Up Close And Personal. Lynn Raye Harris

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      Disgruntled loser was an understatement.

      “You need protection, Veronica. That threat should never have gotten through the layers surrounding you. It will escalate, believe me.”

      He could feel her stiffen beside him. “There’s been no threat.”

      “That’s not what Brady says.”

      Her breath hissed out. “I knew it. It was one word, made of newspaper letters and glued to a piece of paper. That’s hardly a threat!”

      Every instinct he had told him otherwise. It was an ugly word, the kind of word that was filled with hate and derision. Spoken in anger was one thing. Deliberately pasted together and sent? “Did you keep the letter?”

      “I threw it away.”

      He’d expected as much, though it would have been better if she had not. “Has it happened before?”

      “Before I was president?”

      “Precisely.”

      She let out a frustrated breath. “No. But that doesn’t mean anything. Everyone has enemies.”

      “But not everyone is the president of a nation. You have to take every anomaly, no matter how small, as a legitimate threat. You have no choice now.”

      “I realize that.” Her voice was ice.

      “Then you must also realize that we wouldn’t actually be lovers,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “That’s not why I’m here.”

      A shame, really. She was an extraordinarily sensual woman. He’d watched her work the room from his position at the bar earlier. She’d slain men with her smile, with the high, firm breasts that jutted into the fabric of the purple dress she wore. With the long, beautiful legs he’d glimpsed through the slit in the fabric when she walked.

      Her platinum-blond hair was piled onto her head, and her dress dipped low in the back, revealing smooth, touchable skin. Men had tripped over their tongues as they’d gathered around her. He’d watched it all with disdain.

      Until he’d gotten close to her. His visceral reaction had been strong, his body hardening painfully. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was accustomed to want, to deprivation and pain. The military had made sure of it. Denying himself pleasure, no matter how much he might want it, was easily done.

      “Even the appearance of it would be too much,” she replied, her words crisp and lovely in the French accent of her homeland. “I am the president. I have an image to maintain.”

      “You’re a single woman, Veronica. You’re allowed to date. And Aliz’s is not the sort of culture that would take you to task for it.”

      “Aliz has had one crisis after another. They need a president who is focused on their welfare, not on her personal life.”

      He found the words ironic coming from her, but he allowed it to pass without comment.

      “They also elected you because you are glamorous and exotic to them. You’ve achieved fame on the world stage, and they are proud of you. If you become simply another staid politician, you will disappoint them. They want you to fix things, but they also want you to be the Veronica St. Germaine they know and love.”

      “You can’t know that,” she said angrily. “You are saying whatever you think will further your personal agenda.”

      A current of annoyance rippled through him, only partly because it was true. “My personal agenda? I’m doing you a favor, Madam President, in trying to protect your lovely behind.”

      “How dare you suggest I should be grateful when you keep trying to give me something I don’t want?”

      What she needed was a hard dose of reality.

      He grasped her shoulders, pulled her closer to him. He did it for effect, not because he wanted to kiss her. Not because he’d been dying to kiss her from the moment she’d turned to him when he’d entered this room.

      Never because of that.

      Her palms came up, pressed against his chest. “What are you doing?” She sounded breathless. Not scared, not angry. Breathless. Anticipating. Wanting.

      If he were a weaker man, she would be the ruin of all his fine control.

      “We’re alone and you’re at my mercy,” he said, making sure his voice was harsh rather than seductive. “If I’d come to harm you, no one would stop me.”

      “I’m not helpless,” she replied. “I took a self-defense course.”

      Raj laughed. He couldn’t help it. Self-defense was good. Everyone should take a self-defense class. And yet …

      “There are people against whom your average self-defense techniques don’t work. Because those techniques rely on surprise, and some people cannot be surprised. Some people are trained killers, Veronica.”

      Like he was, he silently added. Six years in the Special Forces had taught him that much and more.

      He felt the shiver go through her body. The idea was reprehensible to her. As well it should be.

      “Everything you say is for one purpose,” she said, her breath soft against his face.

      It wouldn’t take much to claim her lips. To plunder them with his own and taste their sweetness.

      “But you and Brady have got it all wrong. No one is out to harm me.”

      His grip on her tightened. “Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

       CHAPTER THREE

      VERONICA’S pulse skipped and bobbed like a white-water raft sailing toward a massive waterfall. But whether it was his insistence she was in danger or how closely he now held her, she couldn’t be sure.

      He gripped her so tightly that she could feel the strength of the leashed power in him. A shiver skimmed over her. He’d scared her with his talk of danger—but she wouldn’t let him know it.

      His hands splayed over her back. She could feel his breath on her face. She thought he might kiss her just to prove his mastery—and part of her longed for it.

      Another part wanted to run as far and as fast away from this man as she could get. For whatever reason, he affected her. She’d thought herself immune to men after Andre—handsome, flashy, selfish Andre—but Raj was proving her wrong on that count.

      She’d made the right decision when she’d told him she didn’t need his help. No way on this earth was she allowing him to pretend to be her lover. One way or another, it would be disastrous.

      She strained in the dark to hear him, to feel him, to guess his intent. His breath was on her lips. If she tilted her head, would their mouths touch? She told herself not to do it, and СКАЧАТЬ