The Bodyguard Contract Page 11

  “I can see why. It’s very beautiful.”

  “It’s been my experience that true beauty recognizes true beauty,” Mikhail murmured.

  “I’m flattered—”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting….” Ian’s voice indicated otherwise. Her gaze snapped to Ian, but he’d been expecting it and met the flash of temper with a raised eyebrow. Maybe it was pride, or even impatience, but she’d remember he was in the room, by God.

  Deliberately his hand slid across the base of her spine. His fingers dipped possessively below the material, felt the shiver up her spine.

  “No, our host was just telling me about his hotel,” Lara said smoothly. “Mikhail Davidenko, this is my…friend, Ian MacAlister.”

  Both men shook hands.

  “And this is his associate Mr. Novak, Ian. You both have something in common. He deals with Mikhail’s export business. I’m sure since you’ve been helping your father, you must have come across each other.”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  Mikhail’s eyes hadn’t moved from Lara. “Miss Mercer was just telling me how you came to stay at the Bontecou. I’m very pleased you trust me. With your privacy, that is.” He laughed.

  “So far we haven’t been disappointed. Have we, darling?” Ian said before tipping his glass toward Novak. “What do you export, Novak?”

  “This and that. Mostly tech. Less gamble, more profit.”

  “You don’t like to gamble?” Ian’s eyes met Novak’s. The steel in them parried, then thrust. “Considering where we’re standing that’s hard to believe.”

  “Mr. Davidenko is the gambler here.”

  “In fact, MacAlister, I’m having a private game tomorrow around noon. Texas Holdem. Cash only. You’re more than welcome to join myself and a few of my—” Mikhail winked at Lara “—friends.”

  In that instant, Lara glimpsed the charm beneath and understood how Sophia had a hard time resisting.

  “Some will be flying in later tonight, others early tomorrow.”

  “I’ve heard of Five and Seven card stud,” Lara commented. “What is Texas Holdem?”

  “It’s a variation on Seven Card stud,” Mikhail replied. “I prefer it. Most do, if you follow the poker tournaments these days. All seem to be Texas Holdem games.”

  “And the difference?” Lara asked.

  “Initially, two cards are dealt facedown to each player, then there is a betting round. Three cards, customarily called the flop, are then dealt faceup in the center of the table. Those three community cards are part of each player’s hand. The players have another opportunity to bet.”

  “Another card is dealt in the center, followed by another betting round,” Ian inserted. “Then a final card is dealt—also in the center.”

  “If you’re still in the game, you have another chance to bet. The winner is determined by the highest five-card hand.”

  “Doesn’t sound too hard.” Lara’s lips dipped into a perfect rich girl’s pout. “Are women allowed?”

  “No, unfortunately they are not. You see, my friends are very old and set in their Russian ways.”

  “What are the stakes?” Ian asked, making note that Mikhail’s friends were also Russian.

  “Minimum two hundred thousand, but most keep one million on hand.”

  “No problem. It just so happens I have one million sitting in your safe downstairs,” Ian said easily. “Or maybe you knew that?”

  “Maybe I did.” Mikhail laughed. “You’d be surprised at what I know, I think.”

  LARA STALKED into the room and over to the television. She jabbed the power button. Immediately after the TV popped on, she turned up the volume. If they were going to have an argument, by God, she didn’t want their friends to pick it up.

  Ian shut the door, fury in every step. He kept his voice down. He grabbed her close, hugged her to the length of him.

  “What the hell do you think you were doing earlier?” Lara whispered the words harshly against his throat, shut down the impulse to take a nip. “All night you’ve been touching me, stroking me, marking your territory.” Making her body sing at a fevered pitch. “You destroyed any opportunity for me to pump Davidenko for information.”

  “Information? Not like that you don’t,” he rasped next to her ear, caught her earlobe between wickedly sharp teeth.

  “But you arrange to play poker?” Lara closed her eyes, willed herself to stop the heat that raced through her blood. Not this time, damn it. It wasn’t going to happen again. The last time they’d gotten into a fight like this they ended up on the floor. “It’s too risky a plan.”

  “It’s Texas Holdem. Not a shoot-out at the O.K. Corral.” One hand slipped behind her neck, his thumb caressing the underside of her jaw. With the other, Ian loosened the pins in her hair, let it tumble to her shoulders before burying his fingers into the wild tresses.

  “With a Russian terrorist, it can turn into the St. Valentine’s Day massacre.” Lara’s head fell back, giving Ian more access.

  “What is this about, Red?” Ian played with her bottom lip, nibbling it with his teeth, then soothing it with his tongue. “The fact that it’s just me going in there, or the fact that you don’t approve of what I’m doing?”

  Lara’s fingers crept up his chest, slipped under his shirt, popping any buttons in her path. Crisp hair tickled her palm, triggering little electric shocks all the way to her elbow. “I don’t think you’re using your head—”

  Ian’s hand slid behind her, tracing the bumps of her spine until she squirmed tight against the hardness between his legs.

  “I don’t think you’re using yours, so hear me out.” His voice was a distant hum against her shoulder.

  “Fine.” Lara gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus.

  “I have two reasons for being at that game tomorrow. One, Novak doesn’t want me there.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Body language, my little voice, instinct. Pick one,” Ian stated, keeping his voice low and intimate. “But I know he isn’t happy about it. Give me a little time and I’ll figure out why.”

  “We don’t have time,” she murmured, tracing his jawline with her lips. “As it is, we can’t make a move until morning.”

  “You sound like I don’t know what’s at stake, Lara. I do. You’re not going to die and neither will our baby. Or anyone else for that matter.”

  “What’s your second reason?” Giving in to temptation, her hand slipped between them.

  “You.” He groaned the word, his breath heavy. Slowly, she traced the hard outline under his zipper, knowing the cameras wouldn’t see. Her bones dissolved in liquid heat. Lara sagged against him, trembling with need. “Ian, I can’t….”

  He grabbed her hand, stopped the torture for both of them. “You’re going back in.”

  “Back in where?” Then, Lara understood and she pulled back. Her eyes found his. “Back into Davidenko’s suite?” she whispered.

  “Novak’s,” Ian corrected, tipping his forehead against hers and dragging in several deep breaths. “During the poker game. It’s the best distraction we have. From the sound of it, Davidenko’s friends are heavy hitters—Russian heavy hitters. I’m betting they’re Mafia or connected some way to the Mafia.”

  “Can you say Godfather?” Lara kept her tone low, remembering their earlier conversation. “Novak could be wiping out half the Mafia with the Katts Smeart.”

  “More than half. Either way, Davidenko’s security will be concentrating on keeping those men safe. That means Novak will have his hands full. It will give you time to search for the Katts Smeart files.”

  “You sure know how to turn a girl on, MacAlister—”

  Lara stopped short. Her eyes widened as her picture flashed onto the television screen.

  “On a lighter note. Rumor has it that Vice President Mercer is going to be a grandfather soon. An unconfirmed report has come in that Lara Mercer, his only daughter, is going to have a baby.

  Mis
s Mercer and Ian MacAlister, son to whiskey king, Quentin MacAlister have been spotted together in Las Vegas.”

  The anchorman flashed a set of pearly white teeth.

  “I’m guessing Miss Mercer, the big question now is, who’s the daddy?”

  Slowly, Lara broke away and sank onto the couch.

  The news? How in the hell did she make the news? Lara glanced up, felt the blast from twin blue lasers. “Well, Daddy?”

  Without warning, Ian grabbed Lara’s hand, yanked her out onto the balcony.

  “You’re being obvious.”

  “Too bad,” he bit out through clenched teeth.

  The wind whipped around them, its icy edges scattering goose bumps down her arms. Lara’s body heat plummeted to a deep freeze in one split second.

  “How in the hell did the press get a hold of your pregnancy?”

  “Downstairs, in the casino’s restroom,” Lara responded, shivering. It hadn’t taken her more than a moment to figure out the source.

  “What?”

  Quickly Lara explained her encounter with Jenny’s mother.

  “Who was this again?”

  “Some woman, Ian. I didn’t ask her name.” Lara rubbed her arms, clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

  Swearing, Ian pulled her against him, used his body to seep warmth into hers.

  “It wasn’t like I planned to announce it. She had a little girl and a baby. Next thing I know, she was asking me if I had children and I told her I was pregnant.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Just like that.” Lara frowned, because it was really just like that. In retrospect, the woman had done her a favor. Lara gained a perspective on the pregnancy, decided her priorities. “We ended up talking about morning sickness.”

  “Morning sickness?”

  “And how soon-to-be-fathers can be annoying.”

  “Not funny, Red.”

  “Look, either she couldn’t keep the secret,” she responded, keeping her voice even, “or someone heard us talking. Either way, it was my fault. Not hers. I exposed the baby. I’ve put it in danger.” Lara cleared her throat, trying to unblock the emotion. “God, I so suck at being a mom.”

  Just that quick Ian’s anger dissipated. A mom? Lara called herself a mom. “I think there’s a learning curve, all things considered.”

  With a sigh, he gathered her closer, tucked her head under his chin. “Look, there’s nothing we can do about it now, except ride it out.”

  Lara leaned back until their eyes met. “Thanks,” she murmured, then kissed him. A short, spontaneous kiss. One that had nothing to do with the role they were playing. One that left her body tingling. Testing, she did it again. Lingered over his sharp intake of breath.

  “Ian,” Lara whispered, nipping at his lip. “I—”

  She what? She was sorry? It seemed so banal after everything, she realized. He hadn’t asked for this. The baby. Novak. She’d gotten him into this.

  “Not here, Red. Not like this,” Ian responded, his voice low with anguish or desire—Lara couldn’t be sure. He set her away from him, putting a different kind of coldness between them. “Not until this is over.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Mr. Novak?”

  “What?” Anton snapped. The frustration burrowed under his skin, aggravating his temper. After his argument with Xavier, he’d spent all day trying to track down Eos, only to come up empty. Time was running out and so were his options.

  He saw Alexei approaching with a teenager by his side. Dressed in low-hanging jeans and a basketball jersey, the kid looked as if he’d just come from a neighborhood school yard, not the casino.

  “I caught this guy trying to sneak in here. And since Mr. Davidenko isn’t around, I thought I’d bring him to you.”

  “I understand, Alexei.” Novak studied the boy, not pleased when he saw unnatural glitter in the bloodshot eyes. “You’re high, aren’t you?”

  “No—”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to cut a deal with Mr. Davidenko.”

  “A deal?” Anton laughed, the harsh undertone causing the teen to step back. “Mr. Davidenko doesn’t make deals with children.”

  “I have information,” he said stubbornly.

  “I don’t care.” Anton turned to Alexei. “Take him downstairs and let him go.” He paused for effect. “If he comes back, break his legs.”

  Alexei started to drag the kid away.

  “I saw some couple ripping you off this morning.”

  Anton turned back, assessing. “Wait, Alexei.”

  The bodyguard stopped and the boy stumbled. Alexei grabbed him by the shirt to keep him from falling to the floor.

  “What’s your name, boy?” Anton asked, his features set.

  “J.T.”

  “Alexei, take J.T. to my office,” Anton ordered. “I want to have a little chat with him.”

  “WHO DID YOU SEE?”

  “Some guy and his old lady.” J.T. shrugged. He wore the arrogance of youth like a badge of honor.

  Stupid, but understandable. “What did they look like?”

  “Man, it was dark. I couldn’t see them in the dark.”

  “How did you know they were together, then? A couple, I mean?”

  “They argued like they were together.” J.T. picked up a crystal paperweight from Anton’s desk, weighed it in his hand, considered its value. “Like my parents did, before they split. Without the fists flying of course. Or the swearing.”

  Anton wondered if he’d been that conceited when he’d taken on Mikhail. “Did you hear any names?”

  “Sure. Red. He called her Red.” J.T. put the paperweight down, cocked his head with superiority. “She called him Ian.”

  Anton swore. He picked up his phone and dialed the front desk. “Get me Bernard.” Then he hit his buzzer.

  Alexei opened the door and Anton pointed to the boy. “Give him a hundred dollars—then drop him off downtown.” Anton skewered J.T. with his eyes. “If I see you again, I will be the last thing you see. Get me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Anton waved Alexei away.

  “This is Bernard.” The manager’s voice squeaked across the line.

  “Bernard, I need to know if Ian MacAlister or Lara Mercer placed anything in our hotel safe.”

  “Yes, sir. I put it there myself. A black leather briefcase—”

  Anton hung up, then dialed another number.

  “The briefcase is here. The son of a bitch checked it in to the hotel safe right under our noses. We’ve a lot to do before the game—” He caught the television screen out of the corner of his eye. “Hold on.” He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.

  His frown deepened as the newscaster’s words penetrated his thoughts. “She’s pregnant?” Anton laughed, a short harsh blast of air. “Eos is pregnant.”

  IAN TOOK A DEEP, shuddered breath and let the steam fill his lungs. Sweat ran in long rivulets down his face, stinging his eyes. Perversely, he kept them open—watching the haze thicken, its density crowd him. He was in love with Lara. There was no way around it. And he’d end up losing her, in order to save her.

  Somewhere through the fog, a latch clicked. Fresh air rushed in, turning steam into mist, blasting the heat from his skin—leaving a prickly coolness in its wake.

  Lara appeared on its heels, her face already flushed from the steam. The slip dress clung to her, a second skin of silk that revealed the sweet lines of her body beneath.

  She swung the door wide-open, allowing the heat to dissipate before she moved closer.

  “I don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Ian. I’m good at what I do.”

  “No argument there.” His voice remained relaxed, but she saw his muscles tighten with caution.

  “I’ve spent my whole life making my own decisions, creating my path in life,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “In fact, I think we could both agree that I’m used to getting my own way.”

  She
reached over and turned off the steam, deliberately stretching the silk against her already-sweat-damp skin.

  “Now that you mention it, Red, a little more flexibility might not hurt.”

  “Maybe now is the time to start practicing.” Stalking him, she took another step closer, then let her gaze skim over the tanned skin and sleek muscles.

  An urge to feel him naked against her, caught at her. She shifted forward.

  “Lara,” Ian warned. He folded his arms across his chest. To stop her perusal maybe? When she tugged the towel from his lap and dropped it to the floor, he couldn’t deny his reaction.

  “If you’re worried about knocking me up, don’t,” she teased.

  “I’m worried about hurting you.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezed enough to stop any forward movement. But the tenderness was there, in the depth of his gaze. Her heart fluttered to her throat.

  “I don’t hurt so easily.”

  With gentle fingers, he tilted her chin up. “What’s this about, Red?”

  “It’s about you and me,” she whispered, glimpsing the tenderness in his gaze, using it as her lifeline. “No more jokes.”

  With deliberate movements, she eased herself over his legs. “No more lies.” Ian caught sight of a pale inner thigh before she slid onto his lap, her legs spread wide to straddle his hips. He felt the tender sweep of her skin against his. The brush of curls against his lower belly.

  “No more anger.” Lara caught his hand, pressed his palm to her lips for a kiss.

  “It’s all about this.” She laid his palm against her stomach until he felt the slight quiver of muscles beneath.

  “And this.” She moved his hand against her heart—its beat fast, uneven.

  “Lara, I—”

  “Shh,” she whispered and positioned a finger against his lips. She guided his hand to her leg, placed it just above her ankle. Unhurried, she slid his hand up her calf, closing her eyes briefly when he eased it up and over her knee. “And this,” she murmured. Silk gave way, brushed aside by his fingers. He skimmed the soft curve of her thigh, cupped the hollow of her hip.