Captive but Forbidden. Lynn Harris Raye

to interview me, Madam President?” he asked, one corner of his mouth twitching with humor.

      She swallowed. Humor was not at all the effect she’d been going for. Veronica pulled her feet up beneath her and began to absently rub one instep while her blood beat in her temples, between her breasts. “Not precisely. But if we’re to be stuck here together for the foreseeable future, it seems a way to pass the time.”

      It took her several moments to realize that the side slit in her gown had dropped open to reveal the curve of her legs. She resisted the urge to cover herself, though she suddenly wanted to do so. But she would not let him think she cared that his hot eyes skimmed her form.

      “How does one get into the bodyguard business anyway?”

      “You’ve certainly grown chatty,” he observed, meeting her gaze once more. She felt heat rising in her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Then he shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I was in the military. It seemed the logical thing to do when I got out.”

      “Oh, I see. And do you work for a company that sends you out on these jobs?”

      “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

      The humor was back, but this time she didn’t know why.

      “If this were a job interview,” she pointed out, “I don’t think I’d be inclined to hire you based on these answers. You’re almost monosyllabic.”

      He sank onto the chair opposite, his big form sprawling comfortably—as if he belonged here, in her suite. As if he were the one in charge and she merely a supplicant.

      She didn’t like that he made her feel inconsequential simply by being in the same room.

      “Fortunately, this is not an interview,” he said. “You don’t need me, as you’ve pointed out.” His golden eyes speared her so that, once more, she was mesmerized. “And I don’t do interviews. No one hires me. I decide if I’ll help them.”

      “My, my,” she said, her face growing hot for some reason. “Aren’t you special?”

      He leaned forward then, his gaze raking her. She only hoped he couldn’t see the tap, tap, tap of her heart.

      “That’s the way your world works, Veronica. But not everything is a competition, and not every desire needs to be indulged. I know my worth based on what I’ve done in the past. I don’t think I’m entitled to anything because I deserve it. I’ve earned it.”

      She didn’t know whether to be outraged or embarrassed. Heat flooded her, made her want to grab a magazine off the table and fan herself. She did not. She’d made her proverbial bed, after all. It was no surprise when someone forced her to lie in it.

      But she would not apologize for her life, not to this man. He could know nothing of what she’d been through. No one could.

      “Until you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, perhaps it’s unwise to make assumptions about them,” she said, her smile as brittle as she felt.

      He inclined his head a fraction. “You do that so well.”

      “Do what?”

      “Indignation.”

      She thought of a million responses, discarding them each as she did so. It was no use. There was no point in trying to make this man understand. He meant nothing to her and, after tonight, their paths were unlikely to cross again.

      Veronica got to her feet and stared down at him coldly. Imperiously. Bastard. “I believe I’ve had enough of this charming conversation,” she said by way of dismissal. “I’m going to bed.”

      “If this is how you intend to handle affairs of state, Aliz is in a great deal of trouble.” His words were mild, his tone nonconfrontational—but his eyes accused her, burned her.

      “You are hardly an affair of state,” she said, picking up one of the candles from the table, proud that she kept herself from trembling with fury as she did so. “And I’ll not stay here and listen to you insult me. You’ve made up your mind about me. I see no need to waste my breath in pointing out the flaws in your logic.”

      He flicked a hand in the direction of the bedroom. “Go, then. It’s far easier to run from your problems than to confront them.”

      “In this case,” she said, “I believe it is.”

      Then she turned and strode away, holding her hand in front of the candle to keep it from blowing out. She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her. Fury churned and roiled in her stomach, burning like acid. Why did she let him get to her? He meant nothing to her. His opinion meant nothing.

      He was no one, she reminded herself, nothing more than hired muscle. She didn’t let her Alizean bodyguards irritate her half so much, so why was she allowing this man to do so?

      Veronica shrugged her shoulders to ease the tension and began to get undressed.

      It was a relief to shrug out of the beaded gown and into her flannel pajamas. The Christmas elves marching merrily across the fabric cheered her. She’d thought they were whimsical and cute and she’d bought them impulsively. They were warm and cozy, and she didn’t regret it in the least.

      Veronica went into the bathroom and washed off her makeup, then returned to the bed and jerked back the covers without removing all the fluffy pillows. Something slightly heavier than a pillow came away with the last tug and bounced down the bed, landing in the middle. She didn’t remember leaving anything on the bed when she’d left the room tonight.

      Curiously, she lifted the candle.

      At first, she wasn’t sure what the dark blob was. But then her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to scream, but her vocal chords had seized up. Her mouth opened and closed, like a fish gulping water.

      “Raj,” she finally squeaked. “Raj. Raj! Raj!”

      Each time she managed a little more breath, his name a little louder on every exhalation.

      Until the door whipped open and he was at her side. He gripped her arms, bent his head until he was at her level. He looked concerned, intense. She realized he was speaking. Asking her what was the matter. If she were hurt.

      She shook her head, turned away. She couldn’t look at that … thing … again.

      She knew the moment he saw it. He stiffened. Swore.

      Then he hooked an arm behind her knees and swept her up against his chest. She didn’t protest. She didn’t want to protest. Another moment and he was striding from the room. She buried her face in his shirt and let the tears fall.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      HIS brain had switched into work mode, but his body was very aware of the woman clinging to him so tightly. Raj carried her into the living area, intending to put her on the couch and cover her with a blanket, but her arms were wrapped so tightly around his neck that he knew she wasn’t about to let go.

      Instead, he settled into one corner of the couch with her on his lap and started to make phone calls. Red-hot anger was a thick brew inside him. It was only a doll on her bed, but someone had gouged out its eyes and splashed what had to be red paint across its body. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate.

      Someone had sent a message tonight. An ugly, brutal message if the way Veronica clung to him, her silent tears dampening the fabric of his shirt, was any indication.

      No matter what he thought of her, she didn’t deserve that kind of ugliness.

      He let her cry, one arm firmly around her while he called in one of his security teams. He would have them sweep for any other signs of intrusion before he let Veronica stay here another night. Whether she liked it or not, he was definitely involved.

      He considered having her moved to another hotel altogether, but he wasn’t entirely convinced that someone on