Guarding His Body Read online

  “I, I don’t think that’s necessary,” she stammered.

  “You are on m—our time, Madame. I want to make sure we get our money’s worth from this engagement.”

  “It’s not as though I live across the ocean, Monsieur,” she shot back, stressing the title slightly. “If I forget something, I can go back and get it quite easily.”

  “I expect you to be here twenty-four hours by seven days. That is the condition of our agreement.”

  “And I only live ten minutes away!”

  They stood, glaring at each other. Finally, he dropped his gaze, flicking a glance at his watch. “It is now ten-thirty. We will have a briefing at eleven-thirty to explain my—and Monsieur Aubrac’s—requirements. Will that give you enough time to move your things?”

  He made it sound as though whatever she did was of no consequence, and Helen gritted her teeth. If only she didn’t need this job so badly. And only an hour to get home, pack, come back, and then attend a meeting? If it was anybody else, she would have asked for extra time—even an additional thirty minutes would do—but she was not going to request any favours from this arrogant foreigner. Not when he had made it abundantly clear that he and his employer had essentially bought her, round the clock, for two weeks.

  “More than enough,” she replied. “In which case, I should be on my way now.” She lifted an eyebrow in as haughty a manner as she could manage, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Bien. We’ll see you in one hour.”

  * * * *

  “Of all the arrogant,” Helen threw a pair of trousers into the smallest suitcase she could find, “inconsiderate,” two blouses, “arrogant,” she repeated, her hand bunching the material of a dress she held. She looked at it, took a deep breath, and turned the suitcase upside down, dumping the contents back on her bed. This was not, she admitted ruefully, a mature way to deal with the situation.

  Smoothing the dress, she started again, quickly folding it into one neat flat bundle and placing it at the bottom of her case. Her hands worked methodically, folding and placing, while her mind raced.

  Maybe Ryan should be the one she slow-roasted over an open fire. After all, he was the one who got her into this mess in the first place. But she had dived in willingly, seduced by the thought of so much money for only a few days’ work. She picked a sun-dress from her closet, looked at it critically, then folded it and added it to the growing pile in the bag. She had better stop before she overstuffed it. All that was left was to pack some lingerie, and that was it, and all—she glanced quickly at the wall clock—just before eleven o’clock, too. She should make it back to the meeting in plenty of time.

  But when Helen got to the drawer of her dresser, and pulled it open, she paused, looking at its contents in dismay. There was nothing frivolous or frilly in anything she owned—the underwear was comfortable and cotton, in a variety of dusky tones, none of which screamed sexy to anyone, and her bras were serviceable and staid, bought to look unobtrusive under a variety of clothes.

  She slowly sank onto the corner of her bed. Not a fire-engine red teddy, thong, or low-cut lacy bra in sight. Just a crush of sensible items, pushed chaotically into a drawer. Nothing to draw and seduce a member of the opposite sex. Not that she disliked sex. As a matter of fact, she enjoyed it very much. It was just that the men she had dated so far seemed more interested in dominating her completely in bed, as if that somehow balanced the relationship between them. She thought she would have liked to fall in love with a romantic—a man with steady eyes and a calm and gentle manner—but, in truth, such men were the first to run away from her, misreading her self-confidence as arrogance. The only men who weren’t afraid to approach her were overbearing and over-confident, two traits that definitely turned her off.

  So, why then, when the irritating Mr. Nerin seemed to fit into that category so well, was she disappointed that she had nothing vampish to take with her to Heritage House? It couldn’t be that she actually wanted him to run his lean fingers over her body, could it? She shook her head in dismay. What would Ryan say if he knew what she was thinking? He had set her up for the assignment of a lifetime, and all she could think of was jumping into bed with her employer’s assistant! This was not the way a professional behaved.

  Helen blindly scooped up an armful of items from the drawer and dumped it on top of the case, zipping it shut. She was not going to indulge in fantasies of doing the wild thing with assistant Nerin while she was staying at Heritage House, she told herself as she checked that the windows were securely closed and took the large, creaky elevator to the ground floor. She found a taxi at the nearby rank and settled back in the seat as it sped its way to the centre of the city. She was not going to let him get under her skin so easily. She was going to behave like the consummate professional she knew herself to be. She was going to get through the two weeks, skip away with a fat cheque in her hands and move to Byron Bay with a light heart and a clear head.

  The trip took less time than she wanted but longer than she needed, and time was ticking as she was shown to one of the downstairs suites. She didn’t even have time to take a proper look around. She dropped her case on the carpeted floor and ran up the stairs, knocking on that dreaded meeting room door with a little less than five minutes to spare. There was a moment’s pause, which gave her time to catch her breath, before she was asked to enter.

  The furniture had been moved to the room’s original configuration, and the large rectangular table was back to its dominating position in the middle of the room. At one end, Guy sat, with Mr. Nerin at his side. Did they mean for her to walk the length of the table and sit close to them? Helen was afraid she’d be much too close to Guy Aubrac’s assistant if she did that so, with an inclination of her head, she took the chair at the opposite end. A gleam of amusement glinted in Nerin’s eye before disappearing quickly.

  “We should get the protocols sorted out first,” he began, with not even an acknowledgement that she had arrived on time. Damn the man, but she should start remembering that he was going to be a huge disappointment if she expected anything from him that remotely resembled manners.

  “During our stay here, we want to fit into the local scenery as much as possible.”

  Really? Although Guy Aubrac was an attractive man, and would undoubtedly garner some feminine attention wherever he went, Mr. Nerin was another matter completely. He had roughly the same chance of disappearing into the woodwork as a Bird of Paradise in a hen-house.

  “So, from now on, we will try to dispense with the French formalities. While you will continue calling, er, your employer ‘Mr. Aubrac’, you may call me, Yves.”

  Yves. She rolled it around her head, liking the way he drew the pronunciation of his name out and noting how easily it could be whispered in the heat of passion. The sudden thought made her flush, and it deepened when she noticed a blue gaze locked onto hers. She cleared her throat and shifted in her chair.

  “That sounds fine.” She tested the two titles out aloud. “Mr. Aubrac. Yves.”

  “Do you have any questions for us?” Yves asked, a dark eyebrow lifting.

  Of course she had questions. As a security escort, she should be full of questions. Up till now, Ryan had handled that side of the business, roping her in when he needed extra hands, or someone to relieve him. She thought furiously of the kinds of questions the head of a security firm might ask.

  “What brings you to Brisbane, Mr. Aubrac?” she asked, making her voice sound brisk but friendly. “It’s a long way from France.”

  “We are looking at business interests here,” he answered with a smile. “M-my firm is thinking of expanding into this region, and we are due to hold a series of meetings over the next two weeks with a company called Tec–”

  “Is knowing the name of a company with which we are thinking of doing business of critical need to you, Ms. Collier?” Yves interrupted.

  “Please,” she said, “call me Helen.”

  He nodded but stayed quiet, waiting f
or an answer.

  “I think that’s a most relevant detail,” she hesitated briefly, “Yves. Ensuring your safety while you are out near Alice Springs, inspecting an installation of some kind, for example, would need a different strategy to, say, buying a bank in the middle of the city.”

  Yves looked at her while his fingers drummed the top of the table, then his shoulders relaxed. “Very well. We’re here to speak with the managers of a company called Tech-88. Have you heard of them?”

  She shook her head.

  “They are a small but promising software company with several lucrative contracts in this region. We aim to offer them a partnership, capital and exposure to the European market in return for a foothold here in the Asia-Pacific region.”

  “And they’re based here in Brisbane?”

  “That’s correct.”

  It all sounded very logical, but Helen hadn’t thought of the computer software business as being so cut-throat before. What other reason was there for hiring a bodyguard for what was only supposed to be a series of meetings?

  “You must have rivals then?” she suggested, following her train of thought.

  “Rivals?” Yves looked affronted, as if nobody dared compete with him. “There may be, but they’re irrelevant to the current negotiations.”

  She frowned. “No competition hoping to,” she made an ironing gesture with her hand, “rub you out?”

  “Rub—?” His face cleared. “Oh, you mean wishing to injure us? No, I believe we’re quite safe from any potential competitors.”

  “Then why, Mr. Aubrac,” she asked deliberately, “are you employing me?”

  Both sets of male eyes snapped to her.

  “You’ve just told me that you have no competitors for this deal,” she explained. “And I seriously doubt a bunch of manic programmers are about to hunt you down with microchips. So why do you need me for your security work?”

  “Because,” Guy Aubrac started blinking hard and sent an entreating look to his assistant, “that is–”

  “Mr. Aubrac is a very successful businessman,” Yves interjected smoothly. “This deal may not pose any personal danger to him, but there could be people from previous negotiations, who wish him harm. Sore losers, I believe you term them.”

  The man had all the answers, Helen concluded. He was quick and glib, but there was something still not right about the whole situation. Could she imagine a man like Aubrac ruthlessly conducting business deals, so much so that a rival might be tempted to harm him? No, she couldn’t. Guy Aubrac was a serious young man, but he was pleasant and even a bit breezy, when he wasn’t looking perplexed or confused. If anybody had to fear for his life, it was someone like Yves Nerin, with his clipped, no-nonsense tone and haughty manner. She could very easily imagine the driving urge to get revenge on Yves—without even thinking of business rivals, a whole gaggle of ex-girlfriends probably made it part of their daily affirmation before they put their make-up on.

  “So what exactly will my duties entail?” she asked.

  “Of course, we will want you to accompany Mr. Aubrac on his meetings with the management of Tech-88.”

  “Of course,” she murmured.

  “And, other than that, I shall direct you in whatever tasks are necessary.”

  “You?” She tried—failed—to keep thick reluctance from her voice. “But aren’t I employed by Mr. Aubrac? Shouldn’t I be taking orders from him?”

  Meanwhile, the object of her objection sat there, silent and mesmerised, watching the match between her and Yves with open fascination.

  “You forget, Helen.” A shiver danced up her spine as he spoke her name softly. “I am Mr. Aubrac’s personal assistant. I am the one who plans his day, down to the last second.”

  Helen gazed into his eyes and knew when she was defeated. “I understand.”

  “Were there any other questions?” he asked.

  “I’m sure we can discuss further details later on.” She got to her feet. “If you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll go unpack my case.”

  With a sigh of relief, she let herself out of the room and headed for the stairs. But her peace wasn’t to last long. A set of quick, muffled steps dogged her, and she groaned inwardly. That could only be one of two people, and she doubted it was the affable Mr. Aubrac. She tried to ignore the male presence behind her as she headed for her ground-floor suite, hoping he was on his way to the kitchen with some special order for lunch or something. His footsteps disappeared in the opposite direction.

  That was only a temporary reprieve, she told herself. Remember not to lose your temper. This man obviously has the power to terminate your contract, and that’s the last thing you want to happen.

  She slid open the door to her suite and walked down the timber-lined corridor. The passage opened into a large living/dining area, decorated with heavy timber furniture that gleamed from the amount of polishing it had obviously undergone. Protecting the top of the solid dining table was a thick piece of glass. The living room furniture consisted of overstuffed sofas. They were designed in the traditional style, but the leather was soft and supple, and they looked cosy and comfortable. Next to the dining area was a small kitchen and, from a brief glance, it looked fully-stocked. Warm-hued tea towels hung from a series of hooks at its entrance, just above the breakfast bar.

  Helen looked to her left, out to the garden, river and a cityscape of Brisbane. The view, already lovely, would look breathtaking at night, with the lights from the tall office buildings sparkling like giant columns of fairy lights. The large living area narrowed into another corridor at the far end, and three doors led off it—two bedrooms and a bathroom. Helen hadn’t been in the bathroom yet but, if the rest of the suite was any indication, she was sure it would be well-appointed and opulent. She entered the bedroom that overlooked the garden, and sighed as she took in the large French windows and wide verandah. Two squatter’s chairs were already positioned outside in welcome, the frames made of solid timber, the upholstery a textured, creamy ivory, and the wooden leg-rests were swung out, waiting for a relaxation-minded guest. Maybe later she would try one out.

  But, for now, her case lay discarded on the coverlet of a four-poster king-sized bed, looking tiny and forlorn. She smiled and unzipped the top flap, lifted an armful of the lingerie she had thrown in last, turned to the dresser...and froze in shock.

  Watching her—leaning against the door jamb as if he had nothing better to do—was Yves himself. He looked around the room, as if admiring the interior decoration, and gave her a lazy smile. Helen’s heart thumped hard in her chest, and she closed her eyes when she realised exactly what she held in her arms. Of course, he would have to be there in time to see the dowdy and sensible underclothes she chose for herself. She knew she should have been indignant—he hadn’t even so much as knocked at the entrance to her suite or otherwise indicated he was invading her territory—but, instead, she was sorely embarrassed. She snapped open her eyes. Damn. He was still there.

  Turning away, she bent over and jiggled a dresser drawer open with one hand, dumped in her lingerie unceremoniously, and closed the drawer with a thud. If she was trying to send him a message, he blithely ignored it.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

  “This suite is very nice,” he said, making a show of looking around. She took advantage of the fact he turned to scan the living room to slip past him, forcing him to continue the conversation in a less intimate room.

  “Was there something I could help you with, er, Yves?” That name sounded too personal, too intimate on her lips.

  “I thought I could help carry your case,” he said with a careless shrug. “It might have been heavy.”

  She blinked at him in disbelief. She had hit this man—three times—sent him crashing against the wall and then to the floor. She had put her hand around his throat, partially choking his air supply. She had moved furniture around in the meeting room. And he was here, offering help to lift a small suitcase
? She didn’t know whether to be insulted or amused.

  A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

  “I only brought enough for a week,” she replied, feeling a bit more relaxed. “The case wasn’t that heavy.”

  He nodded, but still made no move to leave.

  “Was there something else?” she asked.

  His mind was lost somewhere else. She knew it, because he took such a long time to answer her—well, long for him, especially when she was already used to his rapid-fire responses. He focused slowly back on her then cleared his throat self-consciously, and that somehow made him seem more human and even slightly endearing.

  “I just wanted to tell you that you are free for the rest of the day while G–Mr. Aubrac and I finalise the meeting schedule with Tech-88. A buffet lunch will be served in the garden. What are you doing for dinner?” he asked suddenly.

  “Dinner. I hadn’t really thought about it.” The morning had passed in such a whirlwind that Helen was sure it was a harbinger of the days to come. She wasn’t expecting to have much time to herself.

  “Then it’s agreed. You’ll join me for dinner. Shall we say, seven o’clock?”

  “Join you?” There he went again. Just when Helen was starting to warm to him, he turned all arrogant European on her and made her want to hit him. Again.

  “Mais oui. We will be working together, will we not? Surely it’s best for us to get along for the duration of this assignment?”

  “What about Mr. Aubrac? Won’t he be expecting—”

  “Mr. Aubrac usually prefers to dine alone,” Yves interjected smoothly.

  Helen wasn’t convinced. “I don’t think—”

  He stepped close, and she could smell him again, that intriguing mix of after-shave and Yves. Helen knew she should push him away, avoiding him like she did in the meeting room upstairs, but she was rooted to the spot.