The Bodyguard Contract

by Donna Young

  “Are we clear, MacAlister?” She caught the hem of her dress, pulled it up and over her head. With a careless hand, she dropped the dress, leaving a pool of sapphire at his feet. “Or do I need to be more specific?” Her arms curved around his neck, her eyes found his, their depths burning with an emerald fire.

  “Pretty clear.” His fingers skimmed the delicate line of her throat, its slope into her shoulder, then followed the inside of her arm. Goose bumps spread.

  “Good,” she agreed, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

  Intrigued, his fingers continued to travel, tracing the paths of freckles to the most sensitive parts of her body. He lingered at her inner elbows…her rib cage…the sides of her breasts.

  Lara’s head tilted back. Ian watched, fascinated by the slow offbeat pulse in the hollow of her throat. He nibbled it, felt the spot flutter beneath his tongue.

  Whimpering, she shifted until she cradled his hardness against the soft, wet warmth at the apex of her thighs.

  Ian swallowed a groan.

  Her fingers snagged his sweat-dampened hair, then tugged him closer to her chest and lifted her breast. “You missed a spot, soldier.”

  “I don’t think so…ma’am.” With gentle fingers he cupped each breast, weighing them first, then kneading as if considering. Her throat flexed, her body arched.

  Wanting him, but not enough. Not yet. “I’ve never really been a boob man. You’re asking for quite a sacrifice for king and country.”

  Lara yanked his hair. “I said no jokes.”

  “Who’s joking?” He met her glare, the rasp in his voice betraying his need. His gaze had already drifted, taking in the tiny changes that her pregnancy had brought. Her nipples had darkened, their points extended in two hard beads. The breasts themselves were already filling out, plumper. He imagined each breast heavy with milk.

  For his baby.

  Male satisfaction poured through him; like gas to a fire, it ignited an all-consuming possessiveness deep within.

  His head dipped low. He nuzzled first one then the other, using his whiskers to rub their sensitive points.

  Now that he’d gotten closer, he could see the light blue veins, the way her skin had turned into pale, almost translucent satin. Lightly, he blew air over the peaks, watching, fascinated when each areola puckered in response.

  “Ian. Please.”

  His hands slid under her, deliberately trailing one finger through the swollen folds hidden beneath the triangle of titian curls. She closed her eyes and moaned.

  Slowly, he lifted her, holding her suspended. Blood rushed, engorging his own throbbing length.

  “Look at me, Lara.” Her eyes, heavy lidded with passion, drifted open, only to widen when he settled her over him. The tip of him nudging, his shoulder tightening with the need to plunge himself into her heated depths. “We don’t go back. Not from this.”

  Gasping, Lara clung to his shoulders. “No, not from this.” She pushed down, her thigh muscles shaking with need.

  Then he was there, sheathed deep.

  Ian’s head dropped back, his neck corded. He fought the urge to thrust. Not yet, damn it. They weren’t finished.

  Lara buried her face into his shoulder. Carefully, she rocked back, shuddered when she felt him pulse within her.

  “Again,” Ian rasped. Their skin was damp with perspiration, the musky scent of sex surrounded them.

  She whimpered, but still tilted her hips. This time a little farther, clutching a little tighter. Testing their endurance.

  Neither willing to give in.

  His body strained for release, driving him toward the edge where relief lay just out of reach. He fought against the pull—holding it back, holding her close. His breath ragged with the effort.

  Too soon. He wanted, needed—

  “I love you, Ian.”

  She had whispered the words against his skin, but he’d heard.

  Her confession ricocheted through him—shattering his control. With a growl, he let go with one thrust—driving up, flying, exploding.

  She cried, tightening around him, seizing him in a fiery spasm of release.

  Only long minutes later, with her body still wrapped around his and him still deep within her, did he find her lips with his own.

  With a sigh, Lara sank against him. And for the first time since she could remember, reveled in her femininity. “Ian?”

  “Hmmm…”

  She slipped her hand over his heart, felt the rumble in his chest. “Are you sure you’re not a boob man?”

  “I’m sure.” He chuckled, then kissed the top of her head. “But I’ve a feeling, over time, you’re going to change that.”

  Although he’d meant to joke, his words had a sobering effect. Tears pricked at her eyes. Over time. Without thinking, she rested her cheek against his chest. “Ian?”

  “Hmmm…”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t let our baby die.”

  NEITHER OF THEM FELT the need to leave the shower. For a long time, Lara stayed curled in Ian’s lap, enjoying the stroking and petting. She hadn’t been held like that since before she’d been six; it was even longer since she’d felt so cherished and safe.

  Soon, though, the shower had chilled to the point Lara couldn’t stop shivering. Ian wrapped her in a towel, covering her from shoulder to thigh. Not bothering with his own nakedness, he picked her up and carried her to bed.

  Both of them slipped completely under the duvet, cognizant of the fact they were being observed. If they left the hotel room now, it would raise suspicions. They were better off sleeping a few hours.

  “You smell good,” she murmured, heard him chuckle. Not caring, she took another sinful whiff. “I remember the first time I danced with you. You smelled good then, too. I was eighteen, you were what? Twenty-six? Already a Navy SEAL and full of yourself.” She smiled, remembering the stiff, white—very sexy—uniform.

  Ian’s chin drifted, rubbing her temple and cheek before finally resting against the curve of her neck. “I remember. Ten years isn’t that long.” Ian slipped the towel from Lara, shoved it out from the covers and threw it to the floor.

  His body spooned hers, giving her heat and comfort. While one hand lay protectively across her stomach, the other softly caressed her breast.

  “It was your first outing with your dad, wasn’t it? A charity event.” He rolled his hips, cupping her rear intimately against him.

  “Uh-hmm.” Lethargy slipped through her, weighing down her limbs, making her eyelids droop.

  “I noticed you, too. Too much.” Not wanting to wake her, Ian’s voice dipped to a husky murmur. “You wore a strapless black dress. With a slit up the side. I wanted to kiss every one of your freckles.” In that moment he’d changed. With light fingers, Ian eased away her hair, just enough to place a kiss on the soft hollow of her shoulder.

  It had just taken him ten years to figure it out.

  Chapter Twelve

  Friday, 1130 hours

  “Thank you for waiting, Mr. MacAlister.” Bernard placed a large safety deposit box in front of Lara //and Ian.

  “No problem.” Ian shifted forward in his chair.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to check the contents. Alone.”

  Lara moved her chair close, and waited for the door to shut. The room had similar features to a police interrogation room. Small, with no windows and one long mirror—two-way most likely. Although most interrogation rooms she’d seen didn’t have a round carved, oak wood table with six matching opal-pink velvet chairs.

  Ian inserted his key, turned it and opened the lid.

  Immediately, the scent of soap pinched at Lara’s nose. Soap?

  “Ian, the briefcase, it’s been—”

  Mr. Bernard opened the door; following him in were two men. The first one was tall, all muscle, with thinning hair cropped close to his scalp and a goatee for the badass effect. The other, Lara recognized from Sophia’s suite and then later in front of Davidenko’s elevator.

>   “That was definitely a quick moment alone, Bernard.”

  “Mr. MacAlister, I’m sorry for the interruption. My name is Joseph.” The bodyguard’s gaze drifted briefly over Ian and Lara had to hide a smile.

  The shirt, tie, pants—even Ian’s shoes were nothing more than a matte black. The only color he’d allowed was a solid gold tie clip that he’d pulled from the glove compartment of the Hummer. Otherwise, he might have been stamped from the same assembly line as Davidenko’s security.

  Joseph nodded toward his friend. “This is my associate Alexei. We’re here to escort you to the game, sir. Considering the amount of money you’re carrying, Mr. Davidenko doesn’t want any mishaps along the way.”

  Lara’s hand squeezed Ian’s thigh, stopping his response. “And if we’re not quite ready?” she asked.

  “Then we’d be glad to take your money to the casino room. The gentlemen will be gathering there in a half hour.”

  Earlier, Lara had chosen her white miniskirt and a matching sleeveless turtleneck sweater. Now she was glad she did. Under the table, she slid up the skirt hem and snagged the switchblade from her thigh.

  She hit the mechanism, covered the soft click of the blade with a cough. “Sorry.” She shrugged. Keeping her hands hidden, Lara ran the knife across her palm. The pain bit into her, but she absorbed it. Blood, warm and thick, ran through her fingers.

  “You’ll take my money?” Ian’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t think so.”

  Lara tucked the switchblade back against her thigh, then grabbed the chair and scooted back. Immediately she cried out and brought her palm out in the open. Blood oozed from a two-inch cut. “Ian—” Lara showed him the injury “—my hand caught on a nail or something under the chair.”

  “Mademoiselle, I’m so sorry.” Bernard hurried over and gave her his handkerchief. “It’s clean I promise you.”

  “Thank you.” Lara gripped the cloth and turned to Ian. “Darling, let Mr. Joseph take your money. I believe we can trust Mr. Davidenko’s associates.”

  Joseph’s dark eyes narrowed with surprise. “I can assure you, Mr. MacAlister, your money is quite safe with us.”

  “All right,” Ian handed over the briefcase. “But I’ll keep the key to the lock. After all it is a million dollars, right?”

  “I need you to sign these release forms, Joseph.” Bernard handed him some papers, then pulled a pen from his inside suit pocket. “We’re required to have documentation that you’ve taken possession again of Mr. MacAlister’s money.”

  With a quick hand, Joseph signed.

  “Tell your boss I’ll be joining him soon. After I take care of Lara’s injury.”

  Moments later, Ian and Lara were out the door and in the lobby. “Okay, Red. Are you going to tell me why you sliced your hand up?”

  “The money, it’s contaminated,” she said urgently. “We need to go to the gift shop first.”

  Like most gift shops, the Bontecou’s carried toiletries. Lara located them quickly, in the back corner.

  “Start from the top,” Ian demanded.

  “The briefcase smelled of soap.” Lara ran her gaze over the different labels until she located an antibiotic cream that held no scent.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Someone washed it. And there’s only one reason why.”

  “Are you saying the money has been treated with the Katts Smeart?”

  “Why else would the briefcase smell like soap?” She snagged the biggest tube of cream, then looked for the bandages. Her palm throbbed, but she ignored it. “Someone washed the leather sometime between last night in the desert and today.”

  “I rigged the briefcase lock, Lara. Remember? Before we checked in to the hotel. I would’ve known if anyone had tampered with it.”

  “Not if they contaminated the money before we got a hold of it in the desert,” Lara said. “The safety deposit box is theirs. They’d have access to the case.”

  Lara spotted the cashier. “Hold on.”

  Within moments, she returned with her purchases in a paper bag.

  “We need to go to the bar, Ian.” She grabbed his hand, hurried across the lobby. The bar, dark and deserted because of the early-morning hour, was perfect for privacy.

  They found a corner booth. Lara scooted in, surprised when Ian sat next to her.

  “Let me see your hand.”

  “It’s the least of our worries.” Lara showed him the cut. “We just lost our opportunity to grab the money and disappear.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken it anyway.” Ian grabbed the paper bag and took out the antibacterial cream. “There’s no guarantee that the priest or Novak used all the Katts Smeart on the money. Novak could have more. For that matter, he could be working with Davidenko.”

  “I don’t need the cream, Ian.” Lara pulled on her hand, but Ian tightened his grip.

  “The cameras don’t know that, Red. And you can bet we’re being watched.” Ian opened the tube, then squeezed the cream onto the cut. “Joseph followed Novak yesterday to the church.”

  “Joseph? For protection or surveillance?” A calloused finger brushed the inside of her wrist, sending a jolt of electricity up her arm.

  Ian glanced up when he felt the tremble, his eyes darkened with awareness. “When this is over, Red…”

  Lara nodded, not willing to risk her voice wavering.

  Ian let go and grabbed the box of bandages. He pulled one out. “Joseph could’ve killed Father Xavier after Novak and the priest parted company. Novak might not even know Father Xavier is dead.”

  “Whatever the answer, we can’t make a move until we’ve retrieved Katts Smeart and the antidote.”

  With gentle fingers, Ian placed the bandage over Lara’s cut. “The question is, how did Novak contaminate Armand’s money and why? Unless Armand was in on it, too. Novak could’ve been selling the Katts Smeart to Armand.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. The odds were pretty high that you’d use gas to knock out Novak. Remember, he was ready for you with the oxygen tube. If Armand was part of their deal, he’d have been prepared for you, too,” Ian reasoned. “No, we’re missing a key element here.”

  “Key element,” Lara repeated, then gasped. “Ian, Father Xavier said the rosary was the key.”

  Ian frowned. “The beads. He could’ve made them out of the antidote.”

  “No,” Lara answered. “I took them to a jeweler in downtown Vegas before I headed to the desert. The beads are definitely freshwater pearls.”

  “The rosary is what contaminated you. The key to your situation—”

  “But what if it’s not? What if he meant something else?” she wondered aloud, struggling to fit the puzzle pieces together.

  “Are you saying it might be a real key?”

  “If it is, we’ve been looking in the wrong place.” Lara squeezed his hand. “Father Xavier would never have put the church in danger. I’m sure of it.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But we’re running out of time. You either search Novak’s office or—”

  “The church.” Lara decided grimly. “If I run out of time, I’d rather it be at a church.”

  Ian stared at her, knowing it was her choice. “Start with the priest’s quarters, then the church. I’ll deal with the poker game. And Novak.”

  “Ian, you need to put this antibacterial cream on your hands.” Lara grabbed the tube, winced at the sting of her palm. “It might not protect you from the contaminated money, but it’s worth a shot.”

  Ian shoved the tube into his pocket.

  “If they see it, just tell them you forgot to leave it in the suite when you fixed my hand.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Red. I’ll be fine.”

  “I can’t help worrying,” Lara replied, refusing to give in to the tears that gathered behind her eyes. “The other players will be exposed. We’ll need to keep them contained.”

  “I’ll handle that.” Ian reached into his pocket, then tosse
d her his car keys. “Take the Hummer to the church and be careful.”

  Lara leaned over and allowed herself a long, lingering kiss against his lips. “Remember, when this is over…”

  “GOOD AFTERNOON, Mr. MacAlister, Miss Mercer.” Joseph greeted them the moment Ian and Lara stepped off the elevator.

  “Hello,” Lara responded, letting a slight smile tease her lips.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Mercer, but the poker game is closed to everyone except those playing. Strict rules.”

  “No worries,” Lara reassured him. “I’m just here to send my guy off in style, then go spend some of his money.”

  Joseph nodded and then raised the metal detector wand in his hand. “Do you mind?” he asked Ian.

  “Not at all,” Ian managed, then deliberately stepped toward Joseph and away from Lara.

  Joseph quickly ran the metal wand over Ian, then nodded.

  “Well, goodbye, darling.” When Ian returned to Lara’s side, she snuggled into his arms and kissed him.

  Ian felt her slip the knife in his front pocket. “Good luck,” she said.

  Ian kissed her nose. “You, too.” But expression left no doubt to his warning. Be careful.

  Lara pulled away. “You boys have fun now.” She waved, then stepped into the elevator.

  “Quite a woman.”

  Ian watched the doors close before he acknowledged Davidenko’s remark. “Yes, she is.”

  “I’m glad you could join us.” Mikhail Davidenko crossed the entry and offered his hand. Ian returned the handshake, reasonably sure that no one had touched the money yet. “What can I get you to drink?”

  Ian’s lips twitched. “Whiskey.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Davidenko said, then snapped his fingers. “Anton, please get Mr. MacAlister—”

  “Ian.”

  Mikhail studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Ian…a glass of whiskey. Straight?”

  “Yes. Make it a double.”

  “You drink whiskey like I drink vodka,” Davidenko laughed.

  Ian accepted the glass from Novak. “Good to see you again, Novak.”

  “You, too,” Novak said smoothly. “Bernard called and told me about Miss Mercer’s mishap. I hope she’s okay?”