The Baron and The Bodyguard

“You tell me I don’t know what I’m doing. Yet every instinct tells me having you in my arms is the right thing…Have I kissed you before?”

Jacinta felt her cheeks flame. “Yes.”

“Have we made love?”

The answer stuck in her throat. “Mathiaz, please…”

“Answer the question or you’re fired.”

She hesitated, wondering whether to call his bluff. “Go ahead and fire me,” she said quietly. The thought of leaving swamped her in misery, but anything was better than dealing with this. Mathiaz couldn’t know that he was rubbing salt into a raw wound with every word.

“I wish I could. But as long as you hold the key to the hole in my memory, I’m not letting you go,” he said.

His eyes brightened, boring into her. “I need you, Jacinta. To help me remember.”

Dear Reader,

Grab a front-row seat on the roller-coaster ride of falling in love. This month, Silhouette Romance offers heart-spinning thrills, including the latest must-read from THE COLTONS saga, a new enchanting SOULMATES title and even a sexy Santa!

Become a fan—if you aren’t hooked already!—of THE COLTONS with the newest addition to the legendary family saga, Teresa Southwick’s Sky Full of Promise (#1624), about a stone-hearted doctor in search of a temporary fiancée. And single men don’t stay so for long in Jodi O’Donnell’s BRIDGEWATER BACHELORS series. The next rugged Texan loses his solo status in His Best Friend’s Bride (#1625).

Love is magical, and it’s especially true in our wonderful SOULMATES series, which brings couples together in extraordinary ways. In DeAnna Talcott’s Her Last Chance (#1628), virgin heiress Mallory Chevalle travels thousands of miles in search of a mythical horse—and finds her destiny in the arms of a stubborn, but irresistible rancher. And a case of amnesia reunites past lovers—but the heroine’s painful secret could destroy her second chance at happiness, in Valerie Parv’s The Baron & the Bodyguard, the latest exciting installment in THE CARRAMER LEGACY.

To get into the holiday spirit, enjoy Janet Tronstad’s Stranded with Santa (#1626), a fun-loving romp about a rodeo megastar who gets stormbound with a beautiful young widow. Then, discover how to melt a Scrooge’s heart in Moyra Tarling’s Christmas Due Date (#1629)

I hope you enjoy these stories, and please keep in touch!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Baron & the Bodyguard

Valerie Parv

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my wonderful sister-in-law, Helga.

Books by Valerie Parv

Silhouette Romance

The Leopard Tree #507

The Billionaire’s Baby Chase #1270

Baby Wishes and Bachelor Kisses #1313

*The Monarch’s Son #1459

*The Prince’s Bride-To-Be #1465

*The Princess’s Proposal #1471

Booties and the Beast #1501

Code Name: Prince #1516

†Crowns and a Cradle #1621

†The Baron & the Bodyguard #1627

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Interrupted Lullaby #1095

Royal Spy #1154

VALERIE PARV

lives and breathes romance and has even written a guide to being romantic, crediting her cartoonist husband of nearly thirty years as her inspiration. As a former buffalo and crocodile hunter in Australia’s Northern Territory, he’s ready-made hero material, she says.

When not writing her novels and nonfiction books, or speaking about romance on Australian radio and television, Valerie enjoys dollhouses, being a Star Trek fan and playing with food (in cooking, that is). Valerie agrees with actor Nichelle Nichols who said, “The difference between fantasy and fact is that fantasy simply hasn’t happened yet.”

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

Mathiaz was floating.

Pain shredded the edges of the mist surrounding him, but he found if he concentrated, he could push the pain away and enjoy the sensation of nothingness. Of floating free of care.

“Come on, Baron, don’t do this to me.”

The woman’s voice punched through the mist, bringing the awareness of pain closer. Pushing the pain away meant pushing her away, too, and for some reason, he didn’t want her to go, so he let both of them in. Immediately fire tore along the side of his leg, and every muscle in his body set up a clamoring ache as though from overuse. He heard a distant groan that he barely recognized as coming from himself.

He wanted to retreat into the mist, but the woman’s voice came again, refusing to let him go. “That’s it, come back to me. You can do it.”

Come back where? To whom? He couldn’t force the questions out, but she anticipated them. “It’s me, Jac. You’re in the hospital. You have to wake up for my sake, Mathiaz.”

Jac? Instinctively he rejected the name. Jacinta, that felt better. He remembered that her name was Jacinta Newnham, although she liked to be called Jac. He must have murmured her name, because her sigh whispered over him.

He felt her bend closer, and her lips brushed his mouth. A faint scent of frangipani teased his nostrils, the perfume as familiar as her touch and every bit as arousing. The sensation was so pleasant that he took it with him back into the mist.

Jacinta felt his grip slacken and fought back tears as she looked at Mathiaz in the bed. The nightmare was happening all over again. A man she cared about was hovering on the brink, and there was nothing she could do. For a moment, she’d thought she’d managed to reach him, only to watch him sink back into coma.

A white-coated man came to stand beside Mathiaz’s bed. “Isn’t it time you got some rest?”

She gave the doctor a savage look. “I’m not going anywhere until he comes out of this, Dr. Pascale.”

“I know I asked you to come in and talk to him, but running yourself into the ground isn’t going to help anyone.”

“Then tell me what will?”

The doctor’s craggy face softened. “With all the medical marvels at our disposal, sometimes there’s nothing you can do but wait.”

Nothing you can do. The words she hated most in the whole world. “There must be something.”

“You’re doing it. Keep talking to him, let him know you’re here and that there’s a world he should be rejoining by now.”

“Talk to him about what?”

The doctor thought for a moment. “You worked with him for four months. Talk about the time you spent together.”

“That ended ten months ago. We didn’t part on very good terms.”

“He fired you?”

She shook her head. “He wanted me to stay. I was the one who quit.”

“Didn’t take to royal life, huh?”

“The baron hired me for a specific assignment. When the danger to him was past, I had no reason to stay.” She didn’t tell the doctor that Mathiaz had given her the one reason guaranteed to make her run like a rabbit. He had begun to care about her.

The doctor’s expression showed he had his own suspicions. “I got the impression that the two of you…”

She didn’t let him finish. “We set out to create that impression as a cover. Mathiaz thought that being seen with increased security would alarm the public. Running my own defense academy, I have the skills but I’m not actually a bodyguard, so he suggested I pose as his girlfriend while keeping him from harm.”

The doctor looked at her as if he didn’t quite believe her, but decided to let it go. “Then talk to him about yourself.”

“He already knows my background. He had palace security check me out before I came aboard.”

“I don’t mean the facts, I mean you, your interests, your passions. You do have passions, don’t you?”

She kept her face averted. What would the doctor say if she admitted that one of her passions had been Mathiaz himself? “Climbing and adventure training,” she said instead.

The doctor made a skeptical noise. “I’ve heard you took two American teenagers to ride the Nuee Trail, but I’ve never heard having a death wish described as a passion before.”

“Depends how much you care about what you’re doing. Those boys were tough street kids. A judge gave them the choice of undertaking one of my adventure training courses to straighten themselves out, or going to jail.”

“I’d take jail.”

She knew the doctor didn’t mean it. As court physician, Alain Pascale was known for his gruff manner, but also for his willingness to do anything he could to help his patients. “Anyway, I didn’t take them out solo. The court supplied a supervisor who complained all the way up and down the mountain. The boys acted tough but they were only sixteen and seventeen,” she told him.

“The age when Carramer males traditionally ride the Nuee Trail,” the doctor mused. “They considered it a rite of passage for hundreds of years.”

“As well as being one of the toughest endurance rides in the world,” she pointed out. “When those boys finished the course, they were different people.” She had also been different, too, in love with an island kingdom called Carramer. She had returned to America long enough to resign from her job as a personal trainer, said a tearful goodbye to her parents and older sister and moved to Carramer. When suitable premises in Valmont came up for rent, she had leased it and spent the next three years establishing her own fitness business. Guarding Mathiaz had seemed like an interesting change of pace at the time.

The doctor patted her shoulder. “Now you know what to talk to the baron about.”

“This feels weird,” she said to the still form in the bed after the doctor had gone. “While I worked for you, we talked so much, but I managed to tell you very little about myself.”

He had asked, she remembered, but she hadn’t wanted to let him get too close. She still wasn’t prepared to tell him the most significant details of her life. He might be unconscious but she preferred to keep some secrets.

“There isn’t much to tell,” she began awkwardly. “Compared to your royal family, mine isn’t the least bit glamorous. Mom and Dad have a berry farm in Orange County, California, and my sister, Debbie, runs a store selling their produce and local handicrafts when she isn’t taking care of her husband and their three children. She’s much better suited to that life than me, although I never thought I’d end up on an island in the middle of the South Pacific.”

She lapsed into silence. Once she had thought of training as a kindergarten teacher. She enjoyed working with children, the reason she’d volunteered to help the street kids in her spare time. Switching her degree from education to science, with a major in sport and exercise had been an impulsive choice. The right one, as things turned out. At twenty-seven, she was still a teacher of sorts, and exercise was a universal skill, as useful in Carramer as in Orange County.

“I’m supposed to talk to you about passion. How’s that for irony?” she asked Mathiaz’s unmoving form. She felt a pang as she said the word. Mathiaz had been a passionate man—was a passionate man, she amended the thought firmly. They had agreed to act in public as if there was a romance between them. Holding hands, exchanging looks, all in the name of keeping him safe.

When had they stopped acting?

The first time he kissed her, she remembered. Two months after she started working for him, she had accompanied him to a trade dinner. Hardly a forum for passion. In the back of the limousine, returning to Château Valmont, they had laughed about how boring the chief delegate’s speech had been. Letting Mathiaz kiss her had seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

He’d kissed her again as they shared a nightcap at his villa in the royal compound. Talked long into the night. Talked some more the next day. Kissed again. She had told herself she was acting a part, while recognizing the lie for what it was.

She should have left after the man threatening Mathiaz was caught, but she’d agreed to stay for another month, telling herself she needed the pay check. The truth was, she needed Mathiaz. And she didn’t want to need any man.

Unconscious, he was no threat to her peace of mind, she told herself. When she had agreed to Dr. Pascale’s request to help Mathiaz, she hadn’t counted on the strength of her own feelings at being so close to him. She dragged a hand through her hair. When she’d walked into the room, found him tangled in tubes and medical monitors, her heart had almost stopped.

She’d taken his hand without thinking, unprepared for the electric jolt that arced through her. His fingers had closed around hers so strongly that she had to remind herself he was unconscious. He’d felt as if he was holding on to her. According to Dr. Pascale, he possibly was.

She cleared her throat. “Dr. Pascale asked me what’s my passion? Being strong, having answers. Only this time I don’t have any. He thinks I can help you by talking to you. But you have to do your part. You have to wake up.”

The man on the bed stirred, his fingers flexing. With a sigh she slid her hand into his, and he seemed to settle. She wished she could say the same for herself, but the pulse at her throat fluttered like a trapped bird, and she could feel her heart hammering. She told herself she was scared for Mathiaz, but knew some of her discomfort was for herself. For the pleasure she felt at his touch and didn’t want to feel. Could you turn off feelings by wanting to? In the ten months since she’d left him, she’d tried with everything in her. Thought she had succeeded. Knew she was kidding herself the moment she walked into his hospital room.

She still cared about him, and it scared the life out of her.

She untangled her fingers from his and straightened. “I’m sorry, Mathiaz, but I can’t do this anymore. I have to go.” His eyelids began to quiver.

Mathiaz had no idea how long he drifted, dreaming of the woman called Jacinta. Gradually he became aware that she was calling to him more and more urgently. He grasped her hand because the gesture seemed natural. How warm and soft she felt, but she wasn’t, he knew. How did he know that?

This time he was able to force his eyes open, and saw a vision bending over him. Jacinta. A head sculpted by Michelangelo was capped with shining blond hair, neat except for a few stray wisps curling across her forehead and around her ears. The effect suggested an abandoned nature kept under firm control, but not quite. His blurred gaze gave him an imperfect view of her unusual gray blue eyes, enough to see that they glistened, as if she was trying not to cry.

He moved restively, wanting to stroke her lovely face, to reassure her that tears were unnecessary. He was fine. But his arms were held to his sides by a web of tubes. He couldn’t summon the energy to wonder what flowed through the tubes, or why they snaked into his veins. He was too busy trying to focus on what Jacinta was saying to him.

His hold on consciousness was too precarious to sort out her words, so he concentrated on her generous mouth, finding that he remembered exactly how her lips felt against his own, and how much heat her touch could ignite inside him. He groaned again, this time with the remembered pleasure of holding her, caressing her. In the vestiges of his floating cocoon, the image was so vivid that he raised himself to take her into his arms, desperate to turn the dream of closeness into reality.

She pressed against his shoulders, settling him back. “Don’t try to move, you’ve been hurt.”

As if he hadn’t worked that out for himself. He didn’t normally wake up in this much of a mess. “What…” he tried hoarsely. His mouth was too arid for speech.

She lifted his head and slid ice chips into his mouth. The coolness eased the burning in his throat, but not in his body. The brush of her fingers against his lips made him ache to embrace her and kiss her again.

Again? Had he really kissed her, or only in his dream? Surely if he was dreaming, he should be able to control the outcome? Which didn’t include being pinned to a bed, restricted to looking at his ministering angel, when his imagination stretched to far more enjoyable ways they could spend the time.

“I see our patient is finally coming around. Nice work, Ms. Newnham.”

The gravel voice dissipated some of the mist surrounding Mathiaz, and he felt the pain settle around him like a cloak, unable to be pushed away. His vision cleared, revealing a steel-haired man in a white coat looming above him, coming between Mathiaz and the angelic vision. Mathiaz made an involuntary sound of protest as the doctor checked him over with professional skill.

When he finished, he peered intently at Mathiaz. “Do you know who you are?”

Mathiaz croaked out an unsuccessful reply, coughed, and tried again with better results. “Mathiaz Albert Alphonse de Marigny, Baron Montravel.”

The doctor’s concerned expression eased, although it was hard to tell because his face was as craggy as clothing that had been slept in for several days. “Beats me how you remember all that even when you’re not injured. Now who am I?”

This was much easier to answer. “A pain in the neck.”

The doctor shot a relieved look at Jacinta. “He’s himself all right. Like the rest of the de Marigny family, he has no respect for my medical skills. You’d think I’d be entitled to some respect after bringing most of them into the world, Lord Montravel here included.”

Alain Pascale, personal physician to Mathiaz’s cousin, Prince Lorne, ruler of Carramer, Mathiaz’s mind slowly supplied the details. The doctor had served the family for decades, as he said delivering many of the royal babies in that time. He was the only man in Carramer who could speak so familiarly to members of the royal family, his unique place in their affections giving him immunity from the demands of protocol. He wasn’t above taking advantage of it when he thought one of the family needed his guidance, Mathiaz knew. But the doctor was semiretired now. Whatever Mathiaz had gotten himself into must have been drastic to drag the doctor away from his beloved orchid growing.

“What happened?” he struggled to ask.

The doctor shook his head. “Plenty of time for that. Right now, you need rest.”

Pascale did something to the equipment beside Mathiaz’s bed and he felt himself slipping back into sleep. He didn’t resist. Jacinta waited for him there.

Chapter Two

When next Mathiaz awoke, some of the pain has dissipated and he felt stronger. Sunlight streamed across the room. He recalled it had been dark when last he awoke. He must have slept around the clock.

He turned his head, smiling at the sight of his ministering angel seated beside his bed. She was asleep and looked even more beautiful than she had in his dreams.

Within minutes of the medical equipment registering his return to consciousness, Dr. Pascale hurried to his side. Instantly Jacinta stirred and came to her feet almost in the same moment. “Is something wrong?” she asked the doctor.

“You can ask our patient,” Pascale said with a smile.

“Mathiaz, you’re awake.”

Wishing he knew what he’d done to deserve the look of delight on her face, Mathiaz managed to nod. “Looks like it.”

“Do you know what happened?” Dr. Pascale asked.

Mathiaz struggled to think around the fog in his mind. The answer refused to come.

The doctor rested his fingers against Mathiaz’s wrist and frowned at the fast-beating pulse Mathiaz could feel from the inside. “Don’t agitate yourself. It will come back,” the doctor assured him.

“You were on your way to the royal treasury. You were caught in an explosion,” Jacinta supplied.

“Accident?” Mathiaz asked. Surely he should be able to remember such an event? When he tried, he met only blankness.

“The police and palace security are still investigating,” she said, but her expression told him she had her own theory. “If I’d been working for you…”

He narrowed his eyes. “Why weren’t you? You’re my bodyguard.”

She and the doctor exchanged concerned looks before the doctor asked, “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?”

Mathiaz had to think. “Taking Prince Henry some books for his nurse to read to him.”

“Prince Henry?” she said, sounding troubled.

Mathiaz’s uncle, Prince Henry, ruled Valmont Province under an ancient charter granted to the de Valmont family by the Carramer crown. “You should remember. You came with me.”

She took his hand, her grip warm and firm in his. “Mathiaz, the day you remember happened over a year ago. Henry died six months ago. In his will, he left you the Antoinette wedding ring. You were on your way to the treasury to have the ring valued when you were caught in the explosion.”

Mathiaz clung to her hand, wondering why holding her felt so right. Henry hadn’t been anyone’s favorite member of the family, but he and Mathiaz had respected each other. The old prince didn’t deserve to have his death erased from Mathiaz’s memory.

“What are you talking about? As far as I know, we saw my uncle yesterday. If he’s gone, then who…”

Her touch soothed some of his agitation. “Your cousin, Prince Josquin de Marigny, rules the province as Crown Regent until his stepson, Christophe, comes of age,” she anticipated his question.

That meant Josquin had married Sarah de Valmont, the American-born princess who had grown up in an adoptive family and borne Prince Henry an heir without knowing that she was Henry’s granddaughter, Mathiaz worked out. Their wedding and Josquin’s elevation to the Regency had vanished from his memory as if they had never taken place. He had missed baby Christophe’s accession to the throne, his cousin’s wedding, everything.

“How long have I been here?” he asked.

The doctor looked up from the chart he was studying. “You were brought in the day before yesterday. We worked on your injuries for a couple of hours, then you were semicomatose for another twelve and sleeping the rest. All up, you’ve been here two and a half days.”

“So how can I have lost a year?”

The doctor came closer, chart in hand. “My diagnosis is post-traumatic amnesia. Happens a lot in cases of closed-head injuries and shock. The mind can’t deal with what happened so it skips backward, to a more tolerable memory, giving the brain time to develop coping mechanisms.”

“You mean that whole year of my life is just…gone?” Mathiaz let his tone reflect his disbelief.

“Sounds that way. There’s no sign of any physical injury to the brain, but you were knocked unconscious by the blast, striking your head against the carved doors of the treasury as you fell. I’ll consult a specialist, since this is out of my field, but she’ll probably confirm my diagnosis.”

No wonder Mathiaz felt as if a team of miners were drilling through his brain. The treasury doors were eight feet tall and almost as wide, and made of foot-thick iron-wood. “No physical injury? That means my memory is intact. All I have to do is recover it, right?”

Dr. Pascale nodded. “That’s the good news.”

Mathiaz’s gut clenched involuntarily. “And the bad?”

“I can’t say when you might get your memory back.”

Mathiaz refused to accept that his memory of everything that had taken place in the last year was gone forever. Giving up wasn’t in his vocabulary. But some things were beyond even willpower. “You mean I might never recover those memories?”

“You have to consider the possibility.”

Mathiaz’s anger warred with his confusion. Having a headache the size of Carramer didn’t help. “What about hypnosis, therapy of some kind?” he demanded.

The doctor sighed. “This kind of retrograde amnesia is the mind’s way of dealing with the stress of major trauma. Trying to force a recovery could do more harm than good. Better to let yourself remember in your own sweet time.”

“Or not.” Mathiaz’s voice was edged with bitterness.

“Or not.” The doctor’s professionally calm expression didn’t change. Only his pale blue eyes registered the depths of his concern. “Give yourself time to recover before you start worrying too much.”

“Easy for you to say, Dr. Pascale. You don’t have a hole where the last year of your life is supposed to be.”

“It could be worse. The hole could have been in your head, if not for…”

“The angle of the explosion,” Jacinta said, cutting the doctor off in midsentence. “Another few feet closer to the source and you wouldn’t be here to complain about a few lost memories.”

Mathiaz intercepted a look between the two that he couldn’t interpret. Annoyed at being so obviously excluded, he glanced at the tubes feeding into his arm. “Are these really necessary?”

The doctor snapped the chart shut and replaced it at the foot of the bed. “One thing you didn’t acquire in the last year is a medical degree, Lord Montravel.” He made the title sound vaguely insulting. “I’ll be the judge of what you need and when you need it. Now just lie there and be glad you’re still in one piece.”

Jacinta asked, “Is he always this abrasive?”

Mathiaz grinned tiredly. “The time to worry is when he starts being nice.”

The doctor growled a negation. “You were easier to deal with when you were asleep.” But he managed to sound pleased at the same time.

“What else has happened that I don’t remember?”

“I’ll let Ms. Newnham fill you in on whatever you want to know. She’s the specialist when it comes to Lord Montravel. I have work to do.”

The doctor left and Mathiaz turned his head toward Jacinta. “What did he mean, you’re the specialist on me?”

She looked uncomfortable. “When they had trouble getting you to wake up after the surgery, Dr. Pascale called me in, hoping that I could get through to you.”

She had succeeded better than she knew, but her impersonal manner made him wonder if his erotic fantasies about her were just that, fantasies. “Why did he have to call you in? Don’t you work for me anymore?”

She glanced at the surgical monitors over Mathiaz’s bed. The readings evidently gave her cause for concern, because she said, “We don’t have to cover everything now. You should get some rest.”

His hand clamped around her wrist. “From the sound of things, I’ve had too much rest. I want to know what went on between us.”

Something flared in her unusual eyes, but was gone before he could identify it. “Nothing went on between us, as you put it. Fourteen months ago, you hired me following a security scare at the Château Valmont. Your valet, Andre Zenio, was fired for showing people around the palace without clearing them with the Royal Protection Detail. Zenio blamed you for getting him fired, although you weren’t the one who reported him. He started stalking you and making threats. Eventually the police caught him, and I went back to my work at the academy. End of story.”

Mathiaz remembered most of this. He knew that she ran a personal defense school in Valmont’s capital city of Perla. Mathiaz’s younger brother, Eduard, had taught a course at the academy and came back singing Jacinta’s praises. When Mathiaz started getting threats and being followed, the police advised hiring extra security. Jacinta had been the logical choice. She had the appropriate skills, but could be presented as Mathiaz’s girlfriend rather than as a bodyguard, saving the need to go public about the security scare.

“There was nothing more between us?” he asked, wondering why the question sounded so ridiculous, as if part of him already knew that there was.

She hesitated. “We were attracted to one another.”

Why did he get the feeling that was the understatement of the year? He sure as blazes was attracted to her, but in the incendiary kind of way that usually ended up in bed. He could hardly believe that she didn’t share his feelings. “How far did we take this—attraction?” he asked.

“We didn’t.”

Was he imagining things, or was her answer a little too glib? “I don’t believe you.”

She sketched a bow from the neck. “You have the right to believe what you choose, Lord Montravel.”

Pain fueled his irritation. “You can drop the Lord Montravel bit. We both know you never call me anything but Mathiaz or Baron when we’re alone.” They were alone now.

“As you wish, Baron.”

Her ready agreement didn’t fool him, either. “I may have forgotten the last year of my life, but I remember you were never awed by my rank and titles.”

“I’m an American, I was brought up in a democracy,” she reminded him, as if her California accent hadn’t already done so. “We don’t believe in bowing and scraping.”

He doubted if she would bow or scrape to anyone, regardless of her nationality. “You sure you’re not related to Alain Pascale?” he asked.

“Only by attitude.” She hefted a capacious shoulder bag off a chair. “I’d better leave you to get some rest.”

He felt the need to keep her with him. “What brought you to Carramer?”

She hesitated. “We have talked about this before.”

“Humor me.”

“Carramer is a beautiful, peaceful kingdom, and Valmont province is one of the most attractive regions.”

“With about as much use for a self-defense expert as a fish has for a bicycle,” he pointed out. Apart from an occasional problem like the security scare, Carramer had one of the lowest crime rates in the world. What wasn’t she telling him?

She shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I wanted to live here. The skills I teach are as useful for honing self-discipline and fitness as they are for fighting crime.”

If all her pupils developed figures like hers, he could hardly argue. She had moved a little away and she stood about five-eight, although trapped on the bed, he couldn’t see if that was with or without heels. With, his memory supplied. Without, he recalled, she only came up to his shoulder.