Captive but Forbidden Page 3

It’d been a long time since he’d personally guarded anyone, but he had never allowed himself to get involved with a client. It angered him immensely that he’d nearly violated that creed with her.

  He didn’t know why he’d allowed himself to succumb to the temptation to stroke his fingers along the creamy skin of her exposed back. She was not the kind of woman he would ever get involved with. It wasn’t that she wasn’t desirable—she definitely was—but she was self-centered and destructive. Poisonous.

  “I know this isn’t a game!” she barked. “Do you really think I don’t?”

  He’d heard those words before. Or ones very like them anyway. He knew all about people who had no control over their impulses. People who claimed to want to conquer their addictions, but inevitably slid back into them when life got too hard or too boring or too hopeless.

  He had no sympathy for her. She’d taken on this task, and she deserved no pity if it was turning out to be too difficult. After all, her people would get none if she faltered. “It’s a big responsibility you’ve accepted. Not quite your usual thing, is it?”

  He could feel the fury rolling from her in waves.

  “You know nothing about me, Mr. Vala. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your pop psychology to yourself.”

  She was cool, this woman. And blazing hot on the inside. He was beginning to understand the public fascination with her.

  He’d made sure to have his people prepare a dossier on her before he’d ever come to the hotel tonight. He hadn’t read the entire thing during the limo ride over, but he’d skimmed enough to get an idea.

  A dilettante in the worlds of fashion, music and television, she’d designed a line of clothing, recorded a hit album and had her own late-night talk show for a brief time in America.

  She’d been a darling of the tabloids. Her face and figure were splashed on more magazine covers worldwide than were the royals. It was astounding.

  Until about a year ago, she’d regularly appeared. Then she’d dropped out of sight. Working on a new project, her spokesperson had said at the time, though the speculation had been that she was nursing a broken heart after a failed affair.

  When she’d emerged from hiding four months later, she’d been relegated to a small blurb on the pages she’d once dominated. It had been shortly afterward that she’d declared her candidacy for president.

  It wasn’t difficult to figure out why she’d done so, because suddenly she was back on top, a darling of the media once more.

  He understood where that kind of need for attention came from, but he had no patience for it. People like her destroyed those foolish enough to get close to them.

  Or those who had no choice—like children.

  More than once he’d watched his mother spiral into the depths of her selfish need for attention, unable to stop her. Unable to prevent the crash. He’d survived that life, but he certainly hadn’t come away unscathed.

  “A lover could get close to you without suspicion,” he said. “It would be a way to provide extra security without anyone on your staff questioning the addition.”

  “You aren’t listening to me, are you? I don’t like you, and I can’t take a lover. Even a false one.”

  He didn’t bother to point out that she did like him. That she’d been sending him signals from the moment he’d entered the room. Frustration hammered into him. Why was he arguing with her? He’d done what he’d promised Brady he would do. He’d tried to help. Now he could take her back to her suite and leave her there in good conscience.

  Except it wasn’t in his nature to give up so easily, especially when he believed she truly was in danger. Her country was in turmoil, and it was well-known that the previous president hadn’t been too happy with the outcome of the election. Aliz was a democracy, but only just. And Monsieur Brun had been in power for twelve years before he’d lost to this woman who had no political experience whatsoever.

  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 yet her head moved anyway.

  Abruptly, he released her.

  “Come,” he said. “It’s time to take you back to your room.”

  The light flashed on again, and she realized it was coming from his cell phone. His handsome face was in shadow, but she could see the gleam of his eyes as he stood and held out a hand to her.

  She took it, let him pull her up, her pulse skittering wildly the instant he touched her.

  “I’m not stupid,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself. “If I thought there was any real danger, I’d hire you in a minute. But there isn’t. The security I have can handle the day-to-day issues that arise.”

  The steady look he gave her said he didn’t believe it for a second. “Instead of justifying it to me, perhaps you need to ask whether or not you’re being honest with yourself.”

  Then he turned and opened the door instead of waiting for an answer. Not that she had one to give. He went through first, and then motioned her to follow. She stayed close behind him as they worked their way toward the upper floors.

  The hotel was in disarray, but the staff had managed to get the emergency lights working in the main hallways and stairwells. Exit signs also provided light, though meager, and she heard scraps of conversation about the generator and its failure to provide backup power. Raj said nothing, simply led the way through the hotel until they came to her room. She was only surprised for a moment that he knew which room was hers.

  Of course he knew. Brady had told him everything.

  Before she could ask him how he planned to get inside with the power out and the card reader down, he had the door open.

  “Behind me,” he said.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him for his help and tell him to go, but she said nothing. Instead, she did what he told her to do. Regardless of how she felt about him—or about Brady’s meddling—it was clear that Raj knew what he was doing. She felt safe, at least for the time being.

  He gave her the motion to stay where she was, then went into each room of her suite in succession before returning and giving her the all clear.

  Veronica let out a long sigh of relief—not that she’d expected anything to be wrong. She was just glad to be back in the privacy of her room again. She kicked off her platform stilettos, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Thank you for escorting me,” she said. “I’d offer you a drink, but it’s getting rather late. Tell Brady you tried your best. He knows how I am.”

  Raj fished out a lighter from somewhere and lit the candles that were sitting on the tables. She’d thought they were merely decorative and, in truth, had forgotten all about them. Then he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and threw it across the back of a chair.

  “I’m not leaving just yet.”

  A hot bubble of anger popped inside her. She wanted to be alone, wanted to strip out of her gown, put on her pajamas and watch a little bit of television—assuming the power came back on—before she fell asleep. “I didn’t ask you to stay.”

  He lifted his mobile phone and tapped a few buttons. “Until your security returns, I’m staying.”

  “That’s really not necessary. I’ll lock the door behind you.”

  “Forget it,” he said, turning away from her to talk to someone on the phone.

  Veronica sank onto the couch and folded her arms over her chest. Damn the arrogance of the man. But she already knew it was useless to order him to leave. Useless to do anything but wait.

  If she were lucky, Brady would come looking for her—and then she could give them both a piece of her mind. She’d had quite enough of being told what to do lately. She had to conform to a schedule as president, had to take meetings and attend functions, had to let her day-to-day activities be far more structured than they’d been since she’d lived on her own.

  But she’d agreed to do those things when she’d decided to run for office. What she hadn’t agreed to do was let a dark, sexy stranger intrude on the very small slice of privacy she had remaining.

  Her gaze drifted to Raj. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he seemed engrossed in his call. He was even more golden in the candlelight than he’d been in the low lights of the powder room. So handsome. So dangerous. Like the tiger she’d first envisioned when he’d filled the small anteroom and made her aware of him on a level she wished she weren’t.

  A ring glinted on his right hand, a signet made of gold. She hadn’t noticed that before.

  His white tuxedo shirt stretched across his chest, and onyx studs winked at her in the flickering light. He reached up and loosened the stud at his neck before yanking the bow tie off and tossing it aside.

  She started at the small wedge of bare skin he’d revealed. He glanced up then, straight at her, and she twisted away, cursing herself for getting caught. A moment later he ceased talking and tucked the phone into his trouser pocket.

  “Was that Brady?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Frustration knotted her stomach. Since she didn’t know what else to do, she reached up and began to unpin her hair, dropping the pins onto the glass side table with a clink, clink, clink. Then she threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair, loosening the glossy mass.

  When she stopped, Raj was watching her. He stood in the same place he had been, his gaze hard.

  Her stomach flipped, her pulse humming with energy. She looked away and began to remove her jewelry.

  “Have you been doing this kind of thing long?” she asked. If he insisted on staying, then the least she could do was bore him with questions. Maybe he’d decide to leave her alone after all.

  “A few years.”

  “How exciting.” She slipped off the jewelry—bracelet, necklace, rings—and dropped everything on the table
with the pins. “Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever worked for?”

  “Confidential information.”

  She glanced up at him, her heart squeezing as she took in the masculine beauty of his face once more. “Ah, of course.”

  “Are you trying to interview me, Madam President?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching with humor.

  She swallowed. Humor was not at all the effect she’d been going for. Veronica pulled her feet up beneath her and began to absently rub one instep while her blood beat in her temples, between her breasts. “Not precisely. But if we’re to be stuck here together for the foreseeable future, it seems a way to pass the time.”

  It took her several moments to realize that the side slit in her gown had dropped open to reveal the curve of her legs. She resisted the urge to cover herself, though she suddenly wanted to do so. But she would not let him think she cared that his hot eyes skimmed her form.

  “How does one get into the bodyguard business anyway?”

  “You’ve certainly grown chatty,” he observed, meeting her gaze once more. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Then he shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was in the military. It seemed the logical thing to do when I got out.”

  “Oh, I see. And do you work for a company that sends you out on these jobs?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

  The humor was back, but this time she didn’t know why.

  “If this were a job interview,” she pointed out, “I don’t think I’d be inclined to hire you based on these answers. You’re almost monosyllabic.”

  He sank onto the chair opposite, his big form sprawling comfortably—as if he belonged here, in her suite. As if he were the one in charge and she merely a supplicant.

  She didn’t like that he made her feel inconsequential simply by being in the same room.

  “Fortunately, this is not an interview,” he said. “You don’t need me, as you’ve pointed out.” His golden eyes speared her so that, once more, she was mesmerized. “And I don’t do interviews. No one hires me. I decide if I’ll help them.”