The Brat, the Bodyguard, and the Bounty Hunter Read online

  Harris holstered his gun and wrapped his arms around his savior. “Oh my God, man, what are you doing here?”

  “Well, that’s a better welcome,” the intruder chuckled, slapping Harris’s back. “At least you know how to keep your gun on you now.”

  “That was a long time ago,” Harris said, damn near blushing. “I never got to thank you for what you did.”

  “No thanks necessary.”

  Harris stared at the man incredulously, almost unable to believe just who he was looking at. “This is embarrassing,” Harris said, “but I never even got told your name.”

  “My name is Tom Waters.”

  “Well, Tom Waters, thanks for saving my life.”

  Tom shrugged. “Like I said, no thanks necessary. This isn’t exactly a social call.”

  “No,” Harris agreed. “You want Fiona for something. What?”

  “Sorry to break this to you, but I have a warrant for her.”

  Harris wasn’t exactly surprised by that piece of news. “A warrant? For what?”

  “Tax evasion, a few other charges. I have papers.”

  “Nothing that would warrant sneaking into her room after dark,” Harris said. He hated to argue with the man who’d once saved his life, but the whole thing was shady. He couldn’t just ignore that. “I could have shot you.”

  “Well, it was mighty nice of you not to do that.” Blue eyes twinkled unrepentantly. “I’m glad to see you made it out of that war alive. Figured I’d see if you were more on your toes these days.”

  Harris felt a pang of admiration. This guy was cool as a cat. He hadn’t changed, not a bit. He’d shaved the beard and cut the hair, but that was about all.

  “I did,” Harris said. “Thanks to you.”

  “We all need a helping hand, or bullet every now and then,” Tom smiled. “Looks like you did a fine job of keeping yourself intact after that.”

  “I did okay,” Harris said modestly. Fact was, he’d done more than okay. He’d risen to command several units, but that wasn’t important. What was important was working out why Tom Waters was on Fiona Fayrefield’s tail. “May I see the warrants?”

  “You may.”

  Tom pulled the paperwork out of his pocket and handed it to Harris, who shook the papers out and glanced over them. They looked real enough, but that didn’t mean they were real.

  “This warrant means nothing outside of the United States,” he pointed out.

  “Oh, I know,” Tom said. “I was hoping Miss Fayrefield might accompany me back to the States of her own free will.”

  That almost made Harris laugh. “I don’t think you’re going to have much luck on that front. She’s spent the last few weeks making sure she’s insulated over here. And Europe’s a big place. I wouldn’t expect cooperation from her any time soon.”

  Tom smiled as if nothing Harris had mentioned was an obstacle to him. “I’ll talk to the little lady and see if she might change her mind about that.”

  “And you thought you’d talk to the lady in the middle of the night? Or did you have something else in mind?”

  “Pays to test security,” Tom replied unrepentantly. “Yours is fairly good, but you’re at least a man short.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you were asleep on the job,” Tom said. “You can’t do this all on your own.”

  Harris was about to disagree, but he realized there was no point in arguing with Tom. The man had a point. “Do you provide advice to everyone you break in on?”

  “Not usually,” Tom winked.

  In spite of the strangeness of the situation, Harris was pleased to see Tom. Damn pleased.

  “I asked who you were,” he said. “After you saved my ass. But they had no idea.”

  “We were black ops back then,” Tom said. “No names.” He slung himself into an armchair. “When I saw your picture at my client’s house, I recognized you right away, even though you do look a little different when you’re not two seconds away from death.”

  “So who is your client?” Harris sat across from Tom. The past had just walked back into his life, but he had to keep his mind on Fiona. She was sleeping mere feet away, trusting him to keep her safe.

  “Her father, Lord Fayrefield. He’d like her to go on home so he can help her out of the trouble she’s in.”

  “I really don’t see that happening,” Harris said. “She’s a handful and she knows her own mind.”

  “I’m sure she does,” Tom nodded. “Her father said she was spirited.”

  His eyes were all lit up, like he was excited by the prospect of meeting Fiona. Harris had seen the man take down Taliban like they were nothing, but he was pretty sure Tom was going to have a lot more trouble with Fiona than he anticipated.

  “Why don’t you stay here tonight,” Harris suggested, “talk to Fiona in the morning. This suite has more than enough bedrooms for all of us.”

  Tom looked at him somewhat askance. “You trust me like that? You didn’t even know my name until five minutes ago.”

  “I trusted you with my life,” Harris said simply. “There’s no closer trust than that.”

  Tom smiled. “You’re a good man, Harris.”

  Harris was a good man, but he wasn’t stupid either. Once Tom had turned in for the night, Harris set himself up for sleep by the door in Fiona’s room. He trusted Tom, but he wasn’t going to be negligent either.

  Fiona barely stirred as he set himself up all cozy in the corner by the door, curled up on cushions from the couch. It was more comfortable than any of his old military beds had been. He found Fiona’s soft sleeping breaths very soothing as he drifted off to sleep for the second time.

  Chapter Five

  Fiona woke up to a pleasant Milan morning. It had been a long time since she’d been awake before lunch, let alone early enough to see the golden rays of sun creeping over ancient buildings. She stood at the window and drew a deep breath in. Even the air was different in Italy, spiced with exotic perfumes, the rarefied oxygen that once sustained Caesar himself, so she fancied.

  She grabbed a shower in the en-suite and dressed herself in a hot pink silk tunic style dress which gathered itself about her waist and made the most of the curve of her hip. Looking at herself in the mirror, flapping up the hem of the skirt to see how her bottom looked, Fiona giggled.

  Harris had spanked her. And it had been hot. Well, not all hot, but hot enough in the light of day. She was looking forward to seeing him again, but first she was going to make herself presentable. More than presentable, she was going to make herself irresistible.

  Laying out palettes of color, Fiona spent a good hour picking amongst her cosmetics, blending shades across her cheekbones, creating flattering contours across her nose and cheekbones, and making the most of her favorite feature, her eyes. One blue. One green. Both gorgeous.

  By the time Fiona emerged from her room, the sun was well into its journey across the sky.

  “Harris?” She called his name. Usually he checked on her at least once a morning. He hadn’t been in that morning, which was a little strange.

  “Out here, Fiona,” he called back from across the suite. “We have company.”

  Company? How could they possibly have company? They hadn’t been in Milan for a full 24 hours yet, and Fiona had made sure not to tell any of her friends where she was going. She’d even refrained from the usual selfies posted on Evergram, Squealer and her favorite, Bookface.

  Her high heels made a clip clopping sound on the tile as she made her way through to one of the suite’s three living areas. Harris was in a small lounge set under great glass windows and replete with soft leather couches. There was a television a good five feet high on the far wall, but it wasn’t the television that got Fiona’s attention. It was the incredibly attractive man sitting on the couch off to the side, the one who smiled at her with an eye crinkling warmth that made her feel as though they’d known one another forever.


  “Hello,” she smiled, toying with a curling strand of her blonde mane. “Who is this?”

  “Fiona,” Harris said. “This is Tom. He’s an old friend of mine. And he’s a bounty hunter.”

  “What the hell is he doing here?” All interest in Tom’s physical form flew out of Fiona’s head at the revelation. Harris may as well have revealed that the rug she was standing on was woven from live snakes. She took a step back and scowled at both men furiously, forgetting all about being pleasant or alluring.

  “How could you, Harris?” She raised her voice in a shrill tone and berated her bodyguard. “I paid for us to fly all the way out here to the middle of nowhere and you let a bounty hunter find me on the first day?”

  “Milan is a city of 1.3 million people,” Harris corrected her. “Hardly the middle of nowhere. And Tom found us before we left America.”

  “You’re fired,” she shot at him, thoroughly annoyed at being corrected and even more annoyed that he didn’t seem to realize how badly he’d fucked up. “You’re fired and you…” she pointed at the man on the couch whose name had completely slipped her mind. “…you get out of here now, before I call the police.”

  “Relax, Miss Fayrefield,” the man on the couch said in a soothing drawl. “I’m not here to drag you back to the States.”

  “What are you here for then? A makeover? Maybe a manicure? Get out of my apartment. Now. Harris, make him leave.”

  “You just fired me,” Harris said grimly.

  “Fine,” Fiona said, picking up the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be a rather pretty vase. She turned her attention back to the intruder. “Get out or so help me I’ll…”

  “Redecorate?”

  The word rolled from Tom with distinct amusement. Not only was he not concerned about her vase wielding ways, he was not moving, either. Fine. If he wanted to play tough guy, she could play tough gal too. People always thought socialites were so refined, but Fiona had been cat fighting since she was old enough to notice that someone else was wearing the same dress as her. She would not allow anyone, woman or man to disrespect her and get away with it.

  She hurled the vase with all her strength. It went flying through the air and she waited those few split seconds for the satisfying sound of crashing plaster and ceramic. But she was denied that too, because Tom caught the vase, set it down on the coffee table in front of him and calmly asked if they might talk a little before she threw the next object.

  “To hell with you both!” she screamed. “I’m going to get coffee.”

  And that was precisely what she did. She gathered her cute little matching clutch and she stormed out of the suite and down to the hotel restaurant, where properly subservient waiters asked her what she wanted to drink in delightfully broken English.

  Finally, a little respect. That wasn’t too much to ask for, was it? Respect and maybe a biscotti. She got both.

  Once her stomach was full, she had a chance to ruminate on her situation. Ever since getting to Milan, Fiona had experienced the deeply unpleasant and incessantly creeping feeling of losing every bit of her inherent control. She did not like it. She did not like it at all.

  That Tom person had managed to chase her out of her own suite, for crying out loud. She’d left him there, with all her possessions. He was probably going through her underwear drawer, further violating her privacy. Why Harris was allowing it, Fiona could not begin to imagine. He’d said Tom was a friend. Had he called someone else in to help? Without so much as asking her? Oh that would not do. That would not do even a little bit.

  “I am the queen of my castle,” Fiona murmured to herself, “and I will expel these intruders.”

  Thinking thusly, she made her way back up to the suite, a little disappointed that you couldn’t stomp your way up in an elevator. At least when you walked, you could make a lot of noise with your feet so people knew how much they had angered you and could cower appropriately.

  She made up for it on the hall connecting the elevator and the suite. This time, they would listen. Oh, they would both listen or she would turn them out on the streets of Milan to forage for themselves.

  Reaching her room, Fiona took hold of the double doors and flung them wide, making a furious entrance. Both men looked up at her arrival, which was quite gratifying. What was less so was the fact that they had been sipping coffee—her coffee—and chatting with one another like a couple of old women at a knitting circle. They were quite at ease on leather couches, enjoying the Milan sunshine.

  “Why are you still here?” Fiona glared at the man who sounded like a cowboy with the full force of her imperious stare.

  “Because we haven’t had our little chat yet,” Tom replied. He said it as if he had some right to chat with her. As if she were not Fiona Fayrefield. There were many men who wished to enjoy her time, she did not have to give it to those who treated her so rudely.

  “I’m not talking to you. I want you to leave.” That was all she had to say to Tom, and all she was going to say. She turned her further attentions to her bodyguard. “Harris, it’s time we switched hotels. This one isn’t safe anymore.”

  Harris raised one of his dark, refined brows. “Shall I take it I am no longer fired?”

  “Of course you’re not fired,” she snapped. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Irritation flashed across Harris’s face as he stood and crossed over toward her. “Don’t speak to me that way, Fiona.”

  “I’ll speak to you how I like,” she snapped. “You work for me. If you don’t like it… Ow!”

  He slapped her bottom. Hard. Very hard. Enough that she jumped and lost a stiletto and had to be steadied.

  “That hurt!”

  “Good,” Harris ground out. “It’s going to hurt more if you don’t mind your tongue. I’m not your employee, Fiona. You’re my client.”

  “Same thing.”

  “No. It’s not,” he said. “I don’t take orders from you, I’m not your lackey, and you don’t talk to me like you own me.”

  His hand was still on her arm from where he’d steadied her. She felt it tighten moments before his palm started landing on her cheek again, spanking her over and over in front of the handsome, interloping stranger. Tottering on one heel made it impossible for Fiona to go anywhere or do anything while the punishment was happening. All she could do was sustain her balance and squeal like a trapped rat as Harris slapped her cheeks, his hand sweeping up under her short dress to catch the bare skin exposed in thong panties.

  It hurt like hell, and it was the most embarrassing thing that had happened to Fiona in her entire life since the day before, which had been the most embarrassing thing in her life up until that point. She was breaking records she really didn’t want broken. Whining and squealing soon turned into begging for him to stop as his hand landed over and over. This was no little warning slap; this was an actual spanking delivered upright.

  She managed to kick her shoes off, but that only resulted in dancing about on tippy toes as Harris spanked her to the point of tears and beyond. By the time he let go, they were coursing down her cheeks, smudging her mascara and making her look completely ugly—the worst indignity of all.

  Clutching at her bottom in defeat, Fiona fled to her room. There she slammed the door shut behind herself, not once, but twice. She was outraged. Beyond outraged. The spanking thing had been cute when it was a swat or two here or there, or when he was caressing her skin in the privacy of her bedroom, but doing it so hard, and doing it in front of a stranger, no, an enemy? That would not stand! That would not stand at all!

  Fiona resorted to first principles, the primary method she’d used all her life to get her own way. She threw a tantrum of epic proportions. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she picked up everything in the room that wasn’t nailed down and threw it across to the other side.

  Crystal glass shards peppered the air, their tinkling destruction accompanied by a feminine caterwaul, a battle cry of d
estruction and rage. In that moment, the heiress was no different than any ancient bandit, indeed her fearsomely painted face would no doubt have terrified those who crossed her path of destruction.

  Not long after her tantrum began, the doors to her room burst open. Harris came through them with a look of determination on his face, his dark brows set low, his lips thinned as she whirled about, all flaring nostrils and flailing locks.

  “Get out!”

  He did not get out. He grabbed her, his hands catching her by the wrists and pinning them to her sides first, then, quick as an adder, he let go of one wrist and wrapped an arm about her waist, pulling her against his body.

  “You’re going into a time out, young lady,” he told her grimly.

  When she refused, he had no problem lifting her off her feet and carrying her out of the room and into a much smaller, much emptier space. It was a closet of some kind, not a poky little thing, but a walk in closet. There were shelves and rails, but nothing else. Harris set her on her feet inside the little cell.

  “You’ll stay here until you calm down, and then we’re going to have a long talk.”

  “You’re fired!” She screamed as he shut the doors on her.

  He didn’t seem to care.

  Fuming, Fiona paced the space. She was now barefoot, so there was nothing in the way of stiletto heels with which to wreak havoc. Her temper was still boiling over, but with nothing to vent it on, she was stuck pacing like a caged tiger.

  For long minutes she walked around and around and around, fuming to herself, clenching her fists and planning terrible revenge on both Harris and Tom. Oh they would rue the day they had ever heard the name Fiona Fayrefield. They would rue it until the day they died. She would never forgive Harris for this, never, not ever, not if she lived until the sun burned out and the planet went cold.

  Slowly she began to tire and some of the anger drained away. She was still very upset, but the reality of a sore bottom was sinking in more and more. Every step burned, even with a light skirt against her cheeks she could feel a heightened sensitivity when the fabric brushed against the tender skin not protected by panties.