The Bodyguard's Promise

Not my business, he reminded himself. He was here to do a job, not to make judgments about the lifestyle of the rich and famous.

He stepped into a glass-enclosed room with white rattan furniture and a plethora of plants. Surely this was the sunroom. He sat on one of the chairs at a glass-topped table and glanced at his watch once again. It had taken him six minutes to get to this room. She should be here at any minute.

Leaning back in the chair, he cast his gaze outside onto the lush lawn and gardens. This would be a peaceful place to sit and ponder. As he waited, what he found himself pondering was Libby Bryant.

The woman was hot to look at, but he’d sensed a cold core inside her. She was probably going to be a bitch to work with, but he’d survive the ordeal.

Clay was accustomed to dysfunctional people. In his line of work as a bodyguard he’d pretty much seen it all. He’d seen the best and worst that the human race had to offer. Nothing Libby Bryant could do would surprise him.

He glanced at his watch again and frowned. It had been twelve minutes since they’d agreed to meet in ten. At that moment, he heard footsteps approaching. But it wasn’t Libby, rather it was a uniformed maid.

She smiled, a cool, professional gesture. “Ms. Libby wondered if you’d like something cold to drink while you wait for her.”

“A glass of iced tea would be nice,” he replied, wondering how long Ms. Libby intended to keep him waiting.

The maid nodded and disappeared, only to return a moment later with a tall glass of tea and several wedges of lemon. “Would you care for anything else, Mr. West?” she asked.

Yes, I’d like you to tell Ms. Libby to get her ass down here. “No thanks, I’m fine,” he replied.

The maid left him alone and he took a sip of the tea, frowning once again. There was nothing Clay hated more than to be kept waiting. He believed in punctuality and thought tardiness to be the height of rudeness.

In Libby Bryant’s case, he had a feeling it might be a control issue. By being late she was subtly maintaining control of him and the situation. Definitely a ball-buster, he thought.

Ten minutes later she entered the sunroom. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said, although no apology rang in her tone. “I had to chase down Maddie Walker, Gracie’s secretary, to get the letters from her.”

She’d changed clothes. Gone was the bathing suit and cover-up, replaced by navy slacks and a navy- and royal-blue blouse that intensified the color of her eyes. Her hair was loose, falling below her shoulders in shiny waves. Instead of smelling like chlorine and coconuts, the fragrance that wafted from her smelled expensive.

She sat in the chair opposite him and stared down at the bundle of letters she clutched in her hands. “These are copies of the letters. I gave the originals to the private investigator I hired. I’m hoping you’ll read these and realize that Gracie’s agent has overreacted and there is no danger.” When she looked up at him there was absolutely no emotion shining from her eyes.

She pushed the letters across the table toward him, then leaned back and stared out the window over his shoulder. “How many people handled the originals?” he asked.

Her gaze shot to him and a little frown marred the flawless skin of her brow. “I don’t know. The mail carrier, Gracie’s secretary, her agent, me…” Her voice trailed off.

With all those people handling the letters, it was doubtful that the investigator could lift any usable prints. He reached for the first envelope and noted the post date: May 15th. Almost two months ago.

He pulled out the letter and quickly scanned it.

Dear Gracie,

I think you should get out of show business. You think you’re cute, but you’re not. You think you’re a little princess, but you’re nothing. You might fool some people but you don’t fool me. You’re a talentless piece of nothing.

It was signed, “Not A Fan.”

There’d been a total of eight letters sent over the course of the past two months. What concerned Clay was that each seemed to be an escalation of emotion, culminating in the last letter.

Dear Gracie,

Why don’t you just die, you little bitch?

It wasn’t just the words, a growing anger showed in the handwriting itself. The first letter was neatly written in block letters. The last letter was still in block letters but sloppy and the pen pressed so hard in places it appeared from the copy as if the paper had ripped.

Rage.

He looked at Libby. “I don’t think Gracie’s agent overreacted. If Gracie were my daughter, I’d be more than a little concerned about these letters.”

She held his gaze for a long moment and in the depth of her eyes he saw a flicker of emotion for the first time. An edge of fear. A whisper of vulnerability. So, the woman had an Achilles’ heel, and it was her daughter, apparently.

She swept a hand through her hair, causing it to ripple across her shoulder. “So what do we do now?” she asked, then cleared her throat as if swallowing a lump.

“We keep your daughter safe,” he replied. For the first time since he’d arrived he felt as if he had her full, undivided attention. “What I’ll need from you is Gracie’s daily schedule.”

“Done.”

“I also need you to make a list of all the people who surround her.”

She frowned again. “That’s going to be quite a list. Gracie is in the middle of filming a movie. Her schedule is hectic and there’s no way I can list everyone who works on the movie set.”

“Do the best you can,” he replied. “I want teachers, staff, along with everyone she interacts with outside the house. From now until we decide the threat has passed, she won’t go anywhere without me.”

Libby’s frown deepened and she tapped perfectly manicured fingernails on top of the glass table. “This is going to get complicated. We’re in negotiations for her next movie role. It’s important that the press doesn’t get hold of this, that nobody knows we’re worried about Gracie’s safety.”

“Unfortunately there’s no way I can be inconspicuous,” he said. God forbid they screw up Gracie’s next movie deal, he thought with a touch of irritation.

She stopped her finger tapping and leaned back in the chair, her eyes focused once again out the windows. “It’s going to look odd, you hanging out everywhere with Gracie. People will wonder who you are and why you’re hanging around us.”

Clay remained silent, wondering what she was going to come up with to explain his presence. He’d obviously entered a place of illusion, where nothing was as it seemed and appearances were everything.

Her gorgeous blue eyes focused on him once again. “I suppose if anyone asks, we can say you’re my boyfriend.” Her expression held a touch of distaste, as if she found the very idea rather appalling.

He wasn’t too thrilled with the idea, either. She sure as hell wasn’t his type of woman. He didn’t go for the ice princess types. “You’re the boss,” he replied.

“We’ll tell people we met several months ago at a charity function and have been secretly dating ever since.” Her gaze flickered down the length of him. “You’re a wealthy retired rancher, and that’s all anyone needs to know.”

“Won’t your friends wonder why you haven’t mentioned me before to them?”

“This is Hollywood. I don’t have close friends,” she replied.

He had a feeling that the fact that she didn’t have close friends was less about Hollywood and more about the woman herself. She didn’t seem like the type who would give much of herself to anyone. Of course, it was too early for him to form any definite opinions about her.

Her gaze flickered over him once again. “We have a lot going on over the next couple of weeks, events that will require formal dress. I don’t suppose you have a tuxedo in that little suitcase of yours.” There was a tone in her voice that indicated she doubted he’d ever worn a tux, let alone owned one.

“Unfortunately, when I packed my bags my tux was at the cleaner’s,” he said dryly.

“I’ll have Enrique bring some things over for you from his shop. If you’re going to attend the various events with Gracie and me, you need to be dressed appropriately. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of the cost.”

The irritation Clay had been fighting since the moment he’d arrived rose up. “That’s not necessary. I can afford to buy my own clothes, even in Hollywood.”

She opened her mouth as if to protest, but must have seen something on his face that made her think twice. “Suit yourself,” she said. “I’ll make the arrangements for sometime tomorrow afternoon with Enrique.”

“Where is Gracie now?” he asked.

“Up on the third floor with her voice teacher. There are several rooms up there, including a place where Gracie has her various lessons and works out with her physical trainer.”

A physical trainer for an eight-year-old? Once again he realized he was in a world unfamiliar to everything he knew.

“If we’re finished here, then I’d like to go up to the third floor and take a look around.”

“All right, and I’ll see to it that you have a schedule of her daily activities and that list of people by the end of the evening.”

She stood, looking as if she’d like nothing better than to escape his presence. “Dinner is served at seven in the dining room. If you need anything else, I’ll be in my office getting together those things for you.”

Clay stood as she left the sunroom, the scent of her perfume lingering in the air. He’d hoped that when he read the letters he’d be able to tell her there was nothing to worry about and he’d be able to leave la-la land and head back home to Cotter Creek.

But the letters had disturbed him. It was possible they were nothing more than the work of a harmless fanatic, but he wasn’t willing to take that chance. He might gamble on other things, but not on a little girl’s life.

He left the sunroom and headed for the stairs to the third floor. He’d thought his gig in Las Vegas had been torturous, but he had a feeling that was nothing compared to playing bodyguard to an eight-year-old and pretend boyfriend to a woman he didn’t even like very much.

It was almost seven when Libby left her bedroom for dinner. She’d spent the past hour getting the things together for Clay and trying not to let thoughts of the man distract her from the job.

Something about him put her on edge as nobody had in a very long time. She’d called Charlie, Gracie’s agent, to find out more about Clay West. What he’d told her had surprised her.

Wild West Protective Services, the family business Clay worked for, was a million-dollar industry owned by Red West, Clay’s father. When Clay had said he could afford to pay for his own clothing, according to Charlie, he wasn’t lying.

Not that she cared about how much money he might have in his bank account. She just wanted him to handle the issue of Gracie’s safety. That’s all she wanted from the tall, handsome cowboy.

She frowned as she thought about having to pretend that he was her current love interest. It certainly wasn’t her ideal scenario, but it would have to do. If anyone knew about the threat against Gracie, it could screw up the negotiations for her next film, among other things.

In this case, any publicity wasn’t better than bad publicity. Any director would say that children were difficult enough to work with without extenuating circumstances.

Gracie met her in the hallway, a bright smile decorating her pretty little face. While Libby had worked in her office, Gracie had been busy, as well. She’d not only had her voice lesson, but that had been followed by a half hour of schoolwork with her tutor.

“I’m starving,” Gracie proclaimed. Clay appeared just behind her. “And Mr. Clay is starving, too.”

“Then I guess we’d better get downstairs and see what’s for dinner,” Libby said. As she walked with Gracie down the stairs, she was acutely conscious of Clay just behind them.

“Mr. Clay said he hoped we weren’t vegetarians,” Gracie continued. “I didn’t know what that meant and he explained it to me. I told him you make me eat vegetables, but we have meat, too.”

They left the stairs and walked into the large dining room where three places were set at one end of the long table. Libby sat where she always did, at the head of the table. Gracie sat on her left and she motioned Clay into the chair at her right.

They had just seated themselves when the cook, Helen Richmond, served the first course. A bowl of soup.

“Helen, this is Clay West. He’s going to be my guest for a while,” Libby said.

Clay nodded at the plump, white-haired woman. “Nice to meet you, Helen.”

She gave him a curt nod, then disappeared into the kitchen. Helen was an ill-tempered beast most of the time, but she had a reputation as one of the best cooks in Hollywood. It had been a real coup when Libby had managed to hire her.

“Mr. Clay has a cook. His name is Smokey,” Gracie said as they began to eat. “Mr. Clay says he’s grouchy.” She smiled at Libby. “Kind of like Ms. Helen, right, Mom?”

“That’s not nice, Gracie,” Libby chided.

Gracie shrugged. “But it’s true.”

Libby couldn’t help biting back a smile. If there was one thing she’d learned about her daughter, it was that Gracie was surprisingly opinionated for her age.

“You have any brothers or sisters, Clay?” she asked. She’d prefer meaningless small talk to silence.

“Four brothers, one sister.”

“I wish I had a sister or a brother,” Gracie said. “Definitely a sister, I’d have to think about a brother. Jennifer’s little brother is a big pain.” She looked at Clay. “Are your brothers big pains?”

He looked at Gracie and a smile curved his lips, the first smile Libby had seen on his face. The attractiveness of it hit her in the pit of the stomach like a small kick.

“Brothers can definitely be big pains, but they can also be the best friends you’ll ever have in your life,” he said.

“My best friend’s name is Kathryn. She’s a girl,” Gracie said. “She’s an actress, too, and I get to see her every day on the set.”

“Is she your age?” Clay asked.

“No, she’s a year older than me. She has a birthday coming up and she’s going to be nine. She thinks she’s much smarter than me because she’ll be nine before I will be.” Gracie released a long-suffering sigh. “She’s kind of a know-it-all, but she’s my best friend anyway.”

At that moment Helen returned to take away the soup dishes and to serve the main course of Swiss steak, baked potato and fresh, steamed asparagus.

Thankfully, Clay offered nothing more personal about himself throughout the course of the meal. Libby didn’t want to know anything personal about him. It was enough that he had a killer smile. It was enough that he bothered her on a level she didn’t quite understand.

Gracie kept up a running monologue throughout the meal, telling Clay all about the movie they were in the middle of shooting, about the other child actors who were in the film and how much fun they had on the set.

Although Clay wasn’t big on conversation, he listened with interest to everything Gracie said and it was apparent that in the few brief hours of the early evening the handsome cowboy and her daughter had begun to form a relationship.

Gracie liked him. It was obvious in her easy chatter, in the way she smiled at him so frequently. Libby wasn’t sure how to feel about it. On the one hand she hated to see her daughter forming any kind of attachment to a man who wouldn’t be long in her life. On the other hand she knew it was important that Gracie trust Clay. Her very life might depend on that trust.

The meal passed without too many awkward silences, thanks to Gracie. After dinner, Libby told Clay he was officially off duty while she attended to Gracie’s bath and bedtime. He disappeared into his bedroom while she and Gracie went into her room so Gracie could take a bath in her mother’s tub, as was her habit.

Half an hour later Gracie swam around in the oversize tub. Libby sat in a chair nearby. “I like Mr. Clay,” Gracie said. She scooped up a handful of bubbles and put them on top of her head, then posed as if doing a commercial shoot for bubble bath.

“I know. I could tell.”

Gracie slid down in the water. “He has nice eyes. They’re real green, like grass.”

Libby had noticed. His eyes were a beautiful shade of green, but she didn’t find them particularly nice. Whenever he gazed at her they were cool and distant and held just the slightest whisper of censure that let her know he didn’t think very much of her.

Not that it bothered her. He didn’t have to like her. That wasn’t his job. And she didn’t have to like him. She could find him pleasant to look at without having to like him. Okay, so pleasant seemed too mild a description for the edgy tension that swept through her whenever she looked at him.

“Tell me your lines for tomorrow’s shoot,” Libby said, hoping to distract her daughter from any more observations about Clay West.

It was eight-thirty when she finally got Gracie tucked into bed and went down to her office for the list and schedule Clay had requested. She’d not only written down the names of the people intimately involved in Gracie’s life but also what they did.

She retrieved the papers, then went back up the stairs and knocked on his bedroom door.

When he pulled open the door, her breath caught in her throat. He had obviously taken the time alone to shower for his dark hair was damp and the scent of minty soap wafted from him.

He was shirtless, his chest a broad expanse of tanned, muscled flesh, and his jeans rode precariously low on his slender hips.

Male. The man was so intensely male. God, it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed any kind of a physical relationship with a man. She had an insane impulse to reach out and touch his chest, to thread her fingers through the dark tuft of hair that sprang up in the center.

“Yes?” For just a brief moment his eyes flickered with a hint of amusement, as if he could read her thoughts.

A flash of annoyance shot through her. “I have those things you asked for.” She thrust the papers toward him.

He scanned the first sheet quickly, then looked back at her. “I think we need to go over some of this together. In case I have questions or need clarification. Is now convenient?”

Only if you put on a shirt, she thought. “Why don’t we meet in my office in a few minutes and go over things?”

“Fine. I’ll see you in a few.”

Before going back downstairs, Libby went into Gracie’s room to check on her daughter. For a long moment she stood at the side of Gracie’s bed, watching her daughter in slumber.

Here was the reason Libby didn’t have any personal relationships. Gracie had a dream, a dream like the one Libby had once had.

In Libby’s case nobody had helped nurture that dream, but had rather tried to squash it out of her. Her aspirations for herself had been met with not only a lack of support but also a cold censure that had forever broken a piece of Libby’s heart.

Like Libby, her daughter had expressed the desire to be in movies, to act. Gracie loved it. Libby had made the decision to forget her own career and become Gracie’s biggest support, to nourish her dream in every way possible as nobody had ever done for her.

She leaned down and pressed her lips against Gracie’s soft cheek, then turned and left her bedroom. As she headed downstairs to her office, she thought about the handsome stranger who had been brought into their lives.

She couldn’t help but admit that something about him was more physically appealing to her than any man had been for a very long time. On screen, it would be called chemistry; off screen, it was just irritating.

If there was any one place in the house where she felt most at home it was in her office just off the living room. The office was large and held not only her beautiful mahogany desk, but also a tasteful burgundy-and-gold love seat and a coffee table.

The walls were covered with framed photos. Some of them were of her when she’d first come to Hollywood and had worked as a model/actress. Others were of both her and Gracie from a shoot they’d done together for baby food, and the rest were of Gracie. They were a pictorial history of their work here in Hollywood that told a story of success.

Whenever Libby wasn’t with Gracie she could usually be found here in the office. From her chair at the desk she not only planned and negotiated Gracie’s next career move, but also kept detailed financial records and sifted through the social invitations to decide which events she and her daughter would and wouldn’t attend.

As she waited for Clay to join her, she tackled a stack of invitations that Maddie Walker, their secretary, had placed on her desk at some point during the day.

They were the usual mixed bag: dinner invitations, several charity events and a surprise birthday party for a director who had worked with Libby on her first film. That picture had been filmed years ago when Gracie was a baby and Libby had been focused on her own career rather than her daughter’s.

She tensed as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He came into the room, bigger than life and, thankfully, wearing a shirt. He carried the papers she’d given him and for a long moment he stood in the doorway of the room and gazed at the photos on the wall.

“You were an actress?” he finally asked.

She noded. “I came to Hollywood when Gracie was three months old. For the first two years of her life I did some modeling and acting.” She started to explain to him why she’d stopped working and how Gracie had been discovered, but then realized it was nothing he needed to know.

“Interesting,” he said. When he sat on the love seat he significantly dwarfed the overstuffed piece of furniture.

“Did you have a chance to look over the things I gave you?” she asked, wanting to get this little meeting over with as soon as possible.

“Very briefly. I notice that Gracie’s schedule is pretty hectic.” There was a hint of disapproval evident in his voice.

“Gracie loves what she’s doing and she manages the schedule just fine,” she replied coolly. How could a smalltown cowboy have any idea about the choices she’d made for her daughter, the choices Gracie made for herself?

“What about her father? You don’t have him listed anywhere. Where is he?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she replied.

“So he’s not a presence in her life?”

She fought back a bitter laugh. “He wasn’t even a presence in the pregnancy.”

His green eyes narrowed in thought. “No chance he could be the one sending the letters? That maybe he disapproves of how Gracie is being raised.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way Gracie is being raised,” she replied defensively. “But no, I can’t imagine Raymond sending those letters. If he were going to contact us at all it would probably be for money, not because of some long overdue fatherly concern.”

Even after all these years, just thinking about Raymond Willows caused a hard knot of anger and hurt to form in the center of her chest.

He’d been the one man she’d trusted, the one man who had said all the right things at a time when she’d desperately needed to hear them. And they’d been the empty promises of a young man who’d wanted nothing more than to get into her panties.

She dismissed thoughts of the past. The day she had packed her bags and left Middle Creek, Pennsylvania, she’d made a conscious decision to never look back.

“What about boyfriends or lovers of yours? I see you have none listed.”

She wasn’t sure why, but the heat of a blush warmed her cheeks. “That’s because at the current time there are none.”

His gaze held hers intently. “No close friends, no boyfriends or lovers. Sounds pretty lonely to me.”

“On the contrary, my life is too full for loneliness. Now, are there any other questions you have concerning the schedule or the list of people?”

He glanced back at the papers in his hand. “No, I guess that’s it for now, although I’m sure I’ll have plenty of other questions in the future.”