Read Online Barefoot With a Bodyguard by Roxanne St. Claire - Free Book Online
Authors: Roxanne St. Claire
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school?”
She didn’t answer right away, instead letting the books hit the floor with a noisy clunk. “If I share personal information, then you have to…Nikolai.”
“Nope.”
“Rudolf? You know, like—”
“Nureyev. Got it, but no, not Rudolf.” He smiled at her. “You’re going to run out of famous Russians soon.”
“With all that literature and history?” She reached over and got her glass, settling back into a mountain of pillows like royalty gazing on a subject. She was a little like royalty to him—a judge’s daughter who went to Yale being watched over by the son of a butcher, an MMA trainer who didn’t even finish a year of college.
“But your name is Russian, right?” she asked.
Don’t tell her anything about yourself. He could still hear Gabe’s warning, but it was fading. And don’t lay a hand on her except in public .
“Come on,” she said in a teasing voice, tapping the side of her wine glass impatiently. “Break the rules and tell me something.”
He didn’t answer, but could practically taste how much it mattered to her. Probably the lawyer in her who wanted to know everything. “No. It’s not safe. It’s best if you know nothing about me.”
“You know I’ll just guess. People’s pasts aren’t that hard to figure out. I was just studying a section on jury selection, and that’s part of the process.”
He barely reacted, keeping his face as expressionless as he did in a fight, never giving away his fear. Fear? He blinked as that word hit his brain. Was he afraid of her?
“How could we possibly be cooped up in this little house and stay silent or lie?” she asked, sounding more relaxed than since she’d arrived. Must be the wine.
“We have to.”
She took a deep drink as if she needed to fortify herself. “Don’t have to do a thing.” She set the glass on the nightstand and fluffed her comforter a bit. “Would you like to know the reason I didn’t take the bar?” Before he could tell her no, she leaned forward. “Because I wasn’t allowed to.” She drew out the word allowed, her dislike for the idea pretty obvious. “My husband believed a woman’s place was on his arm, not in the courtroom.”
“And you stood for that?” He found it impossible to believe this spitfire would last with a guy like that for five minutes, let alone five years.
“I not only stood for it, I lay down and practically had ‘welcome’ stamped across my forehead I was such a doormat.”
He frowned, utterly intrigued and wishing he weren’t. “Why?”
She chewed on the inside of her lip, thinking before she answered. “He had a certain power over me,” she admitted softly. “And, honestly, I spent most of my life under the thumb of a strong man, so it was like…” She stopped and gave a quick, dry laugh as if she caught herself. “Okay, that’s enough from me. It’s your turn, Dr. Zhivago.” She squished up her pretty features in uncertainty. “I honestly don’t know his first name.”
He laughed at her game, taking a moment to appreciate how she looked in bed, her thick hair tumbling over her shoulders, her expression softened by the late hour and a few glasses of wine. Good, that’s how she looked. Hot and sexy and soft and smart, all rolled into one green-eyed, auburn-haired beauty in bed.
“Yuri,” he finally said. “Yuri Zhivago.”
“Yuri? Oh, that’s a good one. But not your name, I take it.”
“No, but it could be. My dad loved that movie.” He tensed at the admission, which had rolled out way too easily, with no wine for an excuse.
“Oh, let me guess.” She sat up again, letting more hair fall over her face and revealing that she wore a thin tank top. He forced his gaze to stay on her face, but it wasn’t easy. He wanted to look at her. He wanted to…do a lot of things he shouldn’t even think about.
“He was born in Mother Russia,” she said.
How the hell did she know that? “But I wasn’t.” For some reason, it was
She didn’t answer right away, instead letting the books hit the floor with a noisy clunk. “If I share personal information, then you have to…Nikolai.”
“Nope.”
“Rudolf? You know, like—”
“Nureyev. Got it, but no, not Rudolf.” He smiled at her. “You’re going to run out of famous Russians soon.”
“With all that literature and history?” She reached over and got her glass, settling back into a mountain of pillows like royalty gazing on a subject. She was a little like royalty to him—a judge’s daughter who went to Yale being watched over by the son of a butcher, an MMA trainer who didn’t even finish a year of college.
“But your name is Russian, right?” she asked.
Don’t tell her anything about yourself. He could still hear Gabe’s warning, but it was fading. And don’t lay a hand on her except in public .
“Come on,” she said in a teasing voice, tapping the side of her wine glass impatiently. “Break the rules and tell me something.”
He didn’t answer, but could practically taste how much it mattered to her. Probably the lawyer in her who wanted to know everything. “No. It’s not safe. It’s best if you know nothing about me.”
“You know I’ll just guess. People’s pasts aren’t that hard to figure out. I was just studying a section on jury selection, and that’s part of the process.”
He barely reacted, keeping his face as expressionless as he did in a fight, never giving away his fear. Fear? He blinked as that word hit his brain. Was he afraid of her?
“How could we possibly be cooped up in this little house and stay silent or lie?” she asked, sounding more relaxed than since she’d arrived. Must be the wine.
“We have to.”
She took a deep drink as if she needed to fortify herself. “Don’t have to do a thing.” She set the glass on the nightstand and fluffed her comforter a bit. “Would you like to know the reason I didn’t take the bar?” Before he could tell her no, she leaned forward. “Because I wasn’t allowed to.” She drew out the word allowed, her dislike for the idea pretty obvious. “My husband believed a woman’s place was on his arm, not in the courtroom.”
“And you stood for that?” He found it impossible to believe this spitfire would last with a guy like that for five minutes, let alone five years.
“I not only stood for it, I lay down and practically had ‘welcome’ stamped across my forehead I was such a doormat.”
He frowned, utterly intrigued and wishing he weren’t. “Why?”
She chewed on the inside of her lip, thinking before she answered. “He had a certain power over me,” she admitted softly. “And, honestly, I spent most of my life under the thumb of a strong man, so it was like…” She stopped and gave a quick, dry laugh as if she caught herself. “Okay, that’s enough from me. It’s your turn, Dr. Zhivago.” She squished up her pretty features in uncertainty. “I honestly don’t know his first name.”
He laughed at her game, taking a moment to appreciate how she looked in bed, her thick hair tumbling over her shoulders, her expression softened by the late hour and a few glasses of wine. Good, that’s how she looked. Hot and sexy and soft and smart, all rolled into one green-eyed, auburn-haired beauty in bed.
“Yuri,” he finally said. “Yuri Zhivago.”
“Yuri? Oh, that’s a good one. But not your name, I take it.”
“No, but it could be. My dad loved that movie.” He tensed at the admission, which had rolled out way too easily, with no wine for an excuse.
“Oh, let me guess.” She sat up again, letting more hair fall over her face and revealing that she wore a thin tank top. He forced his gaze to stay on her face, but it wasn’t easy. He wanted to look at her. He wanted to…do a lot of things he shouldn’t even think about.
“He was born in Mother Russia,” she said.
How the hell did she know that? “But I wasn’t.” For some reason, it was
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