She didn’t care. She needed to swim, needed to feel the water moving past her, over her tired skin, caressing her aching muscles. She needed to float, to let her tension ebb out into the water. Then, maybe, she’d know what to do about Megan and Jake. And the crowd of reporters outside the front of the hotel.
The thought sent a shiver through her, even in the poolside warmth. But they couldn’t get in here, could they? No one would find her here. She was safe. Even without Dylan.
She spared an apologetic thought for her bodyguard as she dipped a toe in the water, finding it warm and welcoming. He must be going crazy, looking for her. She supposed she shouldn’t stay too long, or he might actually follow through on his threat to call in back up and come searching for her, all guns blazing.
No, just a quick dip, then she’d head back up and apologise. He’d forgive her, she was sure.
She slid into the water, letting it envelop her, and the memory of Dylan’s body pressed up against hers flashed through her mind. She’d starred with some of the buffest actors Hollywood had to offer – including, most recently, Liam Hunter for heaven’s sake – and she’d still never felt anything like the strength hiding under Dylan’s skin. The power, barely contained, ready to act in an instant.
How would it feel to have all that strength and power focussed on her? Not just on keeping her safe, but on making her… what? Happy? She laughed at herself for the very thought, and the sound echoed off the tiles.
Dylan wasn’t the sort of man who concentrated on happy, she could tell that even on a mere day’s acquaintance. Safe, definitely. Secure and tidied away into a box marked ‘troublesome starlet’ for certain. But he didn’t have the slightest interest in her happiness.
If he had, she wouldn’t have had to run away from him now, would she?
***
He’d known, before he made it halfway down the first flight of steps, that he’d made a mistake.
Bethany wasn’t some teenager on a high, running away giggling. She wasn’t even an overweight, middle-aged ambassador puffing his way down the stairs. And once Dylan saw that the stairwell was clear, he knew in an instant he’d been played. Bethany couldn’t outrun him, and she knew it, which meant she had to have hidden then doubled back.
Swearing, he pivoted mid-step and ran back up the stairs, hoping he’d be quick enough to still have the element of surprise. But as he pushed his way back through the double doors to the plush carpeted hallway of the Chatsfield proper, he heard the ting of the elevator and watched the lights move down the floor numbers.
Damn it.
Still, at least he knew where she was going now. As he watched, the lights ticked down towards the basement, and Dylan did a mental check of the hotel map he’d memorised for just such an occasion.
There was only one thing in the basement that would be of interest to Bethany Lord, he decided. The swimming pool.
With a nod, he jogged back towards the stairs. If he was fast, he might even intercept her on the way.
Except, apparently he wasn’t the only one to have figured out Bethany’s water-baby plans.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ Dylan asked, in his most threatening and unhelpful voice. He saved it especially for paparazzi, these days.
The photographer, caught in the act of pulling aside the ‘closed’ sign on the pool door, spun round, his camera behind his back. He had weak blue eyes and a stupid hat that made Dylan nickname him Trilby, instantly. ‘Oh, no, I’m fine. I was just… checking when the pool opens.’
‘Tomorrow,’ Dylan said, glaring at the sign. ‘At five. And I’m sure you’re aware that the pool is for residents only? Perhaps if you’d like to give me your room number I can arrange a five am wake up call for you?’
‘Ah, no. Thank you. That won’t be necessary.’ Trilby started to sidle away, then stopped. ‘Actually, I thought I heard splashing from inside. You might want to check on that?’ While he waited around to catch a photo of Bethany Lord skinny dipping, no doubt. Not a chance.
‘I’m sure you were mistaken.’ Dylan moved to stand between the photographer and the pool. ‘Now, if there’s nothing else I can help you with?’
Trilby peered at him, and Dylan cursed the protective instinct that had made him shift into the spotlight by the door.
‘You’re not hotel staff, are you?’ Trilby’s watery blue eyes lit up until they looked slightly less like melted ice cubes. ‘You’re Bethany Lord’s bodyguard. I saw you come in with her earlier.’
Through years of practice, Dylan managed to keep his face blank even while he ran through every swear word he knew in his head.
‘If that were indeed the case, then I would have every reason to be in this hotel. Whereas, as we have I think established, you do not.’ He grabbed the man’s arm. ‘Which makes it time for you to leave.’
‘I was right, wasn’t I, though?’ Trilby rabbited on, as Dylan marched him down the corridor. ‘She’s in there right now, isn’t she? I remembered an interview where she said she always goes for a swim when she’s stressed. And really, today has to have been pretty stressful for her. So I played a hunch, and I was right, wasn’t I?’
Thank God they were nearly at the stairs to the lobby. ‘Miss Lord is currently in her room, resting. She asked me to check what time the pool opened in the morning.’
‘And you couldn’t ring down to reception and ask?’ Trilby said, sounding sceptical.
Dylan dragged him up the stairs. ‘No more than you could, apparently.’ With relish, he released the photographer to the waiting security guard in the lobby. ‘Found him wandering around downstairs. Might want to tighten ranks, given the mob outside the front door.’ He didn’t like telling other people how to do their jobs, but if their inability was impacting on his client… well, what other option did he have?
The security guard gave a sharp nod, and grabbed Trilby’s arm hard enough to make the photographer wince. Dylan took a strange satisfaction in that. And then he turned back to the stairs down to the pool.
Next up, it was time to deal with Little Miss Mermaid.
Chapter Five
Pushing off from the side of the pool, Bethany cut through the water, head down and limbs outstretched. Life felt so simple, so straightforward, when she was swimming. All that mattered was keeping moving forward; the kick and the stretch, the twist and the turn as the water moved around her. Funny; she’d thought being famous would mean getting her own way all the time. But just like at home, water was still the only thing that went out of its way to accommodate her.
She twisted as she reached the end of the pool, turning to take another lap without stopping. She swam until her head finally felt clear, then flipped onto her back in the middle of the pool and just let herself float, eyes closed, arms drifting out from her sides.
It felt so damn peaceful. Why couldn’t she find this kind of relaxation on land? She’d tried everything any friends, acquaintances, magazines and late night TV had suggested. Meditation, yoga, special diets, mindfulness, Tai Chi, everything. Nothing ever felt as good as just floating.
So. She’d finally found her calm place. Now it was time for some strategic thinking about Megan and Jake.
But just thinking their names was enough to make her muscles tense up again, and her legs started to sink. With a small kick to keep herself afloat, Bethany opened her eyes to see how far she’d drifted.
And saw Dylan Blaise staring down at her from the far end of the pool.
At once, years of swim practice and training went out of the window as she flailed in the water, desperately gulping in air before her head slipped under the surface.
‘Damn!’ was the last thing she heard, before her ears filled with water and everything became muffled.
Oops. A muted splash ran through the pool, the water pulling and pushing around her as it adjusted to another body in it. She was fine, of course, but obviously Dylan didn’t realise that. And it was his own fault for scaring her anyway. He deserved to get a little wet.
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Of course, she conceded as she surfaced, shaking water and hair from her eyes, he’d probably argue that she deserved scaring after she ran out on him.
Maybe they could just agree they could both have acted better?
She blinked the last droplets from her eyelids, and saw Dylan’s furious face getting closer with every stroke of his powerful, still-shirted, arms.
Maybe not.
Treading water, she gave him a little wave, and his front crawl slowed, until he stopped around a metre away and mirrored her. Had he managed to take his shoes off at least? Treading water in shoes was not easy.
‘You’re okay?’ he asked, apparently needing more confirmation than just the visuals.
‘I’m fine.’ Bethany couldn’t help but stare at the way his wet shirt clung to the muscles of his shoulders and the top of chest, the only parts of him visible above the water. Thank God her own body was covered all the way up to her neck. She really didn’t want to have this conversation with her see-through underwear on display.
Of course, she didn’t really want to have it treading water, either, but it was hard to come up with a solution to that which didn’t involve displaying the aforementioned underwear.
Dylan stared at her, barely out of breath as he kept himself afloat fully clothed, then shook his head. ‘I knew you were a bolter.’
‘I’m sorry?’ Because that didn’t sound like a compliment.
‘They told me you would be an easy job. That you were sweet and thoughtful and great to work with,’ he explained. ‘But I knew the moment I met you that you’d try and run.’
‘I wasn’t exactly running,’ Bethany pointed out, pride a little stung that he’d read her so easily. What sort of an actress was she if she couldn’t even hide her intentions from the muscle? ‘More like, well, floating.’
‘Yeah, well, you almost shared that image of you flat on your back in the water in nothing but your skivvies with the whole world.’ Dylan kicked away to the side of the pool, and Bethany watched mesmerised as he placed his hands against the tiles and pushed his way out, water cascading off his skin-tight drenched clothes, emphasising every ridge, every muscle, everything.
God, he was a good looking man.
Then, of course, her brain caught up with her libido. ‘Hang on, what? What do you mean?’
‘There was a photographer loitering outside the door to the pool.’ Dylan grabbed her towel from the lounger and dried off his face, then ran it over his hair. ‘I caught him before he came in. That’s why it took me so long to catch up to you – I had to turn him over to the security guys here.’
Suddenly, the water was too cold, chilling her poor, tired body. How could she relax in here knowing that any moment someone with a camera could walk in? What had she been thinking?
Even worse, she’d been so pleased about giving her bodyguard the slip. Turned out he’d been right there, protecting her from herself, all along.
Hell, she was going to have to apologise to him, wasn’t she?
Shivering, Bethany swam to the steps, then waited at the bottom, uncertain. ‘Um, could you pass me a towel?’
Dylan raised an eyebrow at her. ‘You realise it’s a bit late for that, right? I saw everything you were flaunting in there. Shortly before you faked your own drowning.’
‘I wasn’t faking anything!’
‘You weren’t drowning either.’
‘I never said I was!’ Bethany shook her head. This was the most ridiculous argument of her life, and she was having it while shivering in her soaking wet underwear. The world was just stupid.
With a deep breath, she hauled herself out of the water and up the steps. He wanted to look at her practically naked? Fine. He’d probably see almost as much if he rented one of her early movies. What did she care? It was all just an act, right?
Dylan’s gaze felt hot against her cool body, warming her after the chill of her near miss with the paparazzi. Bethany felt her skin tighten under his observation. He might be every inch the professional, just as Neil had promised - hell, he’d proved that by jumping into the pool after her without a second thought when he thought she was in trouble. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t a man, too.
How long had it been since a man looked at her like that? Too, too long, that she knew for sure.
She could see his throat move when he swallowed, then held the damp towel out towards her, ignoring the fact that his own clothes were still dripping.
‘Thanks.’ Bethany reached out to take it, but paused with her hand resting on his. ‘I’m sorry I tried to ditch you.’
Dylan shrugged. ‘You’re just lucky I found you before anyone else did.’
‘Yeah. I know.’ She gave him a half smile. ‘Neil said you were good at your job.’
‘I’m the best,’ Dylan said, without either modesty or pride, just stating a fact. ‘That’s why I was assigned to you. You matter to people, Bethany Lord. That’s why I’m here. To keep you safe.’
‘I do feel safer with you around,’ Bethany admitted, wondering when that had become the case. Before, she’d just felt hemmed in by his presence. Was it when he told her about the photographer he’d caught outside? No, it had been earlier than that.
She smiled as she realised. She’d known she was safe the moment he’d jumped into the pool after her.
‘Then stop trying to leave me behind?’ Dylan asked, a strange, amused pleading in his voice. Like he was infuriated and infatuated at the same time.
Bethany empathised. ‘I will,’ she promised, surprised to find she actually meant it.
‘Good.’ Dylan’s hand dropped away from the towel, and Bethany took it, wrapping it around her body and blotting away the droplets on her skin. Then she rubbed at her hair, knowing that the stylist tomorrow was going to hate her for roughing up the follicles. Tough; dry was more important than perfect right now.
Handing the towel back to Dylan, she tugged her dress back over her head. When she realised he was still standing staring at her, towel in hand, she grinned. ‘I figure your need is greater,’ she said, motioning to the towel.
With a nod, he ran it over his body but, Bethany had to admit, it probably wasn’t going to do much good at this point. The thing had to be soaking.
‘Think we stand a chance of making it up to the suite without anyone spotting us?’ Bethany asked, as Dylan opened the door and checked the corridor.
‘Maybe if I called in a bomb threat and they evacuated the building.’ He waved her forward, and she slipped through the door and headed for the elevators.
‘You’d do that for me?’
‘No.’
Oh well. She wasn’t really surprised. Dylan definitely had that by-the-book vibe to him. Which was a shame, really. The way his shirt still clung to his chest was giving her all sorts of ideas that she suspected were against the bodyguard rules.
Unfortunately.
***
Dylan tried damn hard to keep his eyes front and centre as Bethany dried off and got dressed but really, he was a man, not a robot. And all that creamy flesh in wet lingerie looked a hell of a lot better in person than it ever did on screen.
But however good she looked, that wasn’t the way this night was going to go. Grabbing his jacket from where he’d dropped it at the side of the pool, he retrieved his phone from the pocket and checked the screen. Three more updates on Bethany Lord’s family scandals.
And he still had to get her up to her room without any other guests, staff or paparazzi catching them soaking wet from their impromptu dip in the pool.
Sometimes, his job was the best in the world. Other times? It downright sucked.
Chapter Six
The elevator arrived quickly and, more importantly, it was empty. Bethany stepped in and moved to the back, happy to let Dylan stand in front of her and press the button for their floor. At least if another guest got in there was a chance that they’d be so distracted by the dripping wet bodyguard in a suit that they wouldn’t even notice she was th
ere.
A slim chance, but she was taking what she could get at this point.
‘I really didn’t think this whole plan through, did I?’ she mused, more to herself than Dylan, but he answered her anyway.
‘Not even a little bit.’ The door pinged and opened, and they stepped out into the empty corridor. At nearly midnight, Bethany had actually expected more Chatsfield residents to be about – it seemed like that sort of place. But maybe they were all still out partying. Maybe the other celebrities and millionaires who visited the famous hotel had bigger ambitions for fun and games than she did.
Or more lenient bodyguards.
‘I just wanted to go swimming.’ Bethany was aware that she was getting worryingly close to whining, but really. What kind of a world was it where she couldn’t even go swimming when she needed to?
Dylan stopped squelching along in front of her, and turned to face her. ‘You realise you can’t do that anymore, right?’
She blinked at him. ‘Swim? The hell I can’t.’ If she couldn’t swim, she’d be a big ball of tension and misery inside a fortnight. Besides, who the hell was he to tell her what she could and couldn’t do?
‘Swim alone, late at night, in your underwear, in a public pool, then,’ Dylan clarified, rolling his eyes.
‘Even if I take you with me?’ Not that she was planning to but, really, she wasn’t quite getting what his issue with her swimming in her underwear was. Unless he found it too much of a distraction… in which case she was totally doing it more often.
‘Well, that might depend.’ Dylan turned his back on her and kept walking, leaving her staring at the muscles moving under the still damp shirt.
‘On what?’ Realising she’d been standing watching him, she scurried to catch up, reaching his side as he slid the key card into the suite door.
‘On whether you wear a proper bikini next time.’ What was it about his voice that made her think he’d wanted to say something else. Like ‘or nothing at all’. Or maybe that was just her own wish fulfilment. ‘Or on whether you want photographic evidence of your hobby plastered all over the net, mostly.’ Dylan held the door open for her and Bethany stepped through hurriedly, as thoughts of the photographer outside the pool returned.
The Bodyguard in Her Room Page 3