Книга - The Most Expensive Night of Her Life

The Most Expensive Night of Her Life
Amy Andrews


Supermodel Ava Kelly is more used to luxury yachts than London canal boats. But she desperately needs a refuge from the paparazzi and delectable Blake Walker’s boat will provide the perfect bolt-hole. This brooding ex-soldier is bound to rescue her, right… ?Wrong.Pampered princess Ava is the last person Blake wants in his personal space—she’s far too tempting! But with a million-pound charity donation hanging in the balance Blake can’t say no. Now that Ava’s close enough to touch, keeping his hands off her is pretty difficult too!Maybe money isn’t the only thing at stake this Christmas…







“It’s as simple as that?” he clarified.

“One night at my place and you’ll give Joanna a million quid for her charity?”

Could he put up with a pain in the butt prima donna for one night for a million quid?

“As simple as that.”

Blake regarded her. His practical side was screaming at him to take the cash but the other side of him, the one attuned to doom in all its forms was wary as hell.

“You know there are thousands of men out there who would give anything to have me for a sleep over?”

She shot him a coy look from under her fringe and Blake glanced at her mouth. It had kicked up at one side as her voice had gone all light and teasy.

He didn’t want that mouth slumming it at his place.

But one million quid was hard to turn down.

“Fine,” he sighed. “But I leave in the morning for my holiday and you have to be gone.”

“Absolutely,” she grinned. “I promise you won’t even know I’m there.”

Blake grunted as his doom-o-meter hit a new high. He sincerely doubted that.


Dear Reader

I’ve always had a secret hankering to do a bodyguard story. I just adore the trope. And, whilst this book isn’t a typical bodyguard scenario, I hope you like my take on it—because I’ve had Ava and Blake in my head in various incantations for a long time now, and it was great to finally get them down on paper.

I had a lot of fun taking mega-rich, mega-spoiled supermodel Ava and shoving her on a tiny canal boat in the UK with the only man on the planet who seems immune to her charms. I had even more fun needling private, serious, returned soldier Blake with the temptation of a woman who has absolutely no problem with baring acres of skin or leaving her lingerie all over his floating home.

I’m pleased I let Ava and Blake marinate, though. Had I written their story years ago, I don’t think they’d have had the emotional complexity they do today. Because underneath Ava’s hard, demanding surface is a woman who can’t trust. And beneath Blake’s tough, pragmatic shell is a man whose physical limitations cripple him emotionally.

Which only makes their HEA even more rewarding!

I hope you enjoy their journey to love. Oh, and London at Christmas!

Love

Amy xx


The Most Expensive Night of Her Life

Amy Andrews




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


AMY ANDREWS has always loved writing, and still can’t quite believe that she gets to do it for a living. Creating wonderful heroines and gorgeous heroes and telling their stories is an amazing way to pass the day. Sometimes they don’t always act as she’d like them to—but then neither do her kids, so she’s kind of used to it. Amy lives in the very beautiful Samford Valley, with her husband and aforementioned children, along with six brown chooks and two black dogs.

She loves to hear from her readers. Drop her a line at www.amyandrews.com.au

Other MODERN TEMPTED™ titles by Amy Andrews:

GIRL LEAST LIKELY TO MARRY

This and other titles by Amy Andrews are available in eBook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk


To the Kohli family, our lovely UK friends—

Amanda, Nick, Lauren and Matthew.

Even though we live on opposite sides of the world,

your friendship warms our hearts.


Contents

Chapter One (#u5234a01d-f2a9-5059-943a-84ede0758dc5)

Chapter Two (#u22e45538-a7ab-5957-9c83-ee68b064c9f5)

Chapter Three (#u31d75d6c-bcf9-537b-a2ba-6a1ce7f8db2d)

Chapter Four (#ubd6d9130-f201-5773-845a-4f3bc76552ac)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


ONE

A roadside explosion in the darkest depths of a war zone three years ago had left Blake Walker with a finely honed sense of doom. Today that doom stormed towards him on a pair of legs that wouldn’t quit and a ball-breaking attitude that was guaranteed to ruin his last day on the job.

Ava Kelly might be one of the world’s most beautiful women but she redefined the term diva.

Doing this job for her had been a freaking nightmare.

‘Blake!’

Her classy Oxford accent grated and Blake took a deep breath. He went to the happy place the army shrink had insisted he find—which at the moment was anywhere but here.

Last day, man, keep yourself together.

‘Ava,’ he greeted as she stopped on the opposite side of the beautiful maple-wood island bench in the kitchen where he was poring over some paperwork. He’d polished the top to glass-like perfection with his own two hands. ‘Problem?’

‘You could say that,’ she said, folding her arms and glaring at him.

Blake did not drop his gaze and admire how the arm-crossing emphasised the tanned perfection of her cleavage. Even if it was on open display in her loosely tied gossamer gown that reeked of a designer label and through which her itty-bitty, red bikini could also be clearly seen.

He did not think about how wet she was underneath it. About the water droplets that dripped off the ends of her slicked-back hair or trekked down the elegant line of her throat to cling precariously to her prominent collarbones before heading further south.

Blake did not look.

Blake was in a good place in his life. He was fit and healthy after a long period of being neither. He was financially secure. He had direction and purpose.

He could get laid any night of the week with just one phone call placed to any of half a dozen women. He didn’t need to ogle the one in front of him.

She was trouble and he’d already had too much of that.

Instead he thought about the month-long holiday he started tomorrow—no braving a clutch of paparazzi every morning, no twelve-hour days and, most importantly, no divas.

‘Something I can help with?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, raising her chin to peer down her nose at him in that way he’d got used to the last few months. ‘You can ask your salivating apprentice—’ she jerked her thumb in the direction of the male in question ‘—to put his eyes back in his head and keep his mind on the job. My friends aren’t here to be gawked at. They come into the privacy of my home to get away from objectification.’

Blake glanced over at the three women frolicking in the fully glassed indoor pool that ran alongside the magnificent internal open-air courtyard. They were all tall, tanned and gorgeous and if they were friends of Ava’s then they were no doubt models too. Between them there were only twelve triangles of fabric keeping them from being totally naked.

He glanced at Dougy, who was installing some sophisticated strip lighting down the outside of the glass and steel staircase that led from the courtyard to a mezzanine level for sunbathing. Ava was right: he was barely keeping his tongue inside his head. Not that Blake could really blame him. This had to be every young apprentice’s wet dream. And he was like a kid in a candy shop.

Sunlight flooded the courtyard through the open glass roof above reflecting off the stark white décor, dazzling his eyes. For a moment Blake tuned out Ava’s disapproval and admired what they’d achieved—outside a semi-detached, early-nineteenth-century terraced house, inside a vibrant contemporary home full of light and flair.

‘Well?’ Ava’s huffy demand yanked him back to the conversation.

‘Dougy,’ Blake said, in no mood to humour her as her gown slipped off her right shoulder exposing more of her to his view. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her perfect little snub nose placed perfectly in the middle of her delicate kitten-like face.

‘His name’s Dougy.’

‘Well, do you think you could rein Dougy in? He’s acting like some horny teenager.’

Blake sighed. Why was it he liked project management again? He made a note to tell Charlie no more divas. Their business was going gangbusters—they could afford to be choosey.

‘Ava,’ he said patiently, ‘he’s nineteen. He is a horny teenager.’

‘Well, he can be that on his own time,’ she snapped. ‘When he’s on my time, I expect him to have his head down and do the job I’m paying him for. And so should you.’

Blake contemplated telling Ava Kelly to quit her bitching and let him worry about his employees. Dougy was a good apprentice—keen and a hard worker—and Blake wasn’t about to make an issue out of what was, to him, a non-issue. But he figured no one had ever used the B word around Ms Kelly—not to her face anyway—and he wasn’t going to be the first.

Hell, what she needed was a damn good spanking. But he wasn’t about to do that either.

The job was over at the end of the day, they were just putting the finishing touches to the reno, and he could suck up her diva-ness for a few more hours.

Blake unclenched his jaw. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he said through stiff lips.

Ava looked down her nose at him again and sniffed. ‘See that you do.’

Then she spun on her heel and marched away. He watched as the edges of her gown flowed behind her like tails, her lovely ankles exposed with every footfall. Higher up his gaze snagged on the enticing sway of one teeny-tiny red triangle.

The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

A couple of hours later Blake answered the phone to his brother. Blake rarely answered the phone while at a job site but he always picked up for Charlie. His brother might have been younger but he’d been the driving force behind their design business and behind dragging Blake out of the maudlin pit of despair he’d almost totally disappeared into a few years back.

Blake owed Charlie big time.

‘What’s up?’ he asked.

‘Joanna rang. She’s really upset. One of their biggest supporters is pulling out due to financial issues and she’s freaking out they won’t be able to continue to run their programmes.’

Joanna was their sister. She’d been widowed three years ago when her husband, Colin, a lieutenant in the British army and a close friend of Blake’s, was killed in the same explosion that had injured him. They’d been in the same unit and he’d been Col’s captain. And he’d promised his sister he’d look out for her husband.

That he’d bring him home alive.

Not a promise he’d been able to keep as it turned out.

She and three other army wives had started a charity soon after, which supported the wives, girlfriends and families of British servicemen. They’d done very well in almost two years but fighting for any charity backing in the global financial situation was hard—losing the support of a major contributor was a real blow.

And losing Col had been blow enough.

Blake understood that it was through the charity that Joanna kept him alive. It kept her going. It was her crutch.

And Blake understood crutches better than anyone.

‘I guess we’re in a position with the business now to become patrons ourselves,’ Blake said.

‘Blake!’

The muscles in Blake’s neck tensed at the imperious voice. He took a deep breath as he turned around, his brother still speaking in his ear.

‘We can’t afford the one million quid that’s been yanked from their coffers,’ Charlie said.

Ava went to open her mouth but Blake was so shocked by the amount he held his finger up to indicate that she wait without realising what he was doing. ‘Joanna needs a million pounds?’

He watched Ava absently as Charlie rattled off the intricacies. By the look on her face and the miffed little arm-fold, she wasn’t accustomed to being told to wait. But holy cow—one million pounds?

‘I need you to move your car,’ Ava said, tapping her fingers on her arm, obviously waiting as long as she was going to despite Charlie still yakking in his ear. ‘I’m expecting a photographer from a magazine and your beat-up piece of junk spoils the ambience a little.’

Blake blinked at Ava’s request. She’d never seemed more frivolous or more diva-ish to him and he was exceptionally pleased this was the last time he’d ever have to see her.

Yes, she was sexy, and in a parallel universe where she wasn’t an elite supermodel and he wasn’t a glorified construction worker he might have even gone there—given it a shot.

But skin-deep beauty left him cold.

He quirked a you-have-to-be-kidding-me eyebrow but didn’t say a word to her as he spoke to Charlie. ‘I’ve got to go and shift my piece of junk car.’ He kept his gaze fixed to her face. ‘We’ll think of something for Joanna. I’ll call you when I’ve finished tonight.’

‘Who’s Joanna?’ Ava asked as Charlie hit the end button.

Blake stiffened. He didn’t want to tell Little-Miss-I’ve-got-a-photographer-coming Ava anything about his private life. But mind your own business probably wasn’t the best response either. ‘Our sister,’ he said, his lips tight.

‘Is she okay?’

Blake recoiled in surprise. Not just that she’d enquired about somebody else’s welfare but at the genuine note of concern in her voice. ‘She’s fine,’ he said. ‘The charity she runs has hit a bit of a snag, that’s all. She’ll bounce back.’

And he went and shifted his car so he wouldn’t besmirch her Hampstead Village ambience, the paparazzi blinding him with their flashes for the thousandth time.

* * *

It was close to nine that night when Blake—and the diva—were satisfied that the job was finally complete. The evening was still and warm. Tangerine fingers of daylight could be seen streaking the sky through the open glass panels over the courtyard. Blake was heartened that the long-range weather forecast for September was largely for more of the same.

Perfect boating weather.

Dougy and the other two workers had gone home; the photographer had departed, as had the paparazzi. It was just him and Ava signing off on the reno. Dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s.

They were, once again, at the kitchen island bench—him on one side, her on the other. Ava was sipping a glass of white wine while something delicious cooked on the state-of-the-art cooktop behind him. She’d offered him a beer but he’d declined. She’d offered to feed him but he’d declined that also.

No way was he spending a second longer with Ava than he absolutely had to.

Although the aromas of garlic and basil swirling around him were making him very aware of his empty stomach and his even more empty fridge.

He was also very aware of her. She’d pulled on some raggedy-arsed shorts and a thin, short-sleeved, zip-up hoodie thing over her bikini. The zip was low enough to catch a glimpse of cleavage and a hint of red material as she leaned slightly forward when she asked a question. But that wasn’t what was making him aware of her.

God knew she’d swanned around the house in varying states of undress for the last three months.

No. It was the way she was caressing the bench-top that drew his eye. As he walked her through the paperwork the palm of her hand absently stroked back and forth along the glassy maple-wood. He’d learned she was a tactile person and, despite his animosity towards her, he liked that.

She’d handed the décor decisions over to a high-priced consultant who had gone for the typical home-and-garden, money-to-burn classy minimalist. But it was the accessories that Ava had chosen that showed her hedonistic bent. Shaggy rugs, chunky art, the softest mohair throws in vibrant greens and reds and purples for the lounges, beaded wall hangings, a collection of art deco lamps, layers and layers of colourful gauzy fabric falling from the ceiling in her bedroom to form a dazzling canopy over her girly four-poster bed.

Even the fact that she’d chosen a wooden kitchen amidst all the glass and metal told him something about her. He’d have thought for sure she’d have chosen black marble and acres of stainless steel. But clearly, from the smell of dinner, Ava loved to cook and spent a lot of time in the kitchen.

Blake wasn’t much of a cook but he loved wood. The family business, until recent times, had been a saw mill and his earliest memories revolved around the fresh earthy smell of cut timber. His grandfather, who had founded the mill fifty year prior, had taught both him and Charlie how to use a lathe from a very early age and Blake had been hooked. He’d worked in the mill weekends and every school holidays until he’d joined up.

He’d personally designed, built and installed the kitchen where they were sitting and something grabbed at his gut to see her hand caressing his creation as she might caress a lover.

‘So,’ he said as their business concluded, and he got his head back in the game, ‘if you’re happy that everything has been done to your satisfaction, just sign here and here.’

Blake held out a pen and indicated the lines requiring her signature. Then held his breath. Tactile or not, Ava Kelly had also been demanding, difficult and fickle.

He wasn’t counting his chickens until she’d signed on the dotted lines!

* * *

Ava glanced at the enigmatic Blake Walker through her fringe. She’d never met a man who wasn’t at least a little in awe of her. Who didn’t flirt a little or at least try it on.

But not Blake.

He’d been polite and unflappable even when she’d been at her most unreasonable. And she knew she’d been unreasonable on more than one occasion. Just a little. Just to see if he’d react like a human being for once instead of the face of the business—composed, courteous, respectful.

She’d almost got her reaction this afternoon when he’d been on the phone and she’d asked him to shift his car. The tightening of his mouth, that eyebrow raise had spoken volumes. But he’d retreated from the flash of fire she’d seen in his indigo eyes and a part of her had been supremely disappointed.

Something told her that Blake Walker would be quite magnificent all riled up.

Charlie, the more easy-going of the brothers, had said that Blake had been in the army so maybe he was used to following orders, sucking things up?

Ava reluctantly withdrew her hand from the cool smoothness of the bench-top to take the pen. She loved the seductive feel of the beautiful wood and, with Blake’s deep voice washing over her and the pasta sauce bubbling away in the background, a feeling of contentment descended. It would be so nice to drop her guard for once, to surrender to the cosy domesticity.

To the intimacy.

Did he feel it too or was it just her overactive imagination after months of building little fantasies about him? Fantasies that had been getting a lot more complex as he had steadily ignored her.

Like doing him on this magnificent bench-top. A bench-top she’d watched him hone day after day. Sanding, lacquering. Sanding, lacquering. Sanding, lacquering. Layer upon layer until it shone like the finest crystal in the discreet down lights.

Watching him so obviously absorbed by the task. Loving the wood with his touch. Inhaling its earthy essence with each flare of his nostrils. Caressing it with his lingering gaze.

She could have stripped stark naked in front of him as he’d worked the wood and she doubted he would have noticed.

And for a woman used to being adored, being ignored had been challenging.

Ava dragged her mind off the bench-top and what she was doing to an unknowing Blake on top of it. ‘I’m absolutely...positively...one hundred per cent...’ she punctuated each affirmation with firm strokes of the pen across the indicated lines ‘...happy with the job. It’s totally fab. I’m going to tell all my friends to use you guys.’

* * *

Blake blinked. That he hadn’t been expecting. A polite, understated thank-you was the best he’d been hoping for. The very last thing he’d expected was effusive praise and promised recommendations to what he could only imagine would be a fairly extensive A list.

He supposed she expected him to be grateful for that but the thought of dealing with any more Ava Kellys was enough to bring him out in hives.

‘Thank you,’ he said non-comittally.

She smiled at him as she pushed the papers and the pen back across the bench-top. Like her concern earlier it seemed genuine, unlike the haughty can’t-touch-this smile she was known for in the modelling world, and he lost his breath a little.

The down lights shone off her now dry caramel-blonde hair pulled into some kind of a messy knot at her nape, the fringe occasionally brushing eyelashes that cast long shadows on her cheekbones. Her eyes were cat-like in their quality, both in the yellow-green of the irises and in the way they tapered down as if they were concealing a bunch of secrets.

Yeh, Ava Kelly was a very attractive woman.

But he’d spent over a decade in service to his country having his balls busted by the best and he wasn’t about to line up for another stint.

Blake gathered the paperwork and shoved it in his satchel, conscious of her watching him all the time. His leg ached and he couldn’t wait to get off it.

He was almost free. She was almost out of his life for good.

He picked up the satchel and rounded the bench-top, his limp a little more pronounced now as stiffness through his hip hindered his movement. He pulled up in front of her when she was an arm’s length away. He held out his hand and gave her one of his smiles that Joanna called barely there.

‘We’ll invoice you with the final payment,’ he said as she took his hand and they shook.

She was as tall as him—six foot—and it was rare to be able to look a woman directly in the eye. Disconcerting too as those eyes stared back at him with something between bold sexual interest and hesitant mystique. It was intriguing. Tempting...

He withdrew his hand. So not going there. ‘Okay. I’ll be off. I’m away for a month so if you have any issues contact Charlie.’

Ava quirked an eyebrow. ‘Going on a holiday?’

Blake nodded curtly. The delicate arch of her eyebrow only drew his attention back to the frankness in her eyes. She sounded surprised. Why, he had no idea. After three months of her quibbles and foibles even a saint would need some time off. ‘Yes.’

Ava sighed at his monosyllabic replies. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said, picking up her glass of wine and taking a fortifying sip. Something had passed between them just now and suddenly she knew he wasn’t as immune to her as she’d thought.

‘I know I haven’t exactly been easy on you and I know I can be a pain in the butt sometimes. I can’t help it. I like to be in control.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s the business I’m in...people demand perfection from me and they get it but I demand it back.’

Ava paused for a moment. She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this stuff. Why it was important he understand she wasn’t some prima donna A-lister. She was twenty-seven years old—had been at the top of her game since she was fourteen—and had never cared who thought what.

Maybe it was the gorgeous wooden bench-top he’d created just for her? The perfection of it. How he’d worked at it and worked at it and worked at it until it was flawless.

Maybe a man who clearly appreciated perfection would understand?

‘I learned early...very early, not to trust easily. And I’m afraid it spills over into all aspects of my life. I know people think I’m a bitch and I’m okay with that. People think twice about crossing me. But...it’s not who I really am.’

Blake was taken aback by the surprise admission. Surprised at her insight. Surprised that she’d gone through life wary of everyone. Surprised at the cut-throat world she existed in—and he’d thought life in a warzone had been treacherous.

In the army, on deployment—trust was paramount. You trusted your mates, you stuck together, or you could die.

‘Of course,’ he said, determined not to feel sorry for this very well-off, very capable woman. She wanted to play the poor-little-rich-girl card, fine. But he wasn’t buying. ‘Don’t worry about it. That’s what you pay us for.’

Ava nodded, knowing that whatever it was that had passed between them before was going to go undiscovered. Clearly, Blake Walker was made of sterner stuff than even she’d credited him with. And she had to admire that. A man who could say no to her was a rare thing.

‘Thanks. Have a good holiday.’

Blake nodded and turned to go and that was when it happened. He’d barely lifted his foot off the ground when the first gunshot registered. A volley of gunshots followed, slamming into the outside façade of Ava’s house, smashing the high windows that faced the street, spraying glass everywhere. But that barely even registered with Blake. Nor did Ava’s look of confusion or her panicked scream.

He was too busy moving.

He didn’t think—he just reacted.

Let his training take over.

He dived for her, tackling her to the ground, landing heavily on the unforgiving marble tiles. Her wine glass smashed, the liquid puddling around them. His bad leg landed hard against the ground sucking his breath away, his other cushioned by her body as he lay half sprawled on top of her.

‘Keep your head down, keep your head down,’ he yelled over the noise as he tucked her head into the protective hollow just below his shoulder, his heart beating like the rotor blades of a chopper, his eyes squeezed shut as the world seemed to explode around him.

Who in the hell had she pissed off now?


TWO

Everything slowed down around her as Ava clung to Blake for dear life. Her pulse wooshed louder than Niagara Falls through her ears, the blood flowing through her veins became thick and sludgy, the breath in her lungs felt heavy and oppressive, like stubborn London fog.

And as the gunfire continued she realised she couldn’t breathe.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her pulse leapt as she tried to drag in air, tried to heave in much-needed oxygen. She tried to move her head from his chest, seek cleaner air, but he held her firm and panic spiralled through her system. Her nostrils flared, her hands shook where she clutched his shirt, her stomach roiled and pitched.

Then suddenly there was silence and she stopped breathing altogether, holding her breath, straining to hear. A harsh squeal of screeching tyres rent the pregnant silence, a noisy engine roared then faded.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Blake recovered first, grabbing his leg briefly, checking it had survived the fall okay before easing off her slightly. ‘Are you okay?’

She blinked up at him, dazed. ‘Wha...?’

Without conscious thought Blake undertook a rapid assessment. She had a small scratch on her left cheekbone with a smudge of dried blood but that wasn’t what caused his stomach to bottom out. A bloom of dark red stained her top and his pulse accelerated even further.

‘Oh, God, are you hit?’ he demanded, pushing himself up into a crouch. He didn’t think, he just reached for her hoodie zipper and yanked it down. Just reacting, letting his training taking over. The bullets had hit the building high but they’d penetrated the windows and in this glass and steel interior they could have ricocheted anywhere.

‘Did you get hit?’ he asked again as her torso lay exposed to him. He didn’t see her red bikini top or the body men the world over lusted after; he was too busy running his hands over her chest and her ribs and her belly, clinically assessing, searching for a wound.

Ava couldn’t think properly. Her head hurt, her hand hurt, she was trembling, her heart rate was still off the scale.

‘Ava!’ he barked.

Ava jumped as his voice sliced with surgical precision right through her confusion. ‘I think it’s...my hand,’ she said, holding it up as blood oozed and dripped from a deep gash in her palm, already drying in sludgy rivulets down her wrist and arm. ‘I think I...cut it on the wine glass when it smashed.’

Blake allowed himself a brief moment of relief, his body flooding with euphoria as the endorphins kicked in—she wasn’t hit. But then the rest of his training took over. He reached for her injured palm with one hand and pulled his mobile out of his back pocket with the other, quickly dialling 999.

An emergency call taker asked him which service he wanted and Blake asked for the police and an ambulance. ‘Don’t move,’ he told her as he awkwardly got to his feet, grabbing the bench and pushing up through his good leg to lever himself into a standing position. He could feel the strain in his hip as he dragged his injured leg in line with the other and gritted his teeth at the extra exertion.

‘I’ll get a cloth for it.’

Ava couldn’t have moved even if her life depended on it. She just kept looking at the blood as it slowly trickled out of the wound, trying to wrap her throbbing head around what had just happened. She could hear Blake’s deep voice, so calm in the middle of the chaos, and wished he were holding her again.

He returned with a clean cloth that had been hanging on her oven door. He hung up the phone and she watched absently as he crouched beside her again and reached for her hand.

‘Police are on their way,’ he said as he wrapped the cloth around her hand, ‘So’s the ambulance.’ He tied it roughly to apply some pressure. ‘Can you sit up? If you can make it to the sink I can clean the wound before the paramedics get here.’

‘Ah, yeh...I guess,’ Ava said, flailing like a stranded beetle for a moment before levering herself up onto her elbows, then curling slowly up into a sitting position. Her head spun and nausea threatened again as she swayed.

‘Whoa,’ Blake said, reaching for her, his big hand covering most of her forearm. ‘Easy there.’

Ava shut her eyes for a moment concentrating on the grounding effect of his hand, and the dizziness passed. ‘I’m fine now,’ she said, shaking off his hand, reaching automatically for the back of her head where a decent lump could already be felt. She prodded it gently and winced.

‘Got a bit of an egg happening there?’ Blake enquired. ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologised gruffly. ‘I just kind of reacted.

Ava blinked. Blake Walker had been magnificent. ‘I’m pleased you did. I didn’t know what was happening for a moment or two. Was that really gunfire?’

Blake stood, using the bench and his good leg again. ‘Yep,’ he said grimly. A sound all too familiar to him but not one he’d thought he’d ever hear again. Certainly not in trendy Hampstead Village. He held his hand out to her. ‘Here, grab hold.’

Ava didn’t argue, just took the proffered help. When she was standing upright again, another wave of nausea and dizziness assailed her and she grabbed him with one hand and the bench with the other. She was grateful for his presence, absorbing his solidness and his calmness as reaction set in and the trembling intensified. His arm slid around her back and she leaned into him, inhaling the maleness of him—cut timber and a hint of spice.

She felt stupidly safe here.

‘Sorry,’ she murmured against his shoulder as she battled an absurd urge to cry. ‘I don’t usually fall apart so easily.’

Blake shut his eyes as she settled against him. Her chest against his, their hips perfectly aligned. She smelled like wine and the faint trace of coconut based sunscreen. He turned his head slightly until his lips were almost brushing her temple. ‘I’m guessing this hasn’t been a very usual day.’

Her low shaky laugh slid straight into his ear and his hand at the small of her back pressed her trembling body a little closer.

‘You could say that,’ she admitted, her voice husky.

And they stood like that for long moments, Blake instinctively knowing she needed the comfort. Knowing how such a random act of violence could unsettle even battle-hardened men.

The first distant wail of a siren invaded the bubble and he pulled back. ‘The cavalry are here,’ he murmured.

Blake stuck close to Ava’s side, his hand at her elbow. ‘Watch the glass,’ he said as a stray piece crunched under his sturdy boots. Her feet were bare, her toenail polish the same red as her bikini.

He could hear the sirens almost on top of them now, loud and urgent, obviously in the street. He flicked on the tap and removed the cloth. ‘Put it under,’ he instructed. ‘I’ll go get the door.’

* * *

An hour later Ava’s house was like Grand Central Station—people coming and going, crossing paths, stepping around each other. Uniformed and plain-clothed police went about their jobs, gathering evidence. Yellow crime-scene tape had been rolled out along the wrought-iron palings of her front fence and there were enough flashing lights in her street to outdo Piccadilly Circus in December. They reflected in the glass that had sprayed out onto the street like a glitter ball at some gruesome discotheque.

And then there was the gaggle of salivating paparazzi and the regular press who’d been cordoned off further down and none too happy about it either. Shouting questions at whoever happened to walk out of the house, demanding answers, calling for an immediate statement.

Safely inside, Ava felt her head truly thumping now. They’d been over what had happened several times with several different police officers and her patience was just about out. Her agent, Reggie Pitt, was there—a pap had rung him—to protect her interests, but it was Blake she looked to, who she was most grateful to have by her side.

‘Is there anyone you know who’d do this to you or has reason to do this to you?’ Detective Sergeant Ken Biddle asked.

Blake frowned at the question. The police officer looked old as dirt and as if nothing would surprise him—like one or two sergeant majors he’d known. But Blake had felt Ava’s fear, felt the frantic beat of her heart under his and didn’t like the implication.

‘You think there’s any reason to shoot up somebody’s house and scare the bejesus out of them?’ he growled.

The police officer shot him an unimpressed look before returning his attention to Ava. ‘I mean anyone with a grudge? Get any strange letters lately?’

Ava shrugged. ‘No more than usual. All my fan mail goes to Reggie and he hands anything suss on to you guys.’ Reggie nodded in confirmation of the process.

Blake stared at her. ‘You get hate mail?’

Ava nodded. ‘Every now and then. Pissed-off wives, guys who think I’ve slighted them because I didn’t sign their autograph at a rope line, the odd jealous colleague. Just the usual.’

‘But no one in particular recently?’ Ken pressed.

Reggie shook his head. ‘No.’

‘We’ll need to see them all.’

Reggie nodded. ‘You guys have got a whole file of them somewhere.’

Ken made a note. ‘I’ll look into it.’

‘Excuse me,’ a hovering paramedic interrupted. ‘We’d really like to get Ms Kelly to the hospital to X-ray her head and get her hand stitched up.’

The police officer nodded, snapping his notebook shut. ‘Do you have somewhere you can stay for a while? I would advise you not to return here while the investigation is being carried out and the culprits are still at large. Hopefully we can close the case quickly but until then lying low is the best thing that you can do.’

Reggie shook his head. ‘Impossible. She’s up for a new commercial—she has a call back in LA in two days. And she’s booked on half a dozen talk shows in the US next week to promote her new perfume.’

Blake bristled at the agent’s obvious disregard for his client’s safety—wasn’t he supposed to put Ava first? But the police veteran was already on it.

‘Cancel them.’

Reggie, who was a tall, thin streak with grey frizzy hair and round wire glasses sitting on the end of his nose, gawped like a landed fish. ‘You don’t just cancel, Detective Sergeant’ he said, scandalised.

‘Look, Mr Pitt, in my very long experience in the London Metropolitan Police force I can tell you that the best way to avoid trouble is to not go looking for it. Your client enjoys a high public profile, which, unfortunately, makes her very easy to find. Every pap in London knows where she lives, for example.’

‘I’ll get her a private security detail,’ Reggie blustered.

‘That is of course your prerogative,’ the policeman conceded. ‘But my advice would still be to lie low, which, by the way, would also be the advice any security person worth their salt would give you.’

Blake decided he liked Ken Biddle after all. He seemed solid. He obviously knew his stuff and didn’t suffer fools gladly. And he clearly thought Reggie was an A-grade fool.

Reggie shot the police officer an annoyed look before turning to Ava. ‘I’ll get you booked into a hotel, darling. Get some security organised first thing in the morning.’

Blake also decided Reggie was an A-grade fool. ‘I don’t think you’re listening, mate,’ Blake said. ‘I think the detective sergeant knows what he’s on about. It sounds like it might be best for her to go dark for a while.’

‘Ava, darling,’ Reggie appealed to her. ‘I think they’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’

‘Someone freaking shot up her house,’ Blake snapped. ‘Aren’t you supposed to have her best interests at heart?’

‘It’s in Ava’s best interests to keep working,’ Reggie said through gritted teeth.

Ava’s head was about to explode as they discussed her life as if she weren’t there. Her hand throbbed too and she felt incredibly weary all of a sudden. She just wanted to lie down somewhere dark and sleep for a week and forget that somebody had shot up her house. Her beautiful, beautiful house.

‘Do you think I could just go to the hospital and get seen to first?’ she interrupted them.

It was all the encouragement the paramedic needed. ‘Right. Question time is over,’ he said, stepping in front of them all, and Ava could have kissed him as he took over as efficiently as he’d bandaged her hand earlier. ‘We’re taking her to the nearest hospital.’

Reggie shook his head. ‘No. Ms Kelly sees a private physician on Harley Street.’

The paramedic bristled. ‘It’s nine o’clock at night. Ms Kelly needs an X-ray, possibly a CT scan. She needs a hospital.’

‘The nearest hospital is fine,’ Ava assured the paramedic, before Reggie could say any more.

‘Are you okay to walk to the ambulance?’ the paramedic asked her.

Ava nodded. ‘I can walk.’

Blake checked his watch. He could be home and officially on holidays within half an hour. He could almost taste the cold beer he had waiting in his fridge to celebrate the end of having to deal with Little-Ms-Red-Bikini.

Except Ava Kelly looked far from the diva he’d pegged her as right now.

She looked pale and shaken, her freckles more pronounced. The small cut on her cheekbone was a stark reminder of what had happened to her tonight and part of him felt wrong walking away. Leaving her in the clutches of her shark-like agent. He hesitated. She wasn’t his responsibility; he knew that. He’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time and she was a big girl—what she chose to do next was none of his business.

But he didn’t feel she was going to get the wisest counsel from good old Reggie.

‘You need me for anything else, Detective Sergeant?’ he asked.

Ken shook his head. ‘I have your details here if I need to contact you.’

Blake nodded. That was that, then. Duty discharged. But before he could say goodbye her hand reached out and clutched at his forearm. ‘Can you come with me?’

Blake looked at her, startled. What the?

Sure, he’d felt wrong about leaving her but he hadn’t expected her to give him a second thought now she was surrounded by people to look out for her. And even though the same part of him—the honourable part—that had urged him to join the army all those years ago somehow felt obligated to see she was okay, the rest of him wanted nothing to do with Ava Kelly and her crazy celebrity life.

They were done and dusted. He was free.

He was on holiday, for crying out loud.

Not to mention he’d had enough of hospitals to last him a lifetime.

But her yellow-green eyes implored him and the doom he’d felt earlier today pounced. He sighed. ‘Sure.’

* * *

Blake strode into the hospital half an hour later. He’d waited for the mass exodus of press chasing the blue lights of the ambulance at breakneck speed before he followed at a more sedate pace. Then he’d parked his car well away from the main entrance on one of the back streets. He wasn’t sure why but when he spotted the bright lights of cameras flashing into the night as he got closer he was pleased he had.

Being photographed nearly every day on his arrival at Ava’s and questioned every freaking day as to their relationship when clearly he was just the guy running the reno had been bad enough. He didn’t need them spotting his car then adding two and two together and coming up with five.

He entered the hospital and enquired at the front desk and a security guard ushered him along the corridors to Ava. He clenched his hands by his side as he followed. Hospitals weren’t exactly his favourite places and the antiseptic smell was bringing back a lot of unpleasant memories.

They stopped at a closed door where two other hospital security personnel stood, feet apart, alert, scanning the activity at both ends of the corridor. They opened the door for him and the first person he saw was Reggie speaking to a fresh-faced guy, clearly younger than his own thirty-three years, wearing a white coat and a harried expression. Reggie was insisting that a plastic surgeon be made available to suture his esteemed client’s hand.

‘That hand,’ he said, pointing at the appendage in question, ‘is worth a lot of money. I am not going to allow some junior doctor to butcher it any further than it already is.’

The doctor put up his hands in surrender. ‘I’ll page the on-call plastics team.’

‘I need a consultant,’ Reggie insisted. ‘Someone who knows what they’re doing.’

Blake caught a glimpse of the doctor’s face as he backed out of the room. He looked as if he truly regretted coming to work today.

Blake knew exactly how he felt.

He was beginning to think Reggie was actually the bigger diva out of the two of them. He was surprised Ava put up with it. In three months he’d seen her fire an interior decorator, a PA and a personal trainer because they’d all tried to manage her. But she just lay docilely on the hospital trolley and let Reggie run the show.

He wasn’t used to seeing her meek and mild.

But he supposed having your house shot at while you were inside it was probably enough to give anyone pause.

At least there was some colour in her cheeks now.

Ava looked up from her hand to discover Blake was in the room. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, levering herself up into a sitting position.

The last half an hour had passed in a blur and she’d been unaccountably anxious lying in the CT scanner. The doctor had assured her it was clear but it wasn’t until right now she felt as if it was going to be okay. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the way Blake had pushed her to the ground. It played over and over in her head.

He’d just reacted. In a split second. While she’d been confused about what was happening he was diving for her, pulling her down. She was on the ground before the noise had even registered as gunfire.

‘I thought you’d skipped out on me.’

He returned her smile with a fleeting one of his own. It barely made a dent in the firm line of his mouth. Ava wondered how good he would look with a real smile. Would it go all the way to his dark blue eyes? Would it light up his rather austere features? Would it flatten out the lines on his forehead where he frowned a lot? Puff up the sparseness of his cheekbones? Would it break the harsh set of his very square jaw?

‘I said I’d be here.’

Ava blinked at his defensive tone, his dialogue as sparse as his features. A man of few words.

‘Everything check out okay?’ he asked after a moment or two.

This time he sounded gruff and he glanced at Reggie, who was talking on his mobile, as if he was uncomfortable engaging in small talk in front of an audience. Ava was so used to Reggie being around, she barely noticed him any more.

‘CT scan is fine,’ she said. ‘Just waiting for a plastic surgeon for the hand.’

He nodded and she waited for him to say something else but he looked as if he was done. Then Reggie finished his call and started talking anyway. ‘I’ve booked you into your usual suite,’ he said. ‘We’ll organise for a suitcase to be brought to you tomorrow.’

Ava watched the angle of Blake’s jaw tighten at the announcement. ‘I thought the point of lying low was to not go to any of her usual places?’ Blake enquired.

The hardness in his tone made Ava shiver. And not in a bad way. Blake Walker was a good looking man. Not in the cut, ripped, metrosexual way she was used to. More in a rugged, capable, tool-belt-wearing kind of way. The fact that Blake Walker either didn’t know it or didn’t care about it only added to his allure.

The fact that Mr-Rugged-And-Capable was looking out for her was utterly seductive.

It had been a long time since someone had made her feel as if she mattered more than her brand. Her mother had cut and run when she’d been seventeen, leaving her to fend for herself in a very adult world, and Ava had never felt so alone or vulnerable.

Sure, she’d coped and it had made her strong and resilient—two things you had to be to survive in her world. But tonight, she didn’t have to be any of those things because Blake was here.

‘They have very strict security,’ Reggie bristled. ‘Ava will be perfectly safe there.’

Blake snorted in obvious disbelief. ‘Have you cancelled her commitments yet?’

Reggie took his glasses off. ‘I’m playing that by ear.’

‘You know, in the army you learn that you don’t secure an object by flaunting it in front of the enemy. I think you need to take the advice of the police and have her lie low.’

‘If Ava put her career on hold for every whack job that ever wrote her a threatening letter she wouldn’t have had much of a career.’

‘Well, this whack job just signed his name in automatic gunfire all along the front of her house. I think her safety has to take precedence over her career for the moment.’

Ava had to agree. Frankly she’d been scared witless tonight. She took Reggie’s advice on everything—he’d been with her a long time—but in this she needed to listen to the guy who had crash tackled her to the ground to keep her safe.

Who believed her safety was a priority.

Reggie hadn’t been there. He couldn’t understand how frightening it had been.

‘I’ve known Ava a long time, Mr Walker,’ Reggie said. ‘A lot longer than you. And she’s stronger than you’ll ever know. She’ll get through this just fine.’

‘He’s right, Reggie,’ she said as the silence grew.

Just because she was strong, it didn’t mean she was going to go down into the basement while she was home alone to investigate the thing that had gone bump in the middle of the night.

Because that was plain stupid.

And she hadn’t had longevity in a career that wasn’t known for it by being stupid. Strength also lay in knowing your limitations and accepting help.

After a solid sleep she might be able to think a little straighter, be a little braver, but tonight she just needed to feel safe.

‘I’m pretty freaked out,’ Ava continued. ‘I think listening to the advice of the police is the best thing. At least for tonight anyway.’

‘So where are you going to go, Ava?’ Reggie demanded. ‘You can’t go back to your home and everyone else you know in London is as famous as you.’

Ava didn’t even have to think to know the answer to that question. She just reacted—as Blake had done earlier tonight. ‘I can go to Blake’s.’


THREE

Blake gaped at Ava as her yellowy-green gaze settled on his face. ‘What? No.’ He would rather amputate his other leg than have Ava Kelly as a house guest.

‘Just for the night,’ she said.

Blake shook his head. ‘No.’ She sounded so reasonable but he had to wonder if the bang to her head had sent her a little crazy.

He was on holiday, for crying out loud.

Reggie—bless him—looked at his client askance. ‘Absolutely not!’ he blustered. ‘You don’t know this man from a bar of soap.’

Blake watched as Ava pursed her perfect lips and shot her agent an impatient look. ‘I have seen this man—’ she pointed at Blake ‘—almost every day for the last three months. That’s the longest relationship I’ve had with any man other than you, Reggie. This man—’ she jabbed a finger in his direction again ‘—pulled me down to the ground and shielded me with his body while some nutcase fired bullets at my house.’

‘And thanks to him you have a cut face, a gash in your hand that requires stitching and an egg on the back of your head the size of a grapefruit.’

Blake bit off the bitter you’re welcome that rose to his lips. He didn’t expect thanks or praise for yanking her to the ground. His military training had taken over and he’d done what had to be done. What anyone with his background would have done. But he didn’t expect to be accused of trying to maim her either.

Ava reached her hand out to Reggie and he took it. ‘I was frightened, Reggie. Petrified. I couldn’t...breathe I was so scared.’ She’d been like that after her mother left—terrified for days. Then she’d hired Reggie. ‘He makes me feel safe. And it’s just for tonight.’

Reggie looked as if he was considering it and Blake began to wonder if he was invisible. ‘Er, excuse me...’ he interrupted. ‘I don’t know if either of you are interested but I said no.’

‘You were the one who said she should lie low,’ Reggie said, looking at him speculatively, clearly coming around to his client’s way of thinking. ‘You said the point was for her not to go to any of her usual places.’

Blake could not believe what he was hearing. They were both looking at him as if it were a done deal. As if his objections didn’t matter in the face of the fabulous Ms Kelly’s needs.

‘I meant wear a wig, don some dark sunnies, throw on some baggy clothes and book herself into some low-rent hotel somewhere under a different name.’

‘Please,’ Ava said, the plea in her gaze finding its way directly to the part of him that was one hundred per cent soldier. ‘I feel safe with you.’

‘She feels safe with you,’ Reggie reiterated, also looking at Blake, his hands in his pockets.

Blake shut his eyes and shook his head. ‘No.’ He opened his eyes again to find them both looking at him as if he’d just refused shelter to a pregnant woman on a donkey. ‘For God’s sake,’ he said. ‘I could live in a dive for all you know.’

Ava shrugged. ‘I don’t care.’

Blake snorted. ‘Right. A world-famous supermodel who insisted on four thousand quid apiece tap fittings is happy to slum it?’

She shrugged again, looking down her nose at him this time, her famed haughtiness returning. ‘I can slum it for a night.’

Blake’s gaze was drawn to her mouth and the way it clearly enunciated each word. Her lips, like the words, were just...perfect. Like two little pillows, soft and pink with a perfectly defined bow shape. But somehow even they managed to look haughty—cool and mysterious. As if they’d never been touched. Never been kissed.

Not properly, anyway.

Kissed in a way that would get that mouth all bent out of shape.

If she really wanted to slum it—he could bend her perfect mouth well and truly out of shape.

A flicker of heat fizzed in his blood but he doused it instantly. Women like Ava Kelly didn’t really want to slum it—no matter how much they thought they might. And he wasn’t here for that. He’d entered into a contract with Ava to do the renos on her home. Nothing more.

Certainly not open up his home—his sanctuary—to her. And he’d held up his end of the bargain.

Duty discharged.

‘I’m on holiday,’ he said, his voice firm.

But Ava did not seem deterred. She just looked at him as if she was trying to figure out his price—and he didn’t like it. Not one little bit.

‘One million pounds,’ she said.

Blake blinked, not quite computing what she’d just said. She actually had been figuring out his price? ‘I’m sorry?’

‘I’ll give you that million pounds your sister needs.’

‘Ava!’ Reggie spluttered.

Blake gave an incredulous half-laugh, a half-snort. ‘What?’

Ava rolled her eyes. ‘It’s simple. I’ve had a very traumatic evening and I don’t feel safe. I don’t like not feeling safe.’ It reminded her too much of when her mother left and she was supposed to be past that now. ‘But you made me feel safe. And my gut tells me that means something. I’ve survived a long time in a cut-throat industry by going with my gut. So what’s it going to be? You want the money or not?’

‘Ava,’ Reggie warned.

‘Relax,’ Ava told him. ‘It’s for a charity. It’s all tax deductible.’

‘Oh...well, that’s okay, then.’

Blake shook his head as the heat that fizzed earlier flared again, morphing into white-hot fury. ‘No,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘it’s not okay. You think you can just buy people? Just throw some cash around and get what you want?’

She shrugged that haughty little shrug again and he wanted to shake her. ‘Everyone has a price, Blake. There’s nothing wrong with that. This way we both get something we want.’

Blake ran a hand through his close-cropped hair. Joanna called it dirty blond and was forever trying to get him to grow it longer now he was out of the army. But old habits died hard.

Joanna.

Who he’d already failed once.

He’d told Charlie he’d think of a way to help their sister and the charity that meant so much to her—to all of them. And it was being presented to him on a platter.

By the devil himself. In the guise of a leggy supermodel.

A very bratty supermodel.

‘You don’t even know what the charity is,’ Blake snapped, trying to hold onto his anger as his practical side urged him to take what was on offer.

‘Yes, I do,’ she said. ‘I looked it up after we spoke earlier. A charity that supports our soldiers and their families. Very good for my profile, right, Reggie?’

Reggie nodded. ‘Perfect.’

Blake had been in enough war zones to know when he was fighting a losing battle. He also knew he should do the honourable thing and offer her safe haven for free. But he resented how she’d manipulated him and if she could drop a cool mil without even raising a sweat then, clearly, she was good for it.

Still...it all sounded too good to be true.

‘It’s as simple as that?’ he clarified. ‘One night at my place and you’ll give Joanna a million quid for her charity?’

Could he put up with a pain-in-the-butt prima donna for one night for a million quid?

‘As simple as that.’

Blake regarded her. His practical side was screaming at him to take the cash but the other side of him, the one attuned to doom in all its forms, was wary as hell.

‘You know there are thousands of men out there who would give anything to have me for a sleepover?’

She shot him a coy look from under her fringe and Blake glanced at her mouth. It had kicked up at one side as her voice had gone all light and teasy.

He didn’t want that mouth slumming it at his place.

But one million quid was hard to turn down.

‘Fine,’ he sighed. ‘But I leave in the morning for my holiday and you have to be gone.’

‘Absolutely.’ She grinned. ‘I promise you won’t even know I’m there.’

Blake grunted as his doom-o-meter hit a new high. He sincerely doubted that.

* * *

‘This is where you live?’

Ava stared down at Blake’s apparent abode floating in the crowded canal. They’d slipped out of a private exit at the back of the hospital into a waiting taxi after her hand had been sewn up with four neat little sutures and she’d been discharged. Blake had refused to tell even Reggie where he lived and she’d been too overwrought to care but even so this was a surprise. If someone had told her this morning she’d be spending the night on the Regent’s Canal in Little Venice she’d have laughed them out of her house.

‘You wanted to slum it.’

Ava took in the dark mysterious shape. ‘People actually live on these things?’

‘They do.’

Ava realised she couldn’t have picked a better place to hide away—no one she knew would ever think to look for her here. But still...

She was used to five-star luxuries and, while she could forgo four-thousand-pound taps, basic plumbing was an absolute must. ‘Please tell me there’s a flushing toilet and a shower with hot water?’

‘Your fancy suite looking better and better?’

Ava was weary. It was past midnight. She’d been shot at, grilled by the police as if she were somehow at fault, then poked and prodded by every person wearing a white coat or a shiny buckle at the hospital.

She didn’t need his taunts or his judgement.

Yes, she’d bribed him. Yes, she’d told him she could handle it. Yes, she was used to her luxuries. But, come on, she just needed to stand under a hot shower and wash away the fright and the shock of the day.

Why couldn’t he be like any other salivating idiot who was tripping over himself to accommodate her? But, oh, no, her knight in shining armour had to be the only man on the planet who didn’t seem to care that she was, according to one of the top celebrity magazines, one of the most beautiful women of the decade.

And she was just about done with his put-upon attitude. He was getting a million bucks and bragging rights at the pub to the story—embellished as much as he liked because she was beyond caring—of the night Ava Kelly slept over.

She felt as if she was about to crumple in a heap as the massive dose of adrenaline left her feeling strung out. All she wanted was a little safe harbour.

So, he didn’t like her. She couldn’t exactly say he was her favourite person at the moment either, despite his heroics.

Life was like that sometimes.

‘Look, you’re angry, I appreciate that. I railroaded you. But you have the distinct advantage of having being shot at before. I’m sure you’re used to it. I’m sure it’s just another day to you. Me, on the other hand...the only shooting I’m used to is from a camera lens. I promise I’ll be out of your hair in the morning, but do you think in the interim you could just lose the attitude and point me in the direction of the hot shower?’

He didn’t say anything for a moment but she could see the clenching and unclenching of his jaw as a streetlight slanted across his profile. ‘You never get used to being shot at,’ he said.

Ava blinked. His words slipped into the night around them with surprising ease considering the tautness behind them. It was a startling admission from a man who looked as if he could catch bullets with his teeth.

It struck her for the first time that he might have been more deeply affected by the incident than she’d realised. But his jaw was locked and serious. He didn’t look as if he wanted to talk about it.

She did though—she really did. Suddenly she needed to talk about it as if her life depended on it.

Debrief—wasn’t that what they called it in the army?

‘Were you scared?’ she asked tentatively, aware of her voice going all low and husky.

She was greeted with silence and she nodded slowly when he didn’t answer, feeling foolish for even thinking that a brief burst of gunfire would rattle him. Charlie had told her Blake had been to war zones. He’d no doubt faced gunfire every day.

‘Sorry, dumb question...’

The silence stretched and she was just about to say something else when he said, ‘No, it’s not.’ Ava blinked at his quiet but emphatic denial.

‘Any man who tells you that gunfire doesn’t scare him is lying to you.’

Ava stared for a moment. If that had been Blake’s impression of scared she had to wonder what level of danger would be required to actually make him look it.

Or maybe he just wasn’t capable of strong emotion? And wasn’t that a big flashing neon warning sign?

‘But...you were so...’ she cast around for an appropriate word ‘...calm.’

He gave a short laugh. She’d have to have been deaf not to hear the bitter edge. ‘I’m sure my sergeant major, who chewed my arse off every day when I was a green recruit, would be more than pleased to hear that.’

He was being flippant now but she wasn’t in the mood—she was deadly serious. ‘I thought I was going to die,’ she whispered.

His eyes were hooded as he stared at her and she wished she could see them, to connect with him. ‘But you didn’t,’ he said.

His reminder was surprisingly gentle—not facetious like his last remark. ‘Thanks to you,’ she murmured.

Their gazes held for the longest time. It was quiet canal side and she realised they were standing close—close enough to feel as if they were the only two people in the world after what they’d been through together. To feel united. She waited for him to make some throwaway comment about the house saving her butt or the gunman being a lousy shot. He looked as if he was gearing up to say something.

But he seemed to think better of it, dragging his attention back to the longboat. She watched him step into the bow of the boat, then make a production of unlocking the door before he finally looked at her.

‘You want that shower or not?’

* * *

The fridge was empty bar a six-pack of beer and Blake gratefully freed one of the bottles as the dull noise of shower spray floated towards him through the distant wall. He sat heavily on the nearby leather armchair, easing his leg out in front of him as he swivelled the chair from side to side. He was not going to think about Ava Kelly naked in his shower.

He was going to drink his beer, mentally plot his course for tomorrow, then crawl into bed.

Or the couch as the case might be.

Not his big comfortable king-sized sleigh bed he’d crafted with his own two hands—helping him forget the sand and the heat and the pain and the memories—specially customised for the specs of the wide beam canal boat he’d restored. He could hardly make a guest—a female guest—sleep on the couch. Even if it was large and long and comfortable.

Especially considering Ava was shelling out one million pounds for the dubious privilege.

He could certainly hack it for one night. For one million quid he could hack just about anything.

Dear God—he was prostituting himself. A leggy blonde with killer eyes, money to burn and someone wanting her dead had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse and he’d rolled over quicker than a puppy with a tummy scratch on offer.

He took a swig of his beer as he dialled his brother’s number. ‘It’s after midnight.’ Charlie yawned as he picked up after what seemed for ever. ‘Someone better be dying.’

‘Only me,’ Blake snorted. Then he proceeded to fill his brother in on the events of the evening including the details of the company car Charlie was going to need to pick up from the backstreets near the hospital.

Charlie seemed to come awake rapidly and found Blake’s predicament hilarious after ascertaining everyone was okay. ‘What is it about you that makes people want to shoot you? I swear to God, only you, brother dearest, could land yourself in such a situation.’

‘Oh, it gets worse,’ Blake informed his brother as he filled him in on the facts that had resulted in him cohabiting with one of the world’s most beautiful women.

‘Okay, let me get this straight. She’s giving you, giving Joanna, a million quid to sleep at yours for the night.’

Blake shrugged. ‘Essentially.’ Charlie laughed and Blake frowned, suddenly angry with the world. ‘What’s so bloody funny?’

‘Sounds like a movie an old girlfriend dragged me to once a lo-o-ong time ago. That one with Robert Redford and Demi Moore.’

Blake rolled his eyes. ‘She’s not asking for sexual favours, you depraved bastard. She’s scared. She just needs to feel safe for the night. To hide away for a bit.’

‘So you’re not going to end up in bed together?’

The vehement denial was on Blake’s lips before he was even conscious of it. ‘I wouldn’t sleep with her if we were the only two people left on earth.’

Blake could feel his brother’s eyebrow rise without having to see it. ‘Why not? I would and I’ve been happily married for a decade.’

Blake knew his brother would no sooner sleep with Ava Kelly than he would. He was as besotted with Trudy now as he had been ten years ago. ‘Sure you would.’

‘Okay,’ his brother conceded. ‘Hypothetically. You gotta admit, she looks pretty fine in a bikini.’

‘She’s a snooty, heinous prima donna who caused us endless trouble with all her first-world crap,’ Blake said, lowering his voice. ‘I don’t care how good she looks in a bikini.’

‘Maybe you should.’ Suddenly Charlie’s voice was dead serious. ‘It’s okay to let yourself go every now and then, Blake. Being beautiful and rich and opinionated isn’t a crime. That’s our demographic, don’t forget.’

Blake shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d seen so much poverty and desperation in his ten years serving his country. It felt as if he was selling out to admit his attraction to a woman who represented everything frivolous and shiny in a society that didn’t have a clue how the other half lived. But he was too tired to get into all of that now.

‘She’s here for one night and, in case you’ve forgotten, she’s a client.’

His brother snorted. ‘Not any more, she’s not. Which makes it perfectly okay to...take one for the team, so to speak. How long has it been since you got laid?’

Blake shook his head, not even willing to go there. Just because he chose not to spend every night with a willing woman didn’t mean he was about to die from massive sperm build-up as his brother predicted. He worked hard every day and came home every night to a place that he’d created that was far removed from the hell he’d known in foreign countries.

That meant something these days. More than some cheap sexual thrill.

Besides, Ava Kelly was so off-limits she might as well be sitting on the moon. If he wanted to get laid, he could get laid. He didn’t need to do it with a woman who’d bugged him almost from the first day of their acquaintance.

No matter what vibe he suspected ran between them.

‘Is Trudy awake?’ Blake tisked. ‘You know, your raging feminist wife who I happen to like much more than you? She’d be disgusted by your attitude.’

‘She thinks you need to find a woman too. One who can tie you in knots and leave you panting for more.’

Blake didn’t say anything for a long time. ‘She’s in trouble, Charlie,’ he said as he contemplated the neck of his beer. ‘She just needs to feel safe.’

Charlie was silent for long moments too. ‘Then just as well she chose one of Her Majesty’s best.’

‘No,’ Blake said. ‘I’m just a builder, remember? And I’m on holiday. If she didn’t come with a million-dollar price-tag attached I’d have walked away.’

Charlie laughed and Blake felt his irritation crank up another notch. ‘Whatever helps you get through the night with Ava freaking Kelly in the next room.’

Blake snorted at the undiluted smugness in his brother’s voice. ‘I hate you.’

‘Uh-huh. Ring me in the morning before you set out. I want details.’

Blake grimaced. ‘Right, that’s it, I’m telling Trudy, you grubby bastard.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Are you kidding? She’s going to want to know every minute detail. She has a huge girl crush on Ava Kelly.’

Blake sighed, briefly envying his brother’s easy, loving relationship. ‘Maybe she can come here for the night and they can play house together.’

Charlie laughed. ‘Only if I can watch.’

Blake shook his head. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Night,’ Charlie said and Blake could hear the laughter in his voice. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

Blake hung up the phone, not bothering to answer. There was no risk of that. He was tired. And annoyed. He wanted this night over and done with. He wanted her gone.

He did not want to do anything with Ava Kelly.

Blake lifted the bottle to his mouth and threw his head back, drinking the last mouthfuls in one guzzle. He contemplated getting another one but the shower spray cut out, spurring him into action.

He needed to change the sheets on the bed. And he needed to be out of his bedroom before she was done.

Five minutes later he’d just pulled the coverlet up over the fresh sheets and was reaching for a pillow to change the case when he sensed Ava watching him. He glanced behind him where she leaned heavily against the doorway as if it was the only thing keeping her up.

‘You don’t have to give me your bed,’ she said, the world’s weariest smile touching the corners of her mouth. ‘Really. Any horizontal surface will be fine.’

He’d loaned her an old shirt and some loose cotton boxers and his clothes had never looked so good. The shirt slipped off one shoulder, outlined her small perky breasts and fell to just below her waist. The band of his obviously too big boxers was drawn by the string to its limits then turned over a couple of times, anchoring low on her hips. A strip of flat tanned belly was bare to his gaze.

And a lot of leg.

Not chicken legs like those he sometimes caught on the telly when shots of skinny models walking up and down catwalks came on the news. They were lithe and shapely. And a perfect golden brown—like the rest of her. He’d avoided looking at them the last three months but it was kind of difficult now they were standing inside his bedroom.

And he’d always been a leg man.

Oh, the irony.

He dragged his gaze up. Her hair was damp and looked as if it had been finger-combed back off her forehead, her face was scrubbed clean, her freckles standing out, her cheeks a little pink from the hot water, the tiny nick a stark reminder of why she was here.

She could have been the girl next door except somehow, even in a scruffy T-shirt, baggy boxers and her eyelids fluttering in long sleepy blinks, she managed to look haughty.

To exude a you-can’t-touch-this air.

Should have had that second beer.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked, ignoring her protest, returning his mind and his eyes to the job at hand, stripping the case off the pillow.

‘Sore,’ Ava said, pushing off the door frame to the opposite side of the bed, grabbing the other pillow and stripping it, managing it quite well despite the handicap of her bandaged hand.

Blake quelled the urge to tell her to leave it. He didn’t want her here in his bedroom. Not while he was in it too. It all seemed too domesticated—too normal—especially after being shot at only a few hours ago. The bed was big and empty. Big enough for the two of them. And the night had been bizarre enough without him wondering how many times he could roll Ava Kelly over on it.

Or how good those legs would feel wrapped around his waist.

‘Did you take those tablets the doc gave you?’

She nodded. ‘Just now.’ Then she yawned and the shirt rode up a little more. He kept his gaze firmly trained on her face. ‘Sorry. I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.’

Blake knew intimately how shock and the effects of adrenaline could leave you sapped to the bone. He threw the pillow on the bed, then peeled back the covers. ‘Get in. Go to sleep.’ Soon it will be morning and you’ll be gone. ‘You’ll feel better tomorrow.’

She smiled at him again as she threw her pillow on the bed. ‘I couldn’t feel any worse,’ she said, crawling onto the bed, making her way to the middle on her hands and knees. Blake did not check out how his shirt fell forward revealing a view right down to her navel.

He just pulled up the covers as Ava collapsed on her side, her sore hand tucked under her cheek, eyes closing on a blissful sigh, her bow mouth finally relaxing. ‘Night,’ he said.

She didn’t answer and for a moment he was struck by how young she looked. For the first time she didn’t look haughty and untouchable—she looked humble and exhausted.

Vulnerable.

And utterly touchable.

Who in the hell would want to kill her? Or had they just been trying to scare her? In which case it had worked brilliantly. Something stirred in his chest but he didn’t stay long enough to analyse it.

Ava freaking Kelly was lying right smack in the middle of his bed—no way was he sticking around to fathom weird chest stirrings. Or give his traitorous body any ideas.

He stalked towards the door, an image of her long legs keeping him company.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

‘Blake.’

Crap. He halted as her soft voice drifted towards him. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice low and drowsy.

Blake locked tight every muscle he owned to stop from turning around. He didn’t need a vision of her looking at him with sleepy eyes from his bed. Instead he nodded and said, ‘See you in the morning.’

Then continued on his way out of the room.

He did not look back.


FOUR

Ava’s phone woke her the next morning and for a moment she was utterly confused by her surroundings. What was the time? What day was it? Where the hell was she?

Where the hell was her phone, for that matter?

Her head felt fuzzy and her eyes felt as if they’d been rolled in shell grit. If this was a hangover then it was a doozy. The distant trilling of her musical ringtone didn’t help. Inside her woolly head, her brain knew that it needed answering but her body didn’t seem to be responding to the command to do something about it.

Then a shirtless Blake walked into the room and it all came crashing back to her. The gunshots, the police, the hospital.





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