The Socialite and the Bodyguard by Dana Marton Read Free Book Online Page B

more effective. He ignored the pain and went for her, saw her roll as a steel crate crashed to the ground inches from her head.
    “Nash!”
    Then he was there, using his body to protect as much of her as he could. But still, by the time the avalanche stopped, she was half-buried.
    He heaved a heavy crate off her. “Are you hurting anywhere?” “What do you think?” She was still holding the damn cardboard box.
    “Don’t move. When I get you clear, just give me a minute to assess the damage.” He lifted another crate off her. “You think you broke anything?”
    She sat up. “Give it up, Nash. I’m not going to give you an excuse to ship me back home. I came for Tsini and I’m staying here.”
    He crouched next to her and put his hand gently on the foot closest to him, pulled off her sandals. Bit back a curse. He loved women, but would never understand them. Why on earth would anyone scale perilously stacked crates in four-inch heels? He put some pressure on her toes. “Tell me if this hurts.”
    When she said nothing, he moved on to the next foot. Then the ankles. One of her knees was bruised. His jaw tightened at the sight. He moved on to the rest of her legs, examining her as close to the edge of her indecently short skirt as he dared. He ignored how smooth her skin was, how toned her muscles, the light scent of her sophisticated perfume. He would rather have stood in front of a firing squad than acknowledge that a fluff piece like Kayla Landon could get him all hot and bothered.
    “Your arms?” He kept his voice professional.
    She flexed her fingers, rolled her wrists, bent her elbows then shrugged her shoulders. “I’m telling you, nothing’s broken. You’re overreacting.”
    “Look at me.” He checked her irises, looking deep into her blue eyes, which were tinged with a touch of green, the color of seawater near the surface, the way it looked when you came up after a long dive, toward the sun and air. He blinked.
He was probably too close to her if he could see all that detail. His gaze dipped to her lips, which were glossed with something that smelled like strawberries. Definitely too close , his brain said. Not close enough , another part of his anatomy insisted.
    He pulled back with effort. “Did you hit your head?”
    She gave a rueful smile, those tempting lips curving. “Came down on my over-photographed behind.”
    Definitely a body part of hers that he wasn’t going to think about in any detail. “All right,” he said brusquely and stepped away from her. “I don’t think you have a concussion. Stand up carefully and let me know if you’re dizzy.”
    She rolled her eyes at him and refused his extended hand.
    She was a piece of work all right. He had a feeling that the key to keeping her safe was going to be not letting her get to him. He picked up the cardboard box that she’d set down while he’d been examining her. The damn thing held nothing but a jumble of leashes. He tossed it aside. “I’m taking you back to your room.”
    He went up in the elevator with her, handed her over to Dave, then made his way down into that storage room for another look. He pushed behind the crates, to the wall, and found a door to a back hallway. Empty at the moment, save for all the National Canine Club posters.
    But somebody could have been back there earlier. Somebody could have pushed a crate to make sure she fell.
    And if Nash hadn’t shown up after Mike had left, if Kayla had been here alone, who knew what else the bastard would have done to her.
Nash scanned every nook of the area as cold fury filled him.
    He’d promised Welkins that he wasn’t going to go overboard on this mission. He’d promised Kayla that he wouldn’t upset her staff.
    To hell with that.
    He wasn’t going let anything happen to Kayla or Greg Landon. And no sick bastard was going to make a coat of the poodle.
     
    B Y THE TIME the knock sounded on the door of the adjoining room that night, Kayla was exhausted and sore