The possibility made Ben feel physically ill.
"Ben!" a deep male voice called out.
Ben glanced toward the hotel entrance to see Matthew Carlton, the man that he and Christine had met through Scott Wilde just before her speech. The other man was striding toward the three of them, his expression speculative.
"I noticed that Christine wasn't doing so well up at the podium," Matthew said as he came up to them. "Is she okay?"
She was still leaning heavily against Ben, her face buried in the crook of his neck. "I don't know," he admitted.
Christine shivered against him and burrowed closer, her arms sliding around his waist beneath his jacket. "It's cold and you're so warm," she whispered languidly.
Matthew pushed his hands into his pants pockets, his concerned gaze still on Christine. "Would you like me to take a look at her and make sure she's all right?"
Nothing about this situation felt good, but remembering that Matthew Carlton was some kind of doctor, not to mention a friend of Scott's, Ben chose to trust the other man. "That would be great. Let's get her back inside so she can sit down."
They started back toward the hotel entrance, and when Craig followed, Ben shot him a dark look. "I'll handle this," he said, leaving no doubt in Crosby's mind that he needed to get lost. "And like I said before, stay away from her."
Craig gave him a smug glance. "We'll see what Christine says about that."
Ben's temper spiked to an all-time high. If he didn't have his hands full trying to support Christine as they entered the hotel lobby, he would have beat the shit out of the self-righteous bastard right then and there.
Being a somewhat smart man, Craig didn't push the issue any further, and while Ben and Matthew led Christine toward a vacant group of couches and chairs set up in the lobby. Crosby veered toward the ballroom to return to the charity gala.
After gently maneuvering Christine so that she was sitting in the center of the couch, Ben removed his tuxedo jacket and settled it over Christine's bare shoulders. He knelt in front of her while Matthew sat to her right on the couch and immediately grabbed her wrist to check her pulse and heart rate. Christine's head fell forward drowsily, and Ben lifted her chin to try to keep her awake.
"Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart," he cajoled in a low, soothing voice.
He watched her struggle to lift her lashes, and when she finally managed the feat and saw him, she smiled slow and sweet. "Ben." she murmured on a wisp of breath. "I'm soooo tired and sleepy."
He cupped her face in his hands. "I know you are, honey, but I need you to stay awake, okay?"
She licked her lips and tried to nod. "Mmmm-hmmm."
While Ben proceeded to talk to Christine to keep her alert, Matthew continued his examination. He looked into her eyes and checked her pupils and vision, then went on to monitor her breathing. He even pressed his ear to her chest so he could listen to the rhythm of her heartbeat. Matthew asked how much she'd had to drink, if she was on any type of medication, or had recently taken any kind of drugs.
The last question Ben couldn't answer, and when Matthew repeated the inquiry to Christine, she responded with an indignant, but sluggish, "I don't do drugs!"
Christine's spirited reply despite her lethargic condition almost made Ben smile. Instead, he glanced back at Matthew and decided to level with him on the situation.
"Look, I've been hired by Christine's father as her bodyguard, and I'd really prefer not to have to take her to the ER and have her exposed to the public for hours there, if it can be helped."
Ben could just imagine the field day reporters would have with that kind of story. Undoubtedly, someone in Lambert's camp would turn it into some kind of drug scandal against Nathan's daughter, and ultimately, smear Delacroix's great reputation and his campaign.
"I don't have any proof, but judging by what happened up at the podium, and Christine's behavior now, I think someone slipped her something," Ben said, giving Matthew his gut feeling on what might have transpired. "I've never seen her act like this before."
Matthew checked her pulse rate again. "From what I see, she does exhibit many of the symptoms of ingesting Rohypnol," he said, referring to the street drug roofie. "Her motor skills are definitely impaired, and she's responding as if she's had a lot more to drink than she did. The good thing is, she only consumed one cocktail hours ago, so that does reduce the effects of the drug."
Ben nodded, grateful for that much, at least. "What do I need to do?"
"Take her home and watch her throughout the night to make sure there isn't any change in her breathing or any extreme drop in her pulse rate," Matthew instructed. "Her reaction is something she's just going to have to sleep off, and most likely she won't remember any of this in the morning."
Anxious to get her out of the hotel and safe at home, Ben stood, fished a ticket stub from his pants' pocket and glanced back at Matthew. "Would you mind getting our car from valet while I carry Christine out of here? I don't think she can walk or stand very well on her own and I don't want to risk her falling."
"Absolutely. I'm glad to help." Matthew took the stub and headed out of the lobby to the circular drive in front of the hotel to retrieve their vehicle.
Ten minutes later, Ben had Christine secured in the passenger seat of her Lexus, with the seat reclined so she could sleep on the drive home. He shut the door, then turned back to the good doctor, who withdrew a business card from his wallet and handed it to Ben.
"These are my emergency numbers where I can be reached twenty-four/seven," Matthew said. "Call me if you have any questions or need anything at all."
"Thanks, man." Ben shook Matthew's hand, thankful to have the backup if he needed it. "I appreciate it."
GETTING Christine inside the house and carrying her to the guest bedroom where he was staying was easy. Getting her out of her long, elegant dress when she was as limp as a wet noodle was going to be a bit more tricky. He laid her down on one side of the double bed, and she woke up long enough to reach for him, her hands sliding along the front of his dress shirt as she tried to unfasten the buttons with clumsy, fumbling fingers.
Her blue eyes were glassy, her lips oh-so-tempting as she murmured in a seductively drowsy voice, "Come 'ere… I want you."
A pained smile touched his lips. "I know you do, sweetheart. You've already made that very clear. Numerous times." Knowing one of the effects of Rohypnol was a lack of inhibition, he grasped her slender wrists and gently pulled her hands away from his shirt. "But first things first. Let's get you out of this dress."
"Yeah," she sighed as she looked up at him with a soft, come-hither look in her eyes. "Let's get naked."
Her head fell back against the pillow, and in the next instant she was asleep again, which would make his next task of stripping off her dress so much easier. Because of the one-shoulder design of her gown, the zipper was located beneath her arm and he pulled the tab all the way down to her hip. Slipping the material off her shoulder, he dragged the dress down her lithe body and off, leaving her scantily clad in a strapless bra, skimpy black lace panties, and a pair of black, sexy designer heels.
Those were the first to go. Then, keeping his gaze on her face, he unhooked her bra and added it to the gown he'd draped over the chair next to the bed. Thankfully, she remained unconscious, even when he pulled one of his T-shirts over her head, pushed her arms through the sleeves, then yanked the soft cotton material down to her thighs. Once she was sufficiently covered, he put her beneath the blankets, then took off his holster and stripped off his own formal attire.