The Pearl Necklace (3 page)

“A
walk at this time of night?
I wouldn’t advise it, Miss Hillary.”

I opened
my mouth to remind him to call me Sasha, but what would be the point? He was a
stickler for propriety, and I didn’t think any amount of cajoling on my part
would change that.

“I just
feel the urge to walk,” I insisted, needing the cool air of the night to reduce
the heat in my cheeks. “Do you mind?” I felt awful pushing this, that he’d have
to come with me, that I couldn’t even do anything as simple as taking my sodding
dog for a walk by myself.

“Of course
I don’t mind. I’d do anything for you.”

My stomach
flipped over, and I looked from the bottom of the sink to him. He was staring
at me, all masculine jaw and damn dreamy eyes, and I let myself think for a
second or two that he’d meant what he’d said in an altogether different way.

“Would
you?” I asked, smiling a bit.

“Yes, I
would.” He turned the tap off without breaking eye contact. “I thought you
would have realised that by now.”

I
swallowed. What was he saying?
“Pardon?”

“I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m not supposed to say anything like that.”

He let go
of my hand and strode to the table, lifting his coffee then heading out to the
hallway. He stood beside the front door in his usual position, and I hated the
fact that we’d been so close to one another and now we were apart. We’d been
getting somewhere, in the friendship department at least, and it was a cruel
twist of that bitchy tart called fate who’d decided we had to remain as we’d
always
been,
glamour girl and her bodyguard.

I busied
myself patting my hand dry with a tea towel then went over to the table to put
my jacket back on. Taking a deep breath before going into the hall, I strode
out there then climbed the stairs, heading for my room to get a pair of boots
from the wardrobe. I wished he’d followed me. Wished he stood behind me in the
doorway, filling it with his wide frame, me staring at him in wonder that he’d
finally, finally come to push me onto the bed and fuck me silly.

The
doorway remained a gaping, empty square.

“Bollocks!”
I said, putting my old boots on and going back downstairs.

I didn’t
look to see if he was watching as I went past.

In the
kitchen, I pulled out a couple of dog poop bags and stuffed them in my pocket,
then took
Pippa’s
lead from the hook on the wall next
to the back door. She lumbered out of bed, curly piggy tail wavering, and did a
little dance in front of me, making it difficult for me to get a grip on her
collar and clip her lead on.

“Here, let
me do that?”

I looked
up at Bob, who stood leaning against the kitchen doorjamb, head cocked in
question.

“
It’s
fine, thank you,” I said, hoping I’d sounded kind and
not snippy. It wasn’t his fault I couldn’t have what I wanted and had
misinterpreted what he’d said at the sink.

I unlocked
the back door, and Bob was next to me in an instant, going out first to do his
normal routine of checking the immediate area before letting me outside. Once
he gave me the nod, I joined him on the narrow path that skirted the house and
waited for him to set the alarm and grab the torch he brought with him whenever
he accompanied me on walks with
Pippa
.

Tonight
was going to go exactly as all the other nights went, after all.
By the bloody book.

I could
have screamed with the frustration of that.

Chapter Three

If you just move over a tiny little bit, your
arm will touch mine and I can pretend to stumble and will have to grab hold of
you to steady myself.

I didn’t
do anything of the sort, but God, I wished I had the bottle to. My body was
screaming out for human contact, my heart for the security closeness brings,
and my mind for a conversation that was something different from the norm. So
far we’d walked next to one another, Bob
arcing
the
light in front of us, side to side, us saying nothing more than the usual banal
lines. Oh, would you look at
Pippa
, gallivanting off
there. Did you see her tail wagging when she was sniffing that clump of grass?
Nervous laughter.
The clearing of a
throat.
A sniff of the nose just to fill the silence.
What I was dying to say was: Would you take me roughly, down there on the
grass, fuck me ragged? And would you suck on my nipple while you’re at it,
because I really enjoy that. Oh, and a whisper in my ear telling me you like it
hot and hard and fast would go down a treat too.
Just saying.
Shrug. You know how it is.

It wasn’t
going how I wanted it to, how I’d wanted it to on so many nights like this.
Could I carry on this way, Bob being polite, me being just as polite, knowing
anything more wouldn’t happen? I supposed that having him with me every evening
apart from the two he had off each week was better than not being with him at
all. And I had my fantasies, which warmed me between my legs at night. But
pleasuring
myself
wasn’t quite the same as having
someone there with me. Someone
else doing
the
touching, the licking, the inserting. And by myself, I missed out on kisses and
cuddles, unless I counted wrapping my arms around my middle afterwards, and
that only served to make me feel lonelier.

I was a
bit of a lost cause, really.

Could I be
bold enough to do anything about it, though? Wasn’t it better to try than to
always have
what if
floating through my
mind?

Pippa
scampered off to the
side of the garden—well, I say garden, it was more like a field—and squatted to
do more than just pee. I waited for her to finish then scooped her business
into a poop bag, tied it, and continued walking once she’d gambolled off into
the darkness.

“We should
go back now, Miss Hillary. We’re out later than we usually are, and I don’t
like to think about who could be lurking in the bushes there.”

I looked
at the bushes, highlighted by Bob’s flashlight beam, and shuddered at what he’d
said. Yes, anyone could be in there, could have climbed over the fence
surrounding the property, even though it was eight feet high. If a stalker or
journalist were determined enough, they’d be resourceful in how they managed to
get over.

“I
suppose,” I said, not in the least bit tired. The cold air had chased away any
strains of fatigue I might have had before we’d come out. “
Pippa
,”
I called, waiting for her to appear beside us before turning and heading towards
the house.

We walked
around the side to go back in via the kitchen door, but a scraping sound coming
from the front had Bob grabbing my hand and shoving me behind him.

“Stay
close,” he said quietly, creeping forward.

My heart
was thumping madly, and I scooped
Pippa
up in my
arms, holding her wiggling body close. She chose that moment to pant her
Pedigree Chum breath right in my face, and I turned my head to peer around hers.
The front security lights splashed on, and my stomach muscles clenched. Bloody
hell, this was all we needed, some nutter knocking on the front door, bold as
you like.

Bob poked
his head around the corner, muttered “Fuck!” then legged it out of sight. I
stayed close to the house and peered out to see what had made him bolt. He held
a man in a headlock, the pair of them struggling, the man trying to buck Bob
off, and Bob trying to hold him still.

“What the
fuck do you think you’re up to?” Bob said, wrestling the man to the ground.

Pippa
writhed to be put down,
and I was in two minds whether to let her go. She might get hurt. Quickly, I
ran to Bob’s car and yanked on the back door handle, thankful that it opened. I
popped
Pippa
on the rear seat and her poop bag in the
footwell
,
then
shut her in.
Running around the car to help Bob, I saw I wasn’t needed after all. He had
successfully cuffed the man’s hands behind his back and straddled him as the stranger
floundered
face-down on the drive. My heart rate
didn’t seem as though it would slow any time soon, so I took a deep breath in
order to calm myself. I suddenly needed the toilet, and not for a wee either. That
man—who was he, and how the hell had he got past security? Come to think of it,
where
was
security?

I scanned
the immediate area and spotted a camera on the gravel border that butted the
house, the long lens leaning against a terracotta pot that was home to a
miniature fir. Sick and tired of reporters, and knowing that whatever I said to
him would make it into the paper at some point, I clamped my mouth shut and
didn’t say a word. Instead, I got
Pippa
out of the
car, went into the house, and called the police.

* * * *

Bob was
sitting at the kitchen table, cradling a fresh cup of coffee.

I stood
with my hip against the sink unit, feeling guilty that
me
pushing to take a walk had ended so badly. I thought back to what had happened,
and something suddenly hit me.

“I left a
poo in your car,” I said.

He stared
at me open-mouthed, as though he hadn’t quite heard me right. “Beg your
pardon?”

“I left a
poo in your car.”

“Err,
okay.” He frowned. “When did you do that?
On the way back
from the studio?
Couldn’t you wait? Do the pills give you a dodgy
stomach?”

I widened
my eyes then, realising he thought I’d pulled down my jeans and taken a dump on
his back seat. “No! It isn’t
my
poo.”

He laughed
nervously. “Is there something you need to tell me? That you have a fetish
for—”

“No! No,
it’s nothing like that. It’s
Pippa’s
. I put it in
there when that man was out the front. I had to tell you while I thought of
it,
otherwise you could have driven off in the morning,
wondering what on earth that disgusting smell was.”

“I hope
it’s in a bag…”

“Oh, yes,
tied up tight, but the smell still seems to leak out. I’ll go and get it now,
throw it in the poop bin in the garden.”

“No you
will not, Miss Hillary,” he said. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I won’t let you
go out there now.” He paused, clearly thinking. “I had a feeling we shouldn’t
have gone dog walking tonight.”

I felt so
horrible about that.
And for forgetting the poo.
The
football-shaped air freshener in his car had its work cut out for it tonight. “I’ll
listen to you in future. I’m sorry for putting you in danger like that.”

“It’s my
job, and it wasn’t me I was worried about.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite
scrub away the worry etched onto his face.

Another
thing for me to feel guilty about.
At this rate, I might have to buy a notebook
and jot all my sins down so I had a list for when I went to confession.

“What made
you apply for a job as a bodyguard?” I asked. “What makes you want to risk your
life for someone else—someone you don’t even really know?”

His face
reddened a bit. “I didn’t think you’d even care
what
I thought.”

“Pardon?”
I narrowed my eyes,
trying to figure out where he might have got that idea from. I hadn’t been mean
to him once since he’d started looking after me. I couldn’t dislike him, what
with the way he acted and looked, all polite, gorgeous and drool-worthy. “Why
would you think that?”

He took a
sip of his drink and studied me over the rim of his cup. “Because of
who
you are. You have men dreaming about you all the time, I
imagine. Why would someone like me interest you?”

“Why
wouldn’t you?”

He
frowned.

“I fancy you
so bad!” I blurted.

He raised
his eyebrows as though he didn’t believe me.

With my
face blazing, I stared at him, at the colour of his hair, at his cheekbones, his
eyes. Good bloody Lord… That timid smile, the way he was always flustered if I
saw him studying me. And there was me thinking he just hadn’t liked me, that
when he’d caught
me
staring a few
times I’d made him uncomfortable, had been giving him unwanted attention. Like
Jungle Woman.

“I’m shy
around you,” he said, shrugging the words off as though he hadn’t just admitted
such a thing. “I kind of have a thing for you. Had hoped, when you’d first
started on the pills that you’d notice me back then but…”

Back then?
He’d liked me even with my muffin top and balloon boobs? Bloody hell, it had
taken all of my courage to smile at him every time he’d arrived for duty. Once
I’d lost some weight I’d gained confidence, but not enough to make me put the
moves on him, and even if I’d wanted to I’d been warned off dallying with the staff.

“You’re
going to think I’m some weirdo now, aren’t you?” he said, putting his cup on
the table and rising. He started walking towards me. “But I swear to God I’m
not. When I saw you at the start of your transformation… Christ, I knew I was
out of your league. Then, as the weeks passed and you lost weight, when they
turned you into a doll… I didn’t stand a bloody chance.” He stopped at the
island separating us. Put his elbows on top and cradled his chin in his hands.
Stared at the black granite and shook his head. “I never wanted to tell you in
case you thought it was damn fucking creepy of me to want you when all you were
supposed to be was a job.” He laughed wryly. “Fuck, what a bloody mess.”

“But I
am
interested in you,” I said. “I like
you but didn’t think you liked me. Didn’t you just hear me admit I fancy you
like mad?”

He laughed
again, sadly this time. “You’re just saying that, Miss Hillary.”

“Call me
Sasha, damn it. And if you like
me
as much as you say
you do, come over here and kiss me stupid, will you?”

I was
surprised at myself, at my boldness, and given that he’d been so shy, sweet and
quiet as my bodyguard, I was doubly surprised that he did as he’d been told—well,
he’d come over to me, and that was something. He didn’t attempt to touch me,
though, and I was disappointed. My body screamed for him to crush me to him.

He didn’t
kiss me either.

“The times
I’ve wanted to tell you,” he said. “The times I’ve wanted to let you know that
I’d worked my arse off at the gym to make me seem more attractive to you, all
because I thought I wouldn’t get anywhere near you otherwise. I mean, look at
you.” He rubbed his temples.

I smiled, reached
out to put my hand where Jungle Woman had, on his shoulder at first, then,
after taking a deep breath, shifting my fingers across to trail them down his
cheek. He lowered his hands to his sides.

“And my
God,” I said, “didn’t we both scrub up well?”

“You’ve
always been beautiful to me, then and now.”

Oh, balls.
My eyes stung a bit, so I blinked in case any tears sprang out. Mascara runs
weren’t something I particularly wanted at the moment. “So, what happens next?”

“I should
make a last check of the house now the police have gone and ensure you’re safe
in bed,” he said. “Same as I always do.” He tilted his head, fitting his cheek
into my palm,
then
pulled his face away as if the
contact had burned.

I frowned
a bit at that. If he liked me so much, why didn’t he want me touching him? “I
see.
Anything else?”
Could I pretend I was the glamour
girl a little longer and not the old Sasha Hillary? Could I make out I was some
sexy vamp who knew exactly what she was doing in the sack?

“I can
think of plenty of things,” he said, “but I’m working and I don’t imagine it
would be appropriate if I told you what’s going on in my head at the moment.”

I was
tempted to ask which head he was referring to.

“Tell me,”
I said, boldness blooming inside me. “Tell me what’s going on in there.” I
raised my hand and caressed the short strands by his ear, their ends prickly on
my palm. I was glad he didn’t shrink away this time.

“What I’m
thinking isn’t for repeating, Miss Hillary.”

I gave him
a stern look.

“Sasha,”
he said.

“Why
not?”
I asked, wishing he’d just let it all out so I could see if his thoughts
matched mine. If, now that we’d established that I liked him and he liked me,
he’d be willing to open up and tell me all the things I’d been wishing he would
say from the moment I’d set eyes on him, that first time he’d strode in here at
shift change six months ago and became my permanent night watchman.