Guarding his Honey: BBW Paranormal Bear Shifter Romance (Honey for the Billionbear Book 2) Read online

  "Not yet. Let's circle back to the house. Maybe there's a basement or something we missed."

  Around her, the woods grew quiet again.

  Helen crawled out of her hiding spot on wobbly legs. Her stomach clenched and twisted. She had to get farther away. They might come back for her at any moment.

  She felt her way through the woods, guided only by the dim shine of moonlight. The trees grew more sparse, so it became easier to see, but the forest floor was still treacherous in the dark. Loose rocks shifted beneath her feet. Branches cracked. The slightest sound seemed as loud as a gunshot to her ears. There wasn't any sound of pursuit yet, no calls from the men hunting her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that they were right behind her.

  She'd run out barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt, no protection against the cold night air. Thorns caught at her arms, leaving stinging scrapes. Helen flinched and wrapped her arms around herself. She was starting to shiver. What was she going to do? She hadn't even had time to take her cell phone. She had no way to call for help.

  Suddenly she broke out of the cover of the trees. The light of the moon was brighter out here; after the long time she'd spent squinting through the darkness of the woods, Helen was surprised to find how well she could suddenly see. There was a dark shape in front of her, an enormous stone building—the old mansion, Helen realized with a jolt. They'd played in the garden sometimes as children, back when it had still been abandoned. Ryan had moved into the mansion a few years ago, and now Isabella lived here with him. With both of them gone on their honeymoon, the mansion would be empty, but there had to be a phone inside…

  Now all she needed was a way to get in.

  The windows on the ground floor had been barred, but the ones on the second floor didn't seem to be secured, and there was a tree leaning precariously towards that balcony…

  Cursing and sweating, Helen clambered up the trunk. She hadn't climbed a tree in more than a decade, but adrenaline fueled her strength. The rough bark tore at the unprotected skin of her hands and feet, but it also offered convenient holds for her fingers and toes. Helen gritted her teeth and hauled herself up inch by inch.

  Finally she was standing on top of a thick branch, peering over at the balcony. From up here, the distance seemed a lot further than it had from the ground…

  Helen looked down, and immediately regretted it. If she misjudged the distance and fell, she'd almost certainly break her legs, or even her neck.

  Tears blurred her sight. Helen angrily swiped her hand across her eyes, took a deep breath, and jumped.

  For a breathless, terrifying moment she hung suspended in the air, and then she smacked hard into the balcony railing. Helen clung to it with both hands. She hauled herself headfirst across the railing and landed gracelessly on the floor of the balcony. Her next breath came out as a sob. Stop crying! You've done it, you're okay, she told herself grimly.

  She looked at the closed window, and then down at her unprotected hands. Dammit, why hadn't she thought to bring a stone or something to smash the glass? With a curse, she yanked her t-shirt over her head, shivering in the cool night air. Oh God, if her pursuers found her now…

  She wrapped the fabric around her arm and smashed her elbow through the window. The glass broke into a million shards with a sound loud enough to raise every hair on Helen's body. Nothing she could do about it… If her pursuers had heard the sound, she could only hope help would get here first.

  Helen wrapped the t-shirt around her hand and swept the biggest of the shards aside. Still, she could feel splinters cutting at her knees as she crawled through the empty window frame. The pain hardly registered.

  Helen shook the shards out of her shirt and tugged it back over her head. It was damp with sweat and full of cuts and tears, but she instantly felt better being covered.

  Inside, the house was dark and quiet. Helen didn't dare to turn on a light. She felt her way down the stairs in the dark. The first room she ended up in was the kitchen. There was a big knife block sitting on the counter. Helen grabbed the biggest of the knives. This was probably stupid—what could she do with a knife against a bunch of men armed with guns? Hell, even if she weren't hopelessly outclassed in a fight, did she really think she could stab someone? She was an accountant, for God's sake. She'd never been in a physical fight in her life.

  Still, she felt better with a weapon in her hands.

  The next room she stumbled into was the living room, and there, finally, she found the phone. Helen let out a sob. Oh, thank God, thank God. She hadn't wanted to let herself think about it, but she knew perfectly well how many people didn't even have a landline anymore—she might well have found herself stranded here with no way to call for help.

  There was a neat list of phone numbers lying next to the phone; Isabella was speed dial one. Helen's hands shook so badly she could hardly manage to push the buttons.

  "Hello?" Isabella said, sounding surprised and wary. Helen realized that caller ID must show the call as coming from Ryan's house, which ought to be empty and safely locked up right now.

  "It's me," she said. A sob distorted the words. "H-Helen, I mean," she managed to get out between heaving breaths.

  "Helen? Oh my God, what happened? Are you okay? Ryan! Get here right now, something's happened!"

  "They found me," Helen said. She sobbed again, pressed her fist against her mouth for a moment. Get it together, she told herself angrily. "I got away, I'm hiding in Ryan's house—I, I broke the window, I'm so sorry—"

  "Don't worry about that," Ryan's deep voice broke in. "Are you safe right now? Do they know where you are?"

  I d-don't think so," Helen stammered. Oh God, she hoped they didn't know…

  "All right. Stay where you are. I'm going to call the police and send them—"

  "No police," Helen broke in. There'd been an uneasy feeling gathering in her chest all along, but she hadn't had the time to really think about it, during her wild flight. Now it suddenly came into sharp focus. She thought of the hard, dangerous glint in Officer Bradley's eyes, the way it'd almost seemed like he wanted her to refuse to testify. "I… I think they might be in on this. If Amodeo's bribed the police…"

  There was silence on the line for a long moment. Helen swallowed hard. What was she going to do? Where could she possibly go? She didn't have anything but the ragged clothes she wore. No money, no phone, no car…

  "I'm going to call a friend to send someone to get you," Ryan said.

  For a moment, Helen felt almost dizzy with relief. But…

  "I don't want anyone to be in danger because of me," Helen said quickly. What if Ryan's friend got hurt?

  "Don't worry about it. Glenn's a billionaire, too, just like me. He owns half of NavTech—you know, the company that makes those GPS systems? He can afford to hire as many bodyguards as it takes, okay? I'd come myself, but we're a ten hour flight away from you—"

  "No! Stay where you are!" Helen said, horrified. She knew Isabella well enough to know that if her husband went into danger, she'd be right by his side, and there was no way in hell she wanted Isabella dragged into this.

  "All right. You stay safe—go hide somewhere in the house, and stay on the phone with Bella. I'm going to call Glenn. He's a good guy, I'd trust him with my life. He'll send a bodyguard to get you right away, I promise."

  "All right," Helen said.

  She looked around for a good hiding spot. Finally she crawled into the hallway closet and curled up tightly on herself, shivering. "You still there, Bella?"

  "Of course I am. I’m going to stay right on the phone with you until I know you're safe, okay?"

  "'kay," Helen mumbled. "How's your honeymoon? Just tell me something nice, okay? I'm really scared, Bella."

  "Okay. Okay. You're gonna be all right… We're on this little island in Papua New Guinea… There's no one else here, it's beautiful, the water's really, it's really blue here, I wish you could see it…"

  Isabella's voi
ce shook, but she kept talking determinedly, trying to distract Helen like she'd asked. Helen could hear how hard she was trying to make herself sound calm and reassuring. She gratefully clung to the picture of an island paradise Isabella was painting for her. Isabella kept her on the phone for maybe an hour or so, talking herself hoarse.

  The doorbell rang. Helen flinched.

  "It's okay!" Isabella said. "That's the guy, Ryan's on the phone with him right now. He says everything's safe and quiet outside, and he'll get you out of here. You can hang up now, and open the door, okay? The spare key's on the shelf by the door. Call me when you're safe."

  "All right," Helen said. She didn't want to hang up the phone and lose the safety line of Isabella's voice. She didn't want to leave the security of the closet. She gritted her teeth and made herself stand up.

  When she peered through the spy hole, there was just one man standing there, tall and broad-shouldered, one hand raised in a little wave. Helen took a deep breath. Her attackers wouldn't be politely ringing the doorbell if they'd found her. This must be the bodyguard Ryan had told her his friend would send.

  She opened the door.

  "Hello—whoa, hey." The man interrupted himself in the middle of his greeting, taking a quick step back. He raised his hand placatingly. "I'm Tom. Ryan called. He said you needed someone to get you out of here. I'm not going to hurt you."

  He was staring fixedly at her hand. Helen followed his gaze down, and realized that she was still clutching the kitchen knife in a white-knuckled grip. Her fingers hurt. She felt it from far away, like something in a dream; nothing felt quite real anymore.

  She unclenched her hand with an effort. The knife clattered to the floor.

  "All right. That's a start. I'm going to come in, okay?" Tom said.

  He closed the door behind him and turned on the hallway light. He had blue eyes, sandy hair, and a warm, concerned smile that dimpled the corners of his mouth. Even through her terror, Helen found herself faintly astonished at how good-looking he was, like a broad-shouldered knight right out of a fairytale. It made the whole unreal feeling even worse. In real life, bodyguards were supposed to be craggy, harsh men, not… not fairytale knights.

  Tom wore a bulletproof vest beneath a suit jacket. One of the straps was buckled wrong, Helen noticed absently, as if it had been put on in a great hurry. There was probably something wrong with the way she kept focusing on silly little details like that, she thought. She couldn't seem to snap herself out of it.

  "Hey, you're shaking," Tom said, in a low, concerned voice. He took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. It was warm from his body. Helen huddled gratefully into the heavy fabric, pulling it tightly around her body.

  "You're safe now. Everything's okay," Tom said. He put one arm around her shoulders, lightly, carefully; Helen let out a sob and threw herself into the offered embrace, clinging to him with both hands. She buried her face against Tom's broad chest. The rough fabric of his bulletproof vest scratched at her cheek. She didn't care.

  "Hey, hey," Tom said gently. He wrapped his arms around her and stroked her back with one large, warm hand.

  Helen sniffled, and finally managed to pull herself together. "Sorry," she whispered.

  "It's all right. Here, sit down on the couch for a second, I'm gonna go find the first aid kit. You're bleeding."

  Tom tucked a heavy blanket around her shoulders. Helen pulled it all the way up to her nose, shivering. Embarrassment was starting to cut through everything else, though. She was such a mess.

  "I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me," she said when Tom returned, carrying a first aid kit.

  "There's nothing wrong with you at all. People tried to kill you. You're having a completely normal reaction," Tom said. "I've seen hardened soldiers take it worse than that. You managed to keep it together long enough to get to safety, that's all that matters."

  He crouched down in front of her. "I'm going to have a look at those cuts, okay? I think it's just a whole bunch of scratches, but I don't want to miss anything more serious."

  "Okay," Helen said shakily. Tom knelt down in front of her and started cleaning her cuts and scratches with a disinfectant wipe. She'd expected it to hurt, but Tom was so gentle and careful, she hardly felt more than a faint sting.

  Helen leaned her head back against the couch and tried to blink away the tears clouding her vision. "Don't tell Mr. Glenn what a mess I was, okay? God, I can't believe I have to ask a billionaire for help, this is horrible."

  "Why?" Tom asked, in a very neutral tone.

  He was cleaning out the deepest of the scratches on her shin now, and Helen was distracted enough by the sting that she didn't really think about her answer when she said "I hate rich guys. They're all terrible people."

  She winced right after the words came out of her mouth, belatedly realizing that she was badmouthing Tom's employer. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—I mean, I'm sure some of them are very nice. Ryan seems nice, and he's a billionaire! I thought Isabella was crazy when she started dating him, though. I’m an accountant, we get a lot of really rich guys at the office, and most of them are horrible. Having that much money must be terrible for your character. I'd never date a billionaire! But I'm sure they're not all terrible. I mean. Um."

  She decided to stop talking before she dug herself any deeper into the hole. Tom wasn't looking at her, and his hands were still very gentle on her scraped-up leg, but his shoulders had stiffened.

  "So you're Mr. Glenn's bodyguard, or his driver or something?" Helen asked, trying to change the subject in the hope that Tom would forget about her terrible case of foot-in-mouth syndrome.

  "I… guess you could say that. Sort of," Tom said, slowly enough that Helen winced again, sure now that she really had managed to offend him. But then Tom looked up and gave her a smile. "All right, I've patched up the worst of the scrapes down here. Okay if I take a look at the rest of you?"

  "Um, sure," Helen said, feeling a blush creep up her face as Tom gently unwrapped her from her cocoon of blankets and jacket. She'd been too out of it earlier to really think about the fact that she was wearing nothing but pajama shorts and a cut-up old t-shirt, but now she was becoming painfully aware of how little of her the fabric really covered. Unlike Tom, she wasn't exactly hiding washboard abs beneath her shirt. But if Tom was put off by the extra pounds on her stomach and thighs, he didn't let it show. His touch was sure and careful, as skilled as a doctor's, but far more gentle.

  Finally he nodded decisively and set the supplies aside. "You're good to go. I'll have another look later, but I'll feel better once we're away from here. They might still be out there looking for you."

  Helen shuddered.

  "Don't be afraid," Tom said, and suddenly his gentle voice turned deathly serious. "If they find us, I can handle it. I won't let anything happen to you."

  He pulled her off the couch. "Here, put this on," he said. He unstrapped his bulletproof vest and draped it over her shoulders.

  "But if anything happens, won't you need it? I don't want to take your vest!" Helen said.

  "Like I said, I can handle it. Come on. It's a little bit of a walk—do your feet hurt? I'd carry you, but it'd probably be safer if I had my hands free out there—"

  "I can walk," Helen said quickly. Tom probably could carry her, if it came down to it, with shoulders like that… But the last thing she needed was for him to get an up close and personal demonstration of exactly how heavy she was. The scrapes on her feet actually hurt more now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but she could still handle it.

  There was a pair of Isabella's sandals mixed in with the neat row of Ryan's shoes by the entrance. They were a little small on Helen's feet, but infinitely better than walking barefoot over the rough gravel path.

  Tom led her off the path and into the woods, the heavy flashlight in his hand illuminating a pale half-circle of light in front of them.

  "Where on earth are you hiding that car? There's no road here in the midd
le of the woods," Helen said, looking around in confusion.

  "You'll see in a minute," Tom said with a laugh. Suddenly he froze, holding up one hand. Helen went still, hardly daring to breathe.

  "There she is! Grab her!" someone yelled. They were surrounded by the sound of heavy boots crashing through the underbrush.

  "Get down!" Tom called, pushing her firmly down behind a big boulder. Helen ducked, squinting anxiously into the darkness. Tom had thrown the flashlight down at the first sound of voices. It rolled over the ground, casting a flickering beam that gave her brief glimpses of armored boots and heavy weapons. They were surrounded on all sides. More flashlights came on. Helen blinked, momentarily blinded.

  Beside her, Tom exploded into motion.

  Watching him fight was like watching an earthquake, or a hurricane. Some inexorable, unstoppable force of nature. Tom kicked one man so hard he flew backwards into a tree, whirled around and punched another, snapping his head back; he rammed his elbow into the gut of a third man in a lightning-quick, unbroken motion.

  A shot rang out. Helen yelled a warning, but Tom was already gone, moving too quickly for any of the men to get a fix on him in the darkness. He twisted and turned, kicking guns out of the men's hands, his fists flying. None of the men he hit got back up again. A few of them were moaning weakly; the rest seemed unconscious.

  She'd never seen anyone fight like that. Tom's sheer strength and speed seemed almost superhuman. None of the men stood a chance.

  And then it was over.

  Helen huddled against her boulder, shaking.

  "We need to leave," Tom said. He stretched out his hand. One of the flashlights on the ground pointed right at him now. In the dim light Helen could see dark patches of bruises over his knuckles. She winced.

  "I'm sorry," she said. He'd risked his life and gotten hurt, all for her, when he barely knew her.

  "Don't worry about it," Tom said immediately. "I told you, I can handle it."

  He pulled her to her feet, his big hand warm around hers, and held on to her as he led her quickly through the trees.