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The 9-Month Bodyguard
Cindy Dees


The 9-Month Bodyguard
Cindy Dees

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover (#u44e934d7-8f39-5693-9a52-5f3706cb891e)
Title Page (#uf3202fe2-c64f-508c-82e3-b1ca1761866c)
About the Author (#u10151aec-fc35-5f59-a512-0fa057df8165)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CINDY DEES started flying aeroplanes while sitting in her dad’s lap at the age of three and got a pilot’s licence before she got a driver’s licence. At age fifteen, she dropped out of school and left the horse farm in Michigan where she grew up to attend the University of Michigan.
After earning a degree in Russian and Eastern European studies, she joined the US Air Force and became the youngest female pilot in its history. She flew supersonic jets, VIP airlift and the C-5 Galaxy, the world’s largest aeroplane. She also worked part-time gathering intelligence. During her military career, she travelled to forty countries on five continents, was detained by the KGB and East German secret police, got shot at, flew in the first Gulf War, met her husband and amassed a lifetime’s worth of war stories.

Her hobbies include professional Middle Eastern dancing, Japanese gardening and medieval re-enacting. She started writing on a one-dollar bet with her mother and was thrilled to win that bet with the publication of her first book in 2001. She loves to hear from readers and can be contacted at www.cindydees.com.

Chapter 1 (#uaeb88f87-668a-5d24-a9fd-88a436a672a2)
If one more person told her that her thirties were going to be the best years of her life, she was going to spend that decade in prison, doing hard time for murder.
Silver Rothchild realized her pasted-on smile was slipping and reinforced it quickly.
Thirty years old. Gamblers all over Las Vegas must be losing their shirts tonight betting over whether or not she’d live to see this birthday. A few years ago, no one would have bet a plugged nickel on her chances of making it this long.
She had to admit that her twenties had been one heck of a wild ride. The holier-than-thou crowd was offended at any hint that she’d actually had fun jet-setting around the world, rocking out in front of huge audiences as a pop singer, partying till dawn and pulling dozens of crazy stunts, any one of which should have killed her. But the fact was, a lot of it had been a blast. Self-destructive in the end and rendering her jaded and cynical far beyond her years, but a blast, nonetheless.
Of course, she’d done a lot of growing up since then. She’d buried enough of her friends by now to know the dangers of the lifestyle, too. Since those days she’d sworn off harmful substances, and she’d made a concerted effort to drop completely off the celebrity radar. Heck, she’d made an appearance in a celebrity magazine a few months back in a “where are they now?” article. How pathetic was that? Thirty years old and she was a has-been.
“You okay, snookums? You look like roadkill.”
“I hate it when you call me that,” Silver muttered to Mark Sampson, her bodyguard and ostensible boyfriend of the past several months.
“It’s cute. Like you and your perky little—”
She stepped away from his hand as he made a clumsy grab at her rear end and hissed through her fake smile, “Stop acting like white trash.”
“Now, snookums. Be nice. Wouldn’t want me to get all mad and accidentally say something to them reporters over there about our arrangement.”
She sighed. He was right. She was the one who’d made the offer to him in the first place—she had no business getting bitchy with him over it. She looped an arm through his and guided him out to the dance floor. Dance nasty in front of Mark and he’d forget all about his threat. Men were such incredibly simple creatures.
Not particularly enjoying either the song or gyrating around in as slutty a fashion as she could muster, she was vastly relieved when a sharp vibration tickled her right hip. Her heart leaped in anticipation. Could this be the call?
Shouting over the blaring music, she yelled at Mark, “Phone! I’ve got to take this call.”
He nodded, turned to the nearest half-naked bimbo without interrupting his own hip-thrusting Elvis impersonation, and kept on dancing.
Some bodyguard.
She found a secluded corner behind a potted palm in the hall outside and pulled out her brand-new crystal-encrusted cell phone, a birthday present from her stepsister, Natalie. She hit redial quickly.
“Hello, this is Silver Rothchild—”
“Silver! Hi, this is Debbie, from Dr. Harris’s office.”
Her blood pressure jumped twenty points right then and there. Oh, God. It was the call. Her test results were back. She let out a long, steadying breath and steeled herself to hear the news either way. “Thanks for getting back to me so quickly. I’m sorry I couldn’t stick around the office to wait for the results, but I couldn’t be late for my own birthday party.”
The nurse at the other end of the phone laughed. “Well, I’ve got a birthday present for you, Silver. Your results are positive. You’re going to have a baby.”
A baby.
The word washed over her and through her like a warm and gentle blessing, calming all the way down to her soul. Her most cherished dream had finally come true.
“Silver? Are you there?”
“Uh, yes. I’m still here. That’s…that’s fabulous!”
Jubilation erupted in her heart all of a sudden, an elation that wouldn’t be contained. She let out a whoop of joy that startled a couple walking past.
“You’ll need to set up an appointment for next week. We need to do a sonogram and get you started on prenatal vitamins. And of course, the doctor’s going to want to talk to you about managing your blood pressure. As you know, this pregnancy poses a certain risk, given your tendency to high blood pressure. Write down any questions you have as they occur to you or you’ll forget them during your appointment.”
“Right. I’ll call back first thing in the morning.”
Silver floated out from behind the palm tree, her feet several inches above the floor. Her hand stole to her flat belly. A tiny human being was growing in there! It was miraculous.
“There you are, Silver!” a female voice called out with a hint of irritation from down the hall. “Your father wants to give you his birthday present. You’d better hurry before he changes his mind.”
Silver spied her perfectly groomed stepmother, only four years her senior, coming her way in a pair of high heels that mere mortals wouldn’t dare attempt. But Rebecca, in true trophy-wife fashion, was a former model and wore the four-inch stilettos like they were an extension of her magnificent legs.
Okay, so sue her. She was jealous of her glamorous stepmother’s height. It sucked being five foot two in a town full of six-foot-tall show girls. She looked like a twelve-year-old compared to them.
“I’m coming, Rebecca,” Silver called.
A spark of curiosity grew within her. What had her father cooked up for her birthday? He’d been so mysterious about it. Usually, she could coax any secret out of him. But this time, despite her very best cajolery, he hadn’t given so much as a hint of what her birthday present was…other than the fact that it was going to blow her mind.
It took a lot to blow her mind. Like right now. She was pretty blown away by the idea of a baby of her own. She loved kids. Always had. Born into another life, she’d have been a schoolteacher in a heartbeat.
As it was, her life had gone in a radically different direction. She’d always been a good singer, and with Daddy’s money and the resources of a show town like Vegas behind her, she’d been trained into a polished performer. A few Rothchild connections in the music biz, and voilà, she’d become a recording artist and pop star. Whether or not she’d deserved it was open to debate. At twenty-two, she hadn’t cared if she’d stolen the dream of someone more talented and less connected. But now…now she wondered about it sometimes.
Given a do-over of her life, it might be interesting to see if she could’ve made it in the music business without any help at all from her father. Of course that was easy to say with a wall full of gold records and the fame and fortune to go with them.
Not having to fake a smile this time, she joined her party once more.
“There’s our birthday girl!” her father boomed.
She made her way to him through the crowd of well-wishers. She hugged several of her longtime partners-in-crime who’d managed to survive their youths and grow up to one degree or another. There was no sign of Mark, for which she was abjectly grateful. Had he actually been her boyfriend, she’d have been furious that he’d vanished to who-knew-where with who-knew-whom. But now that she was pregnant, it was a good thing she’d taken the precaution of setting up their arrangement.
Her father gave her a hand up onto the raised dais along the back side of the room. Wait till he found out he was going to be a grandpa. Once he got over the initial shock and got done lecturing her about not being married, he’d be tickled to death. At least, that was the plan. Harold was fiercely loyal to his family, but could be…mercurial. Which was to say, he could be a died-in-the-wool son of a bitch. It made him a great casino mogul, but at times, it made him a difficult father to deal with.
Silver acted appropriately amused as a giant, black-frosted cake was wheeled in. The Rothchild Grand’s pastry chef had outdone himself, decorating the beastly thing with miniature fondant coffins, plastic wheelchairs, and tiny blue marzipan bottles of Geritol. It really was ghoulish. As if she needed the reminder that she was no longer twentysomething and in the bloom of her youth.
Then the toasts began. Oh, they were meant in good fun—the references to slowing down, growing up, and getting old. But the underlying message of it all was much, much worse. She’d become safe. Bland. Boring. To her, that was a thousand times worse than turning thirty. Where had the adventurous Silver gone? The one who dared to take the music business by storm? The one who didn’t give a damn what anyone else thought? Who chased all her dreams, no matter how far-fetched?
The only thing that kept her from waxing suicidal at the black balloons, funeral dirge in lieu of “Happy Birthday,” and nonstop old age jokes was her delirious secret. They could say whatever they wanted. She was finally going to have a baby.
When the birthday roast was finally over, her father raised his champagne glass. “A toast to my lovely daughter. May her next ten years be as successful as her last ten, and a lot less hard on this old man’s heart.”
The crowd laughed, and on cue, she looked appropriately abashed. For all his ranting and raving over the years to get her act together and grow up, he could really get over her twenties any day now. She had. She hadn’t done anything to frighten or embarrass him in nearly seven years, but he still took every opportunity to remind her what a screwup she was.
That was Harold personified. Never missed a chance to sink a barb into someone if he could. Some people said it was impossible to love and hate a person at the same time. Obviously, they’d never had him for a stepfather.
Of course, now that she was turning thirty, she probably could get away with distancing herself from him and his overbearing ways. Maybe she should consider moving out of Las Vegas. Out of Nevada, even. Heck, out of the country! It was a shocking thought. Daring. But it took root in her head as surely as a baby had taken root in her womb. A new start. No ties to her past. No Rothchilds. No Harold.
Her father was speaking again. “…better thirtieth birthday present than to give my beautiful and talented daughter a special engagement at the Grand Casino…”
Whoa. Rewind.
Engagement? At the Grand? Her…perform again?
Silver’s mind went blank. She wanted to resurrect her career almost as bad as she wanted this baby. And he was going to give her a shot? In total shock, she looked up at her father.
She whispered, “Are you serious?”
He laughed heartily. “As a heart attack, kiddo.”
“My own show?”
“Yup. Seven nights. On the big stage. Orchestra, backup dancers, pyrotechnics, the works.”
She flung herself into his arms and did something she hadn’t done since she’d been a little girl. She burst into tears. Even he was startled by that.
“Hey now, what’s this, kiddo? You’re not unhappy, are you? I can cancel it—”
Oh, Lord. Was pregnancy weepiness kicking in already? Or maybe she was just overwhelmed by being broadsided with two such enormous pieces of news in quick succession. “No! I’m overjoyed, Daddy. It’s incredible. I’ve dreamed of restarting my career for years…I don’t know how to thank you…you’re the best…”
Who’d have guessed he was capable of such a thoughtful and generous gesture? Maybe Candace’s death had affected him more than she realized. Her stepsister’s recent murder had hit everyone in the family hard.
Damn. Just when she’d resolved to cut the apron strings for good, he went and did something amazing. Something that would keep her firmly in Las Vegas for some months to come, preparing and rehearsing for her show. The guy’s timing was uncanny, as always. Just let the thought of leaving cross her mind, and boom, he roped her back in.
He patted her back awkwardly. “No more tears.”
She sniffed and smiled up at him damply. Regardless of his motives, it really was an incredibly generous gift.
Quietly, so the audience wouldn’t hear, he said, “One condition, though. You stay out of trouble. Out of the bars and nightclubs. No wild partying, no more stunts, no more of your pop-star shenanigans. And stay out of the freaking tabloids.” A hard edge entered his voice. “You go back to your old ways, and I’ll yank this rug out from under you so fast your head spins. Understood? Keep it clean, and I’ll give you another shot at singing. Screw this up, and I’ll see to it nobody ever hires you again.”
Ahh. That was more like the Harold she knew and loathed.
Careful to keep her voice even, she said, “That seems fair enough.”
Oh, God. The baby. He’d just ordered her not to go off and do anything impulsive or wild or that would land her in the tabloids…like, oh, getting pregnant out of wedlock. And if he—or the tabloids—found out the real circumstances of this baby’s conception, the media would have a field day with it.
A baby or her career? How was she supposed to choose between those?
She took a deep breath. If she played her cards right and Mark didn’t go and do anything stupid, maybe she could have them both.
Or maybe she could lose everything.

Chapter 2 (#uaeb88f87-668a-5d24-a9fd-88a436a672a2)
Army Captain and Delta Force Team Commander, Austin Dearing, stepped out of the taxicab into the blast furnace heat of Las Vegas. Jeez. And it was only May. He’d hate to see this place in August. Of course, after living in full body armor in parts of the world where daily highs frequently topped one hundred twenty, Vegas wasn’t so bad. But he was still grateful to step into the air-conditioned cool of the Rothchild Grand Hotel and Casino.
He looked around the gaudy lobby curiously. He liked his creature comforts well enough, but the job he’d been sent here to do overshadowed his appreciation of the beautiful, leggy women cruising the joint, sharklike, in search of fresh meat. In his world, this was what was known as a target-rich environment.
A silicone-enhanced bleach-blonde purred at him, “May I help you, sir?” She was almost tall enough that at six foot four, he didn’t have to look down at her.
“I’m looking for Harold Rothchild.”
A startled look flickered across her face, but she replied smoothly enough, “Is Mr. Rothchild expecting you?”
“Yes, he is.”
“One moment, sir.”
She pulled out a cell phone and made a discreet phone call. “He’s at his daughter’s birthday party at the moment. Would you care to wait in his office?”
“I’m under orders to report to him as soon as I get here, no matter what he’s doing.” The actual phrase Rothchild had used was more obscene and involved interrupting him even if he was having intimate relations with his wife. Austin snorted. Even an Army grunt like him was couth enough not to repeat such a thing to a lady, though.
Another discreet phone conversation.
“Mr. Rothchild’s assistant says you’re to go to the party. Would you like to check into your room first? Maybe freshen up a bit?”
He clamped down on his impatience. His orders were to see Rothchild immediately. Not after he took a nap and got pretty. Fingering the beard stubble of his past twenty-four hours’ worth of travel, he said firmly in his commanding officer voice, “No. I’ll see him now.”
The blonde twittered, signaling how turned on she was by his display of manly resolve. Groupie alert. Women were forever hanging out at the places Special Forces soldiers frequented, trying to land guys like him. Usually, he could spot ’em at a hundred paces. But this one had snuck up on him. He’d lost his touch. Been out in the field too damned long. Two years since he’d taken a minute off. Only reason he was on leave now was because of his busted left eardrum. He’d blown it when an explosion had gone off too close to him a few weeks back. The doc said it would take several months to heal. Which meant he was left cooling his jets for a while.
Thankfully, his commanding officer, General Sarkin, knew him well enough to know that sitting on his butt for months would drive him completely crazy. With his entire unit deployed overseas, it wasn’t like there was anything on a stateside Army post to keep him busy. So, Sarkin had arranged for this special assignment.
Austin had never heard of Harry Rothchild, but he damned well knew who Silver Rothchild was. Her father, eh? Austin sympathized. His daughter was possibly the most notorious wild child of the past decade. The dossier Sarkin had given him said that Rothchild was worth hundreds of millions and the Grand Casino was the crown jewel of his hotel empire. He had a big family, which he kept close by, including several daughters. One of them, Candace, had been murdered a few months back, which was why Austin supposed he’d been hired to play nursemaid to Rothchild’s third daughter—the troubled Silver.
He’d fought the cream puff assignment, but Sarkin had been adamant. Ultimately, he’d been a good soldier and sucked it up. It wasn’t an official job, of course. The military didn’t make a practice of babysitting spoiled little rich girls, thank you very much. But when a man with the stature of General Sarkin, who held the future of a guy’s career in his hands, asked him to do something off the books, the guy did it, like it or not.
And it was only for three months. Just until his ear healed and he was cleared to go back into the field. He could put up with pretty much anything for three months.
The busty blonde opened a door marked Private, and the sounds of a party in full swing slammed into him. The shock of it was a physical blow. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in a gathering of people this large and boisterous. Claustrophobia closed in around him. So accustomed was he to the desolate, wide open mountains of Afghanistan that he’d been patrolling for the past two years, he could barely force himself into the crush.
Three months. He could do this.
He waded into the crowd. Using his height to look over the partiers, Austin searched for the florid face of Harold Rothchild from the dossier. There he was. On the far side of the room on some sort of raised platform.
A hand groped Austin’s rear end, and he pivoted sharply, prepared to take out the assailant. A brunette leered up at him. He stood down, relaxing his hands from their knife-blade rigidness. You’re back in the real world, Dearing. Cool it.
Easier said than done. Those lightning fast reflexes, the total lack of hesitation to kill, were the reason he was still alive and kicking. Lecturing himself about the rules of engagement for this particular type of jungle, he managed to cross the dance floor without causing anyone bodily harm.
Austin touched Harold Rothchild lightly on the shoulder. The older man spun around, startled. Hmm. The Rothchild patriarch was plenty edgy. Not to mention he was hiring ridiculously overqualified bodyguards for his kids. What was going on? The dossier hadn’t said anything about why the mogul suddenly wanted someone like Dearing—who specialized in guarding heads of State—watching out for his daughter.
“You must be Captain Dearing. Your commander described you to a tee, I must say.”
At least Rothchild sounded relaxed enough. “Call me Austin, sir. I’m not on the Army’s clock at the moment.”
Rothchild snorted. “You don’t have to tell me. I’m the guy who wrote your first paycheck. It has already been wired into the Singapore bank account you gave my secretary.”
Austin nodded, annoyed. Why did men like this think that men like him gave a damn about money? Just because Rothchild worshipped at the altar of the almighty dollar didn’t mean everyone did.
He schooled himself to patience. Growing up poor had probably made him more cynical than most. But his family had gotten by. And he and his brothers had all turned out fine. They were all hardworking, law-abiding citizens who enjoyed their work. Sure, he could make more money as a civilian bodyguard—a lot more than his Army pay—but that wasn’t remotely why he did his job. He loved his work.
Rothchild bellowed, “Silver, come over here. There’s someone I want you to meet,”
A fist in his gut couldn’t have knocked the wind out of Austin more thoroughly than his first glimpse of Silver Rothchild. Wow. He couldn’t help it; he stared as the pop star made her way to them. Her face, familiar to him from newsstands around the world, wasn’t the most beautiful he’d ever seen, although she was genuinely pretty. She didn’t have the best body he’d ever seen—she was too petite to achieve beauty queen stature—but she was in great shape and shaped great, not to mention he didn’t spot a hint of silicone or surgery. She was one of those rare women with innate sexual charisma, a woman whom men couldn’t peel their gaze away from and didn’t want to. A genuine blond bombshell.
It was, of course, the reason she’d been such a sensation on the pop music scene. Belatedly, it occurred to him that she was actually wearing a perfectly modest dress, not showing a hint of cleavage, nor an inch of extra thigh. Her signature platinum blond hair was twisted up in a clip of some kind behind her head, and her makeup was understated.
Those silver-blue bedroom eyes of hers penetrated right through him as she looked up at him politely. She held out a perfectly manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Silver. It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice was honey sweet, hinting at the million-dollar sound that had made her famous.
Suppressing an urge to stammer, he replied, “Austin Dearing, Miss Rothchild.”
One graceful brow arched at his shift of her name into the formal. She glanced over at her father questioningly.
“This, my dear, is your other birthday present.”
Silver’s startled gaze shot back to his. Chagrin abruptly warmed his cheeks. He was a birthday present? An elite-trained, highly-decorated war hero who led men into the jaws of death on a routine basis? Harold made him sound like a damned trained monkey!
His brows slammed together. Favor or not, General Sarkin could take this job and shove it. He wasn’t anybody’s pet.
Silver murmured in an appalled undertone, “What are you up to, Daddy?”
“Austin is a bodyguard.”
The rosy blush in Silver’s porcelain face drained away, lending a faintly gray cast to her complexion. Austin frowned, his internal alarm system exploding to life. He was missing something, here. Silver Rothchild was deathly afraid of something. Or someone. His protective instincts roared to the fore, jolting his every sense onto high alert. He abruptly didn’t like the press of people around her, didn’t like how exposed she was up on this raised dais above the crowd. He needed to be in front of her, between her and the balcony to his left that was a perfect perch for a sniper.
She choked out, “I already have a bodyguard, Father.”
“And he’s an idiot. Captain Dearing comes highly recommended by a friend of mine. He’s the best. After Candace…”
Rothchild trailed off. Silver closed her eyes in pain, obviously understanding her father’s veiled reference. Austin’s brain kicked into overdrive. Was there more to the Candace Rothchild murder investigation than met the eye? Was the killer targeting other members of the Rothchild family? That would certainly explain daddy bringing in a high-powered bodyguard to protect his most famous child.
Silver seemed to gather herself together. She said more strongly, “I appreciate your concern, Dad, but I don’t need another bodyguard. I’m perfectly safe with the one I have.”
“What about that incident last week?”
“Brakes fail on cars. And Las Vegas is as flat as a pancake. I coasted to a perfectly safe stop.”
“You were supposed to drive up into the mountains that day. What if your brakes had failed then?”
“Well, I didn’t go up into the mountains and everything was fine.”
Austin had to give the girl credit. Her father was a big, intimidating guy, and she was showing pluck to stand her ground like this. Brake failure, huh? In his experience, the brakes on any reasonably well-maintained vehicle never, ever failed of their own volition.
Rothchild turned to him. “Ignore her. She needs a decent bodyguard, and I’m signing your paycheck.”
Austin glanced over at the singer, who looked more than irritated. For just a second, her wonderfully expressive eyes looked…haunted. What in the hell was going on that had a wild woman like her looking like that? No doubt about it. She put his protective instincts on full combat alert.
He turned back to her father and nodded firmly. “I’ll protect her with my life, sir.”
“But—” Silver began.
Harold cut her off. “No buts. Austin Dearing is your bodyguard now. Consider him part of our earlier deal.”
Whatever that deal was, Silver subsided immediately. But this time, resentment simmered at the back of her transparent gaze. Didn’t like being pushed around by daddy dearest. But she was thirty years old according to the banner over her head. She could tell the guy to go to hell if he was that big a pain.
Rothchild gestured at one of the waiters passing by. “Take Mr. Dearing’s bag. Check him into the New Yorker Villa and see to it his gear gets up there.” Rothchild glanced over at Austin. “As of now, you’re on duty.”
For his part, Austin nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. Good thing he’d slept most of the way back from Afghanistan on the various flights that brought him here. Jetlag going east to west wasn’t that bad, but he was twelve time zones out of sync at the moment. Of course, Harry Rothchild wasn’t in the business of caring about anyone’s comfort other than his guests’. For his part, Austin was used to the uncomfortable demands of guarding someone else’s life.
Speaking of which, Silver turned away from her father and pushed heedlessly into the crowd. But not before Austin caught the flash of naked fear in her eyes. What was going on with her? The currents of mystery and danger swirling around her were palpable. And it was his job to decipher those currents and deflect them away from her at all costs. Of course, Rothchild hadn’t exactly helped him get off on the right foot with his famously willful daughter. Austin sighed. Time for some serious damage control. And to think, he’d been on the job a grand total of thirty seconds.

Chapter 3 (#uaeb88f87-668a-5d24-a9fd-88a436a672a2)
Silver glanced over her shoulder as a deep voice growled from behind her, “We need to talk, Miss Rothchild.”
At least her father’d had the decency to pick a jailer who was easy on the eyes. He was a big man wrapped in muscle. Good looking in a chiseled, all-American kind of way. Totally not her kind of guy. She liked them dark and dangerous, and always seemed to end up with lean, jaded Europeans. He was all tawny and bronze, with a deep tan and sun-streaked blond streaks. His eyes were dark. Mysterious. Smoking hot, in fact. He looked like a male model for sailing attire.
She so wasn’t stopping to talk to him. He was the living embodiment of everything she hated about how her father was forever manipulating and controlling her life. If Austin Dearing wanted to play bodyguard, he could darn well keep up with her.
She needed to be alone. To assimilate all that had happened in the past few minutes. To figure out how she was going to juggle her secret pregnancy and this incredible opportunity to perform. And then there was Mark. Now she’d have to string him along for even longer, perhaps most of the way through her pregnancy. It would depend on when the shows were scheduled. Yep, that was the key to pulling this thing off. How pregnant would she be by the time the shows happened? No doubt the promoters would want her half-naked and gyrating like she always had. Might be a teensy bit hard to do that looking like Shamu.
She hurried toward the casino, praying that no one would waylay her so Austin could catch up. Thankfully, she’d grown up in this place and knew every slot machine, every twist and turn, like the back of her hand. She zigzagged across the casino practically at a run and made her way to Saul Morgenstern’s office by the Grand Theater. He was the vice president in charge of entertainment and the man who would schedule her gig.
Skipping his anal retentive secretary, Silver used her master key card to let herself directly into his office’s private entrance. He looked up, startled, phone to his ear, then waved her to a chair in front of his desk.
He shouted into the phone, “Christ, Nigel! These changes are going to cost me a million bucks. Newsflash, your boys aren’t worth it…No I’m not giving them an entire floor of the hotel. Just because your band is British doesn’t mean they’re the freaking Beatles!…and you can procure your owned damned call girls for them. I’m not a pimp…Yeah, well use the phone book. Prostitution’s legal in this state, you moron.”
Wow. He didn’t often get that worked up. Some band had really crossed the line, apparently.
Saul slammed down the receiver, took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose before he finally said more calmly, “Silver Girl. I gather your father has sprung his little birthday surprise on you?”
He’d called her Silver Girl since she’d been a child. The two of them used to be as close as a beloved uncle and an adored niece. But that relationship, too, had been a casualty of her wild years. He’d overlooked her atrocious behavior far longer than anyone else, but even his patience had run out eventually. Ever since, he’d maintained a frosty distance from her that she’d respected as her just desserts. But she missed him.
“Hi, Saul. I’m sorry you couldn’t make my party. Daddy really went overboard.” She added wryly, “I expect he was trying to make the point to me that, like it or not, I’m an adult now.”
Saul’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t crack the smile that had once come so readily for her. She sighed. “Harold told me about the show here at the Grand. I never thought he’d do something like that for me. I mean, it’s not like I deserve it or anything.”
That sent Saul’s gray, shaggy brows up.
It was exceedingly uncomfortable having to maintain the entire conversation by herself like this, but apparently doing this gig was going to involve swallowing a healthy dose of crow, too. She continued doggedly. “He didn’t tell me what you had in mind for the shows. Am I penciled in yet?”
Saul studied her inscrutably. “How soon can you be ready to go onstage? You’ll need to be in tip-top shape, maybe take a few singing lessons. After all these star search shows, singers today are expected to really blow out a song.”
The criticism stung. She’d always had plenty of range and power for any song her record label had given her. She replied evenly, “I’ve been singing again for a while. And I’ve been working out. I’m ready now, Saul. The sooner we do this thing, the better.”
He leaned back, frowning, and said doubtfully, “You’re gonna have to find new material… backup singers…you can use the hotel’s band and orchestra, but they’ll need arrangements…costumes and choreography…”
Her stomach was quickly filling up with lead. What he was talking about could take months. In the past, she’d had an entire crew of handlers who had taken care of all the details of putting together one of her tours. Frankly, she’d done little more than learn the songs and show up for a few costume fittings. But this time, it sounded like Saul expected her to do the bulk of the preparatory work herself. An hour ago, she’d have leaped all over the idea of getting to design her own show. But then she’d found out she was pregnant, and a time bomb—in the form of a looming baby bump—had suddenly started ticking.
She took a deep breath. “Saul, I need to do this show right away. I don’t have time to develop big production numbers or manage a cast of thousands.”
His bushy eyebrows came together over glaring eyes. “Do you want to blow this shot?”
She winced. “No. I really, really want to restart my career, and I fully understand how much is riding on this. But I can’t spend months and months pulling this thing together.”
“Why the hell not, missy?”
She closed her eyes. Much more even than her father, Saul could make or break her comeback based on how he supported her show. The good news was that, in many ways, Saul had been more of a father to her over the years than Harold had been. The bad news was he might very well be out to sabotage her comeback.
As Saul stared down at her hands, she realized she was wringing them until they were an angry red. She stopped. “Saul. I swear I have a life-shattering reason why I have to do this show now. But I can’t tell you. I don’t have any right at all to ask you, but could you please just trust me on this one?”
Skepticism glittered in his eyes.
She sighed. “I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I’m not that spoiled, snot-nosed brat I was a few years ago.” Did he remember the night he’d called her that? When she’d called him to bail her out of jail before the paparazzi got wind of it, and he’d come down to the police station and told her she could rot in the slammer for all he cared?
The memory of that night gleamed in his gaze, too. “You’re so grown up and committed to your career that you won’t sacrifice your personal plans to do this show right?” he bit out sarcastically.
Desperation made her throat tight. “I hear what you’re saying. You’re absolutely right. But I can’t work around this one. I’d give up anything—everything in the world—except one thing, to perform again. And that one thing makes it necessary for me to do this show in the next few months.”
Saul stared at her long and hard. If he’d figured out what she was making veiled reference to, he didn’t comment on it. Finally, he reached into his desk and pulled out a leather day planner. Saul was old school. No computers or PDAs for him. He did everything on paper. “Lemme take a look at the schedule.”
She exhaled on a massive sigh of relief. This could work if he’d cooperate with her.
“You’re booked for Valentine’s Day next year.”
She did the math fast. Good Lord, she’d be over eight months pregnant by then. “What have you got that’s sooner?”
He thumbed through the pages. “I always book a year or more in advance. But there is one possibility…” He trailed off as he turned to a page near the front of the planner. She peeked across his desk and saw June in block print at the top of the page. That was next month. Hope sprang through her.
“That phone call you walked in on was the manager for Metal Head Dead.”
They were a rock band currently topping the charts. Their reputation was already worse than hers had ever been. And yet, because they were guys, they got away with all the rotten stunts that had deep-sixed her career. In fact, their careers were helped by their wild antics. She put aside her bitterness. The double standard was just part of the business.
Saul was talking again, mumbling to himself. “…would put their knickers in a twist if I canceled their leather-clad butts. And tickets for their show are set to go on sale in three days…We could call a press conference…make a big announcement about your comeback…tickets could go on sale immediately and we could capitalize on the buzz…”
He looked up at her. “You’d have only six weeks to pull the entire thing together. You won’t be able to scrimp on anything…it’s going to have to be a top-notch production or you’ll be a worse has-been than you are now.”
Ouch.
He continued, “I’m telling you, I think it’s impossible to get a decent show together by then. Plus, June isn’t the big tourist season on the strip.”
She replied hopefully, “But it’s hot enough that everyone who is in town is inside and going to shows.”
He shrugged. “I can’t promise sellout crowds with only a few weeks to promote the gig. But if you’re hell-bent on doing this thing right away, I can book you for June.”
She darted around his desk to lay a big hug on him, just like the old days. The tears of gratitude that came to her eyes seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her. She whispered, too choked up to speak any louder, “Thanks, Uncle Saul. I promise I won’t let you down this time.”
For just a moment, he returned the hug. Then he cleared his throat and set her away from him. “Now. About music,” he said briskly. “I’d better be the one to make the call to your old label. The way I hear it, you didn’t part on the best of terms.”
Silver grimaced. Now there was an understatement. She’d been fired and escorted out of the record company’s building by armed guards. In retrospect, she’d probably deserved worse. As she recalled—vaguely—she’d been stoned out of her head at the time.
She took a deep breath. “Actually, Saul, I’ve been writing some of my own stuff. Maybe we could use some of that—”
He cut her off with a slashing hand through the air. “Nobody ever builds a decent career on their own stuff. Three or four bigname, girl pop singers have taken time off recently. There’ll be plenty of good songs lying around waiting for a big, sexy voice.”
“But—”
“No buts. Your father told me to launch your second career, and that’s what I aim to do. You leave the music to me, baby doll.”
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a baby doll anymore. She was a grown woman, dammit, and she didn’t want to do the same old music she’d sung the last time around. She wanted to do something new. Something more soulful, more…grown up. But Saul was first and foremost her father’s man. And, he’d been a dear about the scheduling problem. He’d canceled a huge act for her. Like it or not, she was probably going to have to go along with him on the music thing.
She sighed. Time for more of that maturity stuff.
“…stop by tomorrow, and I’ll show you the stage. We’ve made quite a few changes to it since you last were on it.”
She winced again. The last time she’d sung on the Grand stage seven years ago, she’d been too fried to hit a note, had forgotten lyrics left and right and had topped off the disaster by being booed offstage. Not one of her more stellar moments in her meteoric fall from grace.
“I’ll be here first thing tomorrow. And Saul…thanks. For everything. This means the world to me.”
He gave her his first genuine smile. “I’m counting on it, Silver Girl. If you don’t fill the house every night, I’m gonna lose a fortune. Those British prima donnas would’ve sold a lot of tickets.”
“Gee. No pressure there.”
He quirked a pragmatic brow. “Music’s a tough business. Art be damned—this is about dollar signs. You sure you want back in the game?”
She took a deep breath and answered, certain for the first time in a long time about something. “Yes. I’m sure. This is exactly what I want to do.” The only thing in the world she wanted to do as much as be a mother was sing. Good Lord willing, she’d find a way to do both.
She let herself out of Saul’s office, blissfully happy, and ran smack dab into a living wall of muscle. “Whoa, I’m sor—” she started. And then she looked up. Austin Dearing. “—Oh. It’s you.”
“If you want to play games with me, Miss Rothchild, I’m telling you now you’re going to lose. Please don’t try to ditch me again.”
“I didn’t try to—”
He cut her off. “I’d highly recommend never fibbing to me. I have an alarming tendency to turn into a serious bastard when I get lied to.”
She muttered under her breath, “You’re already there.” Rather than stand around arguing with this mountain of a man, she turned and stalked back toward the casino. If he wanted to tag along, that was fine with her.

Austin tagged along all right. He was half tempted to jack her up against a wall by the shirt front and explain a thing or two to Miss Fancy Pants. She didn’t seem to grasp that it was not part of his job description to chase around after his subjects like a puppy on a leash. She might be a celebrity, but her life now rested in his hands…not the other way around.
She barged out into the explosion of color and sound that was the casino’s gambling floor, and his irritation intensified. The place was a security nightmare. Cut-throughs and niches were everywhere, and an assailant could be lurking in any of them. There was so much commotion in here that a guy like him couldn’t possibly see a threat coming with his vitally important peripheral vision. Surely there was a way around the casino in a hotel this size. She needed to take an alternate route, dammit!
A low-level hum of panic vibrated in his gut. As a security man, this place made him feel like he’d already failed. Clamping down on the anxiety clawing its way up his spine, he lengthened his stride to catch up to Silver as they neared the front of the place. His impulse was to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and get her the hell out of here. Now. He exhaled carefully. Must go easy on this particular client. Break her in gently to the idea of having a bodyguard, without alienating her if at all possible.
“Hey, slow down,” he murmured casually from just behind her. He needed to get in front of her, pronto!
She blatantly ignored him and continued marching on.
“I mean it, Silver. You need to move more slowly so I can clear the area in front of you for threats.”
She spared him an irate glance over her shoulder and didn’t even break stride.
His gaze narrowed. Several extremely unkind names for her flashed through his head. Fine. He could play that game, too.
He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around sharply to face him. She was a tiny little thing, and her weight was nothing in his hand. He took an aggressive step closer and glared down at her. “I tried to do this the nice way. But now we’re gonna do it my way. I’m heading for the nearest exit and getting you under cover, and you’re going with me whether you like it or not. Got that?”
She nervously eyed a cluster of people near the front entrance, most of whom wielded big cameras. “Don’t make a fuss,” she hissed.
“Too late,” he retorted. “I’m making as big a fuss as I damn well feel like. And you are not going anywhere else in this hotel until I say so.”
“I have to go see Stella. She’s the head costume designer,” she insisted. “She’s expecting me.”
“You’re not seeing anybody until you and I get a few things straight,” he replied grimly.
Her eyes snapped and sparks all but flew off her, singeing his fingertips.
She bit out, “Let’s get this straight. I’m the boss. I say where I go and when, and you follow along like a good employee and do as you’re told. You don’t make public scenes in front of tabloid reporters—of which there are a dozen behind me, right now,” her voice rose slightly in volume, “and you don’t do anything to embarrass me. Got that?” She actually had the temerity to poke him in his chest for good measure.
He was so aggravated he could strangle her right then and there. He scowled down at her and loomed even more assertively. “I am not your employee. I work for your father. You’re under my protection, and you’ll damn well do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it and how I tell you to do it. Have you got that?”
She blanched. “You and me—this is never going to work.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m entirely inclined to agree with you.”
If hate at first sight was possible, this was it. The woman drove him crazy, and he’d known her for two minutes.
He became aware of a surge of movement behind her. The paparazzi had apparently noticed their altercation and were closing in like a pack of hungry hyenas. He swore under his breath. Men in his line of work despised the press almost as much as the public figures they protected did. The last thing he needed was to have his face splashed all over the front pages of the tabloids.
“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered at Silver.
“Ya think?” she snapped back.
“Hey, Silver!” one of the reporters shouted. “Did you hear that the Tears of the Quetzal is in police custody?”
Another piped up. “Yeah. Luke Montgomery’s fiancée found it in her purse. Do you believe that story?”
Austin frowned. What were these guys talking about? He opened his mouth to ask Silver, but just then, someone moved forward out of the crowd of reporters, jumping abruptly toward her. Austin registered dark hair and a black, burning gaze, a uniform of some kind. Something about the set of the man’s shoulders, the intensity of concentration in his eyes set off warning bells in Austin’s head. Time slowed as the guy lunged in Silver’s direction, and Austin went into high threat mode. If he’d told his men once, he’d told them a thousand times, don’t question your instincts. Act first. Ask questions later.
The guy lowered his shoulder and rammed it into Silver, spinning her around as their bodies collided. Hard. Dear God. The guy had an open shot at stabbing or shooting her at point-blank range in a vital organ! Austin went airborne, flinging himself full length through the air for Silver.
He wrapped his arms around her in a move worthy of the NFL. His momentum knocked her off her feet. While they were still airborne, he twisted to cover her with his much larger body. He released her at the last moment before they hit the floor, catching most of his body weight with his arms so he didn’t crush her.
An explosion of flashbulbs went off nearby.
Austin twisted to look for the assailant, and the guy was rushing past, his right shoulder hunched to hide his face from Austin.
And then the strangest thing happened.
A wave of heat passed over Austin, a tangible thing tingling across his skin. He saw flashes of purple and green behind his eyelids, brilliant, jeweled prisms of color momentarily blinding him. His blood rushed, pounding in his ears until frantic thumping was all he heard. Suddenly he became intensely aware of the feminine softness below him, molding to every contour of his body as if she’d been made for him. Oh, yeah. A promise of sex, hot and sweaty enough to boggle the mind, pored off her.
Silver looked up at him, her gorgeous eyes wide with surprise, fear and something else. Something…aware. Of him. As a man.
Their gazes locked and nothing short of unbridled lust roared between them. All that friction of a few seconds ago had abruptly morphed into something so steamy it set him on fire. She looked ready to come apart in his hands. In fact, a moan slipped out of her throat that was all about raging pleasure. Unseen by the press, her hips undulated beneath his, and he realized his male flesh was so hard he was in danger of busting his trouser zipper.
He swore under his breath.
Her pupils dilated until her eyes were nearly black with raw need. He wasn’t in any better shape, himself. Small problem: he was the bodyguard, and a whole bunch of cameras were very publicly recording every second of this.
“You okay?” he muttered.
She nodded, looking shell-shocked.
“I’ll get up first, then I’ll help you to your feet and pull you behind me. Keep my body between you and the photographers, okay?”
She nodded again.
He started a quick push-up when a voice shouted from nearby, “Get the hell off my girlfriend!”
Austin came smoothly to his feet and turned to face this new threat. A beefy guy a little shy of six feet tall was barreling toward them. Austin assessed the threat in an instant. More beer gut than muscle. Had barroom brawled just enough to think he was a hotshot, but lacked the balance of a trained fighter. This guy would use bluster and bullying to hide his actual lack of physical skill. A lot of noise, but not a lot of true threat.
Austin reached down and lifted Silver, as light as a feather, to her feet. He tucked her protectively against his side away from the cameras. The paparazzi had already turned their lenses on the loudmouth, and predictably, he was preening for them.
“Who the hell are you?” Austin growled.
“I’m Mark Sampson.” Bluster Boy jabbed a finger toward Silver. “Her boyfriend. And take your hands off her, jerk wad.”
Jerk wad? He hadn’t been called that since junior high. Austin allowed his amusement to show on his face. Interestingly enough, Silver huddled more closely against his side, making no move to distance herself from him in front of this boyfriend of hers. Most women would be leaping away from another man, especially with a hotheaded idiot like that for a boyfriend.
Sampson bristled. “Get away from her before I make you do it.”
A new round of flashes exploded. He could see the headline now. Brawl Over Pop Singer. He sighed. Seemed as if he was getting off on the wrong foot with everyone on this assignment. But Bubba could damned well come and try to make him unwrap his arm from Silver, who was now trembling beneath his protective hug.
“Please,” she whispered frantically from beside him. “Don’t make a scene.”
As if they hadn’t already made a big scene? But then he glanced down at her. Abject terror shone in her face. She was really scared. For him? Surely not. For Bubba? Maybe. But that didn’t feel right, either. What then? Did this have to do with her sister’s murder and the unspoken reasons he’d been hired to protect her in the first place?
He murmured under his breath, “For you, I won’t kick this guy’s ass right now. Let’s get out of here, though.”
“That’d be great,” she murmured back gratefully.
He guided her toward the lobby. Or at least he started to guide her. Sampson stepped forward aggressively and blocked their way before they’d gone two steps. “Get your hands off my girl!”
Austin gave the guy a withering stare but spoke calmly enough. “I’ve been hired to protect Miss Rothchild. I’m not making a move on your lady, so relax already. You’re making a scene and you’re making Miss Rothchild uncomfortable.”
If anything, Sampson got even redder in the face and swelled up into an even bigger bullfrog. “I’m her bodyguard! Now, for the last time, get away from her!”
Sampson reached up and grabbed Austin’s hand, physically throwing it off Silver’s shoulder. Were it not for the paparazzi eating this whole thing up, Austin would’ve ripped the guy’s arm off then and there. But as it was, Silver threw him a panicked look, and he didn’t have the heart to make her any more miserable than she already was.
He took a step away from her. But not before murmuring, “I’m going to go talk to the hotel security guys for a few minutes, and then I’ll meet you at the costume lady’s office. Don’t leave the hotel without me, okay?”
She nodded, trust shining in her eyes. He didn’t question it, nor did he examine too closely the surge of protectiveness that bubbled up in his chest. He just knew that something big had happened between them, lying together on the floor a few moments ago.
Sampson elbowed him aside, and Austin stepped back readily, without giving the guy the satisfaction of a response. The paparazzi closed in on Silver and Sampson like a pack of sharks in a feeding frenzy. Austin frowned. Sampson ought to be doing something to keep them back. It was a blatant breach of personal security to let that many strangers surround a subject so closely. But the guy seemed more interested in getting his own arm around Silver’s shoulders and posing for pictures than in keeping his girlfriend safe. The pair stepped out onto the front steps of the casino and paused again for another round of pictures. Sampson seemed acutely aware of the best lighting and camera angles for the paparazzi and more than happy to give the press exactly what it needed.
Austin shook his head. Surely guarding celebrities wasn’t that different from guarding heads of state. No matter how famous and camera-worthy a subject was, no self-respecting bodyguard let would their principal stand still in an exposed position like those steps for this long.
And why wasn’t the guy’s gaze scanning the area in search of possible threats at a minimum? Bubba was supposed to be her bodyguard! Silver actually looked eager to go…and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was Sampson holding her back. No bodyguard would physically stop their subject to pose for the press! It was insane! What kind of training had this guy—
A fast-moving target hurtled out of the shadows off to one side of the lobby toward the front door.
Silver and Sampson had their backs to the attacker!
Austin lurched into motion, sprinting for all he was worth. But his heart sank even as his thighs churned frantically, propelling him forward. He was too far away to save her. Time slowed as the horror of an attack on his principal unfolded before him. He couldn’t get between her and the attacker in time. Her beautiful eyes, her smile, her soft body beneath his flashed helplessly through his mind’s eye.
He opened his mouth to scream at Sampson to throw himself on top of her.
But it was too late.
The deafening report of a gunshot exploded in the lobby.

Chapter 4 (#uaeb88f87-668a-5d24-a9fd-88a436a672a2)
Silver froze as the world went mad around her. She registered a flash of motion. A shout of warning from behind. And then an explosion of noise so loud it made her teeth hurt. A giant sheet of glass crashed down a few feet behind her, showering her with shards of exploding glass.
People screamed and were running and ducking and falling everywhere. She didn’t know what to do. Everyone around her melted away, leaving her standing all by herself in a sea of glass, marble and glittering chrome. The torrent of crystal prisms fell like rain around her, each with its own rainbow of slivered light trapped within it. So pretty. The thought floated through her head, completely detached from reality.
Mark was a dozen feet away, cursing at the top of his lungs. He was turning in circles, as if he was looking for somewhere to run and hide but couldn’t decide which way to go.
And then something hit her from behind. It felt like a freight train had just slammed into her at seventy miles per hour. It drove her to the ground, face first, crushing her in darkness and suffocating weight. Panic struck her then. She couldn’t breathe! She had to run! To get out of here, away from this insanity. To protect her baby!
“Let me up!” she tried to scream. It came out no more than a breathy gasp devoid of sound.
“Are you hit?” a deep voice asked sharply in her ear.
Austin. A wave of relief washed over her, so powerful and warm it nearly made her faint. “I don’t think so.”
He shouted from above her, “Sampson! Clear the lobby! Set up suppression around the exterior perimeter so the subject can be evacuated!”
“Huh?” Mark obviously didn’t have the slightest idea what Austin had just told him to do.
Violent swearing erupted in her left ear, much of it dealing with Mark’s questionably human parentage and complete lack of training. Then Austin was giving her instructions, urgent and low. “We’re getting up and running like hell. We’re gonna zigzag back and forth so the gunman has less of a shot at you.”
Gunman? Gunman? Was that what that noise had been? A gunshot? Ohmigod.
“Let’s go!” Austin bit out.
All of a sudden his bulk was gone, replaced by light and air and an awful sense of exposure that made her want to curl up in a little ball with her hands over her head and never move again. But then Austin was pulling at her, yanking her to her feet. She managed to stay vertical and keep up with his zigzagging run until they burst out from under the covered overhang into the blistering late afternoon sun. Austin paused, looking around quickly.
“Hey! Let go of her!”
Mark again.
“Give it up, Bubba. You don’t know a damn thing about being a bodyguard. Get out of my way before you get your girlfriend killed. Let me do my job.” Austin sounded like he’d about had it with Mark.
Austin was dragging her forward again, toward a long, black stretch limo parked on the far side of the sweeping circular drive.
“That’s it, pretty boy!” Mark shouted. “You and me, right here, right now—”
“Shut the hell up, Sampson.” And with that, Austin yanked open the back door of the limo and surprisingly gently pushed her inside. Her heel caught on the thick carpet and she stumbled, landing on her knees on the carpeted floor as something big blocked the light behind her. The door slammed shut, and yet again, Austin banged into her.
“Oomph,” she grunted as she went down on her side.
The glass panel between them and the driver was sliding down. A pale, shocked face stared at them from under a chauffeur’s cap.
“Get this car moving if you don’t want to get shot!” Austin ordered the driver in a tone of command that brooked no disobedience. The vehicle lurched into motion violently, dumping Austin on the carpet beside her. Tires screeched, and the vehicle made a sharp turn before accelerating powerfully.
She blinked over at Austin, lying no more than a foot away from her. His eyes were green, a deep, shadowy shade like the darkest part of a forest. She said dryly, “We have to stop meeting on floors like this.”
He grinned back at her. “I haven’t been horizontal this many times with a woman without being in bed with her since…ever.”
In bed with him? Whoa. Now there was a thought. A tingle of that same electric attraction that had about jolted her out of skin the first time he’d tackled her shot through her now.
His pupils dilated hard and fast. All of a sudden, his gaze went so black and hot she could hardly bear to look at him. Other details started to register. His arm, heavy and muscular, lay across the indentation of her waist. And his leg was thrown across hers. If she leaned forward just a little bit, she could cuddle up against that big, brawny chest of his. Her face would fit in the strong curve of his neck, and his shoulder would make a perfect pillow for her head. A lock of his hair had fallen across his forehead, and her fingers itched to reach up and push it away.
“Are you okay?” he asked so tenderly it made her heart ache a little.
“Yeah.” And then an awful thought hit her. “Are you okay?” she blurted, alarmed. Her hands splayed across his chest of their own volition, searching frantically for injuries.
He grinned then, a lopsided thing oozing so much charm it ought to be illegal. “I’m fine. I’d have been glad to take that bullet for you but no, I’m not hit. Thanks for asking, though.”
Her hands stopped, somewhere in the middle of all those acres of muscle. “Take a bullet for me?” she repeated blankly.
“Yes. I’m a bodyguard. It’s what I do.”
“Get shot?”
Another one of those lethal grins. “Well, the idea is to avoid either one of us getting shot in the first place, but if it comes down to you or me, it’s my job to take the hit.”
She shuddered at the thought of deadly lead slamming into this man and erasing that smile forever. “Don’t take a bullet for me, okay?”
He drew her closer against him, and funny thing, she had no desire whatsoever to resist. That volcano of heat and lust that had erupted between them back in the casino exploded again, spewing steam and fire and molten images of sex with him all over the back of the limo. She’d been no saint in her day and had certainly partaken of meaningless sex just for the sake of it now and then. But never, ever, had she been bowled over by an attraction to any guy this instantaneous and this incendiary.
Her entire body felt liquid, flowing over and around him, seeking to engulf every inch of him. His arms tightened around her like tempered steel bands, and his desire rose to meet hers, towering every bit as powerfully as hers. For an instant, fear flooded through her. What had she unleashed between them? It was so big, so overwhelming, she wasn’t entirely sure she could handle it. She looked up, and Austin was staring down at her, looking every bit as stunned as she felt. Well, that was something, at least. Somehow, the idea of him being blown away, too, calmed her.
She relaxed once more in his arms, her trust restored. This was not ops normal for him, either. Something gigantic had happened between them. She hadn’t imagined it.
Wonder filling his dark gaze, he murmured, “I’ll do my level best not to have to take a bullet for you. But rest assured, I will do it if necessary. I’ll die for you.”
The import of those simple words slammed into her like a boulder. She stared at him for a long time, trying to absorb what it truly meant. Finally she managed to mumble, “Nobody’s ever said anything like that to me. Ever. Do you really mean it?”
His gaze locked with hers, as he clearly weighed what she’d just said. Was he trying to figure out if she was talking about other bodyguards, or about more? Much more. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure, herself, just how much she’d meant by the question.
He answered so low she almost didn’t hear him over the sound of pavement beneath the tires. “Yeah. I do mean it.”
Now, that definitely sounded as if he was talking about more than keeping her alive. And darned if her pulse didn’t race even faster, her heart pounding even harder against her ribs.
He reached up to push a strand of white-blond hair out of her face. He whispered, “You’re even more beautiful in person. And I’ve always secretly thought you were a knockout. Are you really real?”
Her breath caught in her throat. “I’m just a normal girl who’s been lucky enough to live an extraordinary life.”
He smiled as if he didn’t quite believe her. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the guy was a little starstruck. “How ’bout you? Are you real? I thought superheroes only live in comic books.”
His grin was a little unbalanced. “I’m just a regular guy who’s been lucky enough to get some extraordinary training.”
“I think there’s more to you than that, Austin Dearing. A whole lot more.”
“I could say the same of you, Silver Rothchild.”
She gazed deep into his eyes. Shockingly, she didn’t see deception. Not an iota of greed or social climbing or self-interest. Was this guy for real? Everyone always wanted something from her—money or fame or a leg up on an entertainment career. Was it possible that he liked her just for her? That all those sparks zinging back and forth between them were real?
A rumble of laughter vibrated deep in his chest. “I have a sinking feeling that you’re going to lead me on a merry chase before this is all said and done.”
She grinned up at him. “Sounds like fun.”
He sighed, but the smile didn’t quite leave his eyes. “If I’m going to do my job, we need to get a few things straight between us.”
She couldn’t resist. She snuggled her hips against his—and gasped at the feel of him, huge and hard between her thighs. “Everything feels straight to me.”
He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. When he opened them, she was disappointed to see that he’d shifted into business mode. “I was trying to talk to you about the rules of engagement we’re going to operate under when you kept running away from me.”
“I wasn’t running away from you!”
He quirked an all-too-knowing brow. “What would you call it?”
She replied defiantly, “Creative avoidance.”
His crack of laughter inexplicably warmed her heart. She liked making this man happy. Wanted to get to know him better. To explore this thing between them. What was up with that? He was her father’s lackey. She ought to hate his guts. But somewhere in the past five minutes, in the midst of their heated argument and diving for cover, something had changed between them. Radically. It was almost as if someone had waved a magic wand and cast a spell over the two of them. Talk about going from zero to sixty in two seconds flat…
Weird.
His arm lifted away from her waist. The movement felt reluctant, like he didn’t want to let her go. That was lovely. He sat up and helped her twist around and sit up without coming out of her dress. And that was lovely, too. Considerate. Far too few people in her life showed her simple courtesy not because she was a rock star but because she was a human being.
She scowled at her dress as she gave the dowdy thing one last tug. It figured that she’d meet the man of her dreams the one day she was wearing something this goofy looking—her, the ultimate fashion diva, who never appeared anywhere without looking like the cover of the latest pop culture magazine. But her father had a cow whenever she wore anything even remotely sexy, and she hadn’t wanted a fight with him at her birthday party. So she’d chosen this high-necked, long-hemmed, multilayered affair in a demure shade of pink.
“Shall we go for the gusto and actually try using the seats?” he asked wryly.
She felt her dimples pucker up. “If we’re gonna hijack a limo, we may as well enjoy it before we go to jail.”
He grinned. “Good point.” He knocked on the glass partition, which had closed sometime during their exchange on the floor.
The chauffeur looked back at them in his rearview mirror. “We safe now?” the guy asked.
Austin nodded. “Yes, thanks to you. Mr. Rothchild’s going to be very grateful that you saved his daughter’s life.”
The guy snorted. “Mr. Coddington’s going to be very not grateful that I took off with his limo.”
Silver knew Albert Coddington. She jumped in, waving a casual hand. “Albert’s a dear. Once he knows what happened, he’ll be delighted to have helped.”
The driver muttered, “Maybe. But Mrs. Coddington sure won’t like having to wait for her ride.”
Silver laughed. “I give Mrs. Coddington-Number-Five six more months before she’s outta there. No need to worry about her. Albert’s determined to be just like Henry VIII, and he has one more wife to go.”
Austin’s gaze swiveled to hers. “The man’s had five wives? What’s wrong with him?”
She grinned at him. “He has a weakness for gold diggers and gets suckered, like clockwork, every ten years. But give the guy credit for style. The current Mrs. Coddington is younger than I am. By a lot.”
“You’re not exactly an old lady.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like I can lie to you about my age. After all, you met me at my birthday party.”
“You’ll like being thirty—”
She cut him off. “Don’t tell me my thirties will be my best decade yet. I made a pact with myself that I’d murder the next person who said that to me.”
He shrugged. “Okay, how ’bout this? My thirties have been great to me so far. Wouldn’t trade ’em for the world. I hope yours are the same for you.”
“I’ll let you know in six weeks,” she replied ruefully.
“What happens in six weeks?”
She opened her mouth to tell him about her upcoming gig at the Grand, when the driver spoke from up front. “Sir, when do you want me to head back to town? We’re gonna have to turn around now or go straight for about a fifty miles and get gas before we turn around.”
Austin frowned. “Let’s head back to town. Does the Grand have a private entrance?”
Silver and the driver answered simultaneously, “Yes.”
Austin looked over at her. “I forgot. You grew up there, didn’t you?”
Indeed, she had. She was plenty familiar with the underground loading dock for the many deliveries it took to keep the Grand running. Rather than have trucks constantly clog the busy streets around the hotel, they unloaded underneath it, out of sight and out of the way. Which also made for an ideal entry for celebrities in search of privacy—or safety.
“We’ll have to call ahead to use it. Security’s very tight down there,” she said. “Particularly in the late afternoon. The casino gets its shipments of cash in at about this time of day.”
Austin pulled out his cell phone. “What’s your dad’s personal phone number?”
She rattled off the number and Austin dialed it quickly. She listened unabashedly.
“Hi, sir. This is Austin Dearing. I wanted to report that your daughter is unhurt and with me…that’s correct…what are the police saying about the shooting? Any trace of the gunman?” Austin listened a long time, then commented dryly, “With all due respect, sir, that Bubba who calls himself her bodyguard doesn’t know his nose from his ass. You made an exceedingly wise decision to hire me.”
Silver’s jaw dropped. Mark would go ballistic if he heard Austin say something like that! Everybody knew to tiptoe around his hair-trigger temper. She thought she heard tinny laughter emanating from Austin’s phone.
“We’ll be arriving at the underground entrance of your hotel in…driver, how long till we’re back at the Grand?”
“Twenty minutes, sir.”
“…in twenty minutes. Right. Thanks. No sweat.” Austin pocketed his phone.
She liked to think of it as healthy inquisitiveness, but nosiness was one of her greatest weaknesses. She liked to know everything that was going on around her. When Austin made no comment, her curiosity quickly got the best of her. “So, what did my father say?”
“He’ll have someone waiting at the gate for us.”
She huffed. “No. About the shooting? Did the police catch the guy?”
“No.”
“Who was he shooting at? Was anyone hurt? C’mon, Austin. Gimme the scoop.”
Amusement glinted in his green gaze. “I don’t need the police to tell me the gunman was shooting at you. I saw the guy make his move. And, no, no one was seriously hurt. Some guests and staff have cuts and bruises from twisted ankles and falling glass.”
She was still stuck on his first sentence. “The gunman was shooting at me? Are you sure?”
That earned her an annoyed look. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s what I do, remember?”
“How do you know?”
He sighed. “I saw the gunman dart out of hiding and pull out his weapon. He timed his move for when Bubba had stepped away from you to give the cameras his best profile. He really is a jerk, you know.”
“The shooter or Mark?”
Austin grinned. “Both of them.”
She rolled her eyes. The guy was trying very hard not to be informative with her. She prompted him again. “Then what did the gunman do?”
Austin crossed his arms. “He took aim at you with a large-caliber handgun and fired. One thing we know about him—he’s a crappy shot. He should have nailed you cold. Any eighteen-year-old raw recruit could make that kill.”
“Well, thank God for small favors,” she replied dryly.
He glanced over at her. “Seriously. It tells us a lot about the guy. If he were a professional hit man you’d be dead. This guy’s an amateur with something personal against you. Can you think of anyone who might want to kill you? Maybe get revenge for some past wrong?”
She frowned hard, not liking the turn this conversation was taking one little bit.
“Any old boyfriends you had ugly breakups with? Anyone you crossed swords with during your career? Anyone who might feel slighted by your success?”
She gifted him with an annoyed look of her own. “Yes to all of the above. Times about a hundred. In case you didn’t know it, my former singing career was…slightly tumultuous.”
He laughed. “The way I hear it, that’s an extreme understatement.”
Sometimes it got really old having a public past like hers to live down. With a long-suffering sigh, she replied, “There you have it. The list of people who want to see me dead is long and distinguished. Take your pick of who the gunman could be.”
For a moment sympathy shone in his eyes. But then his gaze went flinty hard. “Never fear, honey. I’ll figure out who he is and take the bastard out. Nobody shoots at someone I’m responsible for and lives to tell about it.”
She sank deeper into the plush seat, taken aback at his abrupt shift of mood. Maybe Mark was the one who ought to be worrying about ticking this man off, and not the other way around.
“What’s the Tears of the Quetzal?” he asked abruptly.
“It’s a diamond. It’s set into a ring, and my father calls it his most prized possession.” As Austin quirked a skeptical eyebrow, she added, “It’s a super-rare stone that changes color. It’s called a chameleon diamond. When you heat it up it changes from violet to green.”
“Cool.” A pause. “Why do the police have it?”
She sighed. “Candace borrowed or stole it—depending on who you talk to—the night she was murdered. The ring was gone when her body was found.”
Austin’s face lit up. “So if the cops have the ring, maybe that means they’ve got a lead on her killer.”
Silver replied fervently, “I hope so. That would be great news.”
“Yeah, but if the police are closing in on her killer, the guy’s probably hiding or on the run.”
His question sobered her sharply. “I dunno.”
“No idea at all?” he asked.
“Nope. None.”
Austin went silent, tugging absently at his left ear and staring out the window broodingly. She didn’t interrupt his thoughts, whatever they might be. She’d like to think a little of his steely resolve to keep her safe had to do with their two intimate exchanges, but that was probably wishful thinking. Now that she was sitting up in her own seat, not in physical contact with him, the crazy attraction of before seemed a little hard to believe. She’d been scared and high on adrenaline and had overreacted. Yeah, that was it. Her temporarily heightened senses explained it.
But they didn’t explain the thick sludge of disappointment that abruptly chugged through her veins. It had been an amazing feeling while it lasted.
A few minutes later the driver swung smoothly past the Grand’s acres of swimming pool and tennis courts and into the black maw of a gated entrance that looked like it led to a parking garage.
Before their rear fender had barely cleared the entrance, a reinforced steel gate was already sliding closed behind them. Darkness closed in. The limo spiraled down a long ramp, and then light flared ahead. She spied a familiar silhouette and started. Her father was down here personally to meet them? Either she was in big trouble for her display to the press, or Austin was about to get fired.
Reluctantly she reached for her door handle. Time to face the music.
A big, warm palm clamped down lightly over her hand. “Lesson number one in being a good protectee. Never get out of the car first. I will always get out before you and have a look around. Please don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe. Ever. Got it?”
She looked up at him, startled. Mark had never made her go through any routine like that. “So you’re pretty much always going to be a gentleman and get my door for me? I think I can get used to that.”
That killer grin of his flashed briefly, then was replaced by an expression more akin to sympathy. He seemed to understand that she was joking about this security procedure to hide her dismay at the seriousness of the situation.
His finger brushed her temple, pushing back that pesky strand of hair again, and then the quick, light touch was gone. But the earthquake it left behind continued to shudder through her for several long seconds. Whoa. No adrenaline heightened senses could explain away that.
Eventually her breathing restarted as she stared at the back of his head. Who was this guy whose casual touch made her all but orgasmic?
“Here we go,” he muttered.
As advertised, Austin stepped out of the vehicle and paused directly in front of the door. Heck, she couldn’t have gotten out even if she’d wanted to. It did, however, give her an excellent and isolated view of his buns. Tight. Muscular. Made for driving into a woman strongly enough to know she was with a man—
Good grief! She had to get control of herself! Heat climbed her cheeks just as he murmured, “Okay, you can come out.”
Her heart all but palpitating, she took the hand he offered and climbed out of the limo. Sheesh. She was a mess.
Her father exclaimed, “How’d you get her to do what she’s told like that? I’ve been trying for twenty years and never got her to behave.”
Without stopping to think, she snapped, “He said please.”
She wasn’t in the habit of sassing her father—she never won and it wasn’t worth the hassles to follow. But it had been a rough day. She braced herself, waiting for his explosion. But today Harold made no comment at all. Which was testament to just how upset he must be over the shooting.
She was stunned when he merely turned to Austin and said quietly, “I suppose it goes without saying that I’m grateful to you for pulling my little girl out of there.”
Her jaw dropped. Her father never said things like that! She frequently wasn’t at all sure he actually felt softer emotions like love or concern for his family.
Harold passed a small white object to Austin. “Your room key.”
Austin nodded his thanks. “You understand that nobody is to know that she’s with me. Nobody. The staff can just think that I eat like a horse and like to make my own bed for a few days.”
Harold nodded. “It’s taken care of.”
“And maybe you could thank Mr. Coddington for letting us commandeer his limo like that.”
Harold grinned. “I know just the thing. I’ll give the guy a fat stack of thousand dollar chips, which he’ll promptly lose back to me at the tables.”
Silver snorted. That was vintage Harold. Give someone a generous gift that he knew was going to come right back to him. But then he did surprise her by pulling out his wallet, extracting a thick wad of hundred dollar bills and handing them to the limo driver. “Here’s a small token of my appreciation for helping save my daughter’s life.”
Silver stared as the driver stammered his thanks. Well, knock her over with a feather!
Austin said, “Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Rothchild,” Austin said. “Fire that Sampson guy. He’s worthless as a bodyguard.”
Harold grimaced. “Believe me, I’d get rid of him if I could. But I don’t employ the guy. You’ll have to take that up with Silver. He works for her.”
Austin’s eyebrows shot up, but he made no comment to her. She got the distinct feeling they were going to converse more on the subject very soon, however.
While Austin steered her toward the elevator, she chewed on her father’s vehement comment about Mark. She’d had no idea Harold disliked him that much. Why hadn’t her father said something to her about it before now? Although, to be brutally honest with herself, if she’d known it would tick off her father, she might have made the relationship with Mark real just to get her father’s goat.
Maybe Harold wasn’t as dense as she thought he was. Maybe he’d finally learned not to push on the subject of her boyfriends and let her discover their schmuck-like qualities for herself. And they always turned out to be schmucks in the end. The sad fact was she had terrible taste in men. It was why she’d taken the drastic measures she had to have a baby.
As the elevator door slid shut, Austin called, “Thank you for your help, Mr. Rothchild.” Examining both sides of his plastic key, he asked, “Where’s my room?”
“Lemme see.” She took the card and turned it over. Wow. The New Yorker villa. It was one of the Grand’s four incredibly swanky penthouses that shared the roof of the forty story tall hotel. “You’ve got one of the penthouses. You put your key card in this slot to activate the elevator to the top floor.” She demonstrated, and then passed the key back to him. With a quiet, powerful whoosh, the elevator shot upward.
The metal encased space took on a heavy silence she had no interest in disturbing. At some point, Austin was going to start asking her questions—lots of them—and not a one of them was going to be easy to address.
The door opened on a quiet, oak paneled hallway lit by lamps on console tables. Fresh flower arrangements and thickly padded carpeting added to the overall ambience of European style.
“Let me guess. You want to get out of the elevator first, too,” she mused.
“Fast learner,” he murmured as he stepped out and took a hard look around.
“Your suite’s the one to the left.”
He nodded and gestured for her to follow. He all but ran down the hall, and for a man as tall as him, that was really moving. She had to break into a jog to keep up. Note to self: wear flats around this guy. She would only come up to his armpit that way, but at least she wouldn’t be forced to run in heels.
Austin hustled her into the suite and closed the door quickly behind them. His mental sigh of relief was nearly audible. She knew the feeling. The last hour had been a heck of a ride. Literally. Man, she was getting old. There was a time when this amount of excitement wouldn’t have fazed her. But now, the danger and racing around in fear for her life were simply exhausting.
A single thought exploded across her mind. I’m pregnant.
She really shouldn’t be doing crazy stuff like getting shot at anymore. Her wild days were, indeed, officially over. Now, they just had to convince an unnamed gunman of that fact.
“You hungry?” Austin called from the far side of the living room. He’d been looking carefully out of each of the floor to ceiling windows—probably checking for snipers or something.
Actually, she was vaguely nauseous. “Not really. You?”
“Starving. Adrenaline always makes me hungry.”
“Typical man.”
“Honey, I’m a lot of things, but typical isn’t one of them.”
She grinned over at him. “I gather modesty isn’t on your list of major attributes, either.”
He shrugged. “I call it as I see it, darlin’.”
“Want me to order up a steak for you from Room Service? The prime rib here is to die for if you’re a carnivore.” She started to reach for the phone, and Austin moved to her side so fast he was practically a blur.
He snatched the phone out of her hand. “Nobody’s to know you’re here. As of now, you’re officially in hiding.”
A moment’s relief at the idea of being safe gave way to dawning horror. “Small problem, big guy. I don’t have time to hide. I have only six weeks to pull together the show of my life.”
He scowled down at her. “Sorry. Not happening. What part of ‘someone just tried to kill you’ didn’t you get?”

Chapter 5 (#uaeb88f87-668a-5d24-a9fd-88a436a672a2)
Silver stared up defiantly at him. Taking temporary precautions in case her sister’s killer tried to harm her was one thing but screwing up the rest of her life by ruining her comeback was another thing entirely.
He had to be wrong about someone from her past coming after her. Sure, she’d stepped on a lot of toes in her early days. But that had been a long time ago. Anyone who’d had it in for her had had more than enough time to get even with her before now. And as for Candace’s killer? Her stepsister had made plenty of her own enemies through hard and selfish living. Besides, the past several years her path and Candace’s had barely crossed. Silver had a very hard time believing that she and Candace shared any enemy in common. Yeah, there’d been a shooting downstairs, but incidents like that weren’t unheard of in this town. Gambling did funny things to people.
Austin pulled at his ear again, looking impatient. But he said evenly enough, “What exactly do you think happened in the lobby?”
“We were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nothing more. Somebody snapped under heavy gambling losses or got ditched by one of our showgirls.”
“Silver, I’m not just your run-of-the-mill bodyguard. I guard heads of state. I train the people who guard heads of state. I’m one of the top personal security experts in the entire world. And I’m telling you that shooter was aiming for you.”
She sat down heavily on the nearest sofa as she reluctantly acknowledged the possibility that he might be right. “But…why?”
“That’s what you and I are going to figure out.”
“How?” she pressed.
“You’re going to tell me everything about your life, and I’m going to develop a list of people who might want to see you dead.”

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