Free Man on Fire by A. J. Quinnell Page A

more than a mere protective presence.
    Her first questions had been about America. He explained that he hadn't lived there for years, but that hadn't diminished her enthusiasm. She asked him what part he had come from and he answered, the South-Tennessee.
    He finished oiling the holster and slipped in the Beretta. Then he walked over to the bed and hung the harness over the knob on the brass bedstead. The butt rested close to the pillow. Back at the table he opened a road map of the area between Milan and Como, his mind now occupied with the technicalities of the job.
    Although he had never worked as a bodyguard, he viewed it in simple, military terms. He was to protect an "asset." A potential enemy might attempt to capture it. He considered the tactics, and a lifetime of experience made him view the situation from the opposition's point of view. They could attempt to capture his "asset" at its base, i.e., the house; or outside the base, either at another often-used location or on route to it, i.e., the school or on the road.
    In the morning he would check the grounds from a security standpoint and later, it had been decided, Pinta would show him where the school was, and he would have a chance to examine their security arrangements. He decided that if an attempt was made it would most likely occur on the road, therefore it was important to vary the daily route on a random basis. He traced the road network on the map and made notes in the margin.
    This done, he went to the wardrobe and lifted down his suitcase. Inside were several bottles of Scotch wrapped in newspaper. He opened one of them and fetched a glass and poured his first drink. Then he thought about his main problem again-the girl. The important thing, he decided, was to get the relationship established on the right basis at the beginning. The right basis would be functional and nothing more. He was not a paid companion but a protector, and she must be made to understand that, even if he had to be blunt and unkind to do it. Her parents would also have to understand it. He would make it very plain and if they couldn't accept it, they would have to find someone else. He hadn't thought about this aspect before taking the job, but meeting the child had brought it very much to mind. He could feel her enthusiasm and expectation, and it made him uneasy. She would have to be stopped short.
    He drank steadily until the bottle was empty and then went to bed; a big, battered, introspective man, unsure about his new job.
    But Guido had been right. His mind was occupied.
    Below, in the main bedroom, Rika and Ettore made love. She was very demanding, her breath coming in short gasps, her fingers digging deep into his shoulders. She always paced herself with him, raising the tempo in tiers until she brought him to the top, knowingly and surely.
    But tonight she was concerned only for herself, taking her pleasure in mental isolation. He tried to match her but felt her building to a climax, shuddering into her orgasm. He had not matched her and was left behind and felt her subside beneath him. He wasn't concerned. He knew that later she would rouse him again and play him like an instrument, using her magnificent body and mouth until all his passion was sated. She prided herself on her skill with him, enjoyed the control over his body. She never teased him sexually, but was imaginative and varied, and reveled in her skill.
    Her breathing evened out and she ran a hand from his neck down his back and sighed contentedly. He could expect endearments and soft kisses, and later she would roll him onto his back and repay him slowly and artfully, smiling down at him, as in a conspiracy.
    "She likes him."
    He came out of his reverie.
    "Who?"
    "Creasy-Pinta likes him."
    He shook his head.
    "She likes the idea of no more governess. She'd like him if he was Count Dracula."
    "No," she said. "When I put her to bed she told me he was like a bear. 'Creasy Bear,' she calls him."
    Ettore