Guarded, page 3
With plans for a holiday/birthday cookout at the Hicks residence on Tuesday, our last stop is the grocery store. Corie tries to tell Deb not to go out of her way and cater to her on her birthday, in addition to her usual Fourth of July traditions, but one glance from Deb is all the permission I need to make sure Corie gets enough to be spoiled rotten on her special day.
It’s after five by the time we get back to Ashley’s house. As we’re climbing out of Deb’s SUV, calling out our farewells, Melanie hops out, too. “This isn’t the last you’ll be seeing me today,” she tells Corie, thrusting a bag at her.
“Oh-kay,” she mutters suspiciously. Cautiously taking hold of the handles, she adds it to her collection of shopping spoils. “What does that mean? Why are you looking at me like that? And what’s in the bag?”
Melanie giggles before she says, “All you need to know is that you and Jill should be ready to leave at seven, and you are to wear what’s in the bag.” Turning to hop back into the front passenger seat, she calls out, “You’re welcome! See y’all there.”
“That girl sure is full of surprises,” says Frank, folding his arms across his chest as we all watch them drive away.
“You’re telling me,” Corie mumbles.
“Well, come on! Let’s go inside,” I insist, turning toward the house. “I want to see what’s inside the bag!”
LAST NIGHT, RIDING back to the guest house, that woman almost did me in. I knew we weren’t in any danger of spotting anything other than maybe a raccoon, but sensing her unease—feeling her body as she inched closer and closer to me—my will power almost shattered. Keeping people safe is my job. More than that, it’s who I am. It’s why I got into the business of protecting people in the first place. When people are around me, I want them to feel safe.
When Jill is around me, I want her to feel safe.
That is precisely the reason why I had to put as much space between us as was physically possible last night. My instinct to protect her is stronger than it should be. And what’s worse? It’s a double-edged sword. I know I should protect her from myself—that she’s the kind of woman I’d damage. However, there’s more to my sudden sense of responsibility then her emotional well-being. She’s a little thing, sure, but that’s not what spurs me on, either. It’s deeper than that. Feels like a goddamn mating call—it’s primal, it’s possessive.
It’s fucking nonsense, is what it is.
Not wishing to see what first thing in the morning looks like on her, I make sure I’m out of the house as soon as I hear her start to stir. I run around the property for nearly two hours, clocking a slow speed of four miles an hour. When Ashley sends me a text, informing me that the girls are getting ready to go for the day, only then do I jog back to the house for a shower.
Even though Ashley doesn’t plan on being in public places today, he invites me to join him and his dad for a drive down to check out his latest property purchase. Needing the distraction, I opt to tag along. We spend a good chunk of the afternoon exploring his new lot. It’s an amazing investment. Private, quiet, beautiful, and the perfect gift for his bride.
It isn’t until we are on our way back that he informs me of this evening’s plans. His sister, Melanie, organized a joint bachelor/bachelorette party for him and Corie. He tells me it won’t be a big deal, and the only people who will be in attendance are our group of five, along with Mel and her boyfriend. But it’s at Wildhorse Saloon—one of the most popular spots in town. I know this means that I’ll have to be on duty. What I don’t take into account is Jill.
Upon returning from our afternoon away, I walk back to the house for a shower. As I’m getting dressed, I hear Jill close herself in her room to get ready for our evening. With an hour to kill, I go out into the living room and flip on the television. Frank joins me shortly after. We sit together while we wait for Jill to join us, at which point we plan to go meet up with Corie and Ashley.
When she finally makes an appearance, announcing that she’s ready to leave, I take one look at her and know I’m fucked.
She’s got on a pair of holey, white jean shorts, showing off about every inch of leg she’s got. The navy top she has on is loose, the sleeves long, but with the shoulders cut out, making the top look more like a thinly strapped tank top—the V-shaped neckline dipping low. In a pair of flat, strappy, gladiator looking sandals, she’s done nothing to boost her height, making her that much more fucking endearing; and she’s curled her long, ashy blonde hair, so it falls in waves down her chest and back.
I can’t look at her for the duration of our short drive up to the main house. Now, as I stand in Ashley’s living room, listening to him tell me that he wants me to keep an eye on Jill tonight, I wonder what in God’s name I’ve done to deserve this. He’s not wrong. Someone needs to look after that gorgeous ass. She’s not from around here, and I’m guessing Dillon, Colorado can’t boast of a venue with a crowd the likes of which we’ll see at the Saloon.
As if I needed one more reason to be an overprotective dick tonight.
I’m so fucked.
STEPPING OUT OF the truck to join the others, I note how packed the parking lot is. I don’t know whether to be relieved at the prospect of Ashley having the chance at being lost in the crowd, or worried about how many fuckers in the venue will get a hard-on at the sight of Jill.
Ashley claps a hand on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts as he informs me, “Mel’s already here. She said to meet her up on the third floor.”
I dip my chin in a nod of acknowledgement before leading the group inside, content to have Jill at my back. For the time being, I’ll take any reprieve I can get. Sitting next to her in the truck, her sexy as fuck bare legs right next to mine, it had me more preoccupied than I’d like to admit.
As soon as we’re inside of the establishment, I can feel the buzz of the collective energy that fills this place. People are everywhere—milling about, dancing, and eating. There’s a live band in the middle of their set on stage. The structure of the building—with a hollow center surrounded by balconies on the second and third floor—allows the show to be enjoyed from any level.
Melanie and Scottie spot us almost as soon as we make our way into the vacated space reserved for tonight’s festivities. She’s quick to hop down from her barstool, her thick ponytail bouncing right along with her as she skips toward us.
“Hey! Y’all made it,” she cries, Scottie trailing behind her. Grinning at Corie, she goes on to say, “And you—damn, honey! You look good.” We all watch as she throws her arms around the bewildered bride-to-be before she exclaims, “Welcome to your bachelorette party.”
“Really?” Corie murmurs when Mel pulls away.
“Yup. Well, it’s a joint party—for you and Ashley. I know, bachelor and bachelorette parties are known for bein’ ostentatious, but I also know you two have a hard time keepin’ a low profile, so I thought I’d try to work somethin’ out. It’ll just be us tonight, but we can still turn it up.” Spreading her arms out, she signals as she explains, “The entire floor is ours. We’ve got our own bartender and everythin’. Dinner’s ready for us to dig in, and then there’s line dancin’ lessons at eight thirty. But if you want to hang out up here for a bit and have a few drinks, we can do that, too—there’ll be more line dancin’ lessons at ten. Then again at eleven-thirty,” she says with a knowing grin. “And if you haven’t caught my drift, y’all are line dancin’ tonight, one way or another.”
My focus shifts away from Corie when I hear Jill giggle in excitement.
“I don’t know what to say,” breathes Corie.
“Tell me you’re all in, girl—‘cause we’re gonna have some fun tonight.”
“She is. She totally is,” Jill pipes in, bumping her hip against her cousin’s.
Returning Jill’s hip-check with one of her own, Corie agrees, “Yeah. I’m in.”
“Yes!” Melanie cheers. “Let’s eat, y’all.”
I’M RELIEVED WHEN Melanie insists that she needs a break from the dance floor. Corie and Ashley abandoned the main level a while ago. Frank escorted them upstairs, leaving me to deal with my ward—who makes adorable look sexier than it ever has before.
Jill—with that sweet smile and those big, blue eyes of hers—is bad enough. Jill—under the influence of a few drinks and sweaty from spending half the night on the dance floor—she’s enough to make me come unglued.
Upon returning to our private section, I’m asked to join Ashley and Corie for a round of shuffleboard. I’m quick to accept the challenge, needing the distraction. I haven’t played in years, but I win anyhow. Then again, I have a bit of an advantage, seeing as it’s Corie’s first go of it, and the alcohol coursing through her body has begun to take affect. I’m getting ready to suggest another round when the sound of Jill’s voice stops me.
“The last line dancing lesson is over. Let’s go back down!” she insists.
I stifle a groan when Melanie agrees right away, downing the remains of her drink before taking hold of Scottie’s t-shirt. “C’mon, handsome. Let’s go cut a rug.”
Jill’s face lights up in excitement before she whirls around, her long hair falling down her back as she hurries toward the stairs. I ignore my suddenly tight jeans and follow after her. It isn’t until we’re on the dance floor that I realize Corie, Ashley, and Frank stayed behind. I don’t bother thinking about why it took me so long to notice, simply content that I don’t have to worry about Ashley while I’m trying to keep up with Jill.
Unlike before, when we stuck to the back, Melanie tugs Jill and Scottie into the thick of it. I don’t hesitate to join them, my reluctance to dance long since forgotten. Line dancing isn’t hard, so long as you have rhythm, which I do; it’s proximity that is my current struggle. My only saving grace is that the current dance has me flanking Jill, not touching her. But the rules of the dance floor are not restricted to line dancing. When Melanie and Jill decide they want to freestyle, it isn’t long before they have an audience. Melanie has Scottie, who is more than happy to make it known that she is taken, but that leaves only me for Jill.
I watch her for a minute, mesmerized by the sight of her. I was right. She’s got that small town charm that has her dancing to the beat of her own drum. She’s content all on her own, allowing her body to move to the beat of the country jams that fill the entire club. For both of our sakes, I prefer to leave her alone—but at the sign of her first predator, I take her hand and pull her into my arms.
Massive fuck-up.
Her muscles lock up at first, her eyes wide as she peers up at me. Breathless, she mutters, “Wha—what are you doing?”
“What’s it look like?”
When I make it clear that if she wants to stay out here, she’s going to do it with me, she begins to relax.
An hour later, we haven’t let go of each other.
Between the two of us, I’m certainly not the only one with a bit of rhythm—and she uses her whole body when she finds her groove. I’m not convinced that her provocativeness is intentional, but it has me hard, regardless. The longer she sways her little hips in my hands, the weaker my resolve to stay away from her. When Corie comes up to us and says she’s ready to head home, I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.
It isn’t until we step outside that I realize I have no fucking clue how the night ended for Ashley. He’s too intoxicated to drive, as is Corie, and they both look to be in good spirits. I can only assume any further attention brought on by a spotting announced to the patrons was low-key and handled by Frank. With not a drop of alcohol in my system, Ashley knows to toss me the keys. We all climb into the cab of his truck—Ashley, Corie, and Frank in the back, and Jill with me in the front passenger seat.
The whole ride home, I convince myself that I won’t touch her. Not anymore. Not ever again. The hint of her body that I now know, it was for a purpose—business, not pleasure. I will my dick to let my brain rule and reign, and I don’t even chance a glance in her direction the whole drive back.
HE’S SO CONFUSING. I can’t understand him. Just when I think that I’ve created some sort of made up connection between us, he pulls me into his arms and dances with me all night. All night! My body now knows what it’s like to be pressed up against his—what it feels like to have his hands holding my hips and keeping me close. I know what he smells like, and how his bare skin feels coated in a thin layer of sweat. But more than all of that, I know that I want more.
Except, since the second we stepped off that dance floor, it’s like he’s a completely different person. I sat right next to him in Ashley’s truck on the ride back to the house, and again in the golf cart. He didn’t look or speak to me at all. I really don’t know what his deal is. And as much as I want to pretend that it doesn’t hurt my feelings—this back and forth—I can’t help it. It feels like he’s toying with me, and I don’t understand why.
As soon as we walk into the house, Frank mumbles a tired goodnight, heading toward his room on the opposite end of the house. I watch him go, wishing he didn’t feel so tuckered out. I’m wired, not nearly ready to go to sleep, and some company would have been nice. Seeing as that doesn’t seem like an option, I reluctantly make my way back to my room, thinking maybe I could work on some stuff for dad until I get tired.
I feel Leo at my back, and my shoulders slump in disappointment. I really did have a good time with him tonight. While he might be acting strange, that doesn’t mean I have to be rude. That said, when I reach the space between our bedrooms, I turn before he has a chance to shut the door in my face again.
“Leo?” I call out.
He looks over his shoulder at me, his face expressionless, and I feel myself shrinking back in timidity.
Before I lose my nerve entirely, I murmur, “Thank you. For tonight. Thank you for dancing with me.”
He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, I watch as he continues to stare at me before he drops his chin to his chest. Lifting his arms, he grabs hold of either side of the doorjamb under which he stands. His grip is tight—I can tell by the way his muscles bulge in his forearms—and I find myself unable to look away. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dying to know.
My eyes grow wide when he spins around, and I gasp when—in one step—he closes the distance between us. My stomach clenches at the same time that my heart skips a beat as he lifts his hand to take hold of the side of my neck. With his thumb, he pushes my chin up so that I have no place else to look but into his blue-green eyes.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asks, his voice low and grumbly.
I shake my head slightly, confused about what he’s asking. “I don’t—I don’t know what you mean.”
“Bullshit, baby,” he practically growls, pulling me closer.
My cheeks heat up in a blush at his term of endearment, and my breath hitches in my throat as my hands fly up to brace myself against his chest. When I see his pupils dilate at my touch, I can’t stop myself from melting against him.
“Like I said. Bullshit. We doing this?”
I don’t know what all this entails, but I can hardly breathe thinking of what it could mean. I close my eyes, furrowing my brow as I grip two fistfuls of his shirt. I give myself a quick pep-talk, reminding myself that this won’t mean anything. We’re just two bodies who want each other, and the weekend is here. He is here. I’ll never have this moment again, and I want it—I want it so badly.
My heart pounding in my chest, I glance up at him from beneath my lashes and offer him a nod. That’s apparently all the affirmation he needs. The next thing I know, he’s got an arm barred behind my legs, just beneath my ass, and I’m lifted up into his arms. I squeal in surprise, wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, and his eyes flash again as they find mine.
“You’re in my bed tonight,” he states, carrying me the short distance across the hall. This time, when he slams the door closed, he does it looking right at me.
The only light on in the room shines dimly from the two lamps that sit atop the nightstands, which flank the bed. It’s all the light I need to see the hunger clearly expressed in the black holes that are his pupils. When he reaches up and buries his fingers in my hair, taking hold of the back of my neck, I don’t resist his pull. My heart jumps and sputters as our lips touch in a hard, closed-mouth exchange. I whimper, spreading my legs and wrapping them around his waist as he pries my lips open with his tongue.
I kiss him back as desperately as I feel, and he growls, palming the left side of my ass and squeezing my flesh through my shorts. I open my mouth wider, loving the way he uses his tongue so generously, wanting to taste more of him—all of him. When he pulls away abruptly, I look down at him in question, my breaths so shallow it sounds as if I’m panting.
No man has ever made me pant before.
He squeezes my ass again and then leans down, signaling for me to let him go and stand on my own two feet. I’m disappointed in the loss of his touch for only a moment. In the second that follows, he reaches back behind his head, pulling off his black t-shirt and discarding it on the floor.
If panties could combust…
My purse slips off my shoulder, and I do nothing to stop it. I feel myself growing even more aroused just looking at him—the image of some Greek god. Or even better—a Greek warrior. My nipples harden as I think about what it might be like to lick every single chiseled line that defines the muscles that make up his chest. I know, without even seeing the rest of him, that tonight is going to be a night I’ll never forget. Not ever. Not in a million years. Not a single detail will be lost from this moment forward.
