Guarded Moments

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Copyright

  “I don’t need a bodyguard.”

  “Dammit, Tasha.” David held her by the shoulders, peering into her face, trying to force her to believe him. “Somebody is out to get you. I don’t know who. I don’t know why. But this attack on your car proves it.”

  She shook free from his grasp. She’d done nothing wrong. She didn’t need protection. “I don’t need you, David. I don’t need anybody.”

  She dived behind the steering wheel of her car. It took three tries to finally slam her damaged door, and she had the feeling that it wouldn’t open ever again. But she didn’t care. She just wanted to be gone, to run away and hide from this strange confusion that had settled upon her when she first laid eyes on this sexy, mysterious bodyguard who had appeared out of the blue…

  Dear Reader,

  Sometime, somewhere, any woman might need protection. And who could be more sexy—or dangerous—than her bodyguard? You’re about to meet some of the bodyguards at Protection Enterprises Incorporated. Over the next three months, in three tales by three proven authors, you’ll meet women in jeopardy and the strong men who are ready to lay down their lives for them.

  This month Cassie Miles brings you Guarded Moments, the first book in the MY BODYGUARD series. Sexy bodyguard David Marquis is to die for…but can he protect a woman who doesn’t want his help?

  I know you’ll enjoy Guarded Moments and hope you’ll look for the upcoming titles: #394 Shadow Lover by Carly Bishop and #398 Protect Me, Love by Alice Orr. Don’t miss the MY BODYGUARD series!

  Sincerely,

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

  Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, New York 10017

  Guarded Moments

  Cassie Miles

  To Lesly Terrance, a woman with the good taste to love beautiful things and the strength to face that which is painful.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  David Marquis—A professional bodyguard, he has been hired to protect a woman who doesn’t want protection.

  Natasha (Tasha) Lancer—The owner of Bloom’s Flower Shop who has a passion for beautiful things, like roses and rubies.

  Janet Pola—Part owner of Pola and Tweed Jewelry Store, she imported the Sheik’s Rubies for a special showing.

  Inspector George Henning—This Scotland Yard officer specializes in capturing jewel thieves.

  Mandy Jones—Tasha’s young assistant, nine months pregnant, will name her infant daughter Ruby.

  Cerise (Farrah Mauser)—This woman in red is the leader of a gang of international jewel thieves.

  Mr. Green—A giant, hulking man with a psychopathic criminal record, he provides the muscle for the gang.

  Mr. Brown—This skeletal Russian uses his genius for electronics and computers to disarm security systems.

  Anastasia (Stacey) Lancer—Tasha’s high-living sister’s first job was as a magician’s assistant.

  Martina Lancer—Tasha’s Russian mother, twice divorced, owned a fabulous collection of jewels.

  Chapter One

  Morose and tense, Mr. Green sat outdoors at a corner coffee boutique. He wasn’t supposed to hurt Miss Lancer. Those had been his instructions. His job was to frighten her, to threaten her enough that she wouldn’t go to the police. He was supposed to bring her to a meeting, and it wasn’t the type of appointment that could be arranged with an engraved invitation.

  Green sipped at his mid-afternoon dose of French Roast in a cardboard cup and kept a watchful eye on Bloom’s of Cherry Creek. The florist shop was in a block of retail stores on the opposite corner from where he sat with the sports section of the Denver Post spread out on the wrought-iron table in front of him. The traffic on Third Avenue was steady, halting at every other corner for a four-way stop. The wide sidewalks were busy with a regular flow of pedestrians who patronized this trendy square mile of shops that ranged from a bead store to an herbery to a fine jewelry boutique to the largest bookstore west of the Mississippi, the Tattered Cover.

  Too many people. Too much traffic. Everywhere Green looked there were witnesses. The setup couldn’t be worse. However, after two days’ surveillance, he finally had an idea about how he could abduct his prey.

  She’d be hurt, but he didn’t see any other way to do it. Besides, he’d always found pain to be useful. If Miss Lancer knew he was serious, she’d be more willing to cooperate.

  Green checked his watch when she appeared in the doorway of Bloom’s. It was half past three o’clock. Usually at this time of day, she raced down the street to Bagel Bonanza where she grabbed a snack. Today, however, she paused at the intersection. The hairdo seemed messy to him, but he supposed the tendrils that framed her face and clung to her long, slender neck were supposed to be chic. Her overly large brown eyes peered across the street. Was she looking at him?

  He pretended to concentrate on the newspaper. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as she darted across the intersection. She was a small woman, delicate. He could tell by her style and manner that she had a stubborn attitude. In her yellow vinyl miniskirt, black tights and black turtleneck, she looked like a bumblebee. She buzzed right past him and went into the coffee store.

  As soon as she was inside, he slid out of the chair, dumped the newspaper in the trash basket and moved around the corner. Green was a huge man. He stood out in a crowd, and he didn’t want her to notice him. Not yet, anyway.

  Later, Miss Lancer would learn to know him. And to fear his presence.

  TASHA LANCER HURRIED back inside Bloom’s with two tall, iced herbal teas and honey croissants for herself and her assistant, Mandy. For once, Tasha was glad there were no customers in the store. She had a very important project that needed to be finished in the next hour, and she wasn’t entirely pleased with the progress of this dramatic floral arrangement.

  Frowning, she set the iced teas on the front counter and stepped back to critically assess her work. “Mandy, take a break, and tell me what’s wrong with this thing.”

  Mandy heaved a long-suffering sigh. Her feet dragged as she maneuvered her protruding belly around the counter. The seventeen-year-old blonde, who always dressed in black, was really much too glum and grumpy to be working in a flower shop. Her sullen expression and black lipstick were suitable only for discussing funeral arrangements.

  But Tasha appreciated the spark of artistic talent in this young woman who was unmarried, eight months’ pregnant and obviously needed a job. Tasha was willing to take up the slack.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  Mandy pounced on the croissants. Lately, her only real enthusiasm centered on food. Mumbling through a mouthful of sweet dough, she said, “It’s okay, I guess. I like those waxy red flowers with the yellow spikes that stick up.”

  “Anthurium,” Tasha said. “Hawaiian heart.”

  “Whatever. They’re pretty.”

  Tasha fretted. Tonight, her arrangements would decorate the shop next door, Pola and Tweed Jewelry. Janet Pola, the owner of the shop, had specially invited her very ritzy clientele to a premier showing of the Sheikh’s Rubies, a fabulous necklace and two bracelets that were worth a fortune in gems al
one, not to mention the intricate goldwork and the mythic history. There would be an impressive cadre of the local wealthy and elite in attendance, and Tasha wanted to impress these people. She wanted them to realize that her little corner shop that had only been open for six months was capable of providing flowers for high-tone events.

  Three of the five designs had been tall but simple. Since the theme was a sheikh’s desert tent, Tasha had used papyrus and palm fronds mixed with tall branches of exotic red orchids that would exude a lovely fragrance. Those displays had already been placed in Pola and Tweed amid scarlet draperies to reflect an opulent desert tent motif.

  Tasha’s other two arrangements also used scarlet ginger and protea. “I love the smaller one,” she said to Mandy. “I was so lucky to find that brass Aladdin’s lamp at the secondhand store.”

  “And I was so lucky to have to polish the dumb thing,” Mandy muttered.

  “Too bad a genie didn’t pop out and grant you three wishes.”

  “Yeah.” Mandy polished off her second croissant. “First thing I’d wish for is a million dollars. Then I’d wish this baby was here. Then, for my third wish, I’d want to take a trip to San Francisco.”

  Tasha didn’t bother to point out that the arrival of the baby pretty much canceled out traveling. Though Tasha had dragged the girl to a series of infant care classes, Mandy’s approach to pregnancy was not grounded in the reality of dirty diapers and day-care.

  “What about you, Tasha? If you had a genie, what would you wish for?”

  “I’m really not sure.” Her major goals had been fulfilled. After struggling for most of her twenty-seven years, she’d finally set up shop. Because she worked with flowers, she was always surrounded by beauty and fragrance. Her apartment could have been larger, but she was content with two bedrooms and was gradually furnishing the place with objects she loved.

  “Come on,” Mandy urged. “If you could have anything in the word, Tasha, what would it be?”

  “The Sheikh’s Rubies.”

  As soon as the words were spoken, Tasha regretted them. There was absolutely no point in lusting after those gems. They were worth at least two and a half million, far beyond her grasp. But that fabulous necklace and those bracelets had occupied a corner of her imagination from the moment she first heard they were going to be on display next door.

  “Strange,” Mandy drawled, making the word into two syllables. “You have great jewelry. Why would you want those things? From the photos, they look really old-fashioned.”

  “The rubies are real.” Just thinking about the legendary necklace caused her heart to beat faster. “I can’t wait to see them tonight. The center jewel in the necklace is twenty-eight carats. A pigeon’s blood ruby with a fire inside. Oh, Mandy, you can’t imagine what it’s like to hold real gems in your hand. It’s mesmerizing. They’re almost warm, hot.”

  Tasha shook her head and cleared her mind. This was a dangerous fantasy. She turned her attention back to the flower arrangement that stood on the countertop before her. The upper section stood more than three feet tall at the tip of the feathery white plumes that contrasted with the fan of spiky fronds painted black as a background for the waxy red anthurium. When this piece was anchored into the container, it would be nearly seven feet tall

  In designing this piece, Tasha had drawn upon the Japanese techniques of ikebana, using emptiness and the elegance of space to delight the eye and stir the senses. But she still wasn’t satisfied. “What else does this need?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll assemble it in the vase so we can get the whole picture.” Before handling the arrangement, she pulled on a pair of yellow nylon gloves that matched her miniskirt. Working with prickles and thorns taught her to be careful, and she tried to protect her hands as much as possible. Though most designers preferred using their bare hands, gloves had become her trademark. In the drawer behind the front counter, she had dozens of gloves in different fabrics and styles.

  She glanced at her wristwatch. “It’s almost time to take this next door, and it’s got to be perfect.”

  “Are you going to eat your croissant?”

  “Help yourself.”

  Tasha lifted the towering upper piece of the arrangement. The feathery plumes wafted gently as she settled it into the three-foot-tall black lacquered vase. Just as she stepped back to study the effect, the tinkling bell above the door announced the arrival of a customer.

  Tasha pivoted. A ready smile touched her lips. It was vitally important to create goodwill with her customers, even when she was preoccupied with creative concerns.

  She found herself standing too close to a seriouslooking man in a navy sports jacket. They were nearly touching. Yet he didn’t back away. Nor did she. His nearness was a challenge, daring her to retreat or to lean closer into an embrace.

  Her automatic smile faded. This was not a man who would be easily appeased with a standard offering of politeness. Who was he? A definite presence, she thought, very sexy and compelling. He warmed the air like steam heat, exuding a devastating animal magnetism that attracted her instinctively. If she hadn’t been a civilized businesswoman whose life was filled with responsibility, she might have leapt into his arms and whispered, “Take me. I’m yours.”

  But Tasha had worked hard to cultivate a sophisticated demeanor appropriate to the upscale Cherry Creek area. And she knew better than to fling herself at any man. Forcing herself to speak, she squeaked, “May I help you?”

  “I’m here to help you.”

  Okay, she thought. This had to be a fantastic dream. It was crazy to believe this Adonis had strolled into her shop and was offering to take care of her. “I beg your pardon?”

  This guy was somebody. He was perfectly groomed, straight out of GQ. His dark brown hair fell neatly into place. The cleft in his chin was clean shaven. His gray eyes were steady and cool. His gaze fastened to her face with an unusually intense concentration. Still, he was diffident, neutral and uninvolved. Something in his attitude warned her back—which was probably why she contrarily yearned to be close to him.

  He queried, “Are you Natasha Lancer?”

  Her voice was breathy. “I’m Tasha Lancer.”

  “My name is David Marquis. I’ve been hired to act as your bodyguard for the next two weeks.”

  “Bodyguard?” She took a step back, giving herself breathing room. This had to be a misunderstanding. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. You’re probably wanted next door at Pola and Tweed Jewelry. They’ve hired several guards to protect the Sheikh’s Rubies.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m here for you.”

  “I don’t think so.” What was going on here? Was this some kind of practical joke? She didn’t need a bodyguard!

  Tasha tried to convey lack of amusement with a hard-edged glare, but the view of David Marquis was even better from a slight distance. He was average height, but his shoulders were broad. He had the kind of shoulders that begged to be leaned upon, the kind of long, sensitive fingers that were made for soothing caresses. Oh, good grief, what was wrong with her? He was just a man. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Mandy teased, “Uh-oh, Tasha, what kind of trouble are you in?”

  “I’m not in trouble,” she said crisply. She straightened her spine, planting her feet firmly. “Obviously, this is a prank. Right, David?”

  “No, Tasha.” His gray eyes remained cool and calm, as if he were in complete control of the situation.

  Who would pull something like this? Tasha didn’t have all that many friends outside work. “Somebody put you up to this, didn’t they? I know. It was Mrs. McQuaid from the Lutheran Church. She’s always trying to fix me up with blind dates.”

  “I’m a bodyguard,” he repeated. “I work for PEI.”

  “But there’s no reason on earth that I would need a bodyguard.”

  When he reached inside his jacket to retrieve a slim leather wallet, she caught a glimpse of his shoulder holster. Whoever
was playing this prank had gone to a lot of trouble to make it look realistic.

  He consulted a slim notebook. “You’re Natasha Lancer. Nicknamed Tasha. You’re the owner of Bloom’s Flowers of Cherry Creek. You live at 1266 Columbine, Apartment Eight.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “For the next two weeks, I’ll be accompanying you everywhere, twenty-four hours a day. I would appreciate if you could provide me with a schedule, highlighting any unusual travel or events. Where are you parked?”

  “Hold it right there.” This had gone too far. No matter how gorgeous he was, she wouldn’t allow herself to be ordered around by anyone. “This isn’t funny. Now, who really sent you?”

  “As I said, I work for Protection Enterprises, Incorporated. PEI. Out of New York City.” He withdrew a business card from his wallet and held it out to her.

  She peeled off her gloves, took the card and studied the engraved script. It looked official. “This doesn’t prove a thing. Anybody can print up a business card.”

  He flipped open his wallet, displaying his New York driver’s license. “How about this?” He showed his license to carry a concealed weapon. “And this?”

  “I don’t get it.” She threw up her hands. “I can’t believe that you came all the way out to Denver from New York City to act as my bodyguard.”

  “Believe it or not,” he said with a casual shrug that emphasized his strong, masculine shoulders. “You’re my assignment for the next two weeks.”

  His cool gray-eyed gaze scanned the large picture windows that encircled the corner store, allowing natural light to splash through and drench the greenery. “Security in here is going to be tough. It’s like living in a glass house.”

  “You learn not to throw stones…at least, not usually.” She confronted him again. “If you really are a bodyguard, who hired you?”