“What have you done with my bodyguard?”

His scorn was not promising. “Your security is sadly lacking, Madam President. The most inept criminal could get to you with little trouble. And that’s a problem.”

“My security is fine—”

He took another step closer, his hands sliding free of his pockets like a tiger unsheathing his claws. He was Bollywood handsome, with his tanned skin and honey-gold eyes, and she found herself thinking again of tigers. Sleek, gorgeous, deadly.

Instinctively, she backed away. “Step aside and let me leave.”

His sensual lips parted in a mocking smile. Her heart stuttered, then tripped forward again. Too handsome and flashy. Too, too dangerous.

She had no use for men like this. No use for any man, she silently corrected. Not for a long time now. Not since she’d realized there were consequences to be paid.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet, Madam President.”

About the Author

LYNN RAYE HARRIS read her first Mills & Boon® romance when her grandmother carted home a box from a yard sale. She didn’t know she wanted to be a writer then, but she definitely knew she wanted to marry a sheikh or a prince and live the glamorous life she read about in the pages. Instead, she married a military man and moved around the world. These days she makes her home in North Alabama, with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon is a dream come true. You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com

Books by Lynn Raye Harris:

STRANGERS IN THE DESERT

THE DEVIL’S HEART

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Captive but Forbidden

Lynn Raye Harris

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

Late November, London

THE President of Aliz was hiding in the ladies’ room.

Veronica St. Germaine lifted her head, frowning at her reflection in the mirror. She really should go back out there, but she was tired of smiling, tired of shaking hands and making small talk, tired of feeling desperate and overwhelmed and so very out of her element.

Yet she knew she had a job to do.

For Aliz. Her people needed her, and she would not fail them. They’d entrusted her with their welfare and she would not return empty-handed.

She couldn’t.

Momentarily, she would go back to the hotel ballroom and paste on a smile. Just as soon as she regained her center of calm.

She couldn’t quite say what had triggered her need to escape. Perhaps it was the huge crush of curious faces, the suggestive looks from some of the men, or even the knowledge that she was surrounded by men in black suits who would dog her every step for the next two years of her life.

That was what she hated most of all—the loss of her autonomy. In truth, it sparked unpleasant associations she would rather forget. Until the age of eighteen, her life had been so tightly regimented that she’d not had even a single friend.

Veronica took a deep breath and pulled a lipstick tube from her purse. Another moment, and then she had to return to the elegant party.

She’d been traveling for the past two weeks, trying to drum up investment in her country. It wasn’t an easy prospect. Aliz was beautiful, with beaches and coastline and balmy breezes, but it was also poor after so many years of mismanagement. Investors wanted to know that if they poured money into the country, it wouldn’t be in vain.

She was here to convince them Aliz was a good bet.

And it was much more difficult than she’d anticipated. In so many ways, she wasn’t prepared for this job. She’d said no to running for office, but Paul Durand—an old friend of her father’s—had convinced her she was the person who could make everything right again.

She’d laughed at the idea—who was she to be president of a nation? She was famous in Aliz, but she was infamous the world over. There was a difference between the two, but Paul hadn’t listened.

He’d spoken with such passion, such conviction. And he’d convinced her she was the one person who could do the most good for Aliz. Her notoriety, far from being undesirable, was an asset in the public arena.

She reminded herself of that now. She’d done many things wrong in her life, but she would do this right. Aliz needed her. And she was not the same person she’d been when she’d fled her father’s house ten years ago.

Then, she’d been headstrong, selfish and a touch naive.

She’d been looking for adventure, and she’d done everything to excess once she’d escaped her father’s control. It had been inevitable that she would become a bad girl, a diva, a spoiled debutante. Some would even include wanton seductress on that list, but all she would say was that she’d allowed herself the freedom to take lovers when it had suited her.

A dart of pain lodged beneath her breastbone. Her last relationship had not ended so well—though it wasn’t the man who’d caused the pain that even now threatened to consume her.

If she stopped fighting for even a moment, the pain would win. Because it was her fault it had happened. Her fault the tiny life growing inside her had never had a chance.

She’d always felt impervious, as if no one could hurt her because she refused to let them, but she’d learned there were many kinds of hurt. Some hurts snuck up on you like a scorpion in the night and left you gasping and aching and wondering how you’d never known it could happen to you.

Veronica swiped a hand beneath her eyes.

Not now. She would not dwell on it now.

The lights flickered overhead. It had been snowing heavily for hours. Perhaps the power would go out after all. She resolutely sucked in a breath and bent toward the mirror to remove all traces of tears from the corners of her eyes. Then she stood and smoothed a hand down her gown.

Her pity party was finished; it was time to return to the ballroom before the power went out and she was left in the dark alone.

Veronica bit back a cry as the door to the ladies’ room suddenly swung inward. No one should have gotten past the bodyguard stationed outside.

But the intruder was a man, dressed in an all-too-familiar black suit.

She pivoted angrily. This was too much. She would not have her private moments intruded on by her security staff.

Except this man was not her guard, nor was he wearing the typical black suit of one of her people.

“Who are you?” she blurted, her heart beginning to hammer in her throat as she faced him.

The man was tall and clad in a tuxedo that appeared to be custom-fitted. The fabric looked expensive, with a hint of shine that came from how tightly the cloth was woven. His dark hair curled over his collar, his golden skin so exotic and beautiful.

She’d seen this man by the bar, talking to her old friend Brady Thompson. She relaxed infinitesimally. If he knew Brady …

“I am Rajesh Vala.”

The name meant nothing to her.

His hands were shoved casually into the pockets of his trousers. The door swung shut behind him, and then it was just the two of them in the small anterior suite of the powder room. Mirrors lined three walls, giving her the impression there was more than one man in the room with her.

She swallowed, the pulse in her neck tapping a rhythm he surely could see.

He said nothing, as if he were waiting for her to speak. But she couldn’t. She could only stare. He was Bollywood-handsome, with his tanned skin and honey-gold eyes, and she found herself thinking of tigers. Sleek, gorgeous, deadly.

Her heart kicked up again and she found her voice. “What have you done with my bodyguard?”

His scorn was not promising. “Your security is sadly lacking, Madam President. The most inept criminal could get to you with little trouble. And that’s a problem.”

“My security is fine—”

He took another step closer, his hands sliding free of his pockets like an animal unsheathing its claws. Instinctively, she backed away, her bottom hitting the ledge she’d rested her purse on only a few moments ago.

He held up his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Then step aside and let me leave.”

His sensual lips parted in a mocking smile. Her heart stuttered, then tripped forward again. Too handsome and flashy. Too, too dangerous.

She had no use for men like this. No use for any man, she silently corrected, not for a long time now. Not since she’d realized there were consequences to be paid.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet, Madam President.”

“I beg your pardon?” Veronica said, as coldly as she was able to. She’d learned, over the years, to brazen her way through when necessary. Sometimes all it took was the perception of authority to actually imbue authority. “That is not your decision to make.”

Again the concentrated power of the leashed tiger reflected in his eyes. “Ah, but it is.”

A chill rippled down her spine like the beginnings of an avalanche. Understanding unfolded within. She’d seen this man with Brady, but she had no idea who he really was.

What he was capable of.

Why he was here, now.

Her pulse throbbed even faster. “What have you done to my bodyguard? If you’ve hurt him …”

His head tilted. “He is special to you?”

Veronica clasped her tiny purse in both hands, holding it in front of her body like a shield. A very inadequate shield. A sudden, overwhelming urge to walk over and wipe the superior look off this man’s face rolled through her. She would not act upon it, however.

“He is my countryman, and he’s in my employ. Yes, I care about him.”

“I see. Admirable of you, Madam President. But tell me, why are you not so careful with your own person?”

Veronica gave her head a little shake. She almost felt as if she’d been drinking, when in fact she’d had nothing stronger than sparkling water, so completely did this man befuddle her senses. “I beg your pardon?”

“Once more with the begging? I’m surprised. I understood that you were far more fierce than this.”

A current of anger spiked in her belly. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Vala. You seem to know so much about me, and I know nothing of you. Other than I saw you talking with Brady Thompson in the bar.”

“So you were paying attention.”

Veronica ground her teeth in frustration. “I would appreciate it very much if you could stop talking to me like I’m a two-year-old and tell me what you want.”

Rajesh Vala laughed. The sound startled her. It was rich, deep. Sexy. It curled around her, slid through her. Disconcerted her.

“Very good, Veronica. No wonder they elected you. You project competence, regardless of whether or not it’s true.”

She refused to rise to the bait, though a worm of hurt burrowed through her composure. But what did she expect? She’d spent years being the kind of person no one would ever take seriously.

“If you truly know Brady, then you’ll know you aren’t impressing me at the moment. What is the purpose of the exercise, Mr. Vala?”

His golden eyes sparkled. Those sensual lips twitched. She found herself focusing on them, thinking how they would feel pressed against her own.

The thought shocked her. She hadn’t felt the slightest hint of interest or attraction for any man in over a year. She simply wasn’t ready for it.

To say this was an inconvenient time for those feelings to return was an understatement.

“No purpose, other than to see how good your security is. It isn’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. It was such a casual pose.

But it was deceptive. She had the impression that he wasn’t relaxed at all. That he could spring into action at any second. Could strike without warning.

Like a scorpion in the night.

“The guard?” she demanded again.

“He’s fine. He might even be achieving his own personal Shangri-la right about now. Depending on his staying power, of course.”

She felt her face redden and she glanced away. Since when did she blush over innuendo? She was Veronica St. Germaine, notorious trendsetter. She’d once attended a party in Saint-Tropez wearing a dress that had been airbrushed onto her body. She’d literally been naked, other than the paint.

And this man made her blush?

“He was quite easily distracted, by the way. The charms of lovely Tammy, an Irish lass from Cork, were too much to resist, it seems.”

“You’re despicable.”

“No. I’m thorough. And quite adept at staying.”

Her ears were on fire. She was no longer certain what they were talking about. Security? Sex? Her mind was opting for sex and her body was reacting to the suggestion.

It’d been too long since she’d had sex. That had to be the only reason he could make her flush like an innocent virgin.

“I can’t imagine that Brady approves of your methods,” she said coolly. It was the first thing she could think of to say that might bring the conversation back from the brink.

“Not always. But he knows I’m the best.”

She wanted to sit. The heat was going to her head, making her feel faint. Or perhaps her dress was too tight. Whatever the case, she was moist with perspiration. She sank onto the bench, uncaring what he might think, and clasped her hands in her lap. Though what she really wanted to do was grab one of the fluffy white towels stacked on one corner of the vanity and dab her forehead with it.

“The best, Mr. Vala?” A sudden thought occurred to her. Brady had told her just this morning that she was too wound up—but he wouldn’t hire a gigolo to relax her, would he? A gigolo who outfoxed her bodyguard and caught her in the ladies’ room? A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it.

God, it was ridiculous. And maybe, just maybe, Brady truly was that crazy.

“I am a … security consultant,” the man said, watching her curiously.

Did he think she would pat the bench and suggest they get cozy together? Was Brady so insane as to think she had bodyguard fantasies? That a handsome, too-sexy tiger in a tuxedo could rock her world in the ladies’ powder room of an expensive hotel and she’d suddenly be relaxed and ready to face the challenges awaiting her?

Once, no doubt, that would have been true. But she was a different person now. She had to be.

She found the strength to stand again. “I’m not in the mood, Mr. Vala, but I thank you for the diversion. If you could get out of my way, I’ll say good-night now and return to the ballroom.”

His brows drew down. She had the feeling she’d insulted him somehow.

“Perhaps you didn’t hear what I said,” he replied, taking a step toward her.

“Oh, I heard you. And I’m not sure what you and Brady cooked up between you, but I’m not that desperate. Or that stupid.”

He stood so close now. So close that if she reached out, her fingertips could slide down the sleek fabric of his lapel.

His scent stole to her. Sharp and clear, like rain and warm spices. Like a sultry Indian night.

The lights dimmed for a long moment before brightening again. The tiger didn’t move, his gaze never leaving her face. She felt trapped—and safe, paradoxically.

“The power will probably go out,” he said. “We should get you back to your room. It is the safest place.”

“The safest place for what?” she asked, her voice little more than a cracking whisper, as her imagination ran wild and her skin grew hot and prickly.

Again, he looked at her curiously. “For you, Madam President.”

Cobras. They had cobras in India. Cobras that mesmerized their prey before striking. Was he less of a tiger and more of a cobra? Was she mesmerized? Was that why she felt so languid and warm, why she wanted to close her eyes and lean into him? Why she wanted to take what she thought he was offering and then pretend it had never happened?

Deliberately, she took a step back, breaking the spell. This was insane. And she had to put an end to it. There was too much at stake.

“I’m sure you’re quite good, but I’ve a duty to perform and no time for casual sex on the bathroom counter. Please tell Brady I was happily satisfied, if that’s what you need to do to get paid. I’ll find my own way back to my room.”

He stared at for her a long moment—and then he threw back his head, a sharp bark of laughter springing from his throat. She was so startled she couldn’t move. And then she felt the bite of heat flooding her again. A different kind of bite this time.

“This is definitely a first,” he said, the humor evident on his handsome face. It transformed him somehow, made him less frightening and more real. More human. “But I am not here for your, uh, satisfaction, I assure you.”

For some reason, that statement made her angry. As if he’d never consider such a thing with her. As if the thought were repulsive, when men had always clamored for her attentions.

She drew herself up. “You come in here talking in innuendo and half-truths—what do you expect me to think?”

She clung to the anger because the alternative was to melt into an embarrassed puddle. He probably had a wife and ten children at home, even if he was too perfect for words and wore no wedding band.

A sudden, sharp stab of something—pain, Veronica,

pain—pierced her chest at heart level. She knew she was not the sort of woman who inspired visions of picket fences, warm kitchens and laughing babies.

And it had never bothered her until recently, until she’d almost had her own baby.

Baby.

Funny how that word snuck up sometimes and squeezed the breath from her chest. She closed her eyes briefly, swallowed the bile rising in her throat.

I’m sorry, sweet baby …

“Are you unwell?” he asked.

She sliced a hand through the air impatiently, shoving the pain down deep into her soul. “I’m fine.”

The lights flickered again. He looked up, frowning. “We really should return to your room before the power goes out.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” she snapped.

He looked at her as if he pitied her. “That is not your choice to make.”

Veronica stared at him for a moment, undecided, while anger built into a solid wall inside her. How dare he? How absolutely dare he?

Energy exploded inside her like a wave collapsing and racing toward shore, until it sent her striding forward, intending to push past him if necessary.

He anticipated her, caught her bare arm in one strong hand. The shock of skin on skin sizzled into her core, and Veronica gasped. It was too much, too many raw emotions welling to the surface all at once. She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear to be touched by him.

She twisted hard, her open hand swinging up to connect with his cheek.

She missed. At the same time, her body spun out of her control—and then she was pressed against him, her back to his front, one strong hand clasping her wrists together behind her back while the other snaked around her waist and held her tightly.

Fury welled inside her as she jerked uselessly against the bonds of his iron grip.

He was so solid, so warm and hard. It took her a moment to realize that her bottom nestled in the cradle of his hips. That his body was responding to the way she squirmed against him. If she weren’t wearing heels, she wouldn’t be tall enough.

But right now, she was.

Her skin was hot, so hot. She wanted to press back against him, wanted to feel his heat pass into her cold body.

The thought horrified her so much she pulled forward in his grasp, trying hard to minimize the contact between them. Her back arched, her breasts straining against her gown as if they would pop free at any moment.

“Let me go,” she groaned.

“I’m here to protect you,” he said, his warm breath whispering against her ear. A shudder traveled the length of her spine. She had no doubt he’d felt it.

“Protect me from what? From you?” she flung at him as the evidence of his arousal grew against her.

He managed to put a little distance between them, though not much. The loss of contact disconcerted her in ways it shouldn’t. What was wrong with her?

“From yourself,” he growled in her ear. “From the incompetence of your staff.”

“A funny way you have of doing it,” she snapped, trying so hard to concentrate on what was wrong with this picture instead of what felt right.

His touch. His breath in her ear. The scent of him. The solid feel of him standing behind her. Veronica fought for control. “I have protection, in spite of what you might think. That man will be fired immediately. Another will take his place.”

“Very good, Veronica. I’d thought you would be soft on him.”

“I’m never soft,” she said as another tremor passed over her. His fingers began to slide slowly across her abdomen.

“Are you quite certain?” His voice was seductive and beautiful in her ear. So much in that sentence. So much she couldn’t begin to speak to.

“You can let me go,” she repeated.

“I’m not so sure.” His fingers moved slowly, so slowly. The pressure of them against her body was light, yet she felt them as if she was naked and he was stroking her like a lover.

She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. My God …

The lights flickered once more….

And then snapped out, plunging them into darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

THE sudden silence was crushing. Veronica could hear his breathing, but nothing else.

“Now what?” she asked, her voice so loud to her ears. Catching at the end. Sounding husky. Needy.

For this man? A stranger to her?

It was unfathomable, and yet nothing was as it should be. Nothing had been as it should have been for months. In truth, her entire life had spun out of control and had yet to spin back.

“We wait,” he said, his fingers stilling.

“For what? Don’t you have a flashlight or something? For all your fine talk about being the best, you seem unprepared.”

“I am definitely prepared,” he growled in her ear, his breath tickling the fine hairs on her nape.

“Prove it,” she said, her voice even huskier if that were possible. Dear God, what was she up to? There was no way on earth she was truly egging this man on, was there? She might find him amazingly attractive—devastatingly so—but she was not about to lift her gown and wrap her legs around his body in reality.

No matter what Brady seemed to think she was capable of. No matter what she might have done a little over a year ago when confronted with a man of such beauty and power as this sexy tiger in black.

The old Veronica would have made him blush.

“I’m beginning to understand you,” he said in her ear. “You challenge those around you as a way to deflect attention from yourself. And yet you’ve been elected to a very public position. Odd, is it not?”

A stone dropped inside her stomach. It was too close to the truth. Too close to who she’d been before she’d lost her way. “Save yourself the trouble of trying to analyze me, Mr. Vala.”

“Don’t you think you should call me Raj now?” His hand around her wrists was hot, his skin still burning hers with his touch. Though it was dark, she closed her eyes.

Raj. It was exotic, like him. She wanted to say it aloud, wanted to try it on her tongue.

But she would not.

“I see no need,” she said. “As soon as the lights come back on, I don’t ever intend to see you again.”

“You need me, Veronica. Whether you wish to admit it or not.”

She swallowed. “I don’t need anyone.” She’d made sure of it over the years—and she’d only been wrong once.

His hand dropped from her waist. A moment later, she felt the tips of his fingers sliding along her spine where her dress opened, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Mr. Vala …”

“Raj.”

“Raj,” she said, giving in to his demand because she hoped it would stop the insane stroking of her skin. It did not.

She wanted. And yet she couldn’t allow this side of her nature to surface, not now. Not ever again. The only way to protect herself from harm was to suppress her feelings. Feelings of need, of loneliness, of desire.

Human feelings.

No.

Veronica sucked in a shaky breath, fighting for control. “This isn’t very professional, is it? Do security consultants usually attempt to seduce their charges?”

The torturous track of his fingers ceased. Her heart hammered in the thick darkness. She’d scored a hit, but it didn’t make her feel any better. In some ways she wanted to take the words back, wanted him to continue the light stroking of her skin.

He did not. “Forgive me,” he said, his tone clipped—but whether it was with anger at her or himself, she wasn’t certain.

A moment later she was moving sideways, falling—but just as she was about to grab for him, about to wrap her arms around his neck so she didn’t fall, he eased her down on a bench and let her go. She searched the blackness for him, but could see nothing. Panic filled her until she willed it away.

“Don’t leave me here,” she said, nearly choking on the words as she did so. She hated to admit weakness, hated to admit she did need him, at least for the time being.

“I’m not leaving,” he replied, his voice coming from across the room. But she could hear the door easing open. He was going to leave her alone in this dark, lonely room. She would be lost, as lost as she’d been at sixteen when her father had locked her in a closet to punish her for trying to run away.

Blindly, she shot upright … and fell forward as her foot hit a nearby table.

Somehow, she managed to catch herself, but not without bending her wrist too far. She cried out as needles of pain shot through her arm.

“What are you doing?” Raj demanded.

She groped her way back onto the bench, relief flooding her as she held her wrist, sucking in deep breaths to keep from crying. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I told you I wasn’t.” His voice sounded closer now. A second later, light illuminated the small room.

She blinked up at him. “You have a light.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you use it to begin with?”

“Because I needed to be sure no one was outside first.” He bent in front of her, his dark head close as he took her arm in his hands and probed her wrist. She didn’t bother to ask how he knew she’d hurt herself. Veronica hissed as he found the tender spot. “It’s just a light sprain,” he said.

Then he stood and the light blinked out again.

“Why do we have to sit here?” she asked. “Why can’t we use your light and go to my room?”

“So now you want my help,” he said softly, almost teasingly.

“You have the light,” she replied, as if it were the most logical thing in the world to say.

She felt movement, felt a solid form settle on the bench beside her. He reached for her arm, finding it so surely that she swore he must have a cat’s night vision.

His fingers danced over the skin of her wrist, his thumbs pressing in deeply, making her gasp—and yet it felt good, as if he were easing the sprain out of her by touch alone.

“This is what we are going to do,” he said. “We’re going to spend the next twenty minutes here, while pandemonium reigns in the hotel, and hope the lights come back on. If they don’t, we’re going to your room.”

She hated being told what to do, and yet she’d tacitly agreed to it when she’d panicked over being alone in the dark. “Did Brady hire you?”

His soft snort was confusing. “In a manner of speaking. I’ve done work for him in the past. Protecting his celebrity clients.”

She had to bite back a moan as his fingers worked their magic on her. “I appreciate your diligence, Mr. Vala, but Brady should have known better.”

“He cares about you.”

“I know,” she said softly. Brady was a true friend. She knew he’d always wanted to be more than that, but she’d never felt the same in return. In spite of it, their friendship flourished. Brady was a good man, the kind of man she should have been interested in. Life would have been a whole lot easier if she had been.

The pressure of Raj’s fingers was perfect, rhythmic. Why did she always want the kind of men who were terrible for her? Men like this one, handsome and dangerous and incapable of seeing past the facade of her outward appearance to what lay beneath?

It was her fault they could not. She’d spent so many years building a wall, becoming someone interesting and compelling and, yes, even shocking, that she no longer knew how to be herself with a man. She had no idea if the real Veronica was even worth the trouble.

And she wasn’t planning to try and find out.

Raj’s voice startled her. “After what happened tonight, do you still trust your staff?”

A chill slithered down her spine. That was something she hadn’t wanted to think about. Because how could she admit that she didn’t know? That she was out of her depth and uncertain where to turn?

She thought of the letter she’d gotten that morning, and shivered. It had been so simple, one word in cutout letters: slut. It had been nothing, really. The work of a former rival. Who else would go to the trouble?

But the one question she’d kept asking herself today was how had the letter penetrated her security and found its way onto her breakfast tray?

She’d interrogated her secretary. The guard on duty. The maid. The porter. No one seemed to know.

Then, in a moment of weakness, she’d told Brady about it. She regretted that now, as it was surely the impetus for him to call this man.

“Yes, I trust them,” she said, because she could say nothing else. Was she supposed to run scared over a simple letter? Her bodyguard abandoning his post tonight was an unrelated incident. That didn’t mean the rest of her staff was incompetent.

“Then you are either naive or stupid, Madam President,” Raj Vala said.

“I am neither one,” she replied, bristling not only at the way he’d pronounced her incompetent, but also at the condescending tone he’d used to say the last two words. As if he didn’t think her worthy.

She might not be, but it wasn’t his place to say so. He was not Alizean. “Not everything is as straightforward as you might think. There are many options to be considered.”

His thumbs worked magic. Tingles of sensation streaked up her arm, over her scalp. Down into her core. She couldn’t stop the little moan that escaped her.

Damn him. And damn her reawakened senses.

Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong man.

It was the situation, she told herself, the fact she now found herself alone with a dynamic, sexy stranger who touched her as if he had a right. Because she’d allowed no man to get close to her since the miscarriage, she was now suffering from sensory overload.

“Would you like me to tell you the best option?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?” she snapped.

“You always have a choice,” he replied evenly. “Except in instances where your immediate safety might be at stake.”

She wanted to tell him to go to hell. Who was he to walk in here and try to take over this aspect of her new life as if he had a right?

But he kept rubbing, soothing her sore wrist, and she didn’t say a word because she selfishly didn’t want him to stop.

A minute later, the fingers of one hand slid up her arm, over her jaw, her chin, across her lips. She didn’t know why she allowed it—

No, that wasn’t quite true. She allowed it because it felt shockingly perfect to let him touch her. He made her feel normal, and that was something she hadn’t expected to feel ever again. It felt surprisingly good to be touched after all this time.

She trembled at the featherlight stroking of his finger across her mouth, and she bit down on her lip to keep from nibbling him in return.

Oh, he was good. Good enough that she began to wonder if he hadn’t missed his calling in life. Gigolo seemed a perfectly acceptable occupation for a man with his skill set.

“Then tell me this option,” she stated, hoping she sounded businesslike and cool as she dragged her attention back from the summit. “Let’s see how good you are.”

His fingers slid along her jaw now, so light, so erotic. His soft laugh was a sensual purr in his throat, and she knew she’d made a mistake. A dreadful, heart-pounding mistake.

“It’s quite simple. You need to acquire a lover, Madam President.” His voice was so sexy, so mesmerizing, his slight British accent combined with another she couldn’t quite place.

Everything inside her stilled. Her stomach clenched painfully. Of course.

He might be here to help her, but he wasn’t above helping himself, either. Men like him made her sick. Always wanting something in return. Brady might truly care, but this man did not.

“It’s out of the question,” she said, her voice tight. “I don’t want to hear another word of this—”

“Ah, but you will listen. Because you’re smart, Veronica.” His fingers continued their damning track across her skin. She felt his presence in the dark as a solid wall of heat, and she tilted her head back, sensing somehow that he loomed over her, that his mouth was only inches from hers.

She should pull away, and yet she couldn’t seem to do it. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Why deny the truth? You know it as well as I do.”

Heat suffused her from the inside out. Somehow she managed to scoot backward on the bench, to put distance between them. Was she that transparent? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

But she did. Because he touched her so lightly, so expertly, that her body was tightening like a bowstring.

There was definitely something there, something between them … something that would combust if she let it. Part of her desperately wanted to let it …

“Yes, you do,” he said softly. His tone was that of a lover.

Did he feel it, too?

“Maybe …” she breathed.

But his next words shattered that illusion.

“Your presidency is too new, Aliz is in turmoil and you aren’t safe.”

Every word was like a blow. Embarrassment flooded her in bright, white-hot waves. She’d been preoccupied with the way he made her feel when he touched her, and he was nothing but business. Damn him for making her forget, even for a moment.

“Those things are none of your concern,” she said evenly, thankful he couldn’t see her flushed face. Thankful there was no light to give her away. “Nothing you can do will fix it overnight.”

“This isn’t a game, Veronica. You can’t quit this party when it no longer amuses you.” Raj heard her draw in a breath. He’d probably insulted her, but he didn’t give a damn.

Because Veronica St. Germaine was precisely the sort of woman he had no sympathy for.

She was a slave to her passions, her wants, her desires. She was the worst kind of person to be entrusted with the welfare of a puppy, let alone a nation—yet here she was.

And here he was, damn Brady to hell. Raj hadn’t wanted to do this job, but Brady had begged him.

For old time’s sake. And since Raj owed at least a measure of his success to Brady’s faith in him when he’d been fresh out of the military and working his first security job so many years ago, he couldn’t say no.

So now he was sitting in the dark with a too-sexy, spoiled society princess and arguing over whether or not she needed his help.

He should just kiss her and put the matter to rest. He wasn’t unaware of her response to him. He also wasn’t unaware of her reputation as a woman who pursued her appetites relentlessly, be they clothes, shoes, fast cars or men.

And at least one part of his anatomy didn’t mind the prospect of being an object of her desire.

Not that he would allow himself to go down that road.

It’d been a long time since he’d personally guarded anyone, but he had never allowed himself to get involved with a client. It angered him immensely that he’d nearly violated that creed with her.

He didn’t know why he’d allowed himself to succumb to the temptation to stroke his fingers along the creamy skin of her exposed back. She was not the kind of woman he would ever get involved with. It wasn’t that she wasn’t desirable—she definitely was—but she was self-centered and destructive. Poisonous.

“I know this isn’t a game!” she barked. “Do you really think I don’t?”

He’d heard those words before. Or ones very like them anyway. He knew all about people who had no control over their impulses. People who claimed to want to conquer their addictions, but inevitably slid back into them when life got too hard or too boring or too hopeless.

He had no sympathy for her. She’d taken on this task, and she deserved no pity if it was turning out to be too difficult. After all, her people would get none if she faltered. “It’s a big responsibility you’ve accepted. Not quite your usual thing, is it?”

He could feel the fury rolling from her in waves.

“You know nothing about me, Mr. Vala. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your pop psychology to yourself.”

She was cool, this woman. And blazing hot on the inside. He was beginning to understand the public fascination with her.

He’d made sure to have his people prepare a dossier on her before he’d ever come to the hotel tonight. He hadn’t read the entire thing during the limo ride over, but he’d skimmed enough to get an idea.

A dilettante in the worlds of fashion, music and television, she’d designed a line of clothing, recorded a hit album and had her own late-night talk show for a brief time in America.

She’d been a darling of the tabloids. Her face and figure were splashed on more magazine covers worldwide than were the royals. It was astounding.

Until about a year ago, she’d regularly appeared. Then she’d dropped out of sight. Working on a new project, her spokesperson had said at the time, though the speculation had been that she was nursing a broken heart after a failed affair.

When she’d emerged from hiding four months later, she’d been relegated to a small blurb on the pages she’d once dominated. It had been shortly afterward that she’d declared her candidacy for president.

It wasn’t difficult to figure out why she’d done so, because suddenly she was back on top, a darling of the media once more.

He understood where that kind of need for attention came from, but he had no patience for it. People like her destroyed those foolish enough to get close to them.

Or those who had no choice—like children.

More than once he’d watched his mother spiral into the depths of her selfish need for attention, unable to stop her. Unable to prevent the crash. He’d survived that life, but he certainly hadn’t come away unscathed.

“A lover could get close to you without suspicion,” he said. “It would be a way to provide extra security without anyone on your staff questioning the addition.”

“You aren’t listening to me, are you? I don’t like you, and I can’t take a lover. Even a false one.”

He didn’t bother to point out that she did like him. That she’d been sending him signals from the moment he’d entered the room. Frustration hammered into him. Why was he arguing with her? He’d done what he’d promised Brady he would do. He’d tried to help. Now he could take her back to her suite and leave her there in good conscience.

Except it wasn’t in his nature to give up so easily, especially when he believed she truly was in danger. Her country was in turmoil, and it was well-known that the previous president hadn’t been too happy with the outcome of the election. Aliz was a democracy, but only just. And Monsieur Brun had been in power for twelve years before he’d lost to this woman who had no political experience whatsoever.

Disgruntled loser was an understatement.

“You need protection, Veronica. That threat should never have gotten through the layers surrounding you. It will escalate, believe me.”

He could feel her stiffen beside him. “There’s been no threat.”

“That’s not what Brady says.”

Her breath hissed out. “I knew it. It was one word, made of newspaper letters and glued to a piece of paper. That’s hardly a threat!”

Every instinct he had told him otherwise. It was an ugly word, the kind of word that was filled with hate and derision. Spoken in anger was one thing. Deliberately pasted together and sent? “Did you keep the letter?”

“I threw it away.”

He’d expected as much, though it would have been better if she had not. “Has it happened before?”

“Before I was president?”

“Precisely.”

She let out a frustrated breath. “No. But that doesn’t mean anything. Everyone has enemies.”

“But not everyone is the president of a nation. You have to take every anomaly, no matter how small, as a legitimate threat. You have no choice now.”

“I realize that.” Her voice was ice.

“Then you must also realize that we wouldn’t actually be lovers,” he said, as much to himself as to her. “That’s not why I’m here.”

A shame, really. She was an extraordinarily sensual woman. He’d watched her work the room from his position at the bar earlier. She’d slain men with her smile, with the high, firm breasts that jutted into the fabric of the purple dress she wore. With the long, beautiful legs he’d glimpsed through the slit in the fabric when she walked.

Her platinum-blond hair was piled onto her head, and her dress dipped low in the back, revealing smooth, touchable skin. Men had tripped over their tongues as they’d gathered around her. He’d watched it all with disdain.

Until he’d gotten close to her. His visceral reaction had been strong, his body hardening painfully. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. He was accustomed to want, to deprivation and pain. The military had made sure of it. Denying himself pleasure, no matter how much he might want it, was easily done.

“Even the appearance of it would be too much,” she replied, her words crisp and lovely in the French accent of her homeland. “I am the president. I have an image to maintain.”

“You’re a single woman, Veronica. You’re allowed to date. And Aliz’s is not the sort of culture that would take you to task for it.”

“Aliz has had one crisis after another. They need a president who is focused on their welfare, not on her personal life.”

He found the words ironic coming from her, but he allowed it to pass without comment.

“They also elected you because you are glamorous and exotic to them. You’ve achieved fame on the world stage, and they are proud of you. If you become simply another staid politician, you will disappoint them. They want you to fix things, but they also want you to be the Veronica St. Germaine they know and love.”

“You can’t know that,” she said angrily. “You are saying whatever you think will further your personal agenda.”

A current of annoyance rippled through him, only partly because it was true. “My personal agenda? I’m doing you a favor, Madam President, in trying to protect your lovely behind.”

“How dare you suggest I should be grateful when you keep trying to give me something I don’t want?”

What she needed was a hard dose of reality.

He grasped her shoulders, pulled her closer to him. He did it for effect, not because he wanted to kiss her. Not because he’d been dying to kiss her from the moment she’d turned to him when he’d entered this room.

Never because of that.

Her palms came up, pressed against his chest. “What are you doing?” She sounded breathless. Not scared, not angry. Breathless. Anticipating. Wanting.

If he were a weaker man, she would be the ruin of all his fine control.

“We’re alone and you’re at my mercy,” he said, making sure his voice was harsh rather than seductive. “If I’d come to harm you, no one would stop me.”

“I’m not helpless,” she replied. “I took a self-defense course.”

Raj laughed. He couldn’t help it. Self-defense was good. Everyone should take a self-defense class. And yet …

“There are people against whom your average self-defense techniques don’t work. Because those techniques rely on surprise, and some people cannot be surprised. Some people are trained killers, Veronica.”

Like he was, he silently added. Six years in the Special Forces had taught him that much and more.

He felt the shiver go through her body. The idea was reprehensible to her. As well it should be.

“Everything you say is for one purpose,” she said, her breath soft against his face.

It wouldn’t take much to claim her lips. To plunder them with his own and taste their sweetness.

“But you and Brady have got it all wrong. No one is out to harm me.”

His grip on her tightened. “Are you willing to bet your life on that?”

CHAPTER THREE

VERONICA’S pulse skipped and bobbed like a white-water raft sailing toward a massive waterfall. But whether it was his insistence she was in danger or how closely he now held her, she couldn’t be sure.

He gripped her so tightly that she could feel the strength of the leashed power in him. A shiver skimmed over her. He’d scared her with his talk of danger—but she wouldn’t let him know it.

His hands splayed over her back. She could feel his breath on her face. She thought he might kiss her just to prove his mastery—and part of her longed for it.

Another part wanted to run as far and as fast away from this man as she could get. For whatever reason, he affected her. She’d thought herself immune to men after Andre—handsome, flashy, selfish Andre—but Raj was proving her wrong on that count.

She’d made the right decision when she’d told him she didn’t need his help. No way on this earth was she allowing him to pretend to be her lover. One way or another, it would be disastrous.

She strained in the dark to hear him, to feel him, to guess his intent. His breath was on her lips. If she tilted her head, would their mouths touch? She told herself not to do it, and yet her head moved anyway.

Abruptly, he released her.

“Come,” he said. “It’s time to take you back to your room.”

The light flashed on again, and she realized it was coming from his cell phone. His handsome face was in shadow, but she could see the gleam of his eyes as he stood and held out a hand to her.

She took it, let him pull her up, her pulse skittering wildly the instant he touched her.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, feeling the need to defend herself. “If I thought there was any real danger, I’d hire you in a minute. But there isn’t. The security I have can handle the day-to-day issues that arise.”

The steady look he gave her said he didn’t believe it for a second. “Instead of justifying it to me, perhaps you need to ask whether or not you’re being honest with yourself.”

Then he turned and opened the door instead of waiting for an answer. Not that she had one to give. He went through first, and then motioned her to follow. She stayed close behind him as they worked their way toward the upper floors.

The hotel was in disarray, but the staff had managed to get the emergency lights working in the main hallways and stairwells. Exit signs also provided light, though meager, and she heard scraps of conversation about the generator and its failure to provide backup power. Raj said nothing, simply led the way through the hotel until they came to her room. She was only surprised for a moment that he knew which room was hers.

Of course he knew. Brady had told him everything.

Before she could ask him how he planned to get inside with the power out and the card reader down, he had the door open.

“Behind me,” he said.

It was on the tip of her tongue to thank him for his help and tell him to go, but she said nothing. Instead, she did what he told her to do. Regardless of how she felt about him—or about Brady’s meddling—it was clear that Raj knew what he was doing. She felt safe, at least for the time being.

He gave her the motion to stay where she was, then went into each room of her suite in succession before returning and giving her the all clear.

Veronica let out a long sigh of relief—not that she’d expected anything to be wrong. She was just glad to be back in the privacy of her room again. She kicked off her platform stilettos, her feet sinking into the plush carpet. “Thank you for escorting me,” she said. “I’d offer you a drink, but it’s getting rather late. Tell Brady you tried your best. He knows how I am.”

Raj fished out a lighter from somewhere and lit the candles that were sitting on the tables. She’d thought they were merely decorative and, in truth, had forgotten all about them. Then he shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and threw it across the back of a chair.

“I’m not leaving just yet.”

A hot bubble of anger popped inside her. She wanted to be alone, wanted to strip out of her gown, put on her pajamas and watch a little bit of television—assuming the power came back on—before she fell asleep. “I didn’t ask you to stay.”

He lifted his mobile phone and tapped a few buttons. “Until your security returns, I’m staying.”

“That’s really not necessary. I’ll lock the door behind you.”

“Forget it,” he said, turning away from her to talk to someone on the phone.

Veronica sank onto the couch and folded her arms over her chest. Damn the arrogance of the man. But she already knew it was useless to order him to leave. Useless to do anything but wait.

If she were lucky, Brady would come looking for her—and then she could give them both a piece of her mind. She’d had quite enough of being told what to do lately. She had to conform to a schedule as president, had to take meetings and attend functions, had to let her day-to-day activities be far more structured than they’d been since she’d lived on her own.

But she’d agreed to do those things when she’d decided to run for office. What she hadn’t agreed to do was let a dark, sexy stranger intrude on the very small slice of privacy she had remaining.

Her gaze drifted to Raj. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he seemed engrossed in his call. He was even more golden in the candlelight than he’d been in the low lights of the powder room. So handsome. So dangerous. Like the tiger she’d first envisioned when he’d filled the small anteroom and made her aware of him on a level she wished she weren’t.

A ring glinted on his right hand, a signet made of gold. She hadn’t noticed that before.

His white tuxedo shirt stretched across his chest, and onyx studs winked at her in the flickering light. He reached up and loosened the stud at his neck before yanking the bow tie off and tossing it aside.

She started at the small wedge of bare skin he’d revealed. He glanced up then, straight at her, and she twisted away, cursing herself for getting caught. A moment later he ceased talking and tucked the phone into his trouser pocket.

“Was that Brady?” she asked.

“No.”

Frustration knotted her stomach. Since she didn’t know what else to do, she reached up and began to unpin her hair, dropping the pins onto the glass side table with a clink, clink, clink. Then she threaded the fingers of both hands through her hair, loosening the glossy mass.

When she stopped, Raj was watching her. He stood in the same place he had been, his gaze hard.

Her stomach flipped, her pulse humming with energy. She looked away and began to remove her jewelry.

“Have you been doing this kind of thing long?” she asked. If he insisted on staying, then the least she could do was bore him with questions. Maybe he’d decide to leave her alone after all.

“A few years.”

“How exciting.” She slipped off the jewelry—bracelet, necklace, rings—and dropped everything on the table with the pins. “Who’s the most famous person you’ve ever worked for?”

“Confidential information.”

She glanced up at him, her heart squeezing as she took in the masculine beauty of his face once more. “Ah, of course.”

“Are you trying to interview me, Madam President?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching with humor.

She swallowed. Humor was not at all the effect she’d been going for. Veronica pulled her feet up beneath her and began to absently rub one instep while her blood beat in her temples, between her breasts. “Not precisely. But if we’re to be stuck here together for the foreseeable future, it seems a way to pass the time.”

It took her several moments to realize that the side slit in her gown had dropped open to reveal the curve of her legs. She resisted the urge to cover herself, though she suddenly wanted to do so. But she would not let him think she cared that his hot eyes skimmed her form.

“How does one get into the bodyguard business anyway?”

“You’ve certainly grown chatty,” he observed, meeting her gaze once more. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Then he shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was in the military. It seemed the logical thing to do when I got out.”

“Oh, I see. And do you work for a company that sends you out on these jobs?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said.

The humor was back, but this time she didn’t know why.

“If this were a job interview,” she pointed out, “I don’t think I’d be inclined to hire you based on these answers. You’re almost monosyllabic.”

He sank onto the chair opposite, his big form sprawling comfortably—as if he belonged here, in her suite. As if he were the one in charge and she merely a supplicant.

She didn’t like that he made her feel inconsequential simply by being in the same room.

“Fortunately, this is not an interview,” he said. “You don’t need me, as you’ve pointed out.” His golden eyes speared her so that, once more, she was mesmerized. “And I don’t do interviews. No one hires me. I decide if I’ll help them.”

“My, my,” she said, her face growing hot for some reason. “Aren’t you special?”

He leaned forward then, his gaze raking her. She only hoped he couldn’t see the tap, tap, tap of her heart.

“That’s the way your world works, Veronica. But not everything is a competition, and not every desire needs to be indulged. I know my worth based on what I’ve done in the past. I don’t think I’m entitled to anything because I deserve it. I’ve earned it.”

She didn’t know whether to be outraged or embarrassed. Heat flooded her, made her want to grab a magazine off the table and fan herself. She did not. She’d made her proverbial bed, after all. It was no surprise when someone forced her to lie in it.

But she would not apologize for her life, not to this man. He could know nothing of what she’d been through. No one could.

“Until you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, perhaps it’s unwise to make assumptions about them,” she said, her smile as brittle as she felt.

He inclined his head a fraction. “You do that so well.”

“Do what?”

“Indignation.”

She thought of a million responses, discarding them each as she did so. It was no use. There was no point in trying to make this man understand. He meant nothing to her and, after tonight, their paths were unlikely to cross again.

Veronica got to her feet and stared down at him coldly. Imperiously. Bastard. “I believe I’ve had enough of this charming conversation,” she said by way of dismissal. “I’m going to bed.”

“If this is how you intend to handle affairs of state, Aliz is in a great deal of trouble.” His words were mild, his tone nonconfrontational—but his eyes accused her, burned her.

“You are hardly an affair of state,” she said, picking up one of the candles from the table, proud that she kept herself from trembling with fury as she did so. “And I’ll not stay here and listen to you insult me. You’ve made up your mind about me. I see no need to waste my breath in pointing out the flaws in your logic.”

He flicked a hand in the direction of the bedroom. “Go, then. It’s far easier to run from your problems than to confront them.”

“In this case,” she said, “I believe it is.”

Then she turned and strode away, holding her hand in front of the candle to keep it from blowing out. She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her. Fury churned and roiled in her stomach, burning like acid. Why did she let him get to her? He meant nothing to her. His opinion meant nothing.

He was no one, she reminded herself, nothing more than hired muscle. She didn’t let her Alizean bodyguards irritate her half so much, so why was she allowing this man to do so?

Veronica shrugged her shoulders to ease the tension and began to get undressed.

It was a relief to shrug out of the beaded gown and into her flannel pajamas. The Christmas elves marching merrily across the fabric cheered her. She’d thought they were whimsical and cute and she’d bought them impulsively. They were warm and cozy, and she didn’t regret it in the least.

Veronica went into the bathroom and washed off her makeup, then returned to the bed and jerked back the covers without removing all the fluffy pillows. Something slightly heavier than a pillow came away with the last tug and bounced down the bed, landing in the middle. She didn’t remember leaving anything on the bed when she’d left the room tonight.

Curiously, she lifted the candle.

At first, she wasn’t sure what the dark blob was. But then her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, but her vocal chords had seized up. Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish gulping water.

“Raj,” she finally squeaked. “Raj. Raj! Raj!”

Each time she managed a little more breath, his name a little louder on every exhalation.

Until the door whipped open and he was at her side. He gripped her arms, bent his head until he was at her level. He looked concerned, intense. She realized he was speaking. Asking her what was the matter. If she were hurt.

She shook her head, turned away. She couldn’t look at that … thing … again.

She knew the moment he saw it. He stiffened. Swore.

Then he hooked an arm behind her knees and swept her up against his chest. She didn’t protest. She didn’t want to protest. Another moment and he was striding from the room. She buried her face in his shirt and let the tears fall.

CHAPTER FOUR

HIS brain had switched into work mode, but his body was very aware of the woman clinging to him so tightly. Raj carried her into the living area, intending to put her on the couch and cover her with a blanket, but her arms were wrapped so tightly around his neck that he knew she wasn’t about to let go.

Instead, he settled into one corner of the couch with her on his lap and started to make phone calls. Red-hot anger was a thick brew inside him. It was only a doll on her bed, but someone had gouged out its eyes and splashed what had to be red paint across its body. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

Someone had sent a message tonight. An ugly, brutal message if the way Veronica clung to him, her silent tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, was any indication.

No matter what he thought of her, she didn’t deserve that kind of ugliness.

He let her cry, one arm firmly around her while he called in one of his security teams. He would have them sweep for any other signs of intrusion before he let Veronica stay here another night. Whether she liked it or not, he was definitely involved.

He considered having her moved to another hotel altogether, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that someone on her staff wasn’t behind the threats. In that case, moving would do no good. He fully intended to have them all investigated, starting immediately.

He finished the calls and laid his phone on the couch beside his leg. Veronica was curled up in his arms, her face pressed to his chest. She was wearing multicolored pajamas with elves on them—not quite what he’d expected when he’d burst into her room as she’d cried his name.

She’d scared him. He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d answered her cry, though he was relieved it hadn’t been worse. The doll had apparently been shoved beneath the pillows on her bed. When she’d pulled the covers free, the doll tumbled loose. He cursed himself for having missed it, but the truth was that he couldn’t have known.

He would check her quarters more thoroughly in the future.

She held him tightly, but he could feel that she was beginning to be uncomfortable doing so. Her body was stiffening, her fingers opening and closing on his shirt periodically.

She didn’t like being dependent on anyone. He’d guessed that about her earlier when she’d been so insistent she didn’t need his help. She was proud, and used to getting her way.

A few moments more, and she began to push herself upright. He tightened his grip on her, surprised that he wanted her to stay in his arms, that she felt good there, but immediately let her move away. This changed nothing between them. She was still spoiled, still selfish and self-destructive.

He was here to do a job, nothing more.

She got to her feet, her back to him, and scrubbed her sleeve across her face. His heart pinched. But he was a professional and he would view these events dispassionately. He couldn’t do his job if he were emotionally invested.

“Thank you for not saying I told you so,” she said a few moments later, her back still to him. The candles flickered, and he found himself wishing she would turn around. That she would look at him.

“What was that about, Veronica?”

She shrugged. It was supposed to be a casual gesture, but it failed miserably. “I wish I knew.”

He wanted to be gentle with her, yet he couldn’t afford to leave anything unexamined. Her life might depend on it. “I think you do.”

Her shoulders drooped. “I’m not prepared to discuss it,” she said softly.

In that moment, he had to admit that he admired her more than he’d thought possible. She could have lied, could have insisted she didn’t know what he was talking about. But she didn’t.

“I don’t know who could have done it, and that’s the truth,” she continued.

Raj stood and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed. “You don’t want to talk about it. I can respect that—for now. But there may come a time when you have no choice.”

She turned to him then. A sharp stab of emotion pierced him at gut level. Her face was so fresh and young, so innocent. She’d removed all her makeup and stood before him with red-rimmed eyes, the tracks of her tears gleaming in the candlelight.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, tuck her head against his chest and tell her it would be okay. Instead, he kept his arms rigid at his sides.

“Thank you.” She dropped her gaze away, as if she suddenly couldn’t look at him. For some reason, that bothered him. She’d been so fiery earlier, so confrontational. She hadn’t backed down once. This Veronica was too timid, too defeated.

He didn’t like it.

Raj put a finger under her chin, forced her to look at him. Her eyes glistened, but she didn’t cry. He could tell that she was finished with crying. Determined.

“Will you let me help you now?” He phrased it as a question, though as far as he was concerned there was no question.

Her throat moved. “Yes,” she said, her voice uncertain, thready. She repeated it, the word stronger this time.

“A wise decision,” he said.

Her expression hardened, just for a moment. “My staff can’t know.”

He’d already considered that. If someone in her employ was doing these things, it wouldn’t do any good for them to know she had extra security.

“Then we’re back to the original plan,” he said. “Can you do it?”

Her eyes flashed. But she thrust her chin out and gave a firm nod. “If that’s what it takes, yes.”

He grinned at her. That’s the Veronica he’d been looking for. “Then we’ll begin tonight.”

Her eyes dropped, boldly taking in his form. Then she met his gaze again, one eyebrow quirking. “You’re a bit overdressed for the part, considering what I’m wearing.”

His body went from zero to sixty in half a second.

He couldn’t help it, though he was thankful the room was dark enough she couldn’t tell.

“We’ll improvise,” he told her. Because he most certainly wasn’t stripping down to his silk boxers.

She wrapped her arms around herself, once more the vulnerable, helpless innocent. He reminded himself that she was neither of those things, though she was certainly frightened—and with good reason.

He put his hands on her shoulders. “You can trust me utterly, Veronica. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She let out a shaky sigh. “I know that.”

Suddenly the suite was flooded with light. Veronica brought her hand up and covered her eyes. Raj squinted as he made his way over to the wall and flipped the switch, plunging the room into candlelit darkness again. Then he turned on a couple of lamps while Veronica blew out the candles.

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