Under His Protection

by Isabella Laase

  “I wasn’t privy to the information until I agreed to take over your detail,” said Cruz, “but there are quite a few Class III threats in the report. I’ll share them with you to see if you recognize any names, but these guys aren’t drunks or incarcerated. Our investigators are opening a new task force, but it’ll take a little time to clear them all out.”

  “And I’m sorry that I made the comments about the money,” her father added quietly. “I understand that it’s useless to try to control you with my checkbook, but it’s all that I have left. You’re all I have left. Since I lost your mother...”

  His voice cracking, he stood and walked to the door of the balcony. Even during their darkest days, witnessing her father’s pain was unusual and by some magical familial connection, she felt his sadness as though it were her own. She joined him in the doorway, leaning into his side to wrap her arms around his waist, and he pulled her close with a ferocity that surprised her, burying his face in her hair as though she were the most important thing in his world and igniting that comfortable little girl feeling she got whenever her dad had had the time to hold her.

  Enjoying the peace with the last of her family, she stayed where she was for a few minutes before he shifted his weight and she reluctantly stepped aside. Her father continued to speak quietly. “We should talk more about your mother, honey. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you when we lost her. I guess I wasn’t strong enough to understand your loss while I was dealing with my own, but I know that all of this poor behavior isn’t you. This isn’t the woman that your mother raised you to be. Let us keep you safe and help you get your life back.”

  Cruz’s voice came from behind her, and she turned to face him. “When your father asked me to take this job, he promised that there would be no lies and no manipulation because that won’t sustain either of us for the long run. I need a firm commitment from you that you understand what’s at stake, and that you’ll change your ways. And, at least, until the investigation is complete, you’ll have more restrictions than usual. If you don’t mind what I say, I can promise you that I won’t be happy, and neither will you.”

  Way too much information was coming at her with laser-like speed, and she walked to her small galley kitchen to put a little space between the two men and her thoughts. She didn’t give the gift of trust easily, but this guy’s dark, unsmiling presence had filled her living room with an aura of decency, not to mention a physical strength that did make her feel more secure. But having him around every day was more than her raging hormones could manage. Nobody should be that good looking, making this whole bat-shit crazy plan a horrible idea. The indecision rendered her into an uncomfortable silence, and she sucked nervously on her bottom lip.

  With a hint of his gun bulging under his jacket, Special Agent Cruz stood patiently, his big arms crossed over his finely tailored suit as though he were prepared to give her all the time she needed. His dark hair and eyes perfectly matched his deep tan, fully countering every man she’d ever even remotely allowed into her life. Their relationship would never grow beyond the one they’d dangled in front of her, protection and professionalism, but she trusted that he was a man of his word. He’d keep her safe from whatever was out there, and well, she could daydream about the rest.

  And their interactions would likely never come down to any physical correction. She was perfectly capable of behaving herself. She could do this... a few months at the most. Slowly nodding, she said, “Fine. I’ll work with him. But...” In an attempt to dissipate some of the heat that followed Agent Cruz’s physical presence, she wanted to add some limitations to their working relationship, but his arched eyebrow sent the message that he’d be calling the shots, not her. She nodded and returned to silence, wondering how yoga and meditation would work for controlling her impulsive temper.

  “I’m glad that’s settled,” said her father, visibly relaxing. “I’ll leave you two to sort out the details. I’ve got to get back to a few disasters at work.”

  Victoria rolled her eyes with a groan. “Come on, Dad. Most fathers don’t speak literally when they say they have a disaster at the office. Can’t you work on being normal once in a while?” But Cruz cleared his throat, reminding her that this man had some kind of crazy respect for both parents and the presidency. She kept quiet, a small red blush burning across her cheeks and a quivering sensation across her ass.

  “As you well know, Victoria,” said her father. “I’m not most fathers. Good luck to both of you. I’m confident that this is going to work.” He kissed Victoria on the cheek and left her apartment; the shuffling noises of a half dozen Secret Service agents getting into position followed before he quietly closed the door.

  In the last twenty-five minutes, there had been way too much focus on spankings and consequences, but she realized with a little shock that the threat had never actually been voiced. Even so, she understood what she was getting into. She’d experienced what he’d done to her in the shadow of the Oval Office and that man would beat her ass if she didn’t listen to him. But given the unknown threats that apparently lurked outside her door, this plan didn’t sound nearly as ridiculous as it would have a few hours earlier.

  She walked out on the balcony and closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to control the hormonal overdose that refused to dissipate from its relentless attack, raising goosebumps across her skin and causing her to pull her thighs together to hide the damp spot between her legs. But when she opened her eyes, Special Agent Alec Cruz was still standing in her living room. Her clit fluttered, and she had to work hard to keep her breath steady.

  Chapter Five

  “You wouldn’t really spank me again, would you?” Victoria Bradford asked from the balcony of her apartment.

  Despite the fact that she’d told the computer to set the temperature to a chilly sixty-five degrees, the room was a tad warm with her pretty little self a few feet away and his shaft pushing uncomfortably against the confines of his pants. He slipped out of his suit coat and carefully laid it over the back of a chair, leaving the tailored white dress shirt to frame the .357 Sig nestled in its leather holster. She was a little flushed, too, but she pulled a navy blue sweatshirt over her gym clothes, hiding the cute curves and flat abs of her well-exercised frame.

  “Don’t push me, and we won’t have to find out, will we?” Cruz shrugged. “But let’s start simple. My name is Alejandro Cruz, not Agent What-the-Fuck. You may call me Agent Cruz, whether you’re angry with me or not.”

  She wiggled uncomfortably, and he silently prided himself for starting off with a strong message. No matter how adorable she looked in those form-fitting yoga pants with her long hair pulled back in a simple ponytail and her perfectly clear complexion unmarred by layers of makeup, this was just another job, and he intended to keep it that way.

  Tilting her chin slightly, she said, “Well, I wouldn’t have called you names if you hadn’t been such a jerk. I don’t get spanked every day, and there aren’t a lot of rules for reacting to that indignation.”

  He raised an eyebrow and fought a smile. There actually were quite a few rules on how to take a spanking, but that wasn’t a conversation he was going to have with her. Instead, he lowered his tone. “First, you started with the nasty names long before I turned you over my knee and second, that wasn’t really a spanking. That was a little dusting off of your backside. If you want to see what a spanking really feels like, keep up the attitude, and I’ll give you a few lessons. And for the record, an apology for the other day isn’t out of the realm of acceptable behaviors about now.”

  “Apologize?” she almost shouted, but continued in a lower voice, nervously glancing around the room like they were in the middle of some crowd. “You spanked me. That whole incident was a result of your loss of temper, as well as mine. I think... I think...” she mumbled before standing a little taller, “...that mutual apologies are appropriate about now, and since I am the bigger person, fine. I’ll go first. I’m sorry that I was rude to you.”
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  That time, he allowed himself a tiny smirk. She showed all the signs of being a good little sparring partner. “Okay,” he said slowly. “I don’t usually negotiate with tiny terrorists, but I’m sorry that you struggled to take an appropriate punishment. It’s usually much more effective when the chastised person accepts what they did wrong and asks for their spanking, but you didn’t get any time to achieve that level of communication. Next time, I’ll make sure that you have a chance to think about it before I take you over my knee.”

  Her frown burrowed even deeper as she processed his gilded response, but when her gaze fell on the smooth black leather belt around his waist, he knew that he’d won. In the military and in his current job, he’d seen sophisticated, professional women rip the unprepared apart with sharp words and exploding tempers to do their jobs effectively, but in his personal experience, the brattier the temper tantrum, the more submissive the little girl was deep inside. Victoria Bradford would make some man a willing playmate, but Cruz’s responsibility was to keep her safe, not to help her understand how her sexuality was tied to a kinky side.

  “Until we get these threats sorted out,” he said, “you’ll need to make some changes to your routines. I’m going to keep both Bukowski and Rivers on your detail, and we—”

  “Why those two?” she interrupted rudely. “I barely know them. Can’t I have someone else?”

  “Don’t interrupt me again,” he said sharply. “We’re going to stop this revolving door of agents because you’re going to start behaving yourself. If you’d had some consistency, these threats would have been explored a long time ago. Bukowski and Rivers are two of the best, and I trust them to follow my instructions and report any behaviors that might need a little correction... from me.”

  With an apparent overload of nervous energy, Victoria stormed outside to pace the length of her balcony, but after two or three laps, it became obvious that the small space didn’t provide enough square footage to vent her emotions. She crossed her arms and snapped through the still open door. “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?” he asked innocently.

  “Stop being all big... and mean,” she said, giving her foot a little stomp. “I don’t like it.”

  “Good. I’m glad that you don’t like it because that’ll be a deterrent so I don’t have to deal with your tantrums. Everybody has consequences for bad decisions. Do what I say, and we won’t have any problems.”

  “What if you say something stupid?” she persisted. “Like, what if you tell me to do something that I know would get me hurt? Or something that I know won’t make any difference?”

  “You’ll do it anyway,” he said darkly. “Because my job is to protect you, and your job is to trust me. You already know how I feel about respecting your father and all of his staff. That’s non-negotiable. For the time being, you’ll also follow a reasonable curfew and let me know about any outings with at least twenty-four hours’ notice. Whether I’m on duty or not, I’ll hold the final say on where you can go and how long you can stay. I’ll need a list of all your friends and acquaintances, so they can be fully vetted. Nobody comes into this apartment without my permission, and you’ll spend the nights in your own bed, alone, until I’ve had a chance to investigate any potential guests.”

  He wasn’t surprised when she snapped, “Listen, Special Agent Wh...” At the sight of his unblinking face and crossed arms, his little charge had the intelligence to lower her tone. “...Agent Cruz. I have the right to make adult decisions by myself, including who I sleep with. There’s a limit to what I’m going to put up with around here.”

  “Under normal circumstances, I’d agree with you, but for the time being, this is the way things are going to be. I’m adding a few temporary restrictions, but even after this is over, there are going to be some dramatic changes in your attitude. You can’t go on like this.”

  “Are you all planning on joining me in my bed, too, sir?” she snapped. “Because I might have to get a bigger mattress.”

  “No,” he said dangerously. “You can retain an element of privacy, but the first time you lock a door between you and your detail, I’m knocking it off the hinges, and you won’t get it back. Am I clear?”

  “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Now if you’ll go out in the hallway, there is a nice uncomfortable chair where I keep all of the ogres from the Secret Service. I’m going to take a shower and enjoy a few minutes without you and your damned rules.”

  “I suggest very strongly that you watch your, tone, young lady. And until we get more information, at least one agent will be stationed inside of your apartment at all times. We’re adding security cameras with motion detectors in the lobby and the hallways tomorrow.”

  “I live on the fu—freaking fifth floor, Agent Cruz.” There was a little too much snarky emphasis on the ‘Agent Cruz,’ but self-regulating her language was a small victory. “Unless you’re expecting Spiderman to attack me, I think I’m pretty safe.”

  “Nobody has ever fully vetted your neighbors. You have a very lovely balcony, but with a nine point square, you’re surrounded by eight potential threats. If you demand more privacy, we need to move you back to the White House, at least temporarily. Those are your choices.”

  She turned away with a shudder before he could fully gauge her response, but it was the second time he’d seen her unhappy reaction when mentioning the Executive Mansion. She clearly had triggers over the building, but instead of growing angrier, she mellowed. Speaking quietly and staring at the floor, she said, “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Just how long do you think all of this investigation crap is going to take?”

  “I guess that depends on how many friends you have who need to be investigated.”

  She looked up at him, her sparkly brown eyes about as sad as he’d ever seen in a pretty little girl. “Then I guess that this will be the world’s shortest investigation, won’t it, Agent Cruz?”

  * * *

  He was reading his tablet well past midnight when he heard her moving around her bedroom. After the shower had turned off, it had been quiet in there for hours, but with no balcony and a lone window on the fifth floor, he was pretty comfortable waiting on the couch until morning. He’d checked on her a few times, sleeping soundly like a little girl, her famous blonde hair tossed across one pillow and another snuggled to her belly like a teddy bear, the picture showcasing a touch of the sweet innocence her father had insisted was in there someplace.

  Two other agents would relieve him by eight, and he’d go home to grab a few hours’ sleep before returning in the midafternoon. Just like last year, he’d likely max out on the Secret Service salary cap dictated by Congress. The law occasionally meant that he and his peers worked for no pay in order to meet the demands of the job, but it was a quirk he’d expected when he took the assignment.

  She came out of the bedroom without warning, rubbing her eyes like she’d been sound asleep and looking almost startled to see him. Damn, she looked adorable in her bare feet and the oversized t-shirt showcasing a rainbow-colored bunny. The hem went well past her bottom, leaving long, taut thighs to tease his cock and make him wonder how far that smooth skin went before meeting up with her tight ass.

  Resisting the urge to tell her to put some pants on, he acknowledged her with a nod while she moved to the kitchen, rummaging through her refrigerator in an apparently vain attempt to find what she was looking for. After her full day, he wouldn’t be surprised if she went for one of the bottles of expensive wine in her living room display rack, but instead, she pulled a carton of chocolate ice cream from the freezer and added an overly large spoon before sitting at the kitchen table with a sigh. With her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, she looked more like she could have been one of his sisters’ friends hanging out at the beach rather than the high-society, Mayflower descendant that she was.

  To qualify for his position, he’d mastered a wide variety of skills, from the appropriate diplomatic responses when dealing wi
th foreign leaders to emergency medical procedures that could keep a person alive until help arrived, but the extensive psychology courses were the most helpful to him when working with new people. This was going to be tough for her, but as long as she obeyed him, she could eat all the ice cream she wanted.

  “Do you like ice cream, Agent Cruz?” she asked. The question left him a little rattled, but her open and honest expression showed no sign of bratty hostility.

  “Yep, I do,” he responded sincerely. “I personally like it with chocolate fudge and chunks of brownies.”

  “Well, I don’t have any fudge or brownies, but there are about a thousand calories in this box, and I’m not going to stop until it’s all gone. So, would you please get a spoon and help me eat it? It’s the least you can do to protect me.”

  “And how is eating a thousand calories of ice cream protecting you?” She was damned cute when she wasn’t cussing him out, and Cruz’s stomach grumbled at the thought of a little food. Junk food wasn’t usually his meal of choice, but right about then, a bowl of chocolate ice cream did sound pretty good. Between coordinating his newest investigation at the Secret Service headquarters and meeting up with his boss and President Bradford to work out the final details of the job, he hadn’t eaten since lunch.

  “I need to be protected from myself, Agent Cruz,” she added with mock sincerity. “Please... grab a spoon and eat some of this shit before I gorge myself. Unless, of course, you have something better in that backpack of yours?” she asked, waving her spoon toward his personal gear.

  “No,” he responded seriously, checking each item off his fingertips. “All I have in there is some rope, a nice, soft old belt, a few spatulas, a ruler, and a random flip-flop or two. I’d love something to eat.”

  Her eyes grew wide as the alternative purpose for each item registered with her new rules, and he laughed. “I’m kidding, Victoria. All I have is a peanut butter sandwich on stale bread. I haven’t had the chance to go to the grocery store in weeks.”