The Billionaire’s Handler

Chapter Seven

Back at the hotel, an open-gated elevator sent them to the third floor. Maguire could see that she was beat. He’d wanted her to have that kind of whirlwind day-so busy she didn’t have time to dwell on fears or worries, but not so crazy that she’d get over-exhausted.

This hotel, like others in Monaco, went over the top on gilt and opulence. Not Maguire’s choice of decors, but he’d be looking for the kind of place where Carolina’d feel pampered. The screw-up earlier in the day had been corrected. He plucked her key, 3543, opened her door and stepped in a foot, just to make sure the setup was correct.

The peach satin spread was turned down, a spray of Russian chocolates on the pillow, a dressing gown laid out. A light in the bathroom gleamed on the marble floor; soft lamplight pooled a welcoming glow by her bed. Two dozen peach roses spilled from an ivory vase. A basket of goodies-wine, cheese, fruit, snacks-was tucked on the far table.

Yes. All as ordered. Maguire backed out a step. “Okay, you. To sleep-for as long as you want to sleep. I’m in the next room, 3544.”

Carolina raised her eyebrows. “You’re not in a suite with me this time?”

Maguire had gotten smarter in direct proportion to her becoming more dangerous. “I’m right next door, and there’s a connecting door between us that’s locked on both sides. If you need me, I’m a knock away. But I don’t think you need anyone hovering close the way I was before.”

“You do think I’m stronger,” she said with a tone of satisfaction.

“I do. But you don’t need setbacks.” And he didn’t need to be any closer to that lithe body draped in black that clung in all the right places whenever she moved. “When you’re ready to be out and about tomorrow, just knock on the connecting door. I brought work with me that I can do right in the room, so if you want to sleep all day, it won’t matter to me. If you want to get up and moving, that’s fine, too.”

“That’s it?” she murmured. “No kiss good-night, Maguire?”

He saw the look in her eyes. Had to bolster a breath before coming through with a teasing, “Hey. Behave yourself.”

He let himself into his room, clunked down the key and kicked off his shoes. His mind was chanting mantras. Vanilla. Snow. Milk. Anything he could think of that would remind him of virgin white.

Carolina had formed…an attachment for him. He knew it. He refused to ignore it any longer. But she was vulnerable as satin, good from the inside out.

He’d been tainted from the day he was born.

He’d been in a position to rescue her, to steal her away to a princess life for a few days. Maguire got it. It was easy for her to see him as a knight in shining armor. But he was no knight. And he wasn’t-and couldn’t be-a serious part of her life long term. So it was up to him to make sure she didn’t get hurt.

He yanked off the tux jacket, then the cumberbund and stupid tie. Bleach. Frost. Calcium. Pearls-no, not pearls, that texture and shade of white reminded him too much of her skin.

He needed white words that were, well, wilters. Nonsexual. Like…frost. Whitewash. Toothpaste. He undid his cuffs, then started on the shirt buttons.

Abruptly he heard the knock on the connecting door.

He went over, and unlocked his side. “What? Are you sick or…?”

His voice dropped when he saw her. She’d slipped off the black pants and top. Pulled on a satin nightgown in peach and lace. Her feet were bare, her makeup washed off, and the expression in her eyes was a hundred percent ticked off.

“You said I could have what I wanted. That I needed to be strong enough to stand up for what I wanted. Well, damn it, Maguire. I want my good-night kiss and I want it now.”

Okay. She was cute. But he could turn on the tough button any time he needed to, could get as heartless as he needed to be, any time.

At least usually.

The damn woman.

She stepped up, stepped in, clutched his open shirt in her small fists and took. Her lips trembled, even as they pressed. Her hands were coward-cold. And the swishy lingerie was killer-sexy, but she was ironed-tight against him as if fearing he might actually see any of that soft, vulnerable flesh.

He told himself to think about snow, damn it. Calcium. Milk. All those pure white turnoffs. All those reminders that Carolina was confused, very unsure what she wanted or needed right now.

Only…her hands dropped to his hips. She brazenly palmed his butt, nesting him closer to her. Naturally, his body responded as if prodded by a firecracker. That was her, the firecracker, with the little hot fingers and the little hot tongue.

That tongue slipped between his teeth, found his tongue, retreated. Came back for more. She made a sound, a groan like a she-cat, then rubbed her breasts against his chest as if they were itchy and rubbing against him was the only cure for easing that itch.

White, he told himself firmly.

And then, Think white, Maguire.

She didn’t seem aware that winding herself around him invariably threw them both off balance. There was a moment when they both would have fallen-if he didn’t reach out to steady her. That’s all he did. Put his hands on her arms. Only for that millisecond. But even though he was chanting “white” at the top volume of his conscience…

Armageddon followed.

“Okay.” He tore out a breath. “Okay, now. Carolina, listen to me-”

“No.” That was all she said. No. And then she pushed him. Backward. Into his bedroom. His setup was similar to hers, maybe navy blue instead of feminine colors, but the same king-size bed, side couch and chair, all the usual suspects of an ultraluxurious hotel room.

She didn’t look or care, as if whether she fell against chair legs or table sides was completely beneath her notice right then. Pushing him. That’s all she was into. And when the back of his knees located the bed, she gave him one more little push and then tumbled on top of him, straddling him, leaning over with closed eyes to find his mouth again.

He had to get a grip. Get control. A man like him wasn’t seduced. Ever. Didn’t relinquish complete control with anyone. Ever. And that maxim was a mighty never where Carolina was concerned. So that was why he put his hands on her again.

It wasn’t to sweep her beneath him. It was to stop her, from rubbing against his crotch, from dancing her satined body in the opening of his tux shirt, from breathing in her scent, her tongue, the desire beading off her in torrents.

Only, something went wrong.

He intended to push her away. He was outstanding at pushing people away, had his whole life, only somehow… Magic? Miracles? Bad luck? She seemed to twist at just the wrong time, so that he ended up on top of her. And once she was beneath him, her slim legs rose up and high, clasping around his hips, inviting him in, teasing him closer, closer. She arched her back, so the brush of her breasts could cause him more torment. Her skin heated. Her damn mouth started trembling again. She made that earthy little wicked groan again.

Finally, from the scrabbled, scrambled contents of his brain came some words. “Okay. Okay. This is okay. For a few minutes. Nothing wrong…”

“You’re darned right there’s nothing wrong. This is as right as anything I can ever remember.”

“Just because…this is a little unexpected…doesn’t mean we’ve done anything…unforgivable…”

“Yet,” she qualified, and ruthlessly took a nip from his neck.

“Yet? Yet?”

“I’m about to do something unforgivable,” she promised him. “With you. Only with you.”

“Now, Carolina-”

“I don’t care if you respect me in the morning.”

“Now, Carolina-”

“What? You think the whole world’s going to crash if you take off the good-guy hat for a whole ten minutes? Or is it that you need an engraved invitation?”

He didn’t need an invitation. He needed something, someone, somehow to knock some sense into his head, but once she said “ten minutes,” he lost it. What little brain he had left. Ten minutes? That’s all she thought it’d take to be made love to? Made love with?

Hell, she might as well have tossed a red scarf at a bull.

The slightest shift and tug, and he was enabled to remove that delectable, fragile slip of satin off her skin, and then he had her naked.

His senses both blurred and sharpened. He expected the peaches and ivory…not the sizzling heat and impatience. He expected the same-as-innocent…but not the brazen I-own-you-Maguire bravado.

That was the whole problem. She touched, she stroked, she kissed, as if she owned. As if this moment was her inarguable right, to claim, to master. To feel. Everything. With him.

You just didn’t walk into forest fires. Everybody knew that, coming straight out of the womb…except for her. She needed tenderness, yet demanded rough speed and roller-coaster tension. She bruised too damn easily, yet she bit and kneaded and pulled, with her mouth, with her hands, in a fight for…he didn’t know what the hell she was fighting for.

He just knew that he wanted to fight with her. For her. His skin turned slick, his blood thick. The shine in her eyes was so fierce, so greedy. Any hesitation or caution on his part, she met with whispered dares. Real dares. Crazy, crazy dares. Like…to walk on moonlight with her. To dance on honey. To sing with their fingers. See? How impossibly crazy and silly she was? How life-young?

It was all total foolishness. Except…

Except…

That he couldn’t remember, ever, having the chance to be foolish.

Couldn’t remember, ever, letting his guard down, because he knew, he knew, how sharply a man could get hurt. How jagged a wound could be. How deeply a man could be scarred. If he didn’t protect himself.

He just didn’t know how to protect himself with her.

Carolina fell asleep, but only for a short time. She didn’t want to sleep. She’d had enough rest for aeons. In some ways, she was discovering she’d been asleep her whole life.

And looking at Maguire was a heady way to enjoy staying awake. At first moonlight flooded in the balcony doors, making his skin look silver, the wild thrash of his hair making shadows on the far wall. His face, in repose, was the strong marble of statues, the whole Greek god thing.

After moonlight came that long, dark stretch, where she could barely see him, even the shadow of him…but she could hear his deep, quiet breathing. Feel the weight of his arm, his hand, when he tucked her close to him, almost inside of him…and how, even in sleep, he stroked. Soothed. Enticed.

Maguire was ultraskilled at locking up his emotions-when he was awake. He’d revealed so much, making love with her. She hadn’t guessed before… that Maguire was as vulnerable as she was. That he was risking as much as he was.

He’d been counseling her to go after what she wanted and needed-but had he ever done just that with his own life?

At least she’d risked opening her heart to people. Maybe too much. But Maguire was so, so alone.

Except for last night. She had no doubt at all about the love inside the man. The heart inside the man.

And now, after darkness came that predawn color, not gray, more like a slow seeping yellow, pearling the air, turning charcoal shadows back into inanimate things with color and life and depth. Dawn showed the stubble on Maguire’s chin, the pleat of a sun-wrinkle around his eyes, the paintbrush-thick eyelashes. Even in the cool of the night, he hurled off the blankets and sheets. Somehow even in sleep, he’d kept her covered, but for himself, he kicked off any warmth-except for her. Out of nowhere, she’d find his arm sneaking around her again. Then his sigh of relief, as if finding her still there enabled him to go back to sleep again.

He slept nude. So did she. But he sure looked better in dawn light than she did. Which was when he suddenly opened his eyes and found her staring at him.

Maguire-her Maguire-wasn’t a blusher. But a little alarm seemed to shoot up his neck as if she’d caught him doing something…wicked.

Which of course she had.

“We didn’t really do that,” he said, his voice still night-thick.

“Oh yeah, we sure did. Twice, I believe.”

A fingertip touched her cheek, his tenderness a direct contradiction to the sudden scowl ruffling his brow. “This wasn’t in the game plan, Carolina.”

“Well, feel free to wallow in guilt, if you want. I won’t stop you. But you might want to consider that…well, maybe I needed this. To heal. Maybe I needed to be made love to, specifically by you. You can just think of it as part of the job. Part of the project you signed up for.”

“You’re not a job or a project, Carolina.”

She shrugged. “I don’t want to hear a bunch of integrity-and-responsibility stuff. I want breakfast. A decadent breakfast. A seven-cheese omelet, overloaded with cholesterol, like real butter, and French toast, and fresh orange wedges…”

“Where are you going?”

She could see from his expression that he wanted a further serious morning-after discussion, so she slid out of bed. “The shower. My shower. While I do that, I’m hoping you’ll order our decadent breakfast.”

“We will be leaving the room for breakfast.”

She didn’t wince. Her brilliant smile didn’t falter either. But she got the message. He wasn’t going to be alone with her if he could help it, not after last night.

He’d liked it, Maguire. Her. The sex. Being loved by her, with her. She didn’t doubt that.

But he wanted her long term in his life like he wanted a sliver. He was here to fix her. That was all. To do the responsible thing and get her healed, before dropping her back in her real life and out of his hair again.

She got it, she got it.

But after last night, she was going to have a lot harder time pretending it was that simple for her again. Or ever could be.

Downstairs, one of the hotel restaurants served breakfast in the open patio overlooking the bay. The tables were dressed as elegantly as last night, with gleaming silver and crystal, accenting an impeccably perfect day. Guests milled everywhere, all ages, many looking glamorous and foreign, some dressed casually, fresh off their boats-or yachts, as it were.

Personally, Carolina thought she was appropriately dressed for a hot sunny morning, in a linen skort and shimmery-cool tank top and, of course, her red shoes. So did Maguire, judging from the way he kept looking at her.

But he kept her talking about serious issues as if the sky might fall if he let down his hair. There was no way he was stepping off the mentor role this morning. Even when he sipped the delectably tangy OJ. Bit into the lightest, softest, richest omelet ever made. Lingered on bites of toast dripping with hot, wild blueberries.

“So, we’re going to talk about some of the things you want to do,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Part of your stress load was so many people asking you constantly for things. Everyone in your life wanting something from you. So let’s start with your parents. Are there some things you actually do want for them?”

“Oh, yes. Absolutely.” She could love up Maguire with her eyes and still do this serious-talk stuff. She valued his advice and ideas, besides. “I want to make their lives easier. Give them security. I loved setting my mom up with a new kitchen, giving my dad the car of his dreams. I would have loved to give them treats like that forever…”

“But then it wasn’t so easy. Instead of giving, they started having expectations. Until there seemed no end to the expectations.”

When she reluctantly nodded, he went on. “So here’s the deal, Cee. You want to give your parents security? Do it. Pay for great health insurance, if they don’t already have it. Pay off their mortgage if you want. Then, set up a trust. Establish the trust to supplement their retirement income. And then that’s it. You’re done.”

Reluctantly she leaned away from the plate. If she ate any more, she’d turn into a balloon…but damn, the food was good. “Only in theory, Maguire. Because that’s what I was discovering. No matter what I do, it seems like it didn’t stop them from asking for more-”

“I get that. Trust me. But what you have to get straight in your head is what you want to do for them, then do it. And then you draw the line in the sand. You need to know, in your heart, that what you set up is generous and fair and right. So you know, absolutely, there’s no reason to feel guilty.”

All right. Maybe she felt loverlike and cuddly and turned on. But nobody seemed to reach her like Maguire. This stuff mattered. She frowned. “That isn’t how I’m used to thinking about things.”

“Yeah, I know. You don’t think ‘selfish.’ And you’re a lousy student at learning selfishness, if you ask me.”

“Hey! I’m plenty selfish! Look at the shoes!” She lifted a leg, just to illustrate.

“Okay, okay, I admit it. You did good on the shoes. But we have to work a little harder on your getting tougher with the rest of it.”

“Like with what?”

“Well…” Maguire leaned forward, poured them both fresh coffee from the carafe. “You said that your father wanted to handle your money.”

Her stomach instantly knotted. “And his feelings were terribly hurt when I didn’t leap to say yes. In fact, I cried-”

“Hey. No. No crying. Listen to me.” For a second his voice almost took on a panicked tone. “Your father is no more capable of handling big money than you are. That isn’t an insult. It’s just a fact. Would you go to a plumber for brain surgery?”

“No.”

“Repeat after me-No, of course not.”

“No, of course not.”

“Would you go to a brain surgeon to fix a leaky faucet?”

She knew her line. “No, of course not.”

“Exactly. So you get people to help you with the money who are, so to speak, brain surgeons with money. Reputable brokers. Finance people with established reputations. If your dad can’t understand that, he’ll have to get over it. That’s not on you. It’d be stupid to let the plumber to do the brain surgery, remember? You can’t make your parents’ lives easier if all that money goes down the drain because of poor management.”

“Look, I’m getting sick and tired of your being right, Maguire. I’m starting to feel like a dunce.”

“You’re not a dunce. You’re ultrabright. Just not about big money. How could you be? And why should you expect yourself to be brilliant about everything? See…I’m way better at being selfish than you are. That’s why I’m the natural teacher in this.”

She opened her mouth to say something sassy and clever…it was about time she put him in his place. He was mighty comfortable in the role of ‘Fixing Carolina.’ Not so comfortable when she turned the tables and made him talk about himself.

She was about to direct a raft of questions at him…when a commotion across the patio diverted her attention. Although most of the tables were filled, most conversations were desultory, natural to guests enjoying a leisurely morning and fabulous food. But at the far table near the aqua pool, voices suddenly raised.

Carolina glanced over, and saw what looked to be a father and teenage daughter. Although they weren’t fighting in English, she could easily get the gist. Likely similar arguments took place in every household on every continent, when a daughter was trying to grow up before her daddy thought she was ready.

Their voices kept rising. The daughter snapped back, sassy, from her tone. The father’s retorts became colder, sterner. It was just an argument. Just a personal fight.

There was just a moment…when the blond-haired girl stopped looking defiant and strong. She…caved. Whatever her dad said…hurt.

Crushed her. The lips trembled. The eyes welled. Her so-pretty face looked full of pain, beyond hurt.

Carolina could feel her pain. Could remember feeling as if she was breaking from all the people yelling at her, not hearing anything she said, until the words wounded beyond bearing. And just like that, she suddenly lost it. The sound of their voices. All their voices. All sound.

The stupid hysterical deafness was back. She shook her head, but it was like trying to shake water from her ears after swimming. Any sound that came through was just a pale blur, nothing with any decibels.

Maguire saw the change in her. She knew from his expression.

He couldn’t know what triggered the problem this day-Carolina wasn’t sure she could explain it to herself-but Maguire didn’t need all the answers to act.

He just turned into her hero again. Anger steeled his expression-but not anger at her. He swept her up and out of there, an arm around her shoulder, steering her past people, past doors, past everything. Carolina sensed that he’d battle off a few armies if they tried getting near her.

He steered her through his room, to get to hers. Coaxed her to lie down. Put a warm cloth on her forehead. Came through with tea. And a foot rub. American newspapers to read.

She must have napped, because when she woke up, she found her red shoes on a pillow in her sight-a picture that was guaranteed to make her smile.

The short nap seemed to fix the hearing problem this time, because she could hear bursts of laughter and splashing from the pool below. Sweet sunlight pooled in the windows, and she heard Maguire’s voice, quiet, talking on a phone from the balcony. He was using his “making arrangements” voice.

When he stopped talking, she assumed he’d finished the call, and spoke up. “So where are we going, Maguire?”

Faster than the spin of a dime, he charged in, studied her face with the fierceness of a scientist-not a lover. His stiff shoulders eased. “You’re hearing again.”

“Yup. And I’m sorry. Angry at myself. That was stupid. The whole deaf thing is stupid. I’m strong now.”

“You are strong, Carolina. You’re just not tough. There’s a difference.”

“I’m both.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushed a hand through her hair. “I’ve had it with this weakling business. So I had some stress. Everybody has stress. They don’t just cave. I’m through being a wuss.”

“You were never a wuss, Carolina.”

Arguing with him was useless. She should have known. “I heard you making some kind of travel arrangements, or that’s what it sounded like. So where are we going?”

A smile finally broke through that austere frown. “First, we’ve got a few hours before our flight. So…we’re getting you another suitcase, and you’ve got two or three hours’ worth of a shopping spree to fill it. After that…we’re headed to one of the places on your list. And I’ll admit, you gave me a real challenge coming through on this one. You’re going to love it.”

She didn’t plan on loving anything. She’d found a lover last night-an unforgettable lover. But because she’d done the stupid hysterical-deafness thing again, he had a chance to push away. He had a great time doing his fix-Carolina thing…but no one was getting close enough to fix Maguire.

Truthfully she didn’t want to fix anything about him. She just wanted to show him that someone could be there for him, too. That it wasn’t always one-sided.

So far, she’d flunked that course completely.