Guarding His Body Read online

  Helen’s anger simmered. Which made their little dinner and tryst together…what? Slumming it with one of the natives?

  The two young men at the corner made a gesture of impatience, and Helen cut her friend short. “I’ve got to go, Sue. I’ll give you a call. Soon.”

  She thought furiously as she strolled back to the men, deliberately ignoring the two at the corner of the shop. Heading back that way was out of the question. She didn’t want to walk further along the strip either; the young men would follow them. Maybe they could avoid a confrontation altogether? Helen looked across the road but, just then, a group of uniformed children arrived, obviously on their way back to school after a play in the park.

  “I think it would be better if we walked further along the shops,” she said with a smile, but Yves picked up on the note of strain in her voice.

  “Is something the matter?” he asked, his gaze boring into hers.

  “Maybe.”

  To their credit, both men took the news in stride, rising easily from their chairs and even chatting as they walked away. Helen laughed at an opportune moment, and tracked the other two in the reflection of the shops’ plate glass windows. Not only were they following, but they were gaining on them.

  There was no time to call the police—they would arrive too late to be any good—and no empty taxis nearby to conveniently slip into. Helen hated having to resort to this, always preferring to pre-emptively move out of danger rather than having to confront it directly, but she had no choice. Seeing a side passage between two shops, she directed the men down there.

  When their would-be attackers followed, Helen was ready.

  She had already moved back to position at the foot of the passage, and as the first youth hurried around the corner, a grin of anticipation still on his face, she punched him, low and hard, in the gut, before throwing him against a wall. The second one, now warned, tried to rush her, but a check kick to his knee stopped him. Helen struck him a few times—body and head—and bent low enough to spin and deliver an uppercut to the first man, who had recovered from the throw. Both attackers hit the ground almost at the same time.

  “I’ve got to call the police,” Helen said hurriedly, pulling her mobile out of her back pocket, but an iron grasp on her wrist stopped her.

  “Non!”

  She looked into the deep blue of Yves’ eyes with disbelief. “I’ve got to call the police,” she repeated.

  “Non. We will leave.” One of the men on the ground started groaning. “I shall explain when we get home.”

  “You bet you will,” Helen conceded bitterly, putting her phone away with one brutal movement. “And I’m looking forward to your story, Monsieur de Saint Nerin.”

  Chapter Six

  It took forty minutes, which was forty minutes longer than she liked, before they were back in the meeting room where Helen’s interview had originally been conducted. Yves had insisted that she take a shower and change before they even discussed what had happened, something she was reluctantly grateful for, and there was already hot tea, coffee and a plate of sandwiches waiting for her when she entered. She was too incensed to care that her hair was still damp or that there were spots of bright red on her scrubbed cheeks. She hated being played for a fool, and that was something Yves had managed to do within minutes of meeting her.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked first, rising quickly and moving towards her. He reached for her hands and inspected her knuckles, but there were no bruises on her fair skin, just a redness along the back of her right hand that would disappear soon.

  Helen snatched back her hands and seated herself with a mutinous purse of her lips. “I’m fine. Why didn’t you let me call the police?”

  “You know who I am,” he remarked, ignoring the question. “I presume the friend you met near the cafe told you.”

  “Yes, indeed.” There was a slight hiss to her answer. “She was only too happy to inform me that my ‘client’ is actually my client’s secretary.” She looked at Guy in enquiry and, abashed, he nodded. “And that my real client is a very wealthy Frenchman by the name of Yvegeny de Saint Nerin.”

  “Oui. That is true.” He looked completely unperturbed.

  “And when were you going to inform me of that fact?” Helen demanded.

  “Soon,” he replied evenly.

  She wasn’t convinced. “I bet,” she muttered. “So would you care to explain what happened back there?”

  “Alexandrov,” Guy said.

  Yves nodded. “Oui, I think so, too.”

  Helen looked from one man to the other. “Who’s Alexandrov?”

  “A very ruthless businessman.”

  “Is there any other kind?” Her tone was crisp and tart.

  Yves looked at her sharply. “Whatever you may think of my deception, Helen, at least I don’t go around threatening my rivals with physical violence.”

  “Is that what he did to you?” Helen should have been aghast, but she had heard too many similar stories over the years to feel surprised.

  “If he only restricted himself to threats against me, I could cope. But he threatened my family, also.”

  Helen saw a quick expression of cold fury shift across Yves’ face and shivered. She wouldn’t ever want to be on the other side of that reaction from him.

  “Your family?”

  Yves looked too angry to continue, so Guy stepped in with the explanation. “The villa of Monsieur’s sister in Lyon caught on fire a few days before our departure for Australia.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Helen asked, stunned. Business rivalry was one thing, but when someone deliberately targeted bystanders, that was unforgivable.

  “Luckily, my sister and her children fled the house before they were harmed,” Yves told her. “However, her husband holds me responsible for putting them in danger in the first place. And,” he finished grimly, “I don’t blame him.”

  “Is that why you’re in Australia?” she asked slowly, putting two and two together in her head. “To avoid Alexandrov?”

  Yves smiled briefly in appreciation. “You’re a very astute woman, Helen. Yes, I was afraid Alexandrov might continue to harass those close to me if I remained. He appears to work best with an audience, so I determined to deny him one.”

  “And what about the deal with Tech-88?”

  “That is legitimate business. I just moved the timetable forward several weeks.”

  Helen absently reached for one of the sandwiches on the plate in front of her, munching on it thoughtfully.

  “I still don’t think I understand,” she remarked. “What will two weeks in Australia achieve if this Alexandrov person has already managed to track you here?”

  She supposed a logical enough course of action would be to fly back to France which, after all, was home territory for Yves. She didn’t want him to leave, realised with a sharp pang that, despite his deception, there was still something about this man that she found irresistible, but she wouldn’t be doing her job as someone hired to protect him, if she failed to mention a viable option for them both. How could she live with herself if she didn’t mention it, and something happened to him?

  “He can’t be sure,” Yves explained. “I had to shake Alexandrov up by going some place he didn’t expect me to be. My only disappointment is that he managed to track Guy and I so quickly. I was hoping we would have at least a week of peace before something happened.”

  So that’s what he meant when he spoke of a little peace during their evening together.

  All we have is a little time before chaos descends on us, Helen. Within a few days, news will no doubt spread that a European company is seeking a partnership with an Australian firm. And, when that happens, attention may well fall on our little party, and you may be forced to earn every euro of that paycheque we’ve given you, hm?

  He hadn’t really been referring to the partnership when he spoke of attention falling on them. He was referring to Alexandrov. And she had certainly earned her day’s pay by quickly
despatching their two attackers an hour ago.

  “Why did you stop me contacting the police?” she asked. “I thought you’d want more protection, considering Alexandrov’s tracked you down sooner than you anticipated.”

  “I know from my police contacts in Europe that they’re building a case against Leonid Alexandrov. They are very close to gathering all the evidence they need.” He lifted a jet black eyebrow. “It appears I am not the only person he has made it his business to harass. But I also know that Alexandrov has his own friends in high places. I came to Australia so my family would remain safe. But I cannot tell the police that I’m here and need protection because then I will be formally identified. The police will track my movements–”

  “–and keep the police in Europe informed, and Alexandrov will be able to pin down where you are more accurately,” she finished and blushed at the smile of delight he shot her.

  “Exactement. Of course, it works both ways. Do we know for sure that those two young thugs came from him? Non. But, on the other hand, does he now know for sure that someone from my party despatched them? A woman, with two men? Non, again.”

  “So what do we do now?” she asked. “My personal recommendation would be to leave. Tonight.”

  “Leave Heritage House?” Guy asked.

  Helen shook her head. “Leave Brisbane completely. Go someplace else where he won’t be able to track you so easily.”

  “I will not do that,” Yves interrupted. “I think the risk of staying here is acceptable.”

  Helen disagreed. “I don’t. You’ve already said that this man tried to harm your sister and family and that he’s wanted by police all over Europe. Why would you think it’s an acceptable risk to remain where he can easily track you down?”

  “I’m sure it will take a while for him to learn of what has happened to his messengers. And, as I said, we’re not completely sure that those men came from him.”

  “They knew you when they saw you,” Helen said darkly. “I saw the expressions on their faces. Alexandrov might have even sent them pictures of you, just so they’d be sure. In fact,” she added, looking around quickly, “we don’t know that they didn’t follow us from Heritage House. Just because I didn’t notice them before, doesn’t mean they weren’t around.”

  Her voice was bitter. Already she felt she had failed in her assignment. She’d had time to think about it while she’d showered the events of the morning from her skin. How would two people, obviously looking for Yves and Guy, know that they would be in New Farm? They wouldn’t, unless they followed them from Heritage House in the first place. And whose fault was it that they weren’t spotted at that point? Hers, of course. Hers, because that was what she was paid for and, instead of concentrating on her job, she was reliving wonder moments in bed with her client. Not even the client’s secretary, but the client himself. At that moment, Helen wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole.

  “Speaking of which, I’d like to commend you on your actions,” Yves said to her, breaking into her morbid thoughts.

  Helen looked up, alarmed. Was he making fun of her? But his face was serious, and his voice sounded sincere.

  Guy shook his head in wonder. “You took care of them.” He snapped his fingers. “In seconds. One moment, they were coming around the corner. And the next—poof!—they were two marionnettes on the ground with their strings cut.”

  “You handled them most competently, Helen,” Yves added. “The reputation of Mr. Greenwood is not overstated.”

  Ryan! As if her situation weren’t bad enough, what would Ryan say, knowing how badly she had messed up. Maybe it was just as well she was making so much money out of Yves, because she was sure Ryan would never trust her with such an important assignment again.

  “I still think you should leave,” she said stubbornly. “It’s obvious to me that they already know you’re here. And you really don’t know how long it will take before Alexandrov tries again.”

  “The man already has enough on his plate,” Yves replied. “I’m sure we’ll be left alone, maybe even long enough to conclude our negotiations.”

  “You’re being stupid.”

  The words hung in the air between them, and Helen felt a white-hot shaft of fury directed at her, searing her with its touch. Oh my. She had just managed to make an enemy of Yves de Saint Nerin, one of the richest men in Europe, according to what Sue told her.

  Yves didn’t even turn his head. “Guy, leave us.”

  The young assistant hurried from the room, throwing Helen a sympathetic look from behind Yves’ back.

  “So,” Yves said silkily when the door clicked shut and they were alone, “would you care to repeat what you just said?”

  “You’re pinning all your hopes for safety on me,” Helen argued in half-desperation. “Thanks for your confidence, but I can’t replace round-the-clock police escorts, nor can I stay awake twenty-four hours a day. If you won’t go to the police—”

  “It is my opinion that would make things worse,” he cut in.

  “–or leave Brisbane—”

  “Again, that is not possible. I have legitimate business here.”

  “–then why not hire another of Ryan’s security escorts? Then there will be two of us looking after you instead of one. It would certainly make me feel better,” she added.

  He paused at that, leaning back while he considered her words.

  “I don’t want to bring another person into this,” he said finally to her continuing exasperation. “Already, I feel too many people know Guy and my whereabouts.”

  He held up one lean, tanned finger when she was about to protest. “However, I will consider what you have said and give you an answer within the next day or so.”

  “And what if something happens between now and then?” Helen shot back. “I don’t think you realise exactly how much danger you could be in.”

  Yves pushed back the chair and got to his feet. “Are you about to call me stupid again?” he asked angrily.

  She mirrored the action, even though she still stood almost a head shorter than him. “I might,” she retorted.

  He paused and shook his head in wonder, a small smile on his face. “You have spirit,” he said quietly. “Foolish, perhaps, but with spirit.”

  “I—”

  She stopped. What could she say? His mind seemed to jump from one place to another, defying her attempts to predict what he was going to say next. All she could do was look at him helplessly.

  “You’re going to say we shouldn’t have gone out for dinner last night.”

  “We shouldn’t have gone out for dinner,” she told him emphatically, and meant it…in all its possible interpretations.

  “In that case, if future meals outside are out of the question,” he asked, his voice dark and smooth, “should I not get some compensation for being stuck here?”

  “I…I’m not sure what you mean,” she stammered. Suddenly the room seemed charged with electricity, and Helen had difficulty drawing breath into her lungs.

  “You are such a hard taskmistress,” he said, stepping up to her. “And I am willing to obey you. Shouldn’t I get a reward for that?”

  Your reward is your life, she wanted to say. But, like her breath, her words stuck in her throat.

  “Just a kiss,” he whispered, his head lowering to hers. “As a sign of appreciation for my compliance.”

  It was madness. She had a job to do, and that job didn’t entail indulging in passionate clinches with her paying client. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t, especially after what happened last time they kissed. She…

  She was lost.

  As his lips met hers, she couldn’t help but give herself up to his embrace. She knew what a bad idea it was, but she needed Yves the way a plant needed sunshine, the way a butterfly needed wings. As his arms tightened around her, every logical reason why this was a bad idea fled completely. In this, she was weak, so weak, but she couldn’t help herself, especially when she thought of how clos
e he had been to harm.

  She breathed in his scent as his tongue explored her mouth, running lightly along her teeth before thrusting himself deeper. She felt her body lift off the ground, until only her toes rested on the carpet, and she clung to him with frantic and questing fingers, grabbing his hair in a spasm of longing, as if she would never let go.

  They were pressed so closely together that she could feel his burgeoning erection against her, and felt an answering wetness in her groin.

  Everything about Yves was mesmerising—from his scent to the feel of his arms pressing against her back; from the sign of his physical desire for her to the silky black of his hair, and the way his jaw roughened against her smooth skin, textured and arousing. Helen wanted to feel that roughness roam all over her body, rubbing against her neck, breasts and thighs. She imagined him there, at her groin, the slick wetness of his tongue contrasting with the coarseness of a day-old beard, and just the thought of those textures touching her so intimately was enough to send a shudder through her body.

  It didn’t matter that she was throwing away her professional reputation. She wanted this man more than she had wanted anyone else in her life.

  Even Peter?

  The thought of the young instructor who had so tragically lost his life was enough to throw cold water on her heated fantasies. With an indrawn, panicked breath, Helen pulled away, quickly disengaging her hands from around Yves’ neck and stepping back. She was expecting him to look cool and imperturbable, but his hair was ruffled, his eyes dark with desire, and she heard the unevenness of his breathing, a mirror to her own. She wondered if she looked anything near as discomposed as he did—she certainly felt it—and the thought shamed her.

  She ran a shaking head through her blonde locks not meeting his eyes.

  “I believe,” she told him, “we’ve reached the end of our discussion.”