Page 44 of In Bed with Her Billionaire Bodyguard

‘I’ll take you to the airport and my team will pick you up in London.’

‘I’ve called a car. It’s better if we—’

‘I’m taking you to the airport,’ he growled, nothing but ice in his tone. ‘My team will continue in my absence until the vote, and until you can arrange for your own security.’ He went to the top of the stairs where her bags were. ‘I’ll be in the car,’ he said, picking them up on his way out of the chalet.

They drove in complete silence, Hope returning to the back seat, which he was thankful for. He wanted to shake her, he wanted to push her, he wanted her with him and he wanted her as far away from him as possible. He couldn’t trust himself to speak, anger and hurt were riding him so hard.

They arrived at the airport and he opened the car door for her, Hope hiding behind her large sunglasses once again. Each step she took felt like a punch to the gut. Each second she refused to look at him, acknowledge him, another cut of the knife. And he welcomed them, reminding himself that this was why he should have kept his distance. This was how he made sure he learned his lesson this time.

He stayed by the car as the steps were pulled up, refusing to move from his post as the small jet taxied to the runway. He thought he could see Hope in one of the round windows, but told himself it was probably just his imagination. He stayed by the car as the jet powered across the tarmac, lifting delicately into the air, and he stayed by the car long after the plane became less than a dot on a denim blue sky that he hated more than he’d hated anything in his life before.

Afterwards, Hope didn’t remember the flight back to London. She knew that she’d stared blindly through the cabin window with one thing on her mind.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

When she climbed down the stairs from the jet, a uniformed driver had the car door open for her and Hope slid into the back seat.

She absolutely refused to break in front of one of Luca’s employees, even though her mind played her a collage of all the moments she’d shared with him. The way he’d looked at her in the rear-view mirror as he drove, the way he’d stopped the lift and given her his shirt. The way he’d kissed her that first time in Meister, and the way that he’d held her in the hot tub when she’d needed it.

It was all and none of those things at the same time. Her heart felt bruised and raw and hurt in a way she had never experienced before. Not even when she’d discovered the truth about Martin. Because she’d never loved her ex-fiancé the way he’d expected her to. And at first he’d wanted her for that almost as much as he’d wanted her for her money. But the fact she gave him neither of those things had enraged him.

The only thing that had angered Luca was when she was in danger, from the press or from not being true to herself. He had seen beyond every mask she’d worn, every distraction she’d used, every wall she’d erected, and found her. The real her. The one who was still scared that she’d not live up to what her daddy had wanted. Until that very last moment, when he’d seen what she’d wanted him to see. And perhaps what he’d expected to see all along.

She shook her head, physically trying to break away from the direction of her thoughts, because if she looked too closely she’d hear it. The refrain in her soul, telling her that she loved Luca, that she adored him, and that only made it harder to push him away.

Tears pressed at the corners of her eyes and she willed them back. Just a little bit longer. She could hold on just a little bit longer. Her heart was aching and she felt more alone than she’d ever felt before. Through the car window, the streets of London looked grey and dirty. All she saw were the piles of rubbish waiting to be collected, and the drunks and the homeless who slept in doorways. It was the seedy underbelly of the glitz and glamour that Harcourts’ customers paid exorbitant amounts to erase. And she felt it—the slick grime over her skin, choking her with the agreement she’d made with Simon.

‘You will never be loved the way you need and want, until you’re ready to open yourself up to the possibility of being hurt.’

Hope shook her head at Luca’s parting words to her, believing that she didn’t need the love he taunted her with. She didn’t need anyone. She never had. She could do this on her own, she thought, sweeping away the tear that had escaped.

‘Ma’am, the press are at the entrance to your building.’

Hope nodded her understanding.

The driver’s wary gaze looked back at her in the rear-view mirror.

‘Would you like to use the garage?’

‘No, thank you.’

I’m done hiding.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

LUCATURNEDTHEglass in his hands, the ice sliding around the curve, lubricated by the last mouthful of whisky. He’d nursed one drink for half an hour and was considering ordering another and getting a cab back from the airport. Or maybe he could call one of his staff.

He found a bitter irony in the fact that, of all places, the meet had to happen here in Switzerland, where it had all started. He glared out at the passengers waiting for flights from behind dark glasses. The waiter had been casting nervous glances his way from the moment he’d sat down. His female colleague, however, looked like she wanted to devour him.

He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. The solid fist gripping his stomach since Hope had left Austria yesterday hadn’t let up. He rubbed his hand across the beginnings of a beard that he might or might not keep.

He caught the commotion from the corner of his eye, the flash of bulbs and the raised voices, and for the first time in his life he didn’t connect it with his mother—but Hope. He shoved back at the kneejerk jolt of concern. He clenched his jaw and ordered another whisky. He was receiving updates from his staff in London and that was all that he had now.

The glass door to the private lounge opened and in glided Anna Bertoli, her entourage staying behind to block the frenzy. Luca knew the drill by now, they had it down to an art form—almost like two dancers performing practised moves. He got up from the bar and chose an empty table with several others, equally bare, around it.

Without a glance in his direction, Anna went to the bar, ordered her drink and took a seat at a nearby table with her back practically to him.

She was a beautiful woman, his mother. Her hair was a waterfall of ebony silk falling down her back in perfect waves. Her skin was perfect, as smooth as it had always been, and he nearly laughed at the bitter irony that it was probably the most natural thing about her.

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