Captive but Forbidden. Lynn Harris Raye

walls, giving her the impression there was more than one man in the room with her.

      She swallowed, the pulse in her neck tapping a rhythm he surely could see.

      He said nothing, as if he were waiting for her to speak. But she couldn’t. She could only stare. He was Bollywood-handsome, with his tanned skin and honey-gold eyes, and she found herself thinking of tigers. Sleek, gorgeous, deadly.

      Her heart kicked up again and she found her voice. “What have you done with my bodyguard?”

      His scorn was not promising. “Your security is sadly lacking, Madam President. The most inept criminal could get to you with little trouble. And that’s a problem.”

      “My security is fine—”

      He took another step closer, his hands sliding free of his pockets like an animal unsheathing its claws. Instinctively, she backed away, her bottom hitting the ledge she’d rested her purse on only a few moments ago.

      He held up his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

      “Then step aside and let me leave.”

      His sensual lips parted in a mocking smile. Her heart stuttered, then tripped forward again. Too handsome and flashy. Too, too dangerous.

      She had no use for men like this. No use for any man, she silently corrected, not for a long time now. Not since she’d realized there were consequences to be paid.

      “I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet, Madam President.”

      “I beg your pardon?” Veronica said, as coldly as she was able to. She’d learned, over the years, to brazen her way through when necessary. Sometimes all it took was the perception of authority to actually imbue authority. “That is not your decision to make.”

      Again the concentrated power of the leashed tiger reflected in his eyes. “Ah, but it is.”

      A chill rippled down her spine like the beginnings of an avalanche. Understanding unfolded within. She’d seen this man with Brady, but she had no idea who he really was.

      What he was capable of.

      Why he was here, now.

      Her pulse throbbed even faster. “What have you done to my bodyguard? If you’ve hurt him …”

      His head tilted. “He is special to you?”

      Veronica clasped her tiny purse in both hands, holding it in front of her body like a shield. A very inadequate shield. A sudden, overwhelming urge to walk over and wipe the superior look off this man’s face rolled through her. She would not act upon it, however.

      “He is my countryman, and he’s in my employ. Yes, I care about him.”

      “I see. Admirable of you, Madam President. But tell me, why are you not so careful with your own person?”

      Veronica gave her head a little shake. She almost felt as if she’d been drinking, when in fact she’d had nothing stronger than sparkling water, so completely did this man befuddle her senses. “I beg your pardon?”

      “Once more with the begging? I’m surprised. I understood that you were far more fierce than this.”

      A current of anger spiked in her belly. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Vala. You seem to know so much about me, and I know nothing of you. Other than I saw you talking with Brady Thompson in the bar.”

      “So you were paying attention.”

      Veronica ground her teeth in frustration. “I would appreciate it very much if you could stop talking to me like I’m a two-year-old and tell me what you want.”

      Rajesh Vala laughed. The sound startled her. It was rich, deep. Sexy. It curled around her, slid through her. Disconcerted her.

      “Very good, Veronica. No wonder they elected you. You project competence, regardless of whether or not it’s true.”

      She refused to rise to the bait, though a worm of hurt burrowed through her composure. But what did she expect? She’d spent years being the kind of person no one would ever take seriously.

      “If you truly know Brady, then you’ll know you aren’t impressing me at the moment. What is the purpose of the exercise, Mr. Vala?”

      His golden eyes sparkled. Those sensual lips twitched. She found herself focusing on them, thinking how they would feel pressed against her own.

      The thought shocked her. She hadn’t felt the slightest hint of interest or attraction for any man in over a year. She simply wasn’t ready for it.

      To say this was an inconvenient time for those feelings to return was an understatement.

      “No purpose, other than to see how good your security is. It isn’t.” He leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. It was such a casual pose.

      But it was deceptive. She had the impression that he wasn’t relaxed at all. That he could spring into action at any second. Could strike without warning.

      Like a scorpion in the night.

      “The guard?” she demanded again.

      “He’s fine. He might even be achieving his own personal Shangri-la right about now. Depending on his staying power, of course.”

      She felt her face redden and she glanced away. Since when did she blush over innuendo? She was Veronica St. Germaine, notorious trendsetter. She’d once attended a party in Saint-Tropez wearing a dress that had been airbrushed onto her body. She’d literally been naked, other than the paint.

      And this man made her blush?

      “He was quite easily distracted, by the way. The charms of lovely Tammy, an Irish lass from Cork, were too much to resist, it seems.”

      “You’re despicable.”

      “No. I’m thorough. And quite adept at staying.”

      Her ears were on fire. She was no longer certain what they were talking about. Security? Sex? Her mind was opting for sex and her body was reacting to the suggestion.

      It’d been too long since she’d had sex. That had to be the only reason he could make her flush like an innocent virgin.

      “I can’t imagine that Brady approves of your methods,” she said coolly. It was the first thing she could think of to say that might bring the conversation back from the brink.

      “Not always. But he knows I’m the best.”

      She wanted to sit. The heat was going to her head, making her feel faint. Or perhaps her dress was too tight. Whatever the case, she was moist with perspiration. She sank onto the bench, uncaring what he might think, and clasped her hands in her lap. Though what she really wanted to do was grab one of the fluffy white towels stacked on one corner of the vanity and dab her forehead with it.

      “The best, Mr. Vala?” A sudden thought occurred to her. Brady had told her just this morning that she was too wound up—but he wouldn’t hire a gigolo to relax her, would he? A gigolo who outfoxed her bodyguard and caught her in the ladies’ room? A bubble of laughter escaped before she could stop it.

      God, it was ridiculous. And maybe, just maybe, Brady truly was that crazy.

      “I am a … security consultant,” the man said, watching her curiously.

      Did he think she would pat the bench and suggest they get cozy together? Was Brady so insane as to think she had bodyguard fantasies? That a handsome, too-sexy tiger in a tuxedo could rock her world in the ladies’ powder room of an expensive hotel and she’d suddenly be relaxed and ready to face the challenges awaiting her?

      Once, no doubt, that would have been true. But she was a different person now. She had to be.

      She found the strength to stand again. “I’m not in the mood, Mr. Vala, but I thank you for the diversion. If you