Page 33 of In Bed with Her Billionaire Bodyguard

HOPEWOKEWITHa stretch. The bed was obscenely comfortable, the snowscape through the windows a skier’s fantasy. Her body ached pleasantly and her blood was still heavy with the drug that was Luca. She nestled into the pillow that still bore his scent and warmth. She squinted at the clock on the side table and rolled onto her back with a groan.

It was seven a.m. and, no matter where she was in the world, she never slept in this late. She should have been in the gym, showered, dressed and on her way to work by now. And even though she was in Austria, despite last night’s diversions, shewashere to work.

She slipped from beneath the covers and peered into the en suite bathroom. The shower stall took up half the wall and she approved. Hugely. With a smile, she worked out the buttons and within seconds was standing under a powerfully hot stream of water, bringing her mentally into the present.

Less than fifteen minutes later, she emerged onto the fourth-floor living area dressed in soft, easy yoga clothes and looking for Luca. She found him leaning back against the counter, looking out at the forest at the foot of the mountains and the smooth slopes that brought visitors here in their thousands.

She paused, her hand on her stomach, taking in the sight. He stood there bare-chested, black silk pants hanging low on his hips, almost as if their sole purpose was to display the corded muscles that veed beneath the waistband. She knew what those corded muscles could do, she realised, the blush riding high on her cheeks. She should be hitting the brakes on whatever this was. It wouldn’t,couldn’t, last. But a selfish part of her wanted more. Wanted to luxuriate in it,him, just a little longer.

He looked at her then, catching her watching him. ‘Morning,’ he said, his voice gravelly, in the same tone he’d used last night to tell her all the things he wanted to do to her and more.

All she was capable of was nodding. He held out a mug of steaming coffee and the spell was lifted and she covered the distance between them, desperate to get at herothermorning addiction. She was sure that things would make sense after even just half a cup. And if they didn’t, then she would make them make sense.

She went to stand beside him and paused when she caught sight of his tablet, open on the website for theLondon Daily. There was a headline about a politician lying about his expenses next to a photograph of her and Marco dancing in the club.

Unable to stop herself, she reached for the tablet, clicking on the post.

Hope Harcourt Drowns Sorrows with Stranger!

‘I don’t think Marco would appreciate being called a stranger,’ she commented, scanning the hastily written hack piece on her ‘indiscreet night’ following hot on the heels of her ex-fiancé’s new engagement. At least there was no mention of Sofia. ‘It worked,’ she observed, intensely uncomfortable searching the headlines of other magazines and articles for news of her supposed scandalous affair, standing beside the man shehadactually spent the night with.

She knew the cover story was needed—if Simon had even an inkling of what she was up to, he’d find a way either to ruin it or try to trump her. No, it was best if he and the board all thought she was sunning herself on a ski slope until she could execute her plan—ifshe could execute her plan. But it left a bitter taste in her mouth to use herself in such a way.

And that was exactly what she felt like.Used. Dirty in a way no man had ever made her feel before. And for once, just once, she wanted to have a day where she wasn’t in the spotlight, where she wasn’t fodder for another attack by either the newspapers or Harcourts.

‘You’re thinking too much again,’ he growled as he watched her take her first sip, testing the heat, testing the strength. Of the coffee and the man, she thought, perhaps.

‘I can’tnotthink, Luca. Everything rests on this deal with Obeid,’ she said, shaking her head, feeling that sense of helplessness again. ‘If Simon gets his way, I won’t be able to just sit there and watch him ruin the company my father...’ She trailed off, unable to admit how much she needed this to work. For her father, her brother, her grandfather. She tried to ignore the way that Luca narrowed his eyes at her. ‘I’m going to use the gym...’

She trailed off at the way Luca was slowly shaking his head and felt a flare of frustration. Being dominant in the bedroom was one thing, but if he thought for one minute that extended out of it, into her day-to-day life, then—

‘We’re going skiing,’ he announced.

‘I have work,’ she said, her hackles rising.

‘You know your work. You know that deal. You know what wiggle room you have, and so does Sofia Obeid. What you need to do is work out what she wants. Because she does want this deal, or she would have given you a flatno.’

The reason in his tone was as infuriating as the fact that he was right. Shedidneed to get out of her head. Hope looked past him to the golden rays of the early morning sun glistening on fresh snow. He was the devil, tempting her in more ways than one.

Luca was almost surprised that Hope had agreed. It hadn’t actually been what he’d intended to say, or even how he’d intended they spent the day. But the shadows in her gaze hadn’t been from a lack of sleep, even if there had been very few moments stolen in between the times they’d reached for each other through the night.

He’d meant what he’d said. It had never been like that for him and he wasn’t sure what that meant, and he didn’t want to try to find that out just yet either. He got the impression that Hope felt the same way.

Luca turned to find Hope making her way towards him, her ski boots crunching on the snow. Even wrapped up in insulated layers of ski gear, she was stunning. Most of her blonde hair was hidden by the helmet, aside from the few wisps that had escaped. Goggles hung around her neck and her cheeks had a healthy pink glow from a mixture of excitement and windchill.

Unlike him, dressed head to toe in uniform black, she’d found ski pants in a deep orange and a high-tech slender pale blue jacket. Obviously the latest fashion, but he knew the brand, knew its quality was of the highest degree. He wondered if she would ever not stand out in a crowd. It was just something about her. Something he wasn’t sure she realised she had.

‘There’s a path through the forest that leads straight down to the bottom of the slopes. From there we can get the chairlift up and take one of the green runs over to the other side of the range, where the slopes are a little more challenging, if you like.’

She appraised him. ‘You ski regularly?’

‘When I can,’ he replied. Alma and Pietro hadn’t had any interest in the sport, but the school his mother had paid for had regularly arranged trips to slopes in Italy and across Europe. The innate grace he’d inherited from Anna meant that he was a natural, and he’d enjoyed the athleticism of it as much as the beauty of where skiing could take him. He’d loved every minute, until the coach journey home. Because he’d known then that it was only hours before he’d watch each and every one of his friends rush off the coach, eager to get to their parents, to tell them about their holiday, to get kisses and be enveloped in hugs. And he’d wait, making sure to be the last off the coach, so that there were fewer people who might see Pietro, standing beside his old car, grim-faced and unwelcoming.

Anna had never seen it or, if she had, she’d refused to acknowledge it, but Pietro and Alma had only ever wanted to please the famous actress. Anna had been such a bright, shining light to them that they would have done anything she’d asked of them. Even raise her child. But it had never meant anything more to them than a burden they bore for her.

Hope clipped her boots into the skis provided by the chalet, their boot and ski measurements provided in the booking so that the guests wouldn’t need to go through the rigmarole of battling against the general population renting their equipment. Luca bent to check them for himself, ignoring the smirk pulling her full lips into a curve. Satisfied she was ready, he clipped back into his and pushed off along the private path that led through the forest.

The sound of the skis on snow, thethunkof the poles digging into the ground was soothing on nerves almost painfully and constantly aware of Hope. There was something almost magical about it: the seclusion of the trees, their rich, vivid emerald peeking beneath thick layers of white, the way that sound was dull and that the easy movement caused his pulse to raise gently. He felt Hope keeping pace with him and smiled, wondering how long that would last.

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