Barefoot With a Bodyguard (4 page)

A frown pulled. “One thirty.”

“Yoga, I’m guessing?”

“Occasionally. What difference does it make?”

“Some light weights and a jog now and then?”

“What is your
point
?”

“My point is that you might be very smart and in decent shape, but when push comes to shove—literally—you’re defenseless.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she sucked in a seething breath. “Then your point would be wrong.”

“Don’t make me prove it to you.”

“Great,” she muttered, turning away. “Just great. Another jerk trying to run my life.”

“I’m not trying to be a jerk or run your life.” When she looked back at him, he continued, “I’m trying to do a job, and one hit to a soft target, and you’d be down.” He released his arms and stepped back. A natural move in the face of any threat, especially hands like his.

He locked them behind him and angled his head to show her he was no threat. “I’m thinking you should stop fighting this plan and get comfortable with the idea of a bodyguard.”

“A bodyguard.” She looked toward the ceiling like she couldn’t even believe she had to say the word. “Look, I’m more than a thousand miles from some yahoo trying to upset my father by mentioning my name in a few anonymous notes. Yes, if I were walking around the streets of Boston, clueless to my surroundings, then I can see him hiring a…a…
man
to watch me.”

She struggled with the word
man
. Did she hate them all in general, or just the one who appeared in her villa today?

“So, I’m fine here, and I don’t need a bodyguard, and for God’s sake, I don’t want a husband, real or otherwise. One was plenty.” She added a tight smile to underscore the point she’d made every possible way since she’d arrived.

“It’s not about what you want, Miss…” Kate. God, he wanted to call her Kate so bad. “
Mathilda
.”

“Excuse me.” Her back straightened as she jutted her jaw. “It’s
all
about what I want, Mr.
Benjamin
. This was all done behind my back, and it can be undone by—” The phone in her bag hummed and dinged, and she grabbed it, giving a satisfied smirk. “By this phone call.” She whirled around, putting the phone to her ear. “This is preposterous, Dad!”

Preposterous. Not stupid, silly, or pointless. Because why use two syllables when four would do for Miss Extenuating Circumstances?

Shit. His head already hurt.

“No, I won’t—” She snapped her mouth closed, and in the silence, Alec could hear a man’s voice on the phone, but not the words. The tone was serious, though, and strong.

“No, you listen to me,” she replied, “a bodyguard is excessive, and one who is supposed to be my husband is patently ridiculous. Who ever heard of such a thing?”

Patently
? Oh, that’s right.
Yale
Law School. Maybe she thought she could beat an attacker with her diploma.

She stepped toward the French doors, then opened one, going out to the patio for privacy. “I am
not
going to back down, Dad.”

The door slammed, and the rest was lost to Alec.

He stayed rooted to his spot, not having to dig too hard for the natural state of peace that kept him sane and alive in situations far worse than this. He honestly could see her point, but he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d made a promise to Gregg that he’d do whatever he had to do, and the deal was to babysit the beauty. In turn, she was his cover, too.

He watched her through the glass, counting the sighs as her shoulders rose and fell. She ran a hand through her hair and clenched her fist again. And again. Finally, her head dropped in resignation.

Fighter taps out, and the win goes to Judge Daddy.

Alec picked up Kate’s two bags and walked into the bedroom—the only one in the villa.

Oh, she was going to
love
that.

Kate listened to her father with an age-old burn in her belly. Always,
always
, a man in charge. When would she ever have control of her own life?

Never if she gave up as easily as she had with Steven for all those years. Barely listening to her father, she straightened up, squared her shoulders, and renewed her fight.

“No, Dad. No. This isn’t how it’s going to be. I’ll stay away from people. I’ll get room service and lock myself up. All I want to do is study. I don’t need a…a…” She glanced over her shoulder, but the sun’s reflection on the glass blinded her to the room inside. But she knew he was there. A big, hulking kind of scary-looking man who looked like he might eat her. And made her feel…tense.

Wasn’t that why her throat was so damn dry? And her heart rate seemed to double when he sliced her with those piercing blue eyes.

“Katherine, this is not up for discussion. You need protection.” Her father’s voice was tight and focused, his judge’s tone, which was not to be messed with.

Not that she messed with him very often, but sometimes, especially since her divorce, she’d been fighting back. And she would now. She didn’t like this damn arrangement, or the fact that it was set up without her knowledge while she thought she was stealing some solitude and study time.

“Protection provided by some troglodyte pretending to be my husband?” She hissed the last word, that despicable word that represented entrapment and misery and indentured servitude.

“The honeymoon thing is a—”

“Cover,” she said, hoping just the stupidity of that concept sank into the head of her generally very smart father.

“Yes. You’re undercover, like a cop.”

Nothing
like a cop. More like a prisoner.

“You have to trust the people who are professionals,” he continued. “And this is what they recommend.”

“It’s ludicrous, Dad!”

He was silent, and she could swear she heard him swallow. “I can’t lose you, too.”

And there it was. Fifteen years of fear all rolled into five words she’d heard ten thousand times from him.

“Please,” she said, purposely taking the fight out of her tone. “Please don’t play the guilt card. You promised me the day I divorced Steven that you wouldn’t ever do that again. You promised me I could control my own life from now on.”

“I know, and I want to keep that promise, honey, I really do. But…” His voice was laced with a desperation that seemed way out of proportion to the situation.

“But what?” she prodded.

He sighed. “Kate, listen to me.” He went quiet for a moment, making her press the phone to her ear so she could do just that. “There was another note, left just outside my chambers.” His voice was an ominous whisper.

“What did it say?”

“I won’t tell you the exact words, but I made the right decision to get you far away from Boston.”

Hadn’t
she
actually made the decision? The question tweaked, but Dad continued, “Honey, you have to trust me on this. Even I have beefed-up security now, at the courthouse and at home. But it’s you I’m worried about. We are dealing with someone who knows my most vulnerable spot.”

She
was his most vulnerable spot, a role Kate had alternately loved, hated, used, and refused her whole life. Well, since she was fifteen, and her mother had died. Her father’s determination to protect—or smother, depending on your point of view—the only person he had left had started that day and had yet to end. Oh, he’d taken a break during her marriage because he’d thought the sun rose and set on Steven, but ultimately even Dad had to see his son-in-law for the control freak he was.

Even though he’d promised to let her have some breathing space, the divorce made Dad even more protective in some ways.

He felt guilty, too, for pushing that marriage.

“Did you turn the note over to the FBI like the others?”

“Of course. And Special Agent in Charge Colton Lang is handling it personally. And I’m using his wife’s security company for my own protection, though it’s you I’m worried about.”

“But no one knows I’m here, and this absurd charade with a husband—”

“It’s not absurd if it keeps you safe.”

“I don’t have to be locked in a guarded cell to stay safe,” she countered, glancing at the cascade of water over stones in the pool and the breathtaking beach vista beyond that. She shoved away some remorse at calling paradise a prison, but no matter how beautiful it was, she was still trapped. By a man.
Men
, actually.

“Look, Katherine, I know you hate the feeling of not being in control of your destiny.”

She snorted at the understatement.

“Please, for me.” Dad’s old pain was back in his voice, as clear as the day…the day she’d caused it. “Won’t you just stick this out, Kate? Give the FBI some time to investigate?”

And, of course, she buckled with one more sigh of resignation. “Until we can figure out something else.” Her words sounded as weak as her body felt. She was giving in only because of guilt and obligation and a daughter’s love, right?

“I’m sure the FBI will nail this guy very soon, and then you can come home.”

Suddenly, Kate was aware that the door behind her had opened. She was no longer alone on the sunny patio. She turned to face the man behind her, and once again she had to force herself to keep from taking in an audible breath at the sight of him. The martial arts jacket thing was open wider now, ink-decorated pecs on display.

“So you’ll go along with it?” Dad’s question sounded like it was coming from underwater, drowned out by the hammer of her pulse. “Please, I need to know you’re safe. One week, two at the most.”

Two weeks locked in a villa with a man who made her feel…off-balance? No. No way. Except…
Dad
. He was her weak spot, too.

“All right. We’ll talk soon, Dad.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll work things out with this…bodyguard.”

Kate made the huge mistake of meeting the bodyguard’s cool, direct gaze. Three heartbeats of eye contact, and her chest felt like a fist had gone through it and her stomach flipped like she’d fallen off a cliff. The reaction made no sense, since she wasn’t afraid of him. But he was just such a big…
presence
.

“I’ll do my best.” Ending the call, she gripped the phone, forcing herself not to turn away from the man a few feet away. She felt sweat prickling her skin, a result of the sun bearing down, of course. The splash of the waterfall and the distant cry of a gull from the nearby beach were the only sounds, other than her own strangled breathing.

He stood stone silent and still, a man who she imagined never wasted a word or made a move that wasn’t absolutely necessary. She searched his face, lingering on protruding cheekbones and a strong jaw, a flattened, crooked nose, and lethal blue eyes.

“So, what is it?” she finally asked.

“What is what?”

“Your real name.”

He gave his head a quick shake. “Not going to tell you.”

“Don’t dismiss me.” She took a step closer, despite the fact that getting even an inch nearer to him made her pulse quicken and added to that frustrating sense of vulnerability she hated so much. Probably because he was just so damn big and strong. Anyone would feel a little…what was the word he used?
Defenseless
.

“You really don’t need to know my name.”

“I don’t need a lot of things,” she fired back, working for the composure that he somehow erased from her arsenal just by standing there and breathing.
Was
he breathing? She was damn near panting, while everything about him was still. “Starting with a bodyguard, a fake husband, a new name, an overprotective father, and an eighty-year-old man calling the shots. But evidently, I have them all. So, humor me, and tell me your name.”

He took a measured step closer. “My name is Benjamin Carlson.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your
real
name.”

“You don’t—”

She lifted her hand to stop him, and in a flash, he enveloped her wrist, jerking it down with one lightning-fast move and a shocking amount of power but no pain.

At her gasp, he released her.

“I wasn’t going to touch you,” she said, her voice trapped in her constricted throat.

“Doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have let you.” He glanced at his hand, as if his reflexes surprised even him, then hid it behind him. “And I’m not going to tell you my name or anything else about me. Every single thing I say to you will be a lie, so you might as well know that now.”

“Why?” His secrecy made no sense. She understood them using an alias for her because of the threats, but he was just a bodyguard.

“Because that’s the arrangement. Just live a lie. Can you do that?”

She gave a soft laugh, thinking of Steven Jessup and how often she’d played a happy wife for the benefit of everyone but herself. “I was married for five years to a man I loathed and despised, so, yeah, I have mad lying skills. But I have a good reason, they say, for using a fake name. What’s your reason?”

He shook his head, obviously not going to answer, which just sent a new wave of irritation over her.

“And by the way,” he said, “the eighty-year-old man is
not
calling the shots.”