The Billionaire Bodyguard(6)

She held her hands up to her hot  cheeks, angry with herself for a  physical reaction which seemed to be  beyond her control. So it was time  to take control. The important thing  to remember was that if she  didn't react to him then he wouldn't behave  so provocatively. If she  smiled serenely at his attempts to get under  her skin then he would  soon grow bored and stop it.

She found a  battered-looking saucepan in one of the cupboards, and  broke a  fingernail into the bargain, and she was fractious and  flustered by the  time she returned, carrying two steaming mugs of black  tea. But at least  he had managed to get the fire going properly, and  tentative flames  were licking at one of the logs, bathing the room in  soft, comforting  shades of scarlet and orange.

She took her coat off and crept  towards the fire's warmth. She handed  him a mug, then crouched down on  the floor, wishing she were wearing  something warmer and more practical  than a leather skirt and wondering  why on earth she had, on such a cold  day. Because it's fashionable, she  reminded herself, and because the  designer begged you to take it as a  gift.

Jay Linur had removed  his rather battered flying jacket too, but,  unlike her, he had obviously  made no concessions to sartorial elegance.  His outfit was tough and  practical. Faded jeans hugged his long, lean  legs and he wore a warm  dark sweater which softly clung to his torso.  Firelight danced flames  across the ruffled black hair, which was thick  and slightly too  long-giving him a buccaneer air which seemed to blend  in well with the  ancient fireplace.

He looked, she realised, completely at home as  he lounged rather  indolently along the rug, watching the progress of  the fire-all rugged  and arrogant confidence as he gazed into the flames,  his thick lashes  hooding his eyes. He turned his head to study her with  lazy interest.

Keri put her mug down and winced as the ragged nail scratched against the palm of her hand.

'Hurt yourself?' he questioned softly.

'Not really, but I've broken my nail-and I can't even file it down-I left my make-up bag in the car!'


He  gave a short laugh. 'Outside it's sub-zero, the snow is still coming   down with no sign of a let-up, we're stranded God knows where, and all   you can worry about is your damned fingernail!'

Keri was stung  into defence. 'It isn't just vanity, if that's what  you're implying-my  job happens to depend on the state of my hands,  among other things, and I  was supposed to be doing a magazine-shoot for  nail varnish next week!'  It was, she realised, the first time in her  life that she had ever felt  the need to justify her job to anyone. So  why-especially now, and to him  of all people?

Jay took a mug of tea, sipped it and grimaced,  wondering what type of  world it was where a broken fingernail could mean  anything at all other  than just that. Not a world he could ever  inhabit, that was for sure.  Different strokes for different folks, he  supposed.

He put the drink down in disgust. 'What the hell did you put in this? Arsenic?'

'Oh,  please don't tempt me! I just used what was available,' she said   crossly. 'Which were teabags which looked like they belonged in the Dark   Ages!'

'Don't believe they had teabags in the Dark Ages,' he responded drily.

Keri almost laughed. Almost. Boundaries, she reminded herself. 'Do you have an answer for everything, Mr Linur?'

He  looked at her. Oh, yes. The answer was staring him right in the face   right now. Her lips were parted, so soft and so gleaming that they  were  practically begging to be kissed. He didn't have to approve of an  icy  beauty whose whole livelihood depended on the random paintbox of  looks  which nature had thrown together, but it didn't stop him wanting  her.                       
       
           



       

'Try me,' he murmured. 'Ask me any question you like.'

There  it was again-that tingy feeling, that sense of being out of  control, as  if she had drunk too much champagne too quickly. Keri  swallowed. 'Okay.  How's this for starters-just how are you proposing to  get us out of  here?'





CHAPTER THREE




JAY shrugged. 'I'm not,' he said flatly.

Keri raised her eyebrows. 'You mean that we're going to have to stay here for ever?'

He  smiled at her sarcasm. Don't worry, sweetheart, he thought  acidly-the  idea appalls me just as much as it clearly does you. 'It's  an intriguing  prospect, but no. There's not a lot we can do, at least  until the snow  stops. Until then we'll just have to sit it out.'

The thought of that was making her more than uneasy. 'For how long?'

'Who knows? Until the thaw starts, or until someone finds us.'

And who knew how long that would be? 'You haven't even tried telephoning for help!' she accused.

'That's because there isn't a phone. I checked.'

'How can a place not have a telephone in this day and age?'

He  shrugged his broad shoulders. It sounded like bliss to him. 'For the   same reason that there's no television.' He shifted his legs slightly.   'I suspect that this is a holiday home and that the people who own it   have deliberately decided to do away with all modern comforts.'

'Why would they do something like that?'

'The  usual reasons. Televisions and telephones create stress, and some   people don't like that stress. It's why they sail. Or climb mountains.   Why they buy places like this-to escape.'

His voice had taken on a  hard note, the tone of someone who was  familiar with the word 'escape',  and suddenly Keri longed for the safe  and predictable. The sanctuary of  her London flat-a clean and  modernistic haven, as far removed from this  big barn of a place as it  was possible to imagine. Where heating was  instantly produced by the  touch of a button and cars and taxis moved  comfortingly outside.

A world where men wore linen and silk and  paid you clever  compliments-not criticising you and then eyeing you with  a kind of lazy  watchfulness which had the ability to make you feel as  flustered as a  gauche young girl, and moving their legs as if to draw  attention to  their hard, muscular definition.

Quickly, she looked  into the fire instead. 'Ironic, really,' she said,  and thought how loud  her voice sounded in the big, echoing room. 'A  house designed for  people to escape to, and we can't get out of it!'

'It could be a lot worse,' he said grimly. 'At least we're inside.'

Yes,  they were. Alone. And Keri had been right-there were no rules in   situation like this; they had to make them up as they went along. 'So   what are we going to do?'

He sat up. 'Well, first we need to eat.'

'Eat?' she echoed blankly.

'You  do eat, I suppose?' He watched her in the firelight. She was all  bones,  he thought-angles and shadows and long, slender legs, like a  highly  strung racehorse. The leather skirt clung to hips which were as  narrow  as a boy's, and although she did have breasts, they were tiny,  like a  young girl's. Jay liked his women curvy, with firm flesh that  you could  mould beneath the palms of your hands and soft hips that you  could hold  onto as you drove into them and catapulted them to pleasure.  'Though not  a lot, by the look of you.'

'Oddly enough, the well-fed look isn't in vogue at the moment,' she said drily.

'I've never really understood why.'

'Because clothes look better on slender figures and that's a fact.'

Jay gave a half-smile. 'But nakedness looks better on a curvy figure, and that's a fact!'

'Well, thanks for bringing the conversation downmarket!'

He shrugged. She thought that nakedness was downmarket? 'That wasn't my intention.'

'You're saying you don't like thin women?'

His  eyes narrowed. 'Careful, Keri,' he said softly. 'That sounds  awfully  like you're fishing for a compliment, and I'd guess you get  more than  the average quota of those.'

Yes, she did. It was part of the  whole package which came with the way  she looked. Men liked to look at  her and to be seen with her-from her  teen years she had been familiar  with the phrase 'trophy girlfriend'.  Yet beauty could be a double-edged  sword. She had learned that, too.  She earned her living through  capitalising on her looks, then sometimes  found herself wishing that  people would see through to the person  beneath-a person with all the  insecurities of the next woman.                       
       
           



       

Defensively, she raked her hand  back through her hair. 'Not a lot of  danger of that at the moment, I  imagine. I must look like I've been  dragged through several hedges  backwards.'