Just Another Pretty Face (HT 459) by Candace Schuler
Authors: Candace Schuler
Tags: bodyguard
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gulped.
"Good night, Nikki." He watched her turn and run all the way up the wide curving stairway to the second floor while he stood in the foyer below and fought the urge to throw back his head and howl with disappointment and frustration.
7
NIKKI LAY IN THE BIG tester bed under the puffy-green-and-ivory-leaf-strewn comforter, telling herself to just forget what might have been and go to sleep. After a long, agonizing hour of tossing and turning, she kicked the comforter to the foot of the bed and gave it up as a lost cause. There was no way she was getting any sleep tonight. Not as long as "what might have been" was in the very next room.
She wondered how he slept, there in the bed in the very next room. Did he curl up on his side, like she did? Or was he a sprawler? Did he pull the covers up under his chin or kick them to the floor? Did he wear tailored black silk pajamas or go to bed gloriously naked? Did he snore? Did he talk in his sleep?
And had he remembered to close and lock his door like she'd told him to?
She lay there for a moment longer, fighting the urge, telling herself it was none of her business, that he was a grown man who could sleep with his bedroom doors open if he wanted to.
Damn it, she thought, it is my business. She was his bodyguard. And if he wouldn't take the few simple steps necessary to protect himself... well, it was up to her to do it for him. That's what she'd been hired for.
"I'll just get up and check," she said to herself as she swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. "That's all. I'll do a quick check and then come right back to bed."
She slid from the bed and tiptoed through the darkened bedroom, guided only by the moonlight shining in through the multipaned glass doors. Quietly, with her left hand pressed against the door frame to minimize noise, she turned the ornate, old-fashioned handle slowly until it opened with a soft snick. It sounded like a cannon shot in the dark stillness of the night. Nikki sucked in her breath and waited for something—anything—to happen. When nothing did, she slowly pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped out onto the stone terrace.
It was a perfect night, warm and sweet, with the smell of bougainvillea and roses and night-blooming jasmine perfuming the air. The moonlight reflected off the water in the swimming pool below. A soft breeze was blowing, tugging at the hem of Nikki's extra large, marine-issue green T-shirt, making it ripple against her thighs. She tiptoed past the wrought-iron patio furniture without giving it a glance, headed toward the double-glass doors to Pierce's bedroom.
They were wide open.
Nikki halted in indecision.
If he was asleep, would she wake him by closing them? And, if he was awake, would he read something other than professional concern for his safety into her actions? She tiptoed closer...a step...two...until she was standing in the open doorway. She leaned forward, peering into the darkness of his room. "Pierce?" she whispered, too low for anyone who was sleeping to hear her.
There was no answer.
How on earth can he be sleeping? she wondered indignantly.
Here she was, unable to close her eyes, all tangled up inside with frustrated passion and wildly confused emotions—and he was sleeping like an innocent baby! She had half a mind to wake him up and tell him just what she thought of his callous, uncaring behavior. She took a step forward, halfway intending to do just that.
"Planning to murder me in my sleep?" said a voice from behind her.
Nikki whirled around as if she'd been shot, her hand going up to her mouth to cover a squeak of surprise. He was sitting at the patio table in his familiar loose-limbed slouch, barefoot, bare chested, in a pair of soft old sweatpants with the drawstring waist riding low on his nonexistent hips. "Pierce, what in heaven's name are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" she demanded peevishly, aghast at being caught hovering around his bedroom
"Good night, Nikki." He watched her turn and run all the way up the wide curving stairway to the second floor while he stood in the foyer below and fought the urge to throw back his head and howl with disappointment and frustration.
7
NIKKI LAY IN THE BIG tester bed under the puffy-green-and-ivory-leaf-strewn comforter, telling herself to just forget what might have been and go to sleep. After a long, agonizing hour of tossing and turning, she kicked the comforter to the foot of the bed and gave it up as a lost cause. There was no way she was getting any sleep tonight. Not as long as "what might have been" was in the very next room.
She wondered how he slept, there in the bed in the very next room. Did he curl up on his side, like she did? Or was he a sprawler? Did he pull the covers up under his chin or kick them to the floor? Did he wear tailored black silk pajamas or go to bed gloriously naked? Did he snore? Did he talk in his sleep?
And had he remembered to close and lock his door like she'd told him to?
She lay there for a moment longer, fighting the urge, telling herself it was none of her business, that he was a grown man who could sleep with his bedroom doors open if he wanted to.
Damn it, she thought, it is my business. She was his bodyguard. And if he wouldn't take the few simple steps necessary to protect himself... well, it was up to her to do it for him. That's what she'd been hired for.
"I'll just get up and check," she said to herself as she swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. "That's all. I'll do a quick check and then come right back to bed."
She slid from the bed and tiptoed through the darkened bedroom, guided only by the moonlight shining in through the multipaned glass doors. Quietly, with her left hand pressed against the door frame to minimize noise, she turned the ornate, old-fashioned handle slowly until it opened with a soft snick. It sounded like a cannon shot in the dark stillness of the night. Nikki sucked in her breath and waited for something—anything—to happen. When nothing did, she slowly pulled the door the rest of the way open and stepped out onto the stone terrace.
It was a perfect night, warm and sweet, with the smell of bougainvillea and roses and night-blooming jasmine perfuming the air. The moonlight reflected off the water in the swimming pool below. A soft breeze was blowing, tugging at the hem of Nikki's extra large, marine-issue green T-shirt, making it ripple against her thighs. She tiptoed past the wrought-iron patio furniture without giving it a glance, headed toward the double-glass doors to Pierce's bedroom.
They were wide open.
Nikki halted in indecision.
If he was asleep, would she wake him by closing them? And, if he was awake, would he read something other than professional concern for his safety into her actions? She tiptoed closer...a step...two...until she was standing in the open doorway. She leaned forward, peering into the darkness of his room. "Pierce?" she whispered, too low for anyone who was sleeping to hear her.
There was no answer.
How on earth can he be sleeping? she wondered indignantly.
Here she was, unable to close her eyes, all tangled up inside with frustrated passion and wildly confused emotions—and he was sleeping like an innocent baby! She had half a mind to wake him up and tell him just what she thought of his callous, uncaring behavior. She took a step forward, halfway intending to do just that.
"Planning to murder me in my sleep?" said a voice from behind her.
Nikki whirled around as if she'd been shot, her hand going up to her mouth to cover a squeak of surprise. He was sitting at the patio table in his familiar loose-limbed slouch, barefoot, bare chested, in a pair of soft old sweatpants with the drawstring waist riding low on his nonexistent hips. "Pierce, what in heaven's name are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" she demanded peevishly, aghast at being caught hovering around his bedroom
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