Barefoot With a Bodyguard (3 page)

He didn’t even smile at the tease. Instead, he scooped up both suitcases without giving her the chance to get the smaller one. “I assure you that no one else can do this, but there is a back entrance through the gate. Come with me.”

She followed him around the side of the villa, stealing glances inside the windows, eager to see her new temporary home. They walked along a hedged path to a large metal gate, ornate but clearly not for decoration, locked with a digital keypad.

“This villa is going to be exclusively for our clients,” he said, gesturing to the security device. “I’m one of the only souls who knows the code.”

She fought a smile at how solemn he was, her heart softening toward the elderly gentleman who obviously just wanted to be relevant. Where did Dad find this guy? No matter, she was in the mood to humor him, if only to get into the place, strip down to a bathing suit, and soak up some rays. Hopefully, the wet bar was equipped with margarita mix and plenty of tequila.

For
after
studying, of course.

He tapped in a few numbers on the keypad, and the latch released. As she stepped forward, she caught a glimpse of the edge of a natural pool surrounded by stone and a small waterfall tucked behind palm trees. Delighted, she couldn’t help but dart forward, leaving Mr. Rossi behind in her excitement to see her little slice of paradise.

“Mrs. Carlson!” he called.

She waved him off and stepped around the side of the house…and froze in shock.

Who the holy hell was that?

A man whirred and kicked and sliced his hands through the air. He stood in the shadows under a pergola, the streaks of sunlight and shade bathing him in a constant movement of light and dark, his eyes closed, his fists taut, his legs flying and turning and kicking so hard she could hear them cut through the air.

He grunted and turned so she could see his face, and she almost stumbled, gasping softly.

Instantly he stopped, every muscle—and, God, there were a lot of those—suddenly as still as if he’d been carved in stone and put on display to…admire.

All she could do was take in a mighty male chest inching through the opening of a snow-white kimono-type of jacket tied with a knotted black belt, and hold her breath as ice-cold blue eyes sliced right through her.

“We used the gate,” Mr. Rossi said, coming up behind her, and not a bit fazed by the man’s presence. “I meant to call and tell you we were on the property, but I got distracted.”

The man breathed, once and slowly, not a bit winded by that…that fighting dance he’d been doing. Then he nodded once, so slight it was almost imperceptible.

He came closer then, like an animal approaching its prey, each slow step silent in his loose-fitting karate pants. She tried to take him in, guess who he was, and examine his features all at the same time, but it was impossible to even have a coherent thought in the face of such…such a
man
.

Everything was too much. Too many muscles, too many angles, too many tattoos peeking through that top. His nose was too big, his neck too dense, his cheeks too hollow and shadowed, his mouth much too…much.

“You must be Mathilda.” His voice was low, a rumble in his chest, somehow as terrifying as it was compelling.

“I’m…” Speechless. Helpless. Breathless. She glanced at Mr. Rossi, who’d suddenly morphed from hapless escort into her lifeline to sanity.

“She goes by Tilly,” he said smoothly. “And this is Benjamin.”

Who the hell was Benjamin? Other than a brute who looked like he crawled out of hell and would be more comfortable going back there.

“Benjamin Carlson,” Mr. Rossi finished. “Your bodyguard.”

“
Bodyguard
?” Few words conjured the hated image of a helpless female as much as that one. The only other possessive, soul-sucking title that made her want to gag more was—

“And your husband.”

That one.

Alec hadn’t been prepared for beauty. Not on this level. For some reason, he’d expected someone ordinary. Plain. Maybe even unattractive. Otherwise, how could this ruse even work?

His body still burning from a drill warm-up, sweat rolling down his torso and soaking his gi, Alec ventured one step closer. And he managed not to react to the blow when her spring-green gaze landed on him with the expression of someone who’d just opened a prison door to discover an unwanted cellmate.

“My husband?” Blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her creamy skin as pale as the sand he’d run on at dawn today. “Is this some kind of joke?”

Nino Rossi cleared his throat. Twice.

Alec had come to know the man well in the past few weeks of hiding and waiting for his cover to arrive. Throat clearing was a sign the old guy was dying of discomfort, despite his best efforts to seem like he knew his way around the job.

“Your father knew we were arranging this operation,” Nino said to her.

She cut him in half with a harsh look. “No one ever told me about an
operation
or an
arrangement
or, for God’s sake, a
husband
.” She flipped a thick lock of auburn hair over her shoulder, looking past Alec at the villa, then around the patio, as if searching for an escape route that wasn’t there.

Realizing that, she stayed planted, her gaze darting this way and that, to his face, then away again. “Can I get another villa, please?” she asked, tapping her foot exactly like a fallen fighter using the universal signal of submission. “Or a hotel room? Hell, I’ll take a cabana on the beach, but I have to be alone.”

Alec gave himself a swift mental hammerfist for agreeing to this stupid plan. He had enough shit on his brain and didn’t need some green-eyed goddess looking down her perfect nose at him.

“And you are
not
my husband,” she added with a bite in her voice. “Real, pretend, or otherwise. No husband. Let’s just get that clear right now.”

Alec crossed his arms, hiding his hands, hearing her revulsion at the idea of being married to him.

Nino put a hand on the woman’s back. “Mathilda.”

She gave the old man a withering look.

“
Tilly
,” Nino corrected, not that the nickname seemed to make her any happier. “A tremendous amount of time, money, and thought has gone into this arrangement, and I assure you we only have your best interests at heart.”

She closed her eyes for a second, like she needed to scoop up some inner peace and came up empty-handed. “My father.” She shook her head. “He means well.”

Nino jumped on the opportunity, flicking his hand toward the villa. “Please, why don’t you go inside?”

She looked from one to the other, the tornado in her eyes fading. After a slight nudge from Nino, she headed inside, disappearing through French doors.

Alec stayed back for a few seconds, centering himself. “That went well.”

Nino smile was shaky. “You know what they say? Happy wife, happy life.”

Alec almost laughed. “So now what?”

Nino lifted his shoulder. “I’ll go talk to Gabriel. And you make nice.” He turned and left the way he came, through the side yard, the gate clanging behind him.

Taking one more breath, Alec braced for this new opponent, who, despite her slender size, was obviously going to give him the fight of his life. He suddenly wished he were anywhere other than in a one-bedroom honeymoon villa with a woman who would probably choose solitary in an outhouse over being stuck here with him. He’d rather be anywhere…

Except on the receiving end of Vlitnik’s knife or pistol. How bad could one beautiful woman be? All he had to do was pretend to be a professional bodyguard, pretend to be her husband, and pretend it didn’t bother him that she seemed to draw back in displeasure every time she accidentally looked at him.

Damn lot of pretending, so he’d better start practicing.

Taking her suitcases, he stepped through into the living area, where his new responsibility sat perched on the edge of a sofa, madly tapping at her phone.

“My name isn’t really Mathilda,” she said.

“I know. Mine isn’t Benjamin.”

That got her attention. “What is it?”

“For security purposes, we’re only going to use our cover names. They didn’t even tell me your real name. I’ll call you Mathilda.”

“My name is Kate Kingston.” She stared at him, the longest she’d looked at him yet, eyes sparking like crushed emeralds. “I see no intelligent reason to call me anything else.”

He set the suitcases on the floor with a soft thud. “Except that I’ve been instructed not to.
Mathilda
.”

She merely pointed at the suitcases. “Don’t take them too far.” Then, into the phone, “Hello, Jennifer? It’s Kate. Is my father available?”

Kate Kingston. The name suited her. A classy, clean, pretty name that matched her flawless skin and hair the color of a wild sorrel pony. The name of a woman who was attractive and sophisticated and smart and, when she wasn’t mad as a cat, probably very nice.

But she was pissed now.

She fidgeted for a second, fluttering her hair, then rubbing her fingers together in silent, impatient snaps. She stood and turned away from him, the sun through the French doors giving her a halo of gold and him a view of a long, lean but surprisingly curved frame in fuzzy pink sweater and tight jeans.

“Is there any way you can pull him out of that meeting?” she asked, almost looking over her shoulder at him as if she half-expected him to pounce on her. “I have an emergency.”

So that’s what he was. An emergency.

“A
serious
emergency.”

Alec almost smiled, staying right where he was, locking his hands in front of his body like he would while helping a trainee go through the motions of a practice. Oh, she’d be fun to train.

Find your balance, Kate. Breathe in rhythm. Move like liquid. Dig for power. Now, let’s get on the mat, Kate.

He shook off the last one, actually jerking his head from side to side as if he could shake the thought from his brain and body. There’d be none of that.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” she exclaimed, exasperation blowing off her like steam from a whistling kettle. “Put a note in front of him and tell him to call a recess.” At her side, her hand flexed and opened nervously as she tossed him a warning look over her shoulder, even though he hadn’t moved.

Jeez, she was wound tight. “Oh, yes, Jennifer, you can give him a really simple message. We need to change this
arrangement
. Immediately.” After a pause, she mumbled, “Thanks,” and hung up.

With a low grunt at her failure, she dropped her phone into the bag that hung on her narrow shoulder.

“He’s calling me back,” she said, finally turning to face him.

“I got that.”

“We’ll…have to do something else.”

He let a long pause pass, then leveled his gaze on her despite the fact that she still refused extended eye contact. He was used to that, double takes from people he scared just by being there. But for some reason, he didn’t want her to make it so obvious she wanted to run hard, fast, and far. Well, no mysterious reason. They were stuck together, playing house.

She crossed her arms, and there it was, that tiny step backward, as if she were afraid of him.
Make nice
, Nino had said. Okay then.

“I’m not sure you understand exactly how personal protection works,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Her eyes widened a little, then her pretty features relaxed into the first real emotion, other than ticked off, he’d seen since she’d arrived. “I don’t think you’re going to hurt me. I just want to be alone while I’m here. I have things to do. A test to…pass.”

“You’re going to pass a test every time you walk out that door and pretend to be Mrs. Benjamin Carlson.”

Her eyes flashed. “I am
nobody’s
Mrs. I signed all the papers to make sure of it.”

“You’re my Mrs. At least for the time we’re here. That’s the deal. In exchange, I’ll break anyone who comes near you into small pieces and crush them.” He added a smile, wishing it could get one in return. “But not you. I promise I won’t crush you.”

He saw her work to swallow and wondered what she was thinking. “I’m pretty certain you won’t have to do any heavy breaking or crushing. This place seems pretty secure.”

“The resort is, but you’re defenseless, and I’m—”

She iced him with a glare and pointed one slender finger at him. “I am
not
defenseless.”

He moved one inch closer. He could have her on the ground, under him, screaming for mercy and completely
defenseless
, in less than a second.

“What are your stats?” he asked.

She almost smiled. Almost. “Stats?”

“You know, your numbers.”

“My numbers?” She lifted her chin. “The ones that matter are twenty-nine, which is my age; sixteen, which was my Yale Law graduation ranking; and one, which is how I roll: alone at all times, without assistance from any man, anywhere.”

“Except you called Daddy within fifteen seconds of arrival.”

She bristled. “Extenuating circumstances.”

“The numbers I meant are your height and weight. Five-five and about a hundred and twenty?” he guessed.