Swallowing to clear a suddenly dry throat, Allie broke the little silence. “Well, you may know me, but I don’t know you. Who are you, and what are you doing here?”
“My name’s Rafe Stone. I’m your bodyguard, Miss Fortune.”
Stunned, Allie stared up at him. “My what?”
“Your prospective bodyguard,” he corrected. “I’ve been asked to take on the job of guarding your person.”
“By…by whom?”
“By your father.”
For several long moments, Allie could only gape at him. Then anger washed through her. Swift, hot anger that she refused to let this stranger see.
Jake Fortune couldn’t stop trying to control her, any more than he could his other children or his wife or his thousands of employees. On the heels of that bitter thought came the cynical realization that her father was just trying to protect the “face” that he’d staked his company’s future on.
“When did my father hire you?”
“We haven’t closed the deal, but the understanding was I’d start tonight, if I decided to accept the job.”
“Tonight?” She lifted a scornful brow. “Then why didn’t you intercede a little earlier, Mr. Stone? You must have seen me struggling with Hansen.”
“I haven’t negotiated the terms of my contract with your father yet. Besides,” he added, his gaze drifting to the wet fabric bunched in her hand, “for a while there, I wasn’t any surer than your over-muscled Viking friend just what kind of game you were playing.”
Allie stiffened. “Then I’d say you’re not very perceptive, for a man who makes his living watching people.”
One dark brow lifted sardonically. “Perceptive enough to see who invited whom for a stroll in the dark.”
“You know, Mr. Stone,” Allie replied, spacing each word carefully, “I don’t think I particularly want you guarding my person.”
“Maybe you should talk to your father about it.”
“I will.”
She tried for a dignified exit, which wasn’t easy, with her French twist scraggling down her neck and her dress clinging to her thighs with every step. The walk up to the house seemed to take several lifetimes longer than the walk down to the lake.
Rafe followed at a more leisurely pace, his eyes on the slender figure ahead of him. He wondered if she had any idea of the way that wet handkerchief of a dress clung to her body, or what it did to his lungs. Rafe grimaced at the thought. Of course she did. Women like Allison Fortune were probably born knowing their impact on men.
All right, so her wide-spaced eyes, full mouth and endless limbs were the stuff of late-night fantasies. So he’d felt an immediate, gut-level urge to stroke his thumb across those impossible cheekbones when he first spotted her across the noisy room. Rafe possessed what he assumed was a normal testosterone level. Any man’s hands would itch to touch her skin, just to see if it was smooth and creamy as it looked.
Unfortunately, his initial reaction to Allison Fortune had been mild compared to the one Rafe experienced now. Watching her stride up the sloping lawn with an easy, long-legged grace detonated small implosions of heat, one right after another, just below his belt line. For all her almost boyish slenderness, the woman had a figure that would stop traffic on any street, in any city, on any continent.
Good thing she didn’t want him guarding that body, Rafe thought cynically, any more than he wanted the job. He didn’t need the staggering sum Jake Fortune had offered, nor did he need the kind of complications his involuntary reaction to Allison Fortune could cause. The reputation he’d earned in certain circles for his ability to penetrate seemingly impossible locations and extract hostages brought him more business than he could handle. He’d succeeded in that dark and dangerous world because of his ruthless ability to focus on his target. If he let himself get involved with the person behind that target, he’d lose the razor edge of concentration his work demanded.
Besides, Rafe had survived one disastrous experience with a beautiful woman, and he was a man who learned from his mistakes. His ex-wife wasn’t anywhere near Allie Fortune’s class in looks, of course, but her breathless baby-doll beauty had turned more than a few heads.
Phyllis had left him three years ago, when it became clear that no amount of surgery would erase the scars left by the bomb that had almost killed him and his client. Rafe had made it a point to steer clear of any entanglements ever since…which made him all the more wary of his instant animal attraction to the woman in front of him. With each step, his resolve to tell Jake Fortune to find another man hardened.
Among other things.
She reached the stairs that led to the terrace, and Rafe wondered idly if she intended to march into the brightly lit living room with her every curve on display. Probably. According to the dossier he’d had compiled on Allison Fortune, there weren’t many parts of her that hadn’t been captured in explicit detail on film and displayed to the eager public. Despite her huffy little speech to Eric the Blonde a few moments ago, this woman had made a career of playing games. When she draped herself across a rock on some mistswept shore, as she had in a full-page ad that had made Rafe break out in a cold sweat, she was trying for an effect. The ad might make the female half of the population want to run out and buy the tiny scrap of fabric the manufacturers called a bathing suit. The male half, Rafe among them, fantasized about sliding the straps down her arms and…
She halted abruptly, with one foot on the first stone step. Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she glanced up at the open French doors, then turned to Rafe.
“Would you go inside and find my father? Ask him to meet me in the library in fifteen minutes.”
Rafe had never been real good at taking orders, even during his years with Special Forces. In this instance, though, he was as anxious as Allie Fortune to terminate their association before it officially began.
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled with exaggerated politeness.
Her eyes narrowed. “Are you this sarcastic with all your prospective clients?”
Silently acknowledging that he wanted to be a whole lot more than sarcastic with this particular prospective client, Rafe shook his head. How the hell could a simple collection of flesh and bone stir such atavistic male urges in him? He hadn’t felt this powerful an attraction for any woman since Phyllis. Hell, he hadn’t felt it for Phyllis.
“No, Miss Fortune. I’m not.”
Before she could respond to that one, he started up the broad stairs. His footsteps rang on the flagstones as he headed into the house, determined to tell Jake Fortune he wasn’t interested in the job.
Two
R afe soon discovered that Jake Fortune didn’t take no for an answer. For all his aristocratic airs, the man had the instincts of a street fighter. Tall, silver-haired, and impeccable in a gray Armani suit, he leaned his hips against the leather-topped desk that dominated the library, crossed his arms and cut right to the bottom line.
“I’ll double your retainer fee.”
Rafe regarded his would-be employer thoughtfully. He knew the value of his services, and felt no compunction about charging his clients according to their ability to pay. That Jake Fortune would double his initial offer without a qualm told Rafe there was more to this particular job than the client had admitted.
There always was, he thought cynically. He had the scars to prove it. Still, he didn’t need the money, and he sure as hell didn’t need to fan the small, hot flames Allie Fortune lit in him.
“It isn’t a matter of money,” he told her father. “My