They will not so long as I live.” Jaw set, he backed them toward the barrier blocking their escape, guiding her into a corner where the wall met the side of an adjacent building. Stationing himself in front of her, he pulled a knife from his boot as the Hounds closed in.

  The squat Frenchman reached under his coat and pulled a gun. “Américain, vous êtes mort,” he said with a sadistic laugh, raising his weapon.

  “Do not shoot!” the woman shouted in French. “You might hit her.”

  At the same instant, not knowing what she’d said, Leon leaped aside, clearly intending to draw the man’s fire away from Delilah. It worked. The gun barked, and she screamed. She had just enough time to see Leon hurtle out of the way, evading the bullet. Then the cold-eyed, menacing woman strode close, demanding her attention.

  “You escaped my men in Paris, Madame Moreau, but I have you now,” she gloated with a feral grin.

  “You will never take me,” Delilah said, voice quivering.

  The witch laughed. “I have orders not to kill you, but my master won’t object if I damage you a little bit. As long as you can still talk when he gets his hands on you.” She balled her fists and took a step forward, ready to strike.

  Delilah had managed to hang on to her sturdy shoulder bag, knowing she might need it. Now she thrust her hand into a special pocket inside the bag and extracted the small Ruger she’d purchased two years ago after a good friend was brutally raped. Raising the gun, she yelled, “Stop!”

  “Oh ho, the lady has a peashooter,” the blonde sneered. No doubt noticing how Delilah’s hand shook, she gave another mocking laugh. “Do you even know how to fire that thing?”

  Delilah had gone through training and had spent hours practicing at a shooting range, but she’d never shot at a human being. Hoping she would not have to do so now, she adopted the wide stance and two-handed grip she’d been taught, and glared at her enemy. “If you want to find out, keep coming.”

  Leon heard the blonde woman’s nasty threat. He desperately wanted to rush to Delilah’s side and protect her, but he couldn’t until he overcame the man shooting at him. Diving to the ground, he heard the gun fire again and felt a bullet whiz past, just missing his head. Before the Hound could fire again, he hurled his knife, meaning to drive it into the man’s heart, but the blade went low, catching him in the belly. Shrieking, he looked down at the bone-handled knife sticking out of him.

  Leon rose in a crouch and flung himself at his adversary’s legs, knocking him backward. He hit the ground hard, striking his head on the pavement, and lay there stunned. Leon hastily dislodged the gun from his loosened grip, tucking it under his own belt, and pulled his knife from the man’s gut, eliciting a grunt of pain.

  Jumping to his feet, he whirled to see the big blonde woman had Delilah cornered. Determined to save her from the she devil’s clutches, he took a step toward the pair, bloodstained knife poised to kill.

  A shot rang out, stopping him cold, freezing his blood.

  “No!” he cried, certain the sadistic Hellhound had just fired point blank at Delilah. He stared incredulously when the blonde stumbled backward, clutching her midriff.

  “You shot me,” she said in disbelief. Then she collapsed like a broken doll, eyes rolling up in her head. A dark red stain spread across her black jacket, spurting from a hole over her heart.

  Mouth dropping open, Leon looked up, astounded by the sight of Delilah standing with feet planted wide apart, hands gripping a small automatic, and jaw set in deadly determination. Until this moment, he’d thought of her as smart but physically delicate; she looked far from delicate now.

  She stared at the body of the woman she’d killed. Then, suddenly, she began to quake like a young sapling in the wind as reaction set in. Lowering her gun, she stood there in shock. Leon took a step toward her but remembered the bloody knife in his hand. Not knowing what else to do, he crouched by the Hound he’d stabbed and wiped his blade on the man’s pantleg. Then he slipped the knife back into his boot and rushed to Delilah’s side.

  “It’s alright, she’at’ééd,” he said softly, prying the gun from her cold, stiff fingers. He stuffed it in his pocket and wrapped his arms around her, absorbing the violent tremors shaking her chilled body. Her face was as white as the snow on the far away mountains.

  “I k-killed her,” she stammered in a thin voice, the pupils of her sorrel eyes dilated in shock. “I warned her to stop, b-but she just laughed and kept coming. Why didn’t she stop?”

  Leon cupped her cheek, giving a sympathetic smile. “She was stupid to not believe you would defend yourself.”

  Delilah pressed her lips together, obviously fighting off tears. Clutching his shoulders, she buried her face against his chest but did not weep.

  “You showed great courage,” he said, gently stroking her back. “I am proud of you.” Not only for facin
g the demon woman alone, he thought, but for refusing to shed tears over such a creature. He held her close, murmuring soothing words, until her shaking subsided to an occasional fine tremor. When she lifted her head, he saw a bit of color had returned to her lovely face.

  “You give me more credit than I am worthy of. Thank you,” she whispered. Then she kissed him.

  Taken by surprise, he froze, but her soft lips quickly coaxed him to respond. When she opened her mouth, inviting him in, he groaned and took what she offered, tasting her female sweetness. His hands slipped down to her waist, eager to explore lower. Then the thought struck that they were still in danger, cooling his ardor. Breaking off their kiss, he stepped back, holding her at arm’s length.

  “There might be more Hellhounds on our trail,” he said, breathing hard.

  Delilah gasped and recoiled as if he’d thrown ice water in her face. “Mon Dieu! Do you truly think so?”

  “Yes. Remember those three in Paris? They are probably after us. We need to find where I parked the car and get out of this city.”

  Regaining composure, she said, “First, we must collect our bags from the hotel. I need my things and we must have our passports.”

  Leon scowled at her reminder. He wasn’t used to depending on his passport – hastily acquired in Arizona – for travel. Sighing, he said, “Right, but we must be careful, and quick about it.” Taking her arm, he attempted to lead her from the alley, but she hung back, staring at the Hellhound woman’s body again.

  Softening his tone, he said, “You gave her the justice she deserved. Now you must let it go or the memory will eat you up.”

  She met his gaze, managing a weak smile, and nodded. He steered her from the scene of death, trying to recall the way back to the hotel.

  * * *

  The wounded Frenchman opened his pain-filled eyes. He’d remained still, his blood slowly draining from his body as he lay there listening to the Guardian and her Indian dog prattle in English. Now, hearing them walk away, he fumbled with numb fingers to dig his cell phone from a coat pocket. Hand shaking, he tried and failed twice before correctly entering the number he wanted.