Page 4 of In Bed with Her Billionaire Bodyguard

‘It’s Martin.’

Hope yanked open her door and slammed it behind her, letting loose a string of curses that would make a sailor proud. It didn’t matter that Elise had heard. There was very little she kept from the assistant who had been with her for nearly ten years now. Elise had been there when Martin de Savoir had burst into her life with charm and seduction and Elise had also been there when he’d left it, bitterly and loudly, crying ‘poor me’ to any journalist that would listen.

What Elise didn’t know, what no one knew, was the conversation she’d overheard between Martin and her brother. Her stomach turned, already sore from the crunches she’d done before the treadmill. The ache that reminded her that the number of people she could trust could be counted on one hand.

‘I—’

‘You don’t want to know.’

Hope stared out of the window of her apartment. On any day, come rain or shine, the view was spectacular. But she didn’t see the impressive outline of The Shard across the Thames, she didn’t see the historic Tower of London, or the iconic Tower Bridge stretching from north to south across the river. In her mind she heard Martin’s laugh, bitter and nasty, in a way that—at the time—she could barely recognise.

‘I have all the proof I need, Martin. I know you’re only after her inheritance.’

‘God, it’s about all she’s good for, Harcourt. Everyone knows that.’

‘Is there anything else?’ Hope asked, breathing through the pain of that devastating moment from the past.

‘No.’

‘Okay, I’ll see you in forty minutes.’

‘Don’t check the socials.’

Hope hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed. She peeled off her sweaty exercise clothes and stood beneath the powerful jets of water, scalding her skin pink for longer than she usually allowed herself.

Unable and unwilling to spend the day hiding in her shower, as tempting as it might be, she got out, dried herself off and chose her clothes carefully. It was tempting to check Twitter and Instagram, but she genuinely wanted to dress today as if she neither cared nor knew what her ex-fiancé had done this time. She wanted to dress for herself. So she chose a cashmere skirt in camel that hit her mid-calf and nipped her in at the waist, a white silk shirt with a neck bow, and would pair it with buttery soft tan leather calf-high boots and a long cashmere duster coat.

She spent a little more time on her make-up today, knowing that, of all her armour, this was the most important. It took twice as much time to make it look as if she wasn’t wearing any, but she’d been doing this for so long it was second nature. She checked herself in the mirror before leaving the apartment—to make sure that she looked as she’d intended, she told herself. Not because she was worried about whatever new wave of press interest would be stirred up by Martin’s latest escapade.

But as Hope rode the lift down to the reception of her apartment block, the thing picking at her pulse wasn’t anger about what Martin might have got up to this time, but anticipation. Anticipation about a certain tall, broad-shouldered individual who had stepped in to cover when her usual driver, James, had left to attend a family emergency. The naïve kind of anticipation that reminded her of silly schoolgirl crushes which, Hope decided as the lift doors opened, she was far too old for.

But when she saw him waiting for her, through the glass entrance doors of her apartment building, her pulse still reared and bucked like a skittish horse. Hope ducked her head, sliding on her sunglasses to protect her eyes from the early morning’s wintry sun andnotto covertly check him out. But she couldn’t help it. She could only hope that he wouldn’t notice the blush she felt across her cheeks as she took him in.

Dressed in a black suit, the breadth of his chest caused the lapels to pull open enough to hint at the power beneath but not make it look as if the suit was too small. A white shirt and black tie that disappeared beneath a suit jacket buttoned at lean hips. It should have screamed uniform not boardroom, but there was something about the man that made him lookmore.Her gaze ran upwards, and she decided that it was his face.

His jawline was as sharp as his collar and, clean-shaven, the morning sun glanced off angles that would make a supermodel weep. Dark waves were swept back neatly, shorter at the sides and longer on top, and not a single hair was out of place. Neat. Compact. Efficient. The large dark glasses hid his eyes, making him look inscrutable. Dispassionate even.

Andthatwas what frustrated her. Luc’s utterly professional behaviour only made her wildly inappropriate reaction to him more obvious, she thought, as she emerged from the apartment complex.

Luca took a moment to brace himself against his body’s unwanted and most definitely wayward reaction to Hope Harcourt. It infuriated him that she seemed to have more control over his body than he did. And it was untenable to have such a reaction to his client. Or, technically, the sister of his client. Either way, she was under his protection, whether she knew it or not, and that put her beyond his reach. Luca had argued against keeping Hope in the dark about his identity, but Nate had been resolute and the carrot he was dangling was big enough to sway him.

Following their meeting, Luca had spent Christmas and New Year planning how the detail would work for Hope Harcourt. Her usual driver had been easily paid off, especially with Nate Harcourt’s backing, and Luca’s assistant had found him an apartment with easy and immediate access to Hope, but not so close as to risk an accidental run-in. Nate had been able to ease the wheels with IT, allowing him access to Hope’s professional emails, and Luca knew, if he deemed it necessary, he could gain access to her private ones, but he was unwilling to breach her privacy at this point.

He had arrived in a snow-covered England six days ago and had immediately thrown himself into the work that would finally see him break into the English-speaking territories. That one thought had driven him like the devil ever since Nate had made the offer back in Switzerland.

For years he’d been trying to break into the market that would finally make him a global success. From the very beginning he’d had that goal and he’d stuck to it. But, no matter how many satisfied customers or glowing references, or how many multinational clients Pegaso had, it wasn’t enough for the UK and US markets. They wantedoldmoney and familiar faces, if not accents. And the rejection had stung. But with Nate’s offer he would finally crack open the lock that had been on the last territories Luca needed.

Hope emerged from the revolving glass door, cutting into his thoughts, and slipped into the back car seat without sparing him so much as a glance. Luca understood how many could think her cold—especially if they indulged in the rags that called themselves newspapers—but if you looked closely enough, she looked... He rolled his tongue across the roof of his mouth.

Rich. Warm. Luxurious.

The camel colours she wore suited her complexion. Expensive in a way that was so rich it was priceless. There was a subtle golden sheen to her skin that only reinforced the fanciful notion, making him want to run his thumb over her cheek to see the flush of colour bloom beneath it. Her nose was small and slightly upturned, but it suited her. Although hidden, he knew her eyes were a deep brown that should have looked slightly out of place with the blonde of her hair, but didn’t. Her jawline led to an angular chin, just perfect for holding between a thumb and forefinger. Perfect to angle to...

Basta!Enough!

He was here to protect her, not lust after her. And that was most definitely what was coursing powerfully through his veins. Hope settled into the back seat as he closed the door, cutting off the gentle enticement of her perfume. Today’s scent was different from yesterday’s, he noticed. Today’s had something with bite.

He got into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition, ruthlessly regaining control of his senses. Before starting work as the replacement driver, he’d checked over the car with a fine-tooth comb and was satisfied that not only was it in excellent condition, it contained no tracking or covert listening devices. It seemed unlikely, but Luca was nothing if not thorough. And although the car remained in his apartment’s parking space overnight, he still checked it every single morning.

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