At least these flats were made of soft, supple leather. They weren’t likely to give her blisters from walking miles this afternoon. “I don’t see why you can’t let me sightsee alone,” she said experimentally, wiggling her toes in the soft new shoes. “For all you know, the note writer is in London.”
“He…or she…mentioned killing you in Paris.”
Alexa gasped at his bald statement. Then she scoffed, “Please. Nothing’s happened. We’re letting some gutless coward intimidate us.”
“The threats are real, Alexa. We can’t take a chance.”
“I’m sick of it.”
“Me, being your bodyguard?” Amusement lurked at the corners of his mouth.
“Yes! He’s making my life a misery…and yours, too,” she added generously.
“I get paid whether I watch you or Colin.”
Alexa just managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Their confrontations didn’t irk him like they did her? That maddening possibility couldn’t possibly be true. “I’m done.” She quickly paid and left the store with her impractical heels in a bag.
“Want me to carry that?” Jamison inquired.
Alexa blinked, nonplussed. Was he actually trying to be civil? “Thank you, but no.”
“Suit yourself.”
As the early afternoon passed, and Alexa explored the wonders of Paris, she regretted not taking Jamison up on his offer. He didn’t ask again. They took the bus to the Eiffel Tower next, but when Alexa saw the long line winding away from the ticket area, she elected not to waste time by waiting to ride up in the Tower elevator.
“You want to see Notre-Dame Cathedral?” Jamison asked as they walked away.
“Yes.” Alexa consulted her guidebook. “But the Louvre is closer.”
“The Cathedral won’t take long to explore, especially if you don’t take the tour. Then you can save the rest of the afternoon for the Louvre.”
Alexa saw the wisdom of Jamison’s reasoning, and for once neglected to argue with him. “Lead on.”
“We agree on something?”
“Don’t get used to it,” she warned. “Shall we take a cab?”
With a small smile, he flagged a cab. Alexa wanted to make the most of every minute, and didn’t want to waste time waiting for busses or the Metro. She insisted on paying for the cab, however. Unfortunately, it took more euros than she had planned. She had converted fifty dollars in travelers’ checks into euros with the efficient apartment manager this morning, but now wished that she had exchanged more.
Notre-Dame Cathedral was beautiful. She loved how it was on a little island, surrounded by stone walls with ivy drooping over the sides. The tall spire of the church and the Gothic architecture of the cathedral were breathtaking. Inside, while they mixed with the throngs of other visitors, Alexa took in the soaring ceilings and the beautiful details of the architecture. She decided not to visit the tiny museum, since it was almost midafternoon and she still wanted to visit the Louvre.
They took another cab to the Louvre, which left Alexa with only a little money left. Enough to tour the famous museum, thankfully, according to the guide book. She preferred to pay cash, so she wouldn’t rack up charges on her credit cards.
The first glimpse of the magnificent Musée du Louvre building took her breath away. The beautiful architecture, the enormous glass Pyramide, and the fountains outside; everything stunned her.
Jamison directed her to the underground shopping area, called the Carrousel du Louvre, on the west side of the museum. Alexa was struck silent by the huge, classy underground mall with its pale, pristine walls and shiny floors, and huge glass windows to the shops. And the inverted glass pyramid that hung from the ceiling! Alexa loved it all.
Then Jamison led her to an underground entrance to the Louvre museum on the eastern side of the pyramid. He explained that this line was shorter than the ones at other entrances. They bought tickets at the automatic ticket machines, and Alexa spent a few happy hours exploring the museum. She lingered over the ‘Winged Victory,’ the ‘Mona Lisa,’ which she had always wanted to see, the ‘Venus de Milo,’ and other paintings and sculptures. Unfortunately, she felt that she had only scratched the surface when a glance at her watch said it was already after six.
Next, they explored the Carrousel du Louvre and she selected souvenirs for her family. Now it was close to seven o’clock, and Alexa’s throat felt as dry as dust. Her stomach rumbled, too. Her euros were gone, so she reluctantly passed the tempting “food court,” even though the drinks on the menus called to her parched throat. She looked for a water fountain, but couldn’t find one.
“You ready to head back?” Jamison asked.
Alexa swallowed with difficulty, and nodded.
Jamison eyed her for a moment, then said, “Come with me,” and headed back toward a small café.
Wonderful, sweet bakery smells assailed her nose, and she spied cola on the menu. Should she order? Did they take credit cards? Probably not. Why hadn’t she used her charge card for the Louvre fee? Then she would still have euros. Disappointment lodged in Alexa’s throat, which burned with fire by now, amplified by the anticipation of drinking a cold beverage. She swallowed her sticky saliva.
“Merci,” Jamison said, and accepted a bag and two drinks. The petite woman at the counter dimpled a grin at him.
Two drinks? Did he plan to drink them both himself? They sat at a free table and Alexa licked her lips as he unpacked two ham and cheese croissants onto paper napkins. Anticipation churned in her stomach, and she raised her eyes to him.
“Hungry?” he asked.
“Yes! Please.”
Jamison pushed one of the napkins across the table and put a tall, moisture beaded cup next to it.
“For me?” she asked, barely able to believe it.
His lips curved up, just the tiniest bit. “Do you have any euros left?”
“No,” she admitted, and hesitantly sipped from the straw. Pure, cold cola ambrosia slid down her throat, and she closed her eyes with a sigh of bliss. “Thank you.”
His unreadable gaze rested on her for a second. “You’re welcome, Alexa.”
Their lovely moments of truce unfortunately only lasted until they had thrown out their trash and exited the Louvre complex and stood outside. The sun still hovered above the horizon.
Alexa consulted her map. Now that she had visited the Louvre, there was one last place she wanted to visit; a small bookshop recommended by her internet searches back home.
“It’s seven-thirty,” Jamison said. Was that a hint he wanted to quit sightseeing? Was he tired of touring with her? Ridiculously, the thought hurt.
“Go back to the flat, if you want.”
His gaze hardened into unfriendly black again. “You try my patience, princess.”
“Do you have a television show coming on now?” Alexa inquired sweetly. “A soap opera, perhaps?”
“I don’t watch soap operas,” he said through his teeth. “I watch soccer.”
Again, her impulsive mouth had run away from her. And after he’d been so nice, too! What was wrong with her? “I’m sorry. Really.” She did mean it. Alexa bit her lip. “Go home, if you’d like. I’ll be fine, I promise. Right now, I’m going to a bookshop. It’s supposed to be open until eight o’clock.” She pointed. “It’s five blocks that way.”
Never mind it was located in the complete opposite direction from the flat. How many more opportunities would she have to explore Paris? All too few.
Silently, Jamison accompanied her hurrying steps to the bookstore. It was fifteen minutes until closing. He perused the bookshelves in the French section, she noticed, while she had to ask the dour-faced clerk where the English books were kept. Still, it was fun.
Alexa loved visiting old bookstores just like this one. It was long, cramped, and narrow, with high shelves of books. She sniffed, enjoying the musty smell of old paper. Who knew what treasures lurked on these shelves? Maybe even a first edition by Voltaire. She popped back to the Fre
nch section and did find books by that author, but none looked like a first edition.
The precious minutes crept by while Alexa chose two books. Both were by English authors she had never read before. One was a mystery, and the other a love story.
Jamison wandered over while she stood in line. It was past closing time. They had already turned the sign in the door. “Do you think they take Visa, Alexa?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” She glanced at the cash register, where merchants usually displayed the credit cards they accepted. This one was blank.
It was her turn. “Huit euros,” said the man with a long face and goatee.
She waved her credit card. “Oui?”
“Non.” The dour man did not look amused. “Euros.”
Disappointment sank her spirits. Next time, she would exchange more money for euros. “Okay.” She turned away, but Jamison plucked the books from her hand and plunked them down on the counter, along with his mystery novel by Dick Francis. In English. He peeled bills from his wallet and handed them to the clerk. With a disapproving look at Alexa, the clerk gave Jamison a receipt, then flipped a hand at her, shooing her clueless American self along.
It made Alexa feel foolish.
Outside, Jamison handed over her books.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate it. I’ll pay you back.”
“Not necessary.” He headed in the direction of home.
“But I insist,” she said, hurrying along beside him.
“Accept a gift, Alexa,” he said shortly.
This answer disturbed her still more. How could she accept a gift when he clearly seemed annoyed with her? In the interest of peace, however, she mumbled, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
After they hailed another cab—for which Jamison also had to pay—they accomplished the rest of the trip home in silence.
Back at the apartment, Alexa dropped her bags and purse to the floor, exhausted.
Jamison looked at them. “You’re not going to leave them there, are you?”
She had had no intention of doing so, but his words stirred up her disturbed, irritated feelings from the book shop. She retorted, “What if I do? You can pick them up. That’s your job, isn’t it?” Of course Alexa wasn’t serious, but once again, her impulsive mouth outran her better sense.
He grabbed her wrist before she could head for her room. “Don’t talk down to me. I’m not your servant.”
“I can’t help but talk down to you,” she returned flippantly. His strong fingers felt calloused. Disturbed, she looked down and saw the shocking contrast between his tanned skin and her pale skin—and how unexpectedly large his hand looked, encircling her slender wrist. Her heart beat faster. “Let go.”
“When you treat me with respect.”
Alexa bit her lip, loath to do anything he demanded of her. But he wasn’t going to release her—that much was clear. Steel hardened his impossibly dark eyes. And he stood too close.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll pick up the stuff myself.”
“We can stand here all night, princess.”
Annoyance mounted. “I have work to do now,” she told him. “Unhand me.”
He retained his grip, and she glared. “What do you want from me?”
“An apology.”
She sealed her lips, and would have crossed her arms, too, if her wrist was free. Maybe she had been obnoxious, indicating that he should pick up her mess. Okay, completely obnoxious. But she didn’t want to back down to him. She didn’t want to let him win!
“Take your time, princess. I’m comfortable.”
Alexa was not. She didn’t like him so close to her. Her flesh prickled and jumped, urging her to break free. “This is ridiculous!” she said. “Do you have power and control issues, or what?”
He leaned closer, so his warm breath fanned her chin. “Do you have an ounce of warmth in that cold heart of yours?”
Her heart pounded alarmingly fast. “I am not cold,” she denied, tilting away from him. “Just prickly. And untactful.”
“And rude.”
She glared. “You bring out the best in me.”
“Ditto, princess.”
“You’re in my space.”
He smiled, then. “And you hate it.”
Unwanted emotions jangled inside her, not the least of which was unreasoning panic. Something told her to escape, and now, before she lost more than her pride to him. For self-preservation purposes only, she forced the galling, humble words out of her lips. “I’m sorry, okay?”
To her relief, he released her. “Was that so hard?”
“Being civil to you is next to impossible. When are you going to leave?”
“Leave?”
She waved toward the door. “Leave. Go somewhere else. I have work to do.” She would think and breathe a lot easier if he left the apartment.
“I’m on duty.”
“Please. Who’s going to break in here at dinner time?”
By way of an answer, he sat on the couch and propped his feet on the coffee table. He picked up a magazine.
“Fine,” she said. “Be a pigheaded, paranoid, pp…”
“Pip squeak?” he supplied.
Alexa glared. “I didn’t say that.”
“You would have, if you’d thought of it first.” He licked a finger and turned the page.
Alexa stalked into her room and shut the door none too gently behind her. Surely, she had been wrong before. Jamison didn’t like her at all. What was more, she didn’t like her behavior around him, either. She became a flippant pain in the neck, and she hated it. She needed to talk to Colin about changing bodyguards. Or getting rid of a bodyguard entirely. One wasn’t necessary. Who would hurt her? Colin was sweet to be so concerned about her, but perhaps a little overprotective.
After frowning at her computer and accomplishing nothing for ten long minutes, Alexa called Beth and exploded, “He’s driving me crazy!”
“Who?”
“Jamison, that’s who!”
“I thought you were with Colin. Who’s this Jamison?”
“My bodyguard,” Alexa wailed.
Silence came from the other end of the line. Beth said, “Back up. Tell me what’s going on. Why do you need a bodyguard?”
Alexa filled her sister in on the latest developments, and the threats against Colin and herself.
Beth gasped. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Except now I have to live with this guy twenty-four/seven!”
“Colin? Or Jamison?”
“Jamison! He’s driving me crazy. I don’t know what to do. Every time I talk to him I sound like I’m twelve. All we do is fight. And he’s obnoxious, too,” she added darkly. “Don’t think it’s just me.”
“Tell me about this guy,” her sister said calmly.
“He’s Colin’s best bodyguard. He’s Italian. And obnoxious.”
Her sister chuckled. “Does Colin know you don’t get along?”
“Yes! That’s why I was surprised he stuck me with Jamison. At least Mart—the other bodyguard—and I get along.”
“Maybe that’s why he set you up with Jamison.”
Alexa frowned. “Come again?”
“If you’re right, and Colin is attracted to you, doesn’t it make sense that he’d assign you a bodyguard you can’t stand? Then he wouldn’t have to worry about being jealous. You know all those stories about people falling in love with their bodyguard.”
It made sense, put in that light. “I guess you’re right. But what do I do in the meantime? He disrupts my concentration when I hear him in the other room. I can’t write!” She was being overdramatic here, but she did find it difficult to concentrate.
“Alexa, let me give you some advice.”
“Finally! That’s why I called you. Plus, to hear your voice,” Alexa said hastily.
“You can’t fool me, sis. Listen closel
y. T…A…C…T. Try it. Believe it or not, it works. The next time you want to steam off at him, count to ten, and imagine what I would say.”
“Like you’re so perfect,” she muttered.
“Alexa.”
Alexa imagined her sister tapping her foot in America. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll try.”
“Is he cute?”
“Who?”
“Jamison.”
Alexa’s mouth gaped. “No! Did I mention he’s short?”
“Come on, Alexa. Tell me the truth. What does he look like?”
“I don’t know.” Alexa scowled. “He’s like five foot seven. He’s got dark hair. It’s wavy. And dark brown eyes. And he wears all black all the time. And he’s mostly quiet and unassuming, except around me.”
“Let’s see, bodyguards usually work out. Anything else you want to tell me?”
“Beth! Why do you care? If you must know, yes, he’s got a lot of muscles.”
“I see.” Was her sister chuckling at the other end?
“What?” Alexa demanded. Was her sister on her side or not?
Her sister’s voice came, choked with mirth. “Be careful, Alexa. It sounds like you’re in a dangerous situation there.”
Alexa held the phone away from her and stared at it. What had gotten into her sister? She pressed it to her ear again and said sarcastically, “Are you done laughing at my problems?”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Tell me more about Colin. Is he everything you thought?”
Alexa sighed, dreamy now. “Yes. He is the sweetest, funniest guy. And so down-to-earth. I really like him, Beth. I know I’m here to write his book, but I can’t help but wish…”
“Be careful, Alexa.” This time, her sister’s voice sounded serious. “He’s charismatic. Women all over the world are in love with him.”
“But they don’t know him,” Alexa pointed out. “I do—at least a little. And I like him a lot. I know he likes me, too.”
“I hope it works out for you, sis,” Beth said softly. “But be careful, okay? Don’t leave your heart with a man in Europe. And certainly not with a man who won’t give you his, too.”
Her Reluctant Bodyguard Page 10