Название: The Baron and The Bodyguard
Автор: Valerie Parv
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
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The doctor left and Mathiaz turned his head toward Jacinta. “What did he mean, you’re the specialist on me?”
She looked uncomfortable. “When they had trouble getting you to wake up after the surgery, Dr. Pascale called me in, hoping that I could get through to you.”
She had succeeded better than she knew, but her impersonal manner made him wonder if his erotic fantasies about her were just that, fantasies. “Why did he have to call you in? Don’t you work for me anymore?”
She glanced at the surgical monitors over Mathiaz’s bed. The readings evidently gave her cause for concern, because she said, “We don’t have to cover everything now. You should get some rest.”
His hand clamped around her wrist. “From the sound of things, I’ve had too much rest. I want to know what went on between us.”
Something flared in her unusual eyes, but was gone before he could identify it. “Nothing went on between us, as you put it. Fourteen months ago, you hired me following a security scare at the Château Valmont. Your valet, Andre Zenio, was fired for showing people around the palace without clearing them with the Royal Protection Detail. Zenio blamed you for getting him fired, although you weren’t the one who reported him. He started stalking you and making threats. Eventually the police caught him, and I went back to my work at the academy. End of story.”
Mathiaz remembered most of this. He knew that she ran a personal defense school in Valmont’s capital city of Perla. Mathiaz’s younger brother, Eduard, had taught a course at the academy and came back singing Jacinta’s praises. When Mathiaz started getting threats and being followed, the police advised hiring extra security. Jacinta had been the logical choice. She had the appropriate skills, but could be presented as Mathiaz’s girlfriend rather than as a bodyguard, saving the need to go public about the security scare.
“There was nothing more between us?” he asked, wondering why the question sounded so ridiculous, as if part of him already knew that there was.
She hesitated. “We were attracted to one another.”
Why did he get the feeling that was the understatement of the year? He sure as blazes was attracted to her, but in the incendiary kind of way that usually ended up in bed. He could hardly believe that she didn’t share his feelings. “How far did we take this—attraction?” he asked.
“We didn’t.”
Was he imagining things, or was her answer a little too glib? “I don’t believe you.”
She sketched a bow from the neck. “You have the right to believe what you choose, Lord Montravel.”
Pain fueled his irritation. “You can drop the Lord Montravel bit. We both know you never call me anything but Mathiaz or Baron when we’re alone.” They were alone now.
“As you wish, Baron.”
Her ready agreement didn’t fool him, either. “I may have forgotten the last year of my life, but I remember you were never awed by my rank and titles.”
“I’m an American, I was brought up in a democracy,” she reminded him, as if her California accent hadn’t already done so. “We don’t believe in bowing and scraping.”
He doubted if she would bow or scrape to anyone, regardless of her nationality. “You sure you’re not related to Alain Pascale?” he asked.
“Only by attitude.” She hefted a capacious shoulder bag off a chair. “I’d better leave you to get some rest.”
He felt the need to keep her with him. “What brought you to Carramer?”
She hesitated. “We have talked about this before.”
“Humor me.”
“Carramer is a beautiful, peaceful kingdom, and Valmont province is one of the most attractive regions.”
“With about as much use for a self-defense expert as a fish has for a bicycle,” he pointed out. Apart from an occasional problem like the security scare, Carramer had one of the lowest crime rates in the world. What wasn’t she telling him?
She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to live here. The skills I teach are as useful for honing self-discipline and fitness as they are for fighting crime.”
If all her pupils developed figures like hers, he could hardly argue. She had moved a little away and she stood about five-eight, although trapped on the bed, he couldn’t see if that was with or without heels. With, his memory supplied. Without, he recalled, she only came up to his shoulder.
She had a waist he could nearly span with two hands, although he’d need a longer reach to span any higher. She was dressed in a clinging sunshine-yellow halter top that left her satiny shoulders bare and emphasized the fullness of her feminine curves. The top was tucked into the slimmest pair of black denim jeans he’d seen in a long time. Getting into them must be an exercise in itself, he thought, then slammed a lid on the thought. Trussed up as he was, letting himself dwell on such things was a recipe for terminal frustration.
“Why did you agree to come back?” he asked, hoping she’d give him a clue as to why she’d left his employ in the first place.
She looked startled as if the question was unexpected. “You needed me,” she said. Then she glanced away as if she had given away more than she wanted to.
He felt a surge of satisfaction. “If you were from Carramer, I could put your answer down to loyalty to the crown, but you’re not. You tell me there’s nothing between us, yet you come running the moment I’m injured. Does that sound like nothing to you?”
“You always did twist my words,” she snapped. “I’ve a good mind to…”
“Careful,” he cautioned her. “You’re dealing with an injured man.”
“He’ll be a lot worse injured if he keeps provoking me.”
“Does the word ‘treason’ mean anything to you?” he asked, pleased to have provoked some sort of response from her.
She wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold. “As I recall, you threatened to have me charged with treason when I resigned. It didn’t work then, so I don’t see why it should change my behavior now.”
“I didn’t want you to leave?”
The question hung in the air between them. Finally she shook her head. “No, but you didn’t need a bodyguard after Zenio was caught.”
He must have had another reason for wanting her to stay, he concluded. He wished his head didn’t ache so abominably, making thinking such an ordeal. Belatedly he noticed something else. She wore a flesh-colored bandage on her left forearm. She saw him looking at it and dropped the arm to her side, where she’d held it since he woke up, wanting to keep him from seeing the injury, he assumed.
“How did you come by that?”
She glanced at the bandage then looked away. “It’s nothing. I was jogging past the treasury at the time of the bombing.”
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