Beauty and the Bodyguard

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 specialty is extraction under hostile conditions, not baby-sitting.”

Both men turned at the sound of a small laugh. A willowy blonde stood framed in a side door.

“It’s usually a matter of money where my husband is concerned, Mr. Stone.”

Annoyance flickered across Jake Fortune’s face before he wiped it clean of all expression. “In this instance, at least, you’re right. Come in, Erica. Perhaps you’ll be more successful than I’ve been in convincing Mr. Stone to provide Allie protection.”

When Erica Fortune walked into the oak-paneled room, Rafe detected traces of the daughter in the mother’s elegant carriage and cool, controlled grace. But the older woman’s stunning beauty seemed fragile, almost brittle.

The dossier on Allison Fortune included several pages about her parents, as well. A former beauty queen and the first model for Fortune Cosmetics, Erica Fortune had enjoyed what the media painted as a fairy-tale marriage to the founder’s son. Judging by the tension she brought into the library with her, Rafe wouldn’t have put a lot of credence in the happily-ever-after part. Whatever was causing the obvious stress between Erica Fortune and her husband, however, she put it aside in her daughter’s interest. Her green eyes softened as she pleaded with Rafe.

“Please reconsider, Mr. Stone. I don’t know how much my husband told you about these calls my daughter has received, but they worry us.”

“He mentioned that a fan got hold of her unlisted number and made some highly erotic remarks.”

“Erotic?” Erica sniffed. “They’re obscene. The man’s a pervert.”

“Until the police track him down, I agree it’s wise to provide your daughter with security, Mrs. Fortune. I just don’t think I’m the right man for the job.”

“Why not?”

Rafe tugged at his tie. He couldn’t exactly tell this woman that he didn’t want to spend two weeks with her daughter because she generated a few highly erotic thoughts in him, too.

“Look, Mrs. Fortune…”

“Erica, please.”

“Erica. I…”

A sharp rap on the massive double doors that led to the main hallway cut off Rafe’s reply. When Allison Fortune swept in a moment later, she cut off his air supply, as well. Irritated anew by her impact on him, Rafe stopped fiddling with his tie and shoved his hands in his pockets.

She was punctual, he had to give her that. True to her word, she’d taken less than fifteen minutes to change into a silky-looking pair of turquoise pajamas with one of those little Chinese collars and fancy embroidery. If her makeup had been disturbed by her dousing from the Nordic type she’d been stringing along down by the lake, she’d repaired it quickly enough. She looked untouched, and eminently untouchable.

Her glance flicked over Rafe, then settled on the older woman. A small frown marred the smooth perfection of her forehead. “I thought this bodyguard business was Jake’s idea. Did you know about it, too, Mother?”

Interesting, Rafe thought. She referred to her father by name, but not her mother.

“He told me about it when Mr. Stone showed up at the party tonight,” Erica replied.

“Oh? Well, he neglected to tell me.”

As his daughter turned to face him, Jake Fortune’s patrician features took on a hard edge. “You’re always so adamant about preserving your privacy, Allie. I knew you might object to having someone with you twenty-four hours a day. I thought it best not to discuss the matter with you until I ascertained Mr. Stone’s availability and finalized our arrangements.”

“You were right. I do object to Mr. Stone’s presence twenty-four hours a day. So you can unfinalize your arrangements.”

Rafe thought about setting them both straight. He hadn’t agreed to any arrangements, final or otherwise. But neither Fortune seemed particularly interested in his input at that moment.

“I’d like you to think about this. You know how important you are to—”

“Yes, I know. To Fortune Cosmetics.”

Jake’s mouth thinned. “I was going to say, how important you are to the entire family. I don’t like the idea of some obsessed fan worrying you and disrupting your life.”

“Or the shoot,” she added softly. Her tobacco-brown eyes held her father’s for a long moment.

His jaw tight, Jake Fortune turned to his wife. “You talk to her. Evidently I can’t anymore.”

Brushing past her husband, Erica moved to her daughter’s side. “Please be sensible, darling. This campaign is so important, not only to Fortune Cosmetics, but to your career.”

“I’m starting a new career after this campaign, remember?”

“I know, I know. And you’re wise to think about acting as a full-time career. Modeling is a brutal business, where a woman’s worth is measured only by her looks.” Erica’s musical voice took on a bitter edge. “Unfortunately, that’s true in more than just modeling.”

She didn’t turn her head, didn’t so much as glance at her husband, but Jake Fortune stiffened. If his wife noticed his reaction, she ignored it.

“But you’re just reaching your peak, Allie. You’ve got years ahead of you yet.”

“Mother…”

“You’re more photogenic than I ever was, and you’ve agreed to launch the new line. If it’s as successful as we hope, you’ll reach the highest plateau in your career. I just wish we had decided on a studio shoot for this campaign, instead of a natural setting,” Erica continued, her voice sharp with worry. “I don’t like the idea of you all alone for two weeks, out in the middle of nowhere.”

The corners of Allie’s full mouth edged upward. “Come on, Mother,” she teased gently. “A five-star resort a few miles outside Santa Fe is hardly the middle of nowhere. And you know as well as I the size of the team necessary for this shoot. I’ll hardly be alone.”

Later, Rafe would tell himself that he would have walked out of the library as planned, if it hadn’t been for the hint of laughter in her voice. And for that damned almost-smile. It softened the lines of her face. Added a gleam to her eyes. Hit him somewhere in the vicinity of his left kidney.

The half smile hooked him, but a different emotion altogether reeled him in a few moments later.

Erica’s huge square-cut emerald flashed as she reached for her daughter’s hand. “But that disgusting person said he’d find a way to come to you, and prove how much he loved you.”

He’d said a lot more than that, Rafe guessed instantly, or Allie wouldn’t look away to hide the flicker of emotion that darkened her eyes. Rafe had been in the business long enough to recognize fear, no matter how well or how quickly hidden.

Dammit, he thought in disgust, why couldn’t she have remained just a beautiful face? Why did he have to catch a glimpse of a vulnerable, frightened woman behind that sophisticated facade? Allison Fortune he would have walked away from without a qualm. The woman who refused to let her family see her fear tugged at his professional instincts. He couldn’t help wondering what else she was hiding behind that glamorous front.

Okay, he rationalized, he could do this. He’d trained himself not to become emotionally involved with his clients. He could spend two weeks with Allison Fortune, shield her from this kook who got off by whispering obscenities over the phone, and pocket the outrageous fee her father offered. Assuming, of course, the lady agreed to protection…and to playing this particular game by his rules.

“Please, darling,” Erica pleaded, her voice breaking a little. “It’s bad enough we didn’t even know about this disgusting pervert until the police called here, asking to speak to you. Don’t make it worse by refusing our protection until they track him down.”

With a small sigh, Allie patted her mother’s hand. “I’m sorry. I should have told you about the calls. I just didn’t want to worry you. Or the rest of the family,” she added after a slight pause. “You’ve all had enough problems since Kate died.”

“Then you’ll agree to additional security?” Jake asked.

She slanted her father a cool glance, then turned those incredible eyes on Rafe. Strange, he’d never realized how changeable a color brown was before. In the space of a heartbeat, it could vary from deep, rich mocha to a flat, uninviting mud.

“I agree,” she said after a moment. “But with certain conditions.”

“I don’t operate with restrictions.”

“And I can’t operate without a certain regimen,” she returned. “I run every morning, and during a shoot I have to get at least eight hours of sleep a night. All I’m asking is that you structure your security procedures around my schedule, if possible.”

Rafe hadn’t seen the inside of a gym in years, and he’d never been much for jogging, but he figured he could keep his client covered during her morning jaunts. As for those eight hours a night in bed…

With some effort, he banished the combustible image of Allie Fortune all doe-eyed and sleep-soft. Telling himself he was ten kinds of a fool, Rafe agreed. Reluctantly.

“I think we can accommodate your schedule.”

She hesitated, obviously as unenthusiastic as he was about the next two weeks. “Then I’ll leave you to negotiate the terms of your contract with my father. If you decide to accept the job, I’ll meet you at the airport. We have a ten-o’clock flight to Santa Fe.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s settled,” Erica said with a sigh of relief as her daughter brushed a kiss across her cheek and started for the door.

“Not quite,” Rafe drawled.

Allie paused with one hand on the doorknob.

“If I’m going to be responsible for your safety, Miss Fortune, I have a couple of conditions of my own.”

“Such as?”

“Such as no more strolls down to the lake—or anywhere else—unless I go along as a chaperon.”

After so many years in front of the camera, hiding her thoughts had become almost second nature to Allie. Her job was to project the emotions the photographer and art director wanted, not her own feelings. So she kept her expression carefully neutral while she debated whether to tell Rafe Stone to take a flying leap in the lake—or anywhere else.

As much as she wanted to put this man in his place, however, Allie had to admit the idea of a bodyguard had some merit. Although she routinely exercised basic security precautions against the weirdos who regularly fell in love with faces in magazines, these late-night calls had become too personal, too disturbing. She didn’t want this crazy to continue disrupting her life. Even more to the point, she didn’t want him to disrupt this shoot. Her older sister, her parents, her entire family, had staked everything on this campaign. Their tightly planned schedule allowed for minimal slippage.

Despite his brusque manner, or perhaps because of it, this Rafe Stone had routed Dean Hansen easily enough. He certainly looked as though he could take care of one obnoxious, if obsessive, fan. Besides, she’d only need his protection for two weeks. Three at most. Just while they were on location. The police had assured her the security at her New York condo was adequate. She could dispense with his services when they returned to the city for the final studio work.

Two weeks. She could put up with Rafe Stone’s constant presence for two weeks and still maintain the inner equilibrium.

Maybe.

“What’s your second condition?” she asked.

“If I perceive a threat to your safety, you follow my orders. All of them. Immediately. Without question.”

Allie wasn’t stupid. Nor was she foolhardy. In the event of a real threat, she’d be more than happy to let this man handle it.

“Agreed.”

Her acquiescence didn’t appear to afford him a great deal of pleasure. “I’ll pick you up at nine and take you to the airport,” he said brusquely.

“No further negotiations with my father, Mr. Stone?”

“No. And the name’s Rafe.”

She hesitated, then extended her hand. “I go by Allie.”

Her touch was warm and smooth and altogether too electric. Rafe curled his fingers around hers for the required few seconds. When she slid her hand out of his, her heat tingled against his palm, and he felt the damnedest urge to make a fist and trap it.

Two weeks, he told himself grimly. He’d spent almost that long on his belly in the dust, staking out a supposed terrorist hideout in southern Spain. If he could handle that band of inept would-be revolutionaries, he could handle himself around Allie Fortune.

Maybe.

By eight-thirty the next morning, Allie was having second, third and fourth thoughts. She’d spent a restless night, trying without notable success to adjust to the idea of Rafe Stone’s disturbing presence in her life. Her sleeplessness hadn’t been helped by her sister’s acid observation that she’d let Jake do it to her—again.

“Why didn’t you stand up to him?” Rocky asked, picking up the refrain she’d left off last night only when Allie threatened to tie a pillowcase over her head. Perched comfortably on a window seat in the bedroom the girls had shared since childhood, Rocky went after her twin with the piranha-like ruthlessness of a loving sister.

“You should have told Jake to stuff it when he pressed you to do this campaign. You know how burnt out you are. You’ve been trying to stuff acting lessons in between your runway shows and advertising shoots. You only have time for an occasional date with jerks like Hansen. And now you’ve got this creep calling you in the middle of the night. What you need, sister mine, is a hot and fast and furious affair.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. You need someone to make you kick back and enjoy life again. Preferably a man who doesn’t worship at the altar of your beauty.”

“What I need is for you to get off my back,” Allie retorted, tossing a nightshirt into her weekender.

“Me, or Jake?”

“Both of you.”

“So tell him!”

“I’m not you, Rocky. I don’t make an art form out of challenging people.”

“Bull-loney! Don’t pull that innocent act on me. You never hesitated to challenge anyone when we were younger. You just did it so sweetly, no one but Kate ever saw through your angelic facade. It’s just since her death that you’ve let Jake and Caroline and the whole family take over your life.”

Allie gripped her zippered makeup bag in both hands as a now familiar pain lanced through her. Involuntarily her gaze drifted to the battered tin carousel sitting on the dresser.

Kate had seen her granddaughters’ wide-eyed fascination when she’d first acquired the carousel. Laughing, she’d given the German-made toy to the girls to play with, even though it was an expensive antique. As Kate was so fond of saying, there was nothing more precious in the world than a child’s joy. The tomboyish Rocky had soon tired of the little merry-go-round, but Allie had delighted in its filigreed canopy and prancing horses throughout her childhood. Now dented and dinged from years of use, the tin carousel was Allie’s most cherished reminder of her grandmother. Kate had left it to her in her will as a personal keepsake.

Dropping the makeup bag, Allie walked over to the dresser. Unerringly, her fingers wound the key just the right number of times. Too many, and the melody tripped and hurried, like a twittering sparrow chasing another bird away from its nest. Too few, and it slowed to a sluggish crawl.

She released the key, and a Chopin polonaise tinkled through the air. One after another, the miniature horses dipped and rose, pawing the air in time to the music.

As the music wound down, Rocky sighed. “God, I miss her.”

Allie swallowed to ease her aching throat. “Me too.”

Pulling her nightshirt out of the suitcase, she wrapped it carefully around the little carousel, then tucked the bundle in amid her underwear.

“That’s why I didn’t tell Jake to stuff it,” Allie told her sister slowly. “And why I’m going to New Mexico. Kate spent her life building Fortune Cosmetics. If I can help keep it from falling apart, I will.”

“All right,” Rocky conceded, rising. “Have it your way. But I wish you’d let me fly you to Santa Fe. I’d feel better about the whole situation if I had a chance to shake out this goon Jake’s hired and see what he’s made of.”

Allie shuddered. “The idea of you shaking us out is exactly why I don’t want you to fly us to New Mexico. The last time you took me up in one of Kate’s planes, I lost the contents of my purse, my camera bag and my stomach. At least a commercial charter doesn’t do wheelies.”

A pained expression crossed Rocky’s face. “Bicycles do wheelies, Allison. Skateboards do wheelies. Twin-engine Piper Comanches do three-point reverse spins, of which that was a perfect example.”

“Whatever it was, I’m not anxious to repeat the experience.” Allie zipped her weekender shut, then glanced at the bedside clock. “If you want to check Rafe out, you can come downstairs. He’s picking me up in ten minutes.”

“Rafe?”

“The goon,” Allie replied dryly.

A speculative gleam entered Rocky’s eyes. “Hmm… Maybe this bodyguard business isn’t such a bad idea after all. Two weeks. Just you and him.”