by Elaria Ride
“Enjoying my beer, too?” I ask curtly. I have no idea what he’s implying, but I don’t have the patience.
Mark raises his bottle in a toast and winks at me. “You bet. What are sisters for?”
I roll my eyes, but we both know I don’t give a shit. He can take whatever he wants — as can Rod and Luke.
“Y’all are welcome to whatever you want, too!” I call over my shoulder, removing the bottle of white wine from the fridge. I feel like a bad hostess for not making sure they knew as much, but when I turn around, Rod and Luke are both shaking their heads.
Oh, right! I forgot—
“We’re on duty,” Rod laments. “As much as I’d like to imbibe, it’s strictly against cop protocol.” Then he clears his throat, his eyes flitting to Carter's usual place in the corner. “Actually, we’re here to give Carter a little break. As you know, a continuous patrol fleet is stationed outside from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m., during the hours when you’re presumably sleeping. Normally we’d let him take his break then, but it’s been a tough week.” Rod claps Carter on the shoulder. “We wanted to give our man a little break before he passes out from exhaustion.”
I glance over at Luke from the top of my wine glass. Now that Rod mentions it, he does look tired. His face is lined and drawn, and he has dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he’s still devastatingly attractive… unlike me when I’m in a similar state.
I nod at Luke as I take a sip of wine. “Go on ahead, bucko. I think they can handle the arduous task of my company. At least for an hour or so.”
Luke ignores me, simply nodding at Rod and Mark as he turns to leave. I follow the movement of his body as he turns around. Fuck. Even though I’ve just taken care of things, my eyes are still drawn to the way his tight, muscular ass ripples beneath his jeans… the way his blue flannel shirt is tucked neatly into his leather belt.
“So,” starts Mark when Luke finally closes his door. I blink over at my brother, trying not to look as dazed as I feel. “How’s it really going with Mr. Hottie Guard?”
I shrug and pour another glass. “He’s been totally professional. Not sure what else you want me to say.”
“Professional is good,” Rod interjects, hands in his pockets. Then he pauses, as if his next words are coming at a price. “But I gotta be honest. From one cop to another? That dude is more than professional. He goes above and beyond.”
I settle onto the bar stool. “Oh?”
Mark lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, no shit! I mean, granted, I don’t know a lot about cops… but I’ve never heard of a bodyguard knowing everything from someone’s shoe size to her favorite order at Subway.”
I mull this over with a sip. I mean, they’re right. Carter’s been superb at anticipating my every need. I just assumed that was part of it.
“You don’t have to convince me he’s good at his job,” I reply firmly. “But that doesn’t mean Luke and I have to be BFF, either. Actually, it’s probably better if we’re not. He can keep business separate from—”
Mark cuts me off with a sigh. “But Mare… business is all the dude has.”
I swallow, fiddling with the stem of my glass as Mark plows on.
“You saw him last weekend. It was like he hadn’t cracked a smile since were kids. Would it kill ya to, I dunno?” He shrugs, taking a swig of his — my — beer. “Be a little nicer? Smile a little? Just as a professional courtesy.”
I roll my eyes. Ok, he’s made his (probably valid) point… but this is taking it too far. “Are you also gonna tell me I’m so much prettier when I smile, Mark?”
Mark gives an annoyed stare and opens his mouth to retort — but Rod gets there first.
“Yeahhh, let’s go ahead and sidestep that particular sibling rivalry,” he says, clearing his throat. “For the record, Mariah? I don’t think your brother suddenly devolved into the treehouse president of the He-Man Woman Hater’s Club.”
“He’d better not have,” I grumble. “Sabrina would have his hide.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Mark notes, taking a sip of his beer. “I know who I married.”
Good. I give him a begrudging smile. “I’m glad you married her, too. For the record.”
Mark replies with a curt nod and gestures for Rod to take the lead.
“So… Mariah,” Rod starts. He exchanges a look with Mark. “The PMS have noticed that you and Carter don’t seem to gel. You snap at each other all the time. Part of that is just your personalities, I know… but I — we — think this whole thing would be a lot less miserable if you both cut the formalities. Built a little trust. Stopped with the public sass.” He shrugs. “If your stalker thinks y’all are enemies, that makes you an easy target. He might even think you’ll, I dunno, do something reckless. Like running away without protection.”
The corners of Rod’s lips twitch up. Yeah. No need to remind me of that…
“Well, I wasn’t the one who started in with the caveman grunting shit,” I point out. “If it were up to me, we’d be communicating in flowing sentences by now!”
“I know,” agrees Rod, shrugging. “Carter’s a trained military robot. He’s used to working for dignitaries and people who’ve lived their whole lives under threats of danger. He needs to make adjustments to civilian life, no doubt — but you gotta admit, you’re a little intimidating, yourself.”
Mark snorts at this, but Rod plows on.
“You’re a country superstar — and don’t give me that shit,” he adds as I open my mouth to object. “People in the country music scene know you who are. Luke definitely knows who you are. I already talked to him about this… but my recommendation?” Rod shakes his head. “After the amount of stress you’ve gotten, you two need to lighten up or you’ll be sharing a padded cell before we even catch this creep.”
“And we wouldn’t want that for Luke,” Mark says, shooting Rod a dark look.
I put a hand on my hip, clearing my throat. “Ahem. What am I, chopped liver?”
Mark turns to me with a wink. “You’re already nuts, Sis. As long as you don’t shave your head or start carrying a chihuahua around, I reckon the public will simply remember you as a garden-variety diva.”
“What an honor,” I reply flatly. Still, I have to admit he has a point.
So far, I’ve masked my attraction to Luke by being sassy instead of sweet. I swirl my glass as the boys laugh and joke about something else. Would it be a horrible, earth-shattering mistake if I let Luke see me… just slightly more vulnerable?
10
Luke
For the first time in my life, doing my job is hard.
And I mean that literally.
I try not to ogle Mariah as she applies her makeup at the vanity in her bedroom. She has no idea how stunning she is. Absolutely no idea. I run a hand down my face as her ass swivels on the seat, her breasts pushed up as she gathers better control over the makeup brush.
Lord have mercy… what the hell have I gotten myself into?
All of last week, I maintained a facade of professionalism by barely speaking to her. I convinced myself that Russ’s advice was the reason why. After all, I have a job to do — a job I’m being paid well to do. It would be beyond idiotic to let anything (especially my hormones) impede that.
But then, last week, Rod and Mark had approached me with a request. They must have seen me return to my stony, robotic self because they pointed out (quite fairly) that I won’t be as great at protecting Mariah if I can’t see her as human. I tried to explain that I’m hearing different information from all sides… that Russ is threatening me to tense up, but they’re telling me to relax.
Mark assured me he’d take care of Russ if an issue arose. After all these years, I do trust Mark over Russ — but I can’t deny that Russ might have dirt… dirt that would pose a hell of a safety threat, and not just for me. Then again, I don’t know how a civilian like Russ would know anything about Kashfar. After replaying our conversation in my head a million times, I’ve realized he probably doesn’t. He just took a vague
stab at what might have happened overseas and let my PTSD fill in the blanks. Still, I try not to hold it against him. I was practically drooling over his adopted daughter.
So with that in mind, I accepted that Mark is right: after the escalating threats, Mariah’s safety and our working relationship are top priorities. We need to be able to interpret each other’s signals, and I don’t mean blinks. Over the past week we’ve both attempted to be more civil while still maintaining professional boundaries.
But professionalism only goes so far.
During times like this (when the girl I’ve been jacking off to for years is right in front of me, her cleavage exposed, her lips glossy and perfectly kissable), it’s hard to pretend I’m strictly interested in her security… and that I’m not a red-blooded American male with one hell of a crush.
And yeah, I can admit that’s what it is: a crush… only a crush. But do you blame me? I think most folks across the nation are in a similar spot, provided they have any taste. If I’m being honest, though, knowing firsthand what Mariah looks like in a swimsuit makes things worse. I can’t help but see her half-naked when she does the most basic things: picking up around the apartment. Singing. Sound-checks. When she’s arching her back to hit the high notes, I can’t help but imagine her arching her back in pleasure. And when she’s bending over, like she is right now?
Yeah. I swallow. That particular boyhood fantasy never really left me… the fantasy of her full lips wrapped around my cock, batting those thick, dark eyelashes as she pulls me over the brink. Touching her is part of my job now, too. Which also doesn’t help.
I uncomfortably adjust myself in my jeans, hoping she doesn’t notice. None of my surveillance training prepared me for any of this — for the complications of being surrounded by your sexual fantasy at all times. After Rod and Mark’s little chat, my passing fantasies have gone from slightly distracting to completely consuming.
Rod gives me a “break” each night before bed. Usually, I claim to use it for lifting weights… but in reality, I use it to get whatever she’s done that day out of my system. I’m usually rock hard as soon as I step into the shower. It’s a little pathetic how the thought of breaking down some of our boundaries always has me coming in minutes, her name a garbled cry.
I swallow and look at her again. We’ve both been a little nicer, no doubt at the insistence of Mark and Rod. We aren’t so clipped and formal. I don’t use the blink system. But even so, there’s an uncomfortable energy hanging between us… something I don’t want to think about too much, for fear of not being able to do my job.
A welcome knock at the door pulls me from my fantasies.
“Come on in!” Mariah trills, still examining her lipstick.
I give her reflection a firm shake of my head. Have we totally forgotten about security here? My voice would probably break if I tried to convey more than that, but Mariah bites her lip, looking away, and I know she understands. Good.
I stride into the hallway and open the door. It swings open to reveal a beaming Sabrina. I check my watch. Hmm. It’s closer to studio call-time than I realized. Maybe she’s dropping by before the press interview?
“Hey, bro!” says Sabrina affectionately, wrapping me in a hug. I give her a small smile and hug her back. Looks like she hasn’t forgotten Mark’s promise at Matthews Mountain: I’m family. According to him, anyway.
“Hello, Mrs. Matthews,” I say, allowing a small smile. I may have agreed to soften up around Mariah — my charge — but letting myself fall completely into friendship territory is unwise.
Sabrina lifts her right arm, showing off a little bag draped over her wrist. “I have a present for Mare. You don’t mind if I drop it off, do you?”
I gesture inside. Sabrina smiles and heads to Mariah’s room. Mariah and I are about to head out for a press interview-slash-album-performance with her brothers, so most of PMS is focused on the car and studio prep. Only a single rookie cop stands at the end of the hall. I give him a nod and re-apply the padlock code before stepping inside again.
I’m just settling down on the sofa when my personal phone buzzes with a call. Earl’s given me a separate work phone just for this investigation, but believe it or not, my social life is so limited that there are only three people who have my personal number: my dad, my old military buddy, and my sometimes-friend, sometimes-attorney Emmett Bosco.
Oh, and thousands of spammers and robo-callers who make me feel more popular than I really am. I think it’s one of those, but a quick glimpse at the screen confirms otherwise.
I press the green button to answer the call. “Well, well, well,” I drawl, kicking my feet up on the table. “Could it possibly be Emmett Bosco, contacting me for something he wants?”
Emmett’s deep laugh sounds on the other end. “Oh, you know me too well. Hottie Guard.”
Emmett’s a Bosco, which means he’s Mariah’s cousin — just one member of the enormous family that did their best to include me during childhood. I was already attached to the Matthews family before they moved away, though, so the bond with the Boscos never stuck as much. Emmett still lives back on Biggal Mountain, where he works as a catch-all attorney-slash-private-eye. I wouldn’t consider us friends, exactly… but we have a lifelong history of swapping favors, as the other requires.
I roll my eyes and steal a quick glimpse at Mariah’s closed door. “Yeah, and this Hottie Guard only has a few minutes to spare before he gets to experience your cousin again. So spit it out. How can I save your ass this time?”
Emmett chuckles again and draws a deep breath. “This time, it’s a mix of business and personal. Your dad is in a spot of bother, Luke, and we both know he has too much pride to ask you for help. You’re the first one who came to mind when I thought about it, but Greg doesn’t even know I’m calling.”
My brow furrows. My dad? I’ve barely heard from him since I returned stateside, and even then, we’d only discussed everyday pleasantries. He’s a retired cop who still obsesses over cases nonstop. The Biggal PD allows him to consult occasionally, but I’ve always thought it was mostly to humor him. “What did he do this time?”
“Ha,” Emmett says dryly. “Believe it or not, he stumbled on a significant finding for a case I’m working with the PD. Without giving away too much, they need expert testimony for a deposition. You’d be speaking about some specific details of international security contracts since — if you can believe it — Biggal Mountain doesn’t exactly have a lot of people qualified to address that. Especially as it pertains to life on the mountain.” He pauses. “You in?”
I mull this over. “Well, I would, but I’m working. The Matthews specifically hired me to provide this protection.” I can’t imagine Earl being cool with me jumping ship.
“Oh, I’ve got that covered. I spoke with Russ and Earl last night. They’re cool with it — under the sole provision that I come in your place. And that you return quickly.” He chuckles into the phone, almost as if he can hear my jaw dropping. “Yeah, I know. Crazy, right? But Russ has a point: I have military training, too. Not as much as you, Mr. Hottie Guard… but you know how the Matthews family is. Not willing to wander far from their circle of trust.”
I reply with an empty laugh, unsure of what to say. Is it weird that I’m already thinking of how much I’ll miss Mariah?
There’s a pause.
Emmett draws another deep breath. “Honestly?” he starts again. For the first time, I hear a hint of a plea in his voice. “We need you pretty bad — or I wouldn’t ask. You’d carry more weight than some random expert we might fly in. And there’s a… personal nature to this case, too.”
I remove my feet from the table and slump against the back of the couch. “Hypothetically,” I allow, rubbing a hand over my eyes, “how long would I be gone?”
“Forty-eight hours. Tops. Your part of the deposition starts tomorrow at two — but I don’t expect them to need you for longer than a few hours. You’ll be back to Minding Miss Matthews by Wednesday at the
latest.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and stare at her bedroom door again. Maybe a break is exactly what we need to create a more professional bond.
“I’ll do it.”
11
Mariah
You’d expect someone who’s performed her whole life to enjoy interviews a little more.
Unfortunately, I don’t. Interviews have never been my type of performance.
From a young age, I've had a role: I’m the dotty, adorable, absent-minded little sister who provides a few air-headed comments and bats her eyes on TV. When I was five, this wasn’t far from the mark. When I’m twenty-five, it’s degrading.
But that’s publicity, baby.
I’m sitting beside my brothers on stage, our chairs perfectly spaced for the rendition of Evermore that will follow the interview. On account of the TV segment, there’s more film crew in here than usual — mostly men, as production crews tend to be. My stomach squeezes as unfamiliar men — all dressed in standard behind-the-scenes black — dart across the house, barking commands as they go. Could any of these new faces belong to my stalker? I bite my lip and glance over at Carter, who’s waiting in the wings like always.
It doesn’t help that I don’t have my ring — my number-one source of comfort. The camera crew hadn’t been able to balance the metallic shine against the dark background. Even after a few adjustments, my ring still threw everything off when it hit the production lights overhead.
If I weren’t wearing a dress, I’d stick the sucker in my pocket — but the black lace hugging my curves is especially unforgiving. Tori, always a suck-up, hadn’t hesitated to bat her eyelashes at the cameraman and volunteer to put my ring in my dressing room. I’m not even sure why she’s here. She won’t be performing with us during the segment. I guess the girl never misses a chance to look important.
I draw a deep breath. Even without the ring, I know I’m safe here… safe with my brothers. And even safer with him, adds a little voice in the back of my mind. I shake my head to clear it, but I can’t deny I always feel better knowing that Luke is watching me.
