Christine Flynn - The Reluctant Heiress

Ben placed a sheet of paper from his notepad next to the phone base on her end table. From beyond the windows came the sharp reports of car doors closing, the muffled hums of engines starting up.

“The police said this address will be on the patrol list tonight,” he continued, reiterating what the officers had told her themselves. “They’ll give a description of Jackson and Schroeder to the next shift, so whoever is patrolling will know they belong out there. I’ll have Schroeder take you to school in morning. What time do you need to leave here?”

It seemed to Jillian that she should feel relieved as the sounds of cars and vans begin to fade. The reporters were leaving. The bulk of them, anyway. She had two very large men watching out for her. She had the expertise of a ruthlessly efficient, undoubtedly very expensive publicist who seemed to think of everything, including arranging transportation for her so she could get to school. Yet, relief simply wasn’t there. She was no longer being hounded, harassed or pursued. She was now, however, a prisoner in her own home.

“I need to be there by eight.” Shoving her fingers through her hair, she swallowed the pride she feared would only come back to bite her, anyway. “Ten to will be fine.”

This time yesterday she would have flatly refused the offer of a driver. The bodyguards, too, for that matter. She wanted nothing from William. The past few hours, though, had taught her that her pride provided lousy protection from reporters, and even worse security. She might not want William to do her any favors, but she wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for him. Accepting a ride to and from school tomorrow and some muscle to keep the press at bay seemed only practical.

Then there was Ben. She didn’t want anything from him, either. She didn’t want to want anything, anyway. But at that moment, she honestly didn’t know what she would have done without him.

The moment he’d walked in, the growing panic she’d felt had actually lessened. It had all reasserted itself, but just knowing he could handle the ropes she’d probably hang herself with was huge.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “I know you’re just doing your job, but I appreciate you taking care of…everything.”

“Not a problem. Can you think of anything else you need tonight?”

“Just the ability to make myself invisible,” she muttered. “Either that or a transporter.”

“A transporter?”

“You know. One of those things that scrambles your molecules and moves you at light speed from one place to another.” She wouldn’t need a driver then.

“I thought a woman did that with the twitch of her nose.”

She met the hint of a smile in his eyes. “We obviously hang out with different types and age groups.” She tipped her head, gave a small shrug. “Since I don’t imagine you have an invisibility cloak or transporter with you, I guess your work here is done for now.”

The small smile she offered was guarded, a faint shadow of the sunshine-bright expression he’d glimpsed in the brief seconds yesterday before she’d realized who he was.

He should have felt relieved to get any smile from her at all. And he might have, had it not been for the strain behind it. Even with her lush mouth curved at the corners and a glint of light revealing the flecks of bronze and gold in her deep-brown eyes, she looked defeated somehow. Defeated, and a little lost.

He pulled his glance, his brow furrowing. “Is there anyone you want here with you tonight? A relative? A girlfriend?”

She shook her head, her mop of soft-looking curls swaying against her shoulders. The lock she’d pushed behind her ear sprang free to brush her cheek. “I’m my only family. And I’m not sure I’d be good company for any of my friends tonight.” She might try to reach Stacy again later. But she really didn’t feel like spending the whole evening talking about what she’d rather not think about at all. “I’m fine.”

The hell she was, he thought. “Then I’ll let Schroeder know what time to be at your door.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured back, and nudged the hair from her cheek.

His fingertips grazed her skin as he tucked the long curl behind her ear. The softness of it had barely registered when he realized that the motion had curved his hand at the side of her face—and that she had gone as still as he had himself.

His eyes caught hers. He had just breached a professional line he would never have crossed had he thought for a second about what he was doing. But he hadn’t thought, and that wasn’t like him at all.

Feeling the warmth of her skin penetrate his palm, he slowly pulled back his hand. As he did, she touched her fingertips to her cheek as if to hold in that small, unexpected contact.

It took a lot to unnerve him. What he had just done certainly had. But the thought that she might actually be feeling as lost as she looked just then unnerved him even more.

“I’ll meet you here after school tomorrow.” He had thought about asking if she wanted to work on her statement for the press. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he decided she’d dealt with enough for now. Not comfortable with how bad he felt for her, distance seemed like a better idea, anyway. “We can work on your statement then.”

Jillian quickly lowered her hand, gave him a nod. Judging from the six feet of silent space he’d put between them, what he’d just done had caught him as off guard as it had her.

She curled her fingers into her palm, thinking of the unexpected tenderness in his touch, hoping he didn’t realize how the simple gesture had affected her. “I’d rather you figure out a way for me to avoid having to give one.”

“I’ll call if I come up with anything.” Taking another step back, he gave her a guarded smile. “In the meantime, I’ll see you here about four.”

She’d barely given him a nod before he let himself out the front door.

Almost immediately, she heard a car door slam. Then another. Reporters were no doubt scrambling to see if they couldn’t get something from him after all.

The room suddenly seemed too quiet. Automatically she moved to the remote control for the television, raised the volume on Dr . Phil . She would lose herself in someone else’s problems for a while. Then, she’d go through her closet and sort out the stickers she’d stashed there, the ones for all the holidays and those that said Good Job! and Much Improved! Anything to avoid wondering why she hadn’t felt so alone until he’d touched her, or why she hadn’t pulled back first herself.

By eleven o’clock the next morning, her only thoughts of Ben were to wonder what influence he had with the National Guard. Thomas Jefferson Elementary school was a zoo. Isolated in the library, Jillian hadn’t been aware of the worst of it until Jan Nguyn, one of the third-grade teachers, rushed in to tell her that Roland, one of the janitors, had just chased a guy with a camera out of the girls’ room in Hall C. And that a reporter was wandering around Hall D looking for her.

Within seconds of that breathless announcement, Jillian heard the school secretary page her to the principal’s office.

Dr. Geraldine Webster was the principal who’d hired Jillian fresh from student teaching eight years ago. Considering what Jillian had heard from other teachers in other schools, the sixtyish PhD with the stylish gray bob and a penchant for pantsuits and brightly rimmed bifocals was a teacher’s dream. She championed her staff to the school board. She went to battle for them when necessary, commiserated with them when her hands were tied and truly seemed to hear their complaints and suggestions. She was fair and forthright and with few exceptions, most notably, Yvonne Bliss, the staff thought she could walk on water.