“Just think.” Pilar took Loup’s hand. “Four months ago, Magnus wouldn’t let us go to the airport bookstore without a babysitter. Now we’re walking around a strange city at night, all on our own, with accounts worth ten thousand euros.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t advertise that last part, Pilar.”
“You’re right, that was dumb. Sorry.” She squeezed her hand. “I have to remember to be smart about danger. That’s my job, right? But it’s easy to forget when I’m with you, because I do feel so safe.” She smiled. “My little animal.”
Loup laughed and growled deep in her throat; it was low, feral, and menacing, and nothing like Pilar’s sexy, teasing growl earlier.
“Jesus!” Pilar stared at her open-mouthed. “Do it again.”
She did.
“That made all the hair on my arms stand up.” Pilar showed her. “Baby, sometimes I forget how much deadly your cute is hiding. Did you know you could do that?”
“No,” Loup said thoughtfully. “It never occurred to me.”
“Is it weird that it kinda turned me on?” Pilar shook her head. “Don’t answer that. It’s weird. Swear to God, I think there’s something wrong with me.”
“Sorry.”
“Oh, don’t worry. It’s nothing I’d want fixed.” She glanced around. “I’m just trying to figure out the quickest way back to the hotel.”
In the morning, they met with the prospective client.
Fiorella Picco received them in an elegant, spacious office of the headquarters of the family import and export business. Like her kinsman, she was tall with an imperious demeanor. Unlike the designer, she spoke—or admitted to speaking—fluent English. She paced back and forth behind her gleaming desk, outlining her dilemma. Her fiancé, Domenico, sat quietly in a chair, content to let her run the show. A bodyguard in a tailored suit stood nearby, arms folded.
“This quarrel.” She paced, gesticulating. “My brother, his brother. They will ruin the wedding. I know it. I know it. They cannot be in a room together without coming to blows. They ruined our engagement party. They will ruin the wedding reception.”
Magnus crossed his legs, smoothing the immaculate crease of his trousers. “I take it their attendance is a given?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “They are family!”
“Of course.” He inclined his head. “And your own security…?”
“Oh, no. No, no, no!” She shook her head vigorously. “It will not suffice. Both sides will have their people there. What one begins, the other… what is the word?” She snapped her fingers. “Escalates.”
“Our engagement party became a brawl,” Domenico confirmed. “Bones were broken.”
“Guns?” Magnus inquired.
“Drawn, but not fired.”
Pilar swallowed visibly.
“So you see why we require a neutral party to keep the peace,” Fiorella Picco said. “I will not have my wedding ruined. Vincenzo’s idea has promise.” Her gaze settled on Pilar. “I see what he meant. Stand up. How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” Pilar said, standing. “Nineteen next month.”
“Such a baby!” Fiorella patted her cheek, then eyed her critically. “You could pass for younger in less professional clothes. Shall we say seventeen?”
“Excuse me?”
“My brother, Pasquale, he is very…” She snapped her fingers. “Lecherous. Very lecherous. He likes young women, very young women, pretty ones with…” She hoisted her own breasts. “With a lot to show. So. Vincenzo said you were vivacious. You think you could distract my lecherous brother for a few hours?”
“Yeah, sure, I suppose.”
Another pat on the cheek. “Good girl. If he is thinking with his prick, he is not thinking with his fists.”
“What about Gustavo?” Domenico inquired.
“Loup can handle your brother,” Magnus assured him. “You see, that’s the beauty of her services. No man in his right mind wishes to court public humiliation at the hands of a young woman half his size.”
They looked skeptical.
“Allow me to demonstrate.” He rose. “Permit me the use of your man?” They nodded. “Very good. You, sir.” He pointed to the bodyguard. “Try to get past Loup to reach me. Loup, don’t let him.”
“Yes, sir.” She put herself between them.
The bodyguard shook his head and grinned, then attempted to brush past Loup. She shifted to block him, placing one hand on his chest and holding him at bay. He tried to wrench her arm away, glanced down in surprise when it didn’t budge. She took his hand in a come-along grip, grabbed his other elbow, and steered him gently backward. He went, stumbling, a comical look on his face.
“Luciano!” Fiorella uttered a string of Italian.
“No, signorina!” he said helplessly. “No pretending!”
Domenico gave a low whistle. “So it is true.”
“Absolutely.” Magnus offered a courtly bow. “Lupe Herrera is the world’s only optimally engineered bodyguard.”
“Actually, I wasn’t—” Loup began.
He gave her a look. “Quite a team, aren’t they?”
“Indeed.” Fiorella looked perturbed. “Though explaining their presence—”
“Ah.” Magnus raised one finger. “That’s where Sabine plays a role. As it happens, you both attended the same boarding school in Lausanne a mere two years apart. You shall claim to be her dear girlhood friend who happens to be traveling with young visitors in tow.”
Sabine’s lip curled.
“He totally stole that idea from Ms. Coxcombe,” Pilar whispered to Loup.
“I know,” she whispered back.
Magnus gave them both a look. “And Sabine has a great deal of experience. She is a highly skilled, highly trained bodyguard with years of work in the field. Her presence would ensure an unparalleled level of competence and professionalism. I assure you, we can promise you a peaceable wedding and reception.”
The Italian couple conferred in Italian.
“Mr. Lindberg.” Fiorella Picco put out her hand. “I believe we have a deal.”
He smiled toothily. “Excellent!”
Back at the hotel, Pilar collapsed in disgust. “Jesus fucking Christ! You mean to tell me I spent four months busting my ass and frying my brain to become a secret agent bodyguard personal assistant, and the first time I get hired for real, it’s for my tits?”
Loup eyed her. “Yep.”
“Some things never change.”
“It’s just one job.” Loup stroked her arm. “And Vincenzo Picco would never have recommended you if you hadn’t done such an awesome job.”
“You think?”
“I know.” Loup went to answer a knock at the door. She blinked in surprise at Sabine. “Umm… hi.”
“I am to take you shopping,” Sabine said without preamble. “You require clothing suitable for a wedding and we have only two days to prepare.”
“I can shop without your help,” Pilar called in reply. “As you noticed.”
Gritted teeth. “Mr. Lindberg insists. We are to practice being civil to one another and rehearse our cover story.”
“Fine.”
They shared a cab to a shopping district filled with expensive boutiques, where Pilar combed through racks of clothing, holding up dresses against her body.
“Too vulgar,” Sabine opined.
“It’s got to be a little bit vool-gar,” Pilar said absently. “Not enough to offend anyone, not inappropriate or anything, just enough for the guy to notice. Men don’t go for subtle.”
“Now you are an expert on men?” Sabine asked with a pointed glance at Loup.
“Courtesy of my torrid past.” Pilar fished out a long, slinky red dress and thrust it at Sabine. “This would look really good on you. Not for the wedding, but you should try it on.”
Sabine shoved the dress back at her. “I do not wear red. And you are too young to have a torrid past.”
“I started early.”
“She did,” Loup agreed.
“And you should wear red,” Pilar added. “You’ve got the coloring to carry it off.” She looked at Sabine’s suspicious face. “What? I’m trying to bond with you through the universal female language of clothing, okay? Just try the damn dress on.”
She did, grumbling.
The dress looked fabulous.
“See?” Pilar said with satisfaction. “I bet Magnus’ eyes would pop out of his head if he saw you right now.”
Sabine narrowed her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
She busied herself with another clothing rack. “No reason. Loup, are you finding anything? Okay, try this one.”
“It will not be a good length for her.”
Pilar considered the dress. “You know, you’re right. Thanks.”
Sabine offered a slightly less poisonous smile than usual. “We are not bonding, you and I. But I am not willing to be outdone by you in a game of civility.”
“Works for me,” Loup said.
After finding dresses, they moved on to shoes.
“No.” Loup shook her head, rejecting Sabine’s suggestion of a high-heeled pump to match the champagne-colored shantung silk sheath dress she’d bought. “No heels.”
“It’s a wedding!” The look of disgust returned. “You will be required to wear formal attire at formal occasions in this job.”
“They mess with my center of balance. I don’t like it.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
“It’s okay, baby,” Pilar said. “We’ll find something that will work.”
Sabine sniffed. “I’m surprised you’re siding with her on this.”
