The 9-Month Bodyguard

by Cindy Dees

  “And the couch,” she added sternly.

  His laughter rose into the night, balm to her troubled soul. “And the couch.”

  And then, as much as it was going to kill her to do it, she had to find a way to send him away from her.

  Chapter 8

  Austin stared at Silver in disbelief in the early morning light. So much for intimate morning-after pillow talk. He could not believe she’d just tried to fire him! “We’ve already been over this. Your father hired me and pays me. You can’t fire me,” he replied in a clipped tone.

  “But you said it yourself,” she argued. “We’re too involved for you to do your job effectively.”

  She might be right, but it wasn’t the real reason she was trying to dump him. He was dead certain of it. He’d come to know a thing or two about her last night, and it was clear that she was using a smaller truth to hide a bigger truth.

  Not that the smaller truth wasn’t a problem in and of itself. How in the hell was he supposed to stand in front of Harold Rothchild and explain that he had to quit this job because he’d leaped into the sack with the guy’s daughter at the first opportunity? Plus, he’d have to face General Sarkin. And wasn’t that going to be a fun ass chewing? The hell of it was that he knew better. He’d told Silver they had no business getting involved.

  But had that stopped him when she poured out her heart to him so sweetly and innocently last night? Oh, no. It had turned him on like a raging bull to think that she—Silver Rothchild—wanted and needed him that bad.

  So much for the notion of her as a plastic pop star. She’d turned out to be a flesh-and-blood woman who’d made him laugh one minute and stole his breath away with her passion and honesty the next. He’d even gotten comfortable enough with her to bare his soul over the whole business of nearly dying. And that wasn’t the sort of thing he talked about with anybody. Ever. Men in his line of work couldn’t afford to dwell on such thoughts, let alone admit to having them.

  He’d even spilled his guts about his worry that he might not get to go back out into the field if his eardrum didn’t heal. To her credit, Silver had been sympathetic about that. She’d already begged him to stop being a bodyguard, but she’d understood him well enough to grasp that his job was more than what he did. It was who he was.

  She really was a hell of a woman. Not many like her came along in any guy’s life. Especially his, where he spent months on end in the field with his social life drastically curtailed. She was the kind of woman who made a guy think about foreign concepts like commitment. Settling down. Hell, engagement rings.

  If Silver were his woman, he’d get a ring on her finger so fast it would make her head spin.

  But she wasn’t his. As much as it set his teeth on edge to remember it in the light of day, Mark Sampson had first claim on her. Except…

  He studied her speculatively across his scrambled eggs, bacon and mixed berries, minus the toast, which she’d snagged and was nibbling on cautiously at the moment.

  She did not strike him as the kind of woman who jumped into the sack with one guy while she was involved with another one. Her loyal streak ran a mile wide if he judged her correctly.

  If she and Sampson truly had anything at all going on—which he was beginning to be seriously skeptical of—she clearly didn’t consider it to be much of a relationship with Bubba.

  Silver startled him by pushing her chair back abruptly. “I’ve got to go get ready,” she announced, making a beeline for the second bathroom.

  He poured himself a cup of coffee and strolled out to the pool to drink it in the clear, sharp morning light. If she and Bubba weren’t an official and exclusive item, then that meant the field of battle was open to other players. He’d be a damned fool to pursue her for himself…but he might just be a bigger fool not to.

  The porcelain bottom of his coffee mug gleamed white, and still no solution to his quandary presented itself to him. However, he’d come to the reluctant conclusion that his problem was actually very simple. He wanted Silver for himself. He could absolutely take her away from Bubba if he tried. But the thing was, should he? Was it the best thing for her, or was it grossly selfish of him to go after her?

  “Ready to go?”

  Silver’s voice startled him. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard her approach him from behind. “Uh. Yeah. Let me go get my SIG Sauer.”

  “Your what?”

  “My SIG Sauer. My sidearm.” As incomprehension remained on her face, he added, “My pistol.”

  Comprehension dawned. Either that or a random shadow had just obscured the brilliant azure of her gaze. “I’m serious. Austin. I’m going to talk to my father today and ask him to remove you from my protection.”

  Pain and frustration slammed into him. “What flimsy reason are you going to give me next? The fact that I carry a gun? Why don’t you just come clean and admit you want me off this case because you’re embarrassed about last night and want to get rid of me?”

  She murmured in a husky half whisper that sent shivers up and down his spine, “I don’t want to get rid of you. Exactly the opposite, in fact.”

  Huh? He stared at her, confused.

  She continued. “Isn’t it obvious why I want you off my security? Austin, I’d die if something bad happened to you because of me.”

  Beneath his exasperation, a kernel of something warm and…and happy…sprouted. She cared about him? Enough to push him away to see him safe? Son of a gun.

  More calmly, he responded, “If you send me away, I’ll just go back to another bodyguarding job. Most likely someone in a hell of a lot more dangerous situation than you’re in. My odds of dying will go up dramatically.”

  “Yes, but then it wouldn’t be my fault. Like I said last night, I couldn’t live with it if you died for me.”

  He shrugged. “This life is my choice. I’m responsible for the results of my job. No one else. Me. Not you.”

  “Sorry. Not buying it. In my mind, it would be my fault—no matter what you say.”

  “Stubborn woman.”

  “Mule-headed man.”

  “Wench.”

  “Jerk.”

  He did a quick flip with his hands to toss her grip off his forearms and pulled her against him too fast for her to protest. “I love you, too, darlin’.”

  He closed his eyes and kissed her before she could reply. Before he could see if she took his words at face value or treated them as a joke. Hell, he didn’t know if he meant them or not. They’d just slipped out. Lord knew, she was the kind of woman he’d have no trouble loving. None at all.

  She relaxed into him, melting against him, her mouth opening under his. Welcoming him in, her tongue coaxing him to come and play in their own private garden of sensual delight.

  And maybe that was answer enough for now. She definitely enjoyed being with him and was clearly hungry for more of what they’d shared through most of last night. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to read the little sounds she was making in the back of her throat. She’d be all kinds of amenable to turning their one-night stand into a two-nighter…or more.

  That did it. Mark Sampson was history. This woman was entirely too special, too spectacular for a guy like Sampson. Silver Rothchild was his, effective now.

  They’d figure out the details later. She’d get used to his work once she realized how good he was at it. He’d take more time off and be with her every chance he got. He was all over coming home on leave if he had someone like her to come home to.

  Exultation filled his heart as he gave in to the inevitable. The two of them were meant to be. She might not have realized it in her head yet, but her body recognized him as her true mate. It was only a matter of time until her conscious caught up with her subconscious.

  He could be patient. He’d give her time to adjust to the idea of the two of them. Plus, it would give him time to show Sampson the score and run him off—far, far away from Silver. The worst of it was going to be restraining his protectiv
e impulses enough not to drive Silver crazy. She was no big fan of restrictions on her life. Not that he blamed her after having met Harold Rothchild and having seen firsthand how the press hounded her.

  He lifted his mouth away from hers and gazed down at her. “Have I told you this morning how beautiful and special you are?” She blinked up at him rapidly. If he wasn’t mistaken, those were tears pooling in her eyes. “Hey, why the tears?”

  She batted away the moisture, smiling up at him. “You’re the most amazing man.”

  He dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose. “And don’t you forget it, either.”

  “Amazingly arrogant.”

  “Amazingly confident,” he corrected.

  She gazed up at him, emotions racing through her eyes too quickly to name. But most of them looked good for the home team. Hope spiraled through him. By golly, the two of them might just pull off this miracle together.

  His voice inexplicably gruff, he muttered, “C’mon. Let’s get going. You don’t want to be late to your first day of work.”

  She shook herself out of her thoughts and nodded. “You’re right. The new Silver is responsible and on time.”

  “I like you just the way you are, darlin’. Don’t change a thing.”

  As he paused in front of the door to peer out the peephole, she murmured behind him, “Keep telling me that, and I might just believe you one of these days.”

  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned broadly. “You’ve got it.”

  Silver stared thoughtfully at Austin’s back as he led the way down the hall to the elevator. What had gotten into him this morning? He’d been so quiet. And so thoughtful toward her. Not that she was complaining. Thoughtful was almost as new an experience for her as multiple orgasms—of which she was now a proud veteran of several. Yes, it had been a long and informative night.

  It was darned hard not to be more than a little shocked by him and what he’d taught her about pleasure and about her body. She literally felt like a new woman this morning.

  The elevator door slid open, and after checking to be sure it was empty, he held it for her to step inside. She moved to the back automatically, and he took his place in front of her, a veritable wall of muscle. She couldn’t resist. She reached out and ran her hands down the long, powerful V of his back, every contour of the expanse as familiar to her now as her own body.

  “Silver—” he rumbled warningly. “I’m working.”

  “So stop working for a minute. We’re alone in an elevator. What can possibly happen to me in here?”

  “It’s about being alert. In the moment. I have to be ready for anything.”

  “Mmm. I like the sound of that.”

  He threw a glare over his shoulder at her that lacked any real heat. “You’re incorrigible.”

  She grinned up at him. “I’ve been called worse.”

  He grinned back at her reluctantly. She thought he might have started to turn toward her with a kiss on his mind, but the elevator dinged just then to announce its arrival on Subfloor 1. He whipped back around to face the door, danger abruptly pouring off of him as he stepped outside.

  “Clear,” he announced briskly.

  She slipped in close behind him as he walked swiftly down the basement hallway. They used the orchestra entrance to the Grand Theater, winding through various practice rooms for the musicians and out to the actual pit where they sat unseen during shows. Austin moved up the narrow steps to the main stage and she followed him, admiring the view.

  “There you are, snookums. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  She winced at both the nickname and the aggravated tone. Bub—Mark. “Good morning to you, too,” she replied evenly.

  “What the hell have you been doing all this time? Where were you? Were you with him?” Mark’s whining was quickly giving way to strident jealousy.

  She answered vaguely, “Austin took me someplace safe while the police sorted out what happened yesterday.”

  “Did they catch the shooter?” Mark asked urgently. She couldn’t tell if it was just a case of his usual nosiness or if that was fear vibrating in his voice.

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Austin took care of everything.” Speaking of Austin, she smiled over at him, and his eyes lit with an answering smile.

  Mark looked back and forth between the two of them and thunder gathered on his brow. It didn’t take long for the storm to break. About a second-and-a-half. For some reason, this morning his tirade bugged the living heck out of her. She usually let it roll off her back. But today, she saw Mark through Austin’s eyes—and the view was not pleasant.

  What was she going to do with him? She couldn’t get rid of him, but she couldn’t stand being around him, either. How much would it cost to just buy him off? He was desperate to get his hands on wealth and fame, and if she gauged him correctly, he didn’t care how he got either.

  His initial plan had clearly been to marry her. She’d been stunned when he’d proposed to her barely two weeks into their arrangement. That was the day he’d popped the ‘little lady couldn’t raise a rugrat by herself’ line on her, in fact. It had also been the day she’d made it crystal clear that she never intended to become romantically involved with him.

  Would a million dollars do the trick?

  She wasn’t made entirely of money, and that was no small sum to her, but if it would make him quietly disappear, it might be worth it.

  Usually Mark ran out of things to yell at her about by now, but this morning, he seemed inspired to new heights of ranting and raving by Austin’s presence. She had to give Mark credit. He had being a bastard down to a fine science. Absently, she gazed around the stage, estimating its dimensions and playing with various possibilities for using the space in her show.

  Mark continued to yell, and she registered the various stagehands and technicians drifting off to places unseen. Which was just as well. It was embarrassing having to stand here and take this.

  If he’d been mad at her for worrying him sick or for not letting him know right away that she was okay, she might have had more sympathy for his tantrum. But as it was, he was chewing her out for choosing the other bodyguard over him and making him look bad. She was appalled when the phrase “selfish pig” actually floated through her head.

  What on God’s green Earth had she been thinking to choose him to be the father of her baby?

  Speaking of the other bodyguard, Austin stood in the wings of the theater, his arms crossed. At first, he’d seemed amused, possibly even pleased, by Mark’s truculent behavior. He probably got a kick out of Mark showing his true stripes to her. Not that she needed the demonstration to know that Austin was exactly right about Sampson.

  But now, as Bubba’s tantrum wore on, a black scowl had settled on Austin’s brow. Apparently, his patience had its limits, too. She knew the feeling.

  She noted that in spite of his apparent irritation, Austin’s gaze still roved everywhere, never settling in any one place for more than a few seconds. She got the distinct impression he wasn’t missing a thing that was going on in every last corner of the cavernous theater. At least one of her bodyguards was doing his job.

  A few stagehands still milled around, repairing and touching up the current stage set—part of a traditional Vegas production with lines of showgirls and a vaguely over-the-hill headliner act. Would that be her fate? To do occasional gigs in Vegas for her aging fans? She was so sick of all the phony glitz and glamour. Why couldn’t she just do what Austin suggested and come out on stage and sing her songs?

  “Silver? Are you listening to me?” Mark snapped.

  “Yes, Mark. I’m listening,” she replied dryly. “I believe you left off at ‘what the hell do I see in that arrogant bastard?’”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the upward quirk of Austin’s mouth. He was certainly chipper this morning, especially given how little sleep he’d gotten last night after a very long journey the day before. At least he’d gotten to eat and enjoy a hearty brea
kfast this morning. She hadn’t managed to get down more than a slice of dry toast, and even that had come right back up. It had been a close thing to make it to the bathroom before she’d turned green and started heaving.

  Speaking of her non-breakfast, all of a sudden, she was ravenously hungry—light-headedly so. Mark could really quit yelling at her any time now. The beginning of a headache commenced throbbing in her temples.

  Thankfully, Saul bustled out on stage just then, and the number of visible stagehands suddenly picked up considerably. And even more thankfully, Mark finally shut up.

  Saul glanced down at his watch and she did the same. Hah. She was not only on time, but she’d gotten here a few minutes early. He sounded faintly surprised when he said, “Silver Girl. Glad you could make it.”

  “I said I’d be here. I keep my word these days,” she replied evenly.

  That earned her a thoughtful look. Then, without further comment, he launched into a tour of the upgraded features the stage had acquired in the past few years. She’d be interested to see what the lighting guys could do with that digital laser system when it came time to design that part of the show.

  Mark tagged along, making snarky comments, until Silver finally turned to him and snapped, “Mark, this is my job. If you can’t keep your nose out of it, go somewhere else.”

  He puffed up, offended, but shut his mouth and disappeared for the remainder of the tour. Unfortunately, when she stepped out to center stage once more, walking through various options for dance numbers and staging with Saul, he reappeared and started up again.

  “Let’s get out of here, babycakes. You’ve got the money to hire other folks to do all this work for you. There’s no need for you to stand around here all day. You’ve seen it, now let’s go. I made a reservation for us at La Bamba for lunch.”

  That got her attention. La Bamba Cantina was paparazzi central, with big windows that gave ridiculously easy access to photographers with telephoto lenses. More to the point, a sniper would have a clear shot at her anywhere in the place, too.

  “Mark, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go someplace that public to eat. After the attack yesterday—”