Her Reluctant Bodyguard Read online

  Also by Jennette Green

  The Commander’s Desire

  Murder by Nightmare

  (a novelette)

  Her Reluctant Bodyguard

  Jennette Green

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  HER RELUCTANT BODYGUARD

  A Diamond Press book / published in arrangement with the author

  Published by Diamond Press at Smashwords

  Copyright © 2010 by Jennette Green

  Cover design by Rae Monet

  All rights reserved.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the Holy Bible, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc. All rights reserved worldwide. Used by permission. NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION® and NIV® are registered trademarks of Biblica, Inc.

  Scripture quotations marked "NKJV™" are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-4524-3393-6

  Diamond Press

  www.diamondpresspublishing.com

  Published in the United States of America.

  “I sought the LORD, and He answered me;

  He delivered me from all my fears.”

  Psalm 34:4

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  About the Author

  Also by Jennette Green

  Cover

  CHAPTER ONE

  It can’t be. Not possibly! Alexa peered through a doorway, trying to catch a better glimpse of the man on the Today Show set. He perched on a stool, opposite the pixie-faced co-host of the show. The object of her speculation wore a steel gray suit that emphasized his lean elegance.

  This was no good. He faced away from her. Silently, Alexa skulked across the set, hoping no one would notice her. Unfortunately, a broad-shouldered, muscular man in black came toward her, but she struggled to ignore him. He was so short that she could easily see over him in her three-inch heels. She sidled sideways, wanting to get a better look.

  It was Colin Radcliffe, international pop star! Alexa’s heart fluttered. She loved his songs, and the sound of his voice. And to think, he was being interviewed on the same day she was.

  “Ma’am.” The low voice commanded her attention, but she didn’t want to listen. What if she pretended not to hear? After all, just one more step and she would be able to see Colin’s face clearly. Impulsively, she edged closer.

  The man in black closed within four feet of her. Now the sheer physical force of his presence stopped her. In fact, she fought an overwhelming desire to retreat. He would let her get no closer to the star. Disappointment arose. She had just wanted to look. After all, she wasn’t a salivating, rabid fan. Or was she?

  Now a man with ‘Security’ written across his jacket appeared from her left, grabbing her attention. “Miss,” he whispered. “We’re taping. Wait over there.” He pointed.

  “I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, Alexa quickly obeyed. Obviously, she had breached a security code. What had she been thinking? Her impulsive nature had again taken her down the wrong path.

  Colin’s interview quickly ended. With sorrow, she watched him disappear from the set. Her dreams of accidentally bumping into him and maybe getting his autograph disappeared in smoke.

  “Ma’am. Your turn.” A young man beckoned to her.

  She was led to a couch, and a man took the place of the pixyish woman. Heart thundering, Alexa smoothed her pencil slim skirt and fiddled with her cross necklace, making sure the clasp wasn’t halfway down her throat. A technician tucked Alexa’s auburn hair behind one shoulder.

  “Just relax,” he advised her. “It’ll be over in a flash.”

  Alexa’s mouth went dry, facing the black eyes of the cameras. She had been interviewed on national television three times, and this would be the last. Her book tour was almost complete, about which she had mixed feelings. Her fifteen minutes of fame were almost over. What next, a small part of her wondered. Is this it? At twenty-nine, the peak of my career—my life?

  It was a strange thing to wonder when she was about to go on national television, and maybe push her fame out to sixteen minutes. A red light glowed on the camera.

  “Good morning…” began the co-host, and perspiration dampened Alexa’s skin. She was on live television. Millions of eyes were watching her. Her. But viewers were interested in Priscilla’s life, she reminded herself. Not hers. She drew a calming breath.

  “Miss Kaplan, I understand your biography is based on your childhood friendship with legendary chef, Priscilla Blake.”

  “Yes. Priscilla and I became best friends in kindergarten….” A faint tremor seized her hands, as was usual whenever she was in front of any group of people—let alone millions—but it didn’t show up in her voice, thank goodness.

  The man smoothly led her through the list of questions about Priscilla’s problems with dyslexia and her refusal to concentrate in school. An unhappy, unsettled home life hadn’t helped matters. In fact, although Alexa didn’t mention it to the interviewer, it was the common bond that had knit Alexa and Priscilla together from the start. It was also one of the reasons why their friendship had survived each of their difficult high school years.

  Alexa delved into the familiar, publicly known part of the story. Her friend’s life had down-spiraled in high school when she had become addicted to drugs. By her senior year, most of Priscilla’s old friends and teachers had abandoned her; all except for Alexa and their home economics teacher, who had discovered Priscilla’s discerning palate and aptitude for creating outlandish, delicious entrées.

  Halfway through recounting Priscilla’s unlikely rise to fame by winning a reality cooking show, Alexa remembered to smile at the glowing camera. She even remembered an anecdote her publicist had advised her to include. When the co-anchorman chuckled, a warm glow filled her.

  “Ms. Blake has become legendary, and in no small part due to your humorous, sensitive portrayal of her as a struggling teen. I suspect your friendship played a pivotal role in her life.” Before Alexa could reply, the co-host finished up, “It’s a story of winning over all odds. Something we all want to do. Thank you, Miss Kaplan.”

  Alexa smiled. “Thank you.”

  At the first opportunity, she left the set, feeling relieved it was over.

  “Excellent interview.” The cultured English voice came from her left.

  Alexa whirled. “Colin Radcliffe! I…I thought you’d gone,” she stammered. She blinked, and would have pinched herself, too, if she didn’t think it wo
uld look ridiculous. “I just love your songs.”

  Now, how simpering had that sounded? She flushed. “I mean, it’s an honor to meet you. I’m Alexa Kaplan.”

  “I know. I just listened to your interview.”

  “You did?” She felt flattered. “Thank you.”

  His blue eyes sparkled down at her and Alexa’s heart skipped. He was much better looking in person than on the cover of a CD. His blond hair was perfectly cut, accenting the sharp, almost gaunt angles of his face. And he was at least six foot two.

  “You’re tall!” Then she warmed at his grin. “I mean, I’ve met a lot of male celebrities on this book tour. Most are surprisingly short.” At almost five foot ten, it was a thing she noticed. “They look like a bunch of munchkins.”

  Munchkins? Why did her mouth have to outrun her brain now, of all times?

  He laughed at her outrageous comment. “You have a thing against short men?”

  “No. Of course not,” she said, feeling even more uncomfortable with her thoughtless words. Plenty of short men were running around. In fact, one stood just behind Colin, standing solidly beside a linebacker with blond hair. Both were unassuming. In fact, she would have overlooked them both, if not for guilt for her prejudicial comment. This particular short man might be five foot six. Maybe five foot seven if he stretched. If one discounted his square, uncompromising jaw, he looked a cross between a popular germophobe on cable and a dark-haired elf she had just seen in an old movie, and he wore all black.

  In fact, was this the man who had warned her away from the set?

  Uncomfortably, she stared at him, wondering. She had never actually looked at his face. He returned her stare, his dark eyes cool and unfriendly. It must be the same man. The powerful, warning vibe she had felt before smoldered now, tightly leashed.

  A little unnerved, she glanced sideways. The first man stood, shoulder to arm, beside the gigantic man with spiky blond hair. That one was certainly tall—maybe even six foot six—but she wasn’t necessarily attracted to men with tree trunks for legs and shoulders the size of Texas, either. What a pair!

  “They are perfectly nice,” she said now in a low voice to Colin. “It’s just…”

  “You don’t date them.”

  “Well, no,” she agreed, and shut her mouth. Colin did not need to know her long—unnaturally so, according to her sister—list of criteria she used to narrow down dating material. Number one was the men she dated had to be at least six foot one, so she could wear heels if she wanted to. Maybe that was terribly superficial, but she didn’t like the idea of towering over a man. This pop star, however, was perfect. At least six foot two. She flushed then, at her thoughts.

  He chuckled. “Do I pass?”

  Her face warmed still more. “All I meant…”

  “I’m teasing.” His mouth still quirked at the corners. “How about lunch?”

  “Lunch? With you?” She momentarily felt lightheaded, as if she had stood up too soon and all of the blood had drained from her head. Don’t swoon, she told herself. You’re not a teeny bopper with a silly crush. “Of course. I’d love to. But it’s not even nine o’clock.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “The Michelangelo. It’s a few blocks from here.”

  “I know where it is. I’ve got another interview now, but I’ll pick you up at twelve-thirty at your hotel.”

  “Great. Fabulous.”

  He grinned. “Cheerio, then.”

  Alexa stared after him, transfixed by a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Had her favorite pop star truly just asked her to lunch? This time she did pinch herself. It smarted.

      

  Alexa paced the luxurious lobby of the Michelangelo at 12:20 p.m. She loved the warm ambience of the elegant hotel. The soft, warm orange and gold colors made her feel welcome, and so had all of the staff, even though she sensed the hotel was geared to a pricier clientele than she. She had found it on an internet special.

  Alexa still was barely able to believe that Colin Radcliffe had asked her on a lunch date. Why had he? More importantly—would he truly come?

  A black Lincoln town car pulled to a stop outside and the hotel doorman let in a black-uniformed chauffeur. “Alexa Kaplan?”

  He had come.

  “Yes.” Heart thumping faster, she followed him through the double set of doors into New York’s chilly March afternoon. He opened the back door and there was Colin.

  Pulse beating rapidly, she slid in next to him. “Hi,” she said with a grin.

  “Hi, yourself. I’m relieved you didn’t stand me up.”

  “You’re joking, right? I was afraid you would forget me.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Take us to the Serafina,” he told the driver.

  The short distance to the restaurant was accomplished slowly. The driver drove aggressively, but repeatedly slowed and swerved for weaving bicycles and brash pedestrians crossing against the light.

  “I’m glad I’m not driving,” Alexa murmured.

  Colin smiled at her. His eyes were as bright blue as before. She couldn’t get over their clear color. Periwinkle, she decided.

  Colin said, “New York is a remarkable city. I love the energy. Is this your first visit?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen as much as I could. I’m leaving tomorrow.” They slipped out of the car at the Italian restaurant. “I saw the U.N. building and Times Square, of course, and the Statue of Liberty.”

  Inside, the waiter ushered them to a table at the back of the restaurant. Alexa sat with her back to a wooden casing against the wall, while Colin sat across from her. On the white wall to her right, beyond a low wooden barrier and another set of tables, flickered a silent, black and white movie. Italian, by the look of it.

  “Cool!” she said. “What a neat idea.”

  When Colin smiled, his charm seemed to reach out and envelop her. It made her want to smile, too. He asked, “Do you understand Italian?”

  “No. Just French, and not much of that.”

  “Have you ever been to Europe?”

  “No, but I’d love to go. Maybe with all of the royalties from my book,” she suggested brightly. “Are you from London?”

  He nodded. “Born and bred.” He smiled again, and with fascination, Alexa noted the tiny lines radiating from his eyes, and the dimple in his cheek. He laughed a lot. That was a good sign. “The food here is delicious. I always try to stop by when I’m in New York.”

  Alexa perused the menu. Choosing would be difficult, for Italian food was her favorite. Not only that, it was difficult to concentrate. Just sitting here with Colin was so exciting. Her gaze kept dancing from Colin to the flickering images on the adjacent wall.

  And then she saw them. The two men from the television studio. The tall man and the short one—Mutt and Jeff, like the old comic strip characters. Had they somehow followed Colin? Were they the rabid fans?

  Apprehension sped up her pulse. The suspicious duo sat at a small table pushed flush with the movie wall. Both had a perfect view of her table. Of Colin. In fact, both kept glancing at the famous pop star.

  Lifting her menu, she hissed, “I think we’ve been followed.”

  “What?” Colin frowned.

  “Over there. Two o’clock.” The star turned openly, but she continued to furtively peer over her menu. With a smile, he turned back. “That’s Mart and Jamison.”

  “Who are they?” She sent them another suspicious glance. The blond one gave her a faint smile, but the dark-haired one did not. In fact, he radiated antagonism.

  “My bodyguards,” he said simply, as if this were a normal occurrence. Well, of course it was, for him.

  “I see. Then I won’t worry that they keep staring at you.”

  “They’re staring at you.”

  “Me? Why?” Feeling ill at ease, she took a sip of water.

  “They’re ensuring you’re not a threat to me.”

  She choked on a laugh, and water unfortunately spurte
d from her mouth. “You’re joking.”

  “No.” Another look at the bodyguards proved they weren’t laughing, either. The dark one’s bad attitude seemed to have soured the blond one’s mood, for both now stared at her with cool, unfriendly expressions. Maybe the short one had heard her thoughtless munchkin comment. She felt another tug of remorse for her insensitive words. Maybe that’s why he seemed to dislike her already. That, and because she hadn’t listened to his warning to get off the set.

  She flirted with the idea of apologizing. No. It might be best to forget the whole incident. Especially if he hadn’t heard her inappropriate comment in the first place.

  Instead, she lowered her menu and sent the bodyguards a friendly smile. Neither responded, although the blond one looked down at his bread plate, as if uncomfortable. The black-haired one returned her stare, unblinking.

  “I’m sure they do a good job,” she said, returning her attention to Colin.

  “They’re the best in the business.”

  The waiter took their order, and then Colin said, “I have to confess to an ulterior motive for asking you to lunch.”

  “Really?” What could a legendary pop star possibly want from her?

  “I’m planning to write an autobiography. A publisher’s been pressuring my agent about it.”

  “I thought you had a tour coming up in Europe.” She had learned that by eavesdropping on his television segment. “Do you have time to write an autobiography?”

  “No. That’s why I need you.”

  “Me?” Facts clicked together. Surprised, she said, “You want me to ghostwrite your autobiography?”

  “Would you be interested?” His quizzical smile looked surprisingly self-deprecating.