was, of course, the reason she’d been such a sensation on the pop music scene. Belatedly, it occurred to him that she was actually wearing a perfectly modest dress, not showing a hint of cleavage, nor an inch of extra thigh. Her signature platinum blond hair was twisted up in a clip of some kind behind her head, and her makeup was understated.
Those silver-blue bedroom eyes of hers penetrated right through him as she looked up at him politely. She held out a perfectly manicured hand. “Hi, I’m Silver. It’s nice to meet you.” Her voice was honey sweet, hinting at the million-dollar sound that had made her famous.
Suppressing an urge to stammer, he replied, “Austin Dearing, Miss Rothchild.”
One graceful brow arched at his shift of her name into the formal. She glanced over at her father questioningly.
“This, my dear, is your other birthday present.”
Silver’s startled gaze shot back to his. Chagrin abruptly warmed his cheeks. He was a birthday present? An elite-trained, highly-decorated war hero who led men into the jaws of death on a routine basis? Harold made him sound like a damned trained monkey!
His brows slammed together. Favor or not, General Sarkin could take this job and shove it. He wasn’t anybody’s pet.
Silver murmured in an appalled undertone, “What are you up to, Daddy?”
“Austin is a bodyguard.”
The rosy blush in Silver’s porcelain face drained away, lending a faintly gray cast to her complexion. Austin frowned, his internal alarm system exploding to life. He was missing something, here. Silver Rothchild was deathly afraid of something. Or someone. His protective instincts roared to the fore, jolting his every sense onto high alert. He abruptly didn’t like the press of people around her, didn’t like how exposed she was up on this raised dais above the crowd. He needed to be in front of her, between her and the balcony to his left that was a perfect perch for a sniper.
She choked out, “I already have a bodyguard, Father.”
“And he’s an idiot. Captain Dearing comes highly recommended by a friend of mine. He’s the best. After Candace…”
Rothchild trailed off. Silver closed her eyes in pain, obviously understanding her father’s veiled reference. Austin’s brain kicked into overdrive. Was there more to the Candace Rothchild murder investigation than met the eye? Was the killer targeting other members of the Rothchild family? That would certainly explain daddy bringing in a high-powered bodyguard to protect his most famous child.
Silver seemed to gather herself together. She said more strongly, “I appreciate your concern, Dad, but I don’t need another bodyguard. I’m perfectly safe with the one I have.”
“What about that incident last week?”
“Brakes fail on cars. And Las Vegas is as flat as a pancake. I coasted to a perfectly safe stop.”
“You were supposed to drive up into the mountains that day. What if your brakes had failed then?”
“Well, I didn’t go up into the mountains and everything was fine.”
Austin had to give the girl credit. Her father was a big, intimidating guy, and she was showing pluck to stand her ground like this. Brake failure, huh? In his experience, the brakes on any reasonably well-maintained vehicle never, ever failed of their own volition.
Rothchild turned to him. “Ignore her. She needs a decent bodyguard, and I’m signing your paycheck.”
Austin glanced over at the singer, who looked more than irritated. For just a second, her wonderfully expressive eyes looked…haunted. What in the hell was going on that had a wild woman like her looking like that? No doubt about it. She put his protective instincts on full combat alert.
He turned back to her father and nodded firmly. “I’ll protect her with my life, sir.”
“But—” Silver began.
Harold cut her off. “No buts. Austin Dearing is your bodyguard now. Consider him part of our earlier deal.”
Whatever that deal was, Silver subsided immediately. But this time, resentment simmered at the back of her transparent gaze. Didn’t like being pushed around by daddy dearest. But she was thirty years old according to the banner over her head. She could tell the guy to go to hell if he was that big a pain.
Rothchild gestured at one of the waiters passing by. “Take Mr. Dearing’s bag. Check him into the New Yorker Villa and see to it his gear gets up there.” Rothchild glanced over at Austin. “As of now, you’re on duty.”
For his part, Austin nodded and kept his thoughts to himself. Good thing he’d slept most of the way back from Afghanistan on the various flights that brought him here. Jetlag going east to west wasn’t that bad, but he was twelve time zones out of sync at the moment. Of course, Harry Rothchild wasn’t in the business of caring about anyone’s comfort other than his guests’. For his part, Austin was used to the uncomfortable demands of guarding someone else’s life.
Speaking of which, Silver turned away from her father and pushed heedlessly into the crowd. But not before Austin caught the flash of naked fear in her eyes. What was going on with her? The currents of mystery and danger swirling around her were palpable. And it was his job to decipher those currents and deflect them away from her at all costs. Of course, Rothchild hadn’t exactly helped him get off on the right foot with his famously willful daughter. Austin sighed. Time for some serious damage control. And to think, he’d been on the job a grand total of thirty seconds.
Silver glanced over her shoulder as a deep voice growled from behind her, “We need to talk, Miss Rothchild.”
At least her father’d had the decency to pick a jailer who was easy on the eyes. He was a big man wrapped in muscle. Good looking in a chiseled, all-American kind of way. Totally not her kind of guy. She liked them dark and dangerous, and always seemed to end up with lean, jaded Europeans. He was all tawny and bronze, with a deep tan and sun-streaked blond streaks. His eyes were dark. Mysterious. Smoking hot, in fact. He looked like a male model for sailing attire.
She so wasn’t stopping to talk to him. He was the living embodiment of everything she hated about how her father was forever manipulating and controlling her life. If Austin Dearing wanted to play bodyguard, he could darn well keep up with her.
She needed to be alone. To assimilate all that had happened in the past few minutes. To figure out how she was going to juggle her secret pregnancy and this incredible opportunity to perform. And then there was Mark. Now she’d have to string him along for even longer, perhaps most of the way through her pregnancy. It would depend on when the shows were scheduled. Yep, that was the key to pulling this thing off. How pregnant would she be by the time the shows happened? No doubt the promoters would want her half-naked and gyrating like she always had. Might be a teensy bit hard to do that looking like Shamu.
She hurried toward the casino, praying that no one would waylay her so Austin could catch up. Thankfully, she’d grown up in this place and knew every slot machine, every twist and turn, like the back of her hand. She zigzagged across the casino practically at a run and made her way to Saul Morgenstern’s office by the Grand Theater. He was the vice president in charge of entertainment and the man who would schedule her gig.
Skipping his anal retentive secretary, Silver used her master key card to let herself directly into his office’s private entrance. He looked up, startled, phone to his ear, then waved her to a chair in front of his desk.
He shouted into the phone, “Christ, Nigel! These changes are going to cost me a million bucks. Newsflash, your boys aren’t worth it…No I’m not giving them an entire floor of the hotel. Just because your band is British doesn’t mean they’re the freaking Beatles!…and you can procure your owned damned call girls for them. I’m not a