The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy

by Kingsley, Claire

  “Where are you off to?” Daisy asked.

  “Art show at Wynwood Walls. I’m supposed to be seen with a bodyguard so the random thug from the parking garage knows I’m being protected now.”

  Daisy’s gaze flicked to me, then back to Cameron again. “Or so whoever thought they could fuck with you knows they’d be stupid to try it again.”

  I gave Daisy a subtle nod and put her on my mental allies list.

  Cameron had her boss face on. No hint of what she was thinking. “D, can you help me pick out a dress?”

  “Sure, but it would be more fun if you picked something from my closet.”

  “You’re like five inches shorter than me,” Cameron said, heading out of the kitchen. “Most of your dresses won’t cover my ass. Hell, most of your dresses barely cover your ass.”

  “That’s what makes them fun,” Daisy said and followed her out.

  I slumped onto a stool and ran my hands up and down my face, trying to get the image of Cameron’s fantastic rack out of my head.

  14

  Cameron

  Despite Daisy’s protests that it was boring, I’d chosen a tasteful black sleeveless sheath dress. Maybe it lacked flash, but it was appropriate for the CEO of Spencer Aeronautics at tonight’s event. And my sapphire blue heels spiced up my look quite nicely, if I said so myself.

  The Wynwood Arts District was north of downtown in what had once been a rundown neighborhood filled with textile factories. Now it was one of Miami’s artsy hotspots, with edgy street art, galleries, trendy bars, and studios featuring artists in action. Tonight was the premier of Carla Santiago’s latest collection—a local sculpture artist who was known for her vibrant use of color.

  Solar-powered lights lit the outdoor courtyard and the permanent installation of large wall murals made for an interesting backdrop. Carla’s brightly colored abstract sculptures sat on concrete pedestals, each with a plaque displaying the piece’s name. I stood in front of one entitled Reflections on the Existential Meandering of Water and Time.

  Jude stood at a moderate distance, looking frustratingly handsome in his light jacket and slacks—every bit the bodyguard. Feet apart, arms at his sides, eyes taking in everything.

  I didn’t know if he was acting so serious because he wanted everyone in attendance to know exactly why he was here—in case the elusive mastermind behind the parking garage attack happened to see him—or if the distance between us was due to the boobs incident earlier.

  Maybe it was a bit of both.

  I took a sip of my martini and pretended to study the sculpture. Maybe I should have been more embarrassed about Jude seeing me almost naked. I wasn’t an exhibitionist, but I was comfortable with nudity. In private, anyway. Growing up in Miami, I was accustomed to seeing men and women in barely-there outfits. String bikinis and Speedos were standard attire for much of the year.

  At work and in public I always dressed professionally. I was the CEO of an aerospace company, and I was exceedingly careful to maintain the right image. I wore business suits even on weekends if I left the house. But home was where I could let my hair down—or take my top off. Most of my home staff had probably seen me topless at some point. I only hired people I trusted implicitly, and a little nudity didn’t bother me.

  But I’d obviously made Jude uncomfortable. I’d thought we’d started to establish a relationship that was a little friendlier. More familiar. He’d started to feel more like a companion than a bodyguard.

  Not tonight. He was all business, and I had a feeling that was my fault.

  A man I recognized by sight and reputation wandered over to the piece I was pretending to admire. Nigel Houghton was a hotel mogul based in London, if I remembered correctly. He wore his button-down shirt and slate-gray slacks well. Neatly trimmed dark hair. Enough stubble to give him a masculine edge while still looking sleek and polished.

  As far as I knew, he wasn’t part of Aldrich’s social circle, but I still felt a flash of worry that he’d seen the sex tape. My eyes darted to Jude, still standing off to the side. He was watching me, but didn’t meet my gaze.

  Nigel stopped next to me, holding a glass of whiskey on the rocks. “Is it just me, or do these make no sense?”

  Definitely London. He had a nice British accent.

  I studied the shiny mass of twisting metal in shades of aqua and green. “I was thinking the same thing. “I have no idea what this is supposed to be.”

  “That makes me feel better.” He held out his hand. “Nigel Houghton.”

  I slipped mine in his firm grip and shook. “Cameron Whitbury.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said. “I think we’ve crossed paths once or twice, but never officially met.”

  Either he was good at hiding his thoughts, or he hadn’t seen the sex tape. There was no hint of illicit recognition in his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, too. What brings you to Miami? Other than the vibrant art scene, of course.”

  His eyes flicked to the side, then back to me. “I’m looking at some investment properties.”

  “For a new hotel?”

  “Yes. My people predict steady growth in Miami’s tourism sector and we’re looking to gain a foothold in the area.”

  “Then it sounds like now is a good time for new development.”

  “Absolutely.” He seemed to look past me again. “But I don’t want to bore you with the details of real estate speculation. How terribly dull of me.”

  “Not at all.” I doubted anything would sound dull in that accent of his. But I felt a tickle of discomfort in my belly. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be having a conversation that was even mildly flirtatious with another man.

  Another man? What did that even mean? For there to be another man, there had to be a man, and I didn’t have a man in my life. Jude was watching me like a hawk because it was his job. Not because there was something between us. Just because the man had seen my boobs—and for a second had looked at me like he wanted to rip my bikini bottoms off with his teeth—didn’t mean I couldn’t have a nice conversation with a good-looking man at an art show.

  “So tell me about you,” he said. There was that flick of his eyes again, but he took a subtle step closer. “You work in aerospace, do I recall that correctly?”

  “Yes. Spencer Aeronautics. We started as a parts manufacturer and military contractor, but in the last several years we’ve moved toward an emphasis on rocket technology, particularly with passenger aircraft applications. And there I go being dull.”

  “Not in the least.” He looked past me again and cleared his throat. “I suppose most people associate rockets with the military or defense systems. I didn’t realize there were commercial uses.”

  “There definitely are; it’s very exciting. What we’re working on will revolutionize air travel.”

  “Will it?”

  I nodded. “Imagine a cross-Atlantic flight that only takes an hour. The aircraft exits the earth’s atmosphere, making it possible to travel at much higher speeds. It reenters and lands thousands of miles from the origin point in a fraction of the time it takes a current commercial airliner to fly the same distance.”

  “That is truly fascinating,” he said, but he was barely making eye contact. He kept watching behind me, like something else was attracting his attention.

  I knew exactly what it was. Or who it was. Jude.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Jude was doing his best brick wall impression—if a brick wall could look menacing. His eyes were locked on Nigel, his square jaw tight. He was ten feet away and completely unmoving, yet it looked like he could pounce on Nigel in an instant.

  Yep, I’d been right. World’s biggest cock blocker.

  Nigel cleared his throat again. “Well, Cameron, it was lovely meeting you. There’s a courtyard full of sculpture left to baffle me.”

  I smiled. “Have a nice evening.”

  Nigel walked away, casting a last nervous glance at my overbearing bodyguard.

  I whipped around and marched over
to him. “What are you doing?”

  “My job.”

  “Your job doesn’t include staring down attractive British men who strike up a conversation with me at a social event.”

  “I wasn’t staring him down.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “No? Then why did he keep looking at you?”

  “You’d have to ask him.”

  “Do you always have to be so intimidating?”

  “Yes.”

  I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath, then took a long drink of my martini. “We were just chatting. You didn’t have to scare him off.”

  A tiny twitch of his eyebrows betrayed a hint of smugness. “If me standing ten feet behind you scared him, I did you a favor.”

  “Why? Because he’d lose to you in a who’s the bigger caveman contest?”

  “Yes.”

  God, he was infuriating. Even more infuriating was that little voice in my head that said he was right.

  “I hired you to keep me safe, not screen my potential dates.”

  “Would you actually date that guy?” There was an edge to his voice that stood out in contrast to the stoic brick wall thing he was doing tonight. “And didn’t you say something about not dating again?”

  “That’s beside the point. Maybe he would have changed my mind.”

  “No, he wouldn’t have.”

  I put a hand on my hip. “And how do you know that?”

  “Money doesn’t make him man enough for you.”

  I had no idea how to reply to that. Especially when Jude’s hazel eyes smoldered with heat.

  Was he picturing me naked?

  I was picturing him naked.

  This was ridiculous.

  “I don’t need your opinion on who I date, and I certainly don’t—” I stopped mid-sentence, hoping the man I’d just seen from the corner of my eye was anyone but the man I thought he was.

  No, it was him. Aldrich Leighton.

  He was impeccably dressed, as always, in a lavender button-down and dark slacks—although the two buttons open at the top was new. The dark-haired beauty on his arm had to be fifteen years younger than him—at least.

  I’d known this moment would happen eventually. We traveled in the same social circles. It was inevitable that we’d run into each other.

  I glanced down at my dress, suddenly wishing I’d taken Daisy up on her offer to wear one of hers. This one was boring. One of her five-thousand-dollar sequined numbers that barely covered my ass might have been a better choice.

  Aldrich’s eyes met mine and a slow smile crossed his face.

  “Oh, god,” I mumbled.

  Jude took a step closer. “Your ex.”

  I noticed he hadn’t phrased it as a question. He already knew.

  Keeping my expression smooth, I watched Aldrich and his date make their way across the courtyard. Frantically, my mind raced for the right words.

  Now wasn’t the time for a confrontation. Aldrich didn’t know that I knew, and the sex tape hadn’t been made public. As far as I knew, it had only been passed around to a handful of his buddies, and I wanted to make sure it stayed that way. One wrong word in a public place, with the wrong person within earshot, and the gossipmongers would be offering a hefty sum for a copy of that video.

  But in the brief moment it took for Aldrich to cross the distance between us, I realized my fear of that tape making it into the media wasn’t the only reason I couldn’t say a word about it now.

  Jude didn’t know, and I did not want him to find out.

  Jude accidentally seeing my boobs hadn’t embarrassed me, but I was deeply ashamed of that video. Ashamed that I’d let Aldrich record it in the first place when I should have known better. Ashamed that other men had seen it—seen me in such an intimate act. I didn’t know why the idea of Jude finding out about it hurt so much, but it did.

  But I was Cameron fucking Whitbury. President of a multi-billion-dollar company. Badass aerospace mogul. And I wasn’t going to let my ex hurt me.

  “Cameron,” Aldrich said with a smooth smile. He made a move to step in closer—probably to kiss my cheek—but he seemed to notice Jude. He hesitated, his smile faltering, then offered his hand.

  I let him take my hand and shook his—hard. “Aldrich.”

  His only reaction was a slight eye twitch.

  Jude no longer kept a respectful distance, the ever-watchful but unobtrusive bodyguard. He crowded my space, standing so close if I had leaned backward a fraction of an inch, I would have pressed against his chest. I could practically feel his body heat.

  “I was wondering if I’d run into you,” Aldrich said. “How have you been?”

  “I’ve been well. You?”

  “I can’t complain. Busy, as usual. You know how it is.”

  The girl at his side didn’t seem to care that he hadn’t introduced her. She pulled her phone out of her purse and started typing.

  “Yes, I do know how it is.”

  “What do you think of the installation?” he asked.

  “It’s interesting. Very colorful.”

  “You know what it reminds me of?” His eyes darted to Jude, then back to me. “That trip we took to Costa Rica. The place we stayed had that big painting above the bed. You said the colors were soothing.”

  Why was he bringing up a trip we’d taken more than two years ago? “Did I?”

  “Don’t you remember lying backwards on the bed so we could stare at it?”

  I barely restrained myself from rolling my eyes. Was that comment for me, or Jude? Either way, it was clearly an attempt to show off the fact that he’d been with me.

  “Vaguely,” I said. Silently hoping Jude would understand my signal, I shifted my feet, just enough that my shoulder brushed against his chest.

  I felt him lift his arm. Checking his watch? He put a hand on my arm and leaned closer to my ear. “It’s time to go, Ms. Whitbury.”

  I kept the smile from my lips, but nothing could stop the rush of warm fuzzy feelings that poured through me. There were benefits to having a cock-blocking bodyguard.

  “Thank you, Jude.” I set my empty martini glass down on a ledge. “I have another engagement to get to.”

  “It was great seeing you, Cameron,” Aldrich said, his lips curling in a smile that made me feel like vomiting all over his suede shoes.

  I took a step closer to him and lowered my voice to almost a whisper. “I’d say it was nice to see you too, but that would be a lie.”

  Without another word, I walked away, allowing myself a little strut. A little hip sway. My dress might not have been club-worthy, but I did have a great ass. I’d worked hard for it.

  I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know Jude was there. I needed to stop and text my driver to come pick us up, but I wanted to get out of Aldrich’s line of sight first. I walked down the path, past the waist-high wrought iron fence, and continued up the sidewalk.

  Cars were parallel parked along the street. I kept walking until there was an empty space, and fewer people nearby. Jude stopped behind me. I didn’t turn around. I was flustered. Irritated at Aldrich. Wishing I could have chewed him out for lying when he’d promised he’d delete the video. For showing it to his friends. For acting so fucking smug.

  And that little remark about our trip to Costa Rica? What an ass.

  Trying to channel my inner Luna and breathe away my stress, I texted my driver.

  “Where to next?” Jude asked.

  Anywhere but here? Home so I could put on a pair of pajama pants and not share a bottle of my favorite cabernet?

  But I didn’t want Jude to think a two-minute conversation with my ex would rattle me enough to send me running home.

  “I’m thinking Naoe. Sushi sounds good. I don’t have a reservation, but I’ll have Joe call ahead.”

  Jude didn’t say anything, so I lifted my phone to text Joe again.

  An arm cinched around my waist and spun me, knocking my phone out of my hand. Squealing tires and crunching meta
l filled the air, the noise shockingly loud. One second my feet lifted off the ground and the next I was curled up on the sidewalk, my legs tucked beneath me, my head down. Jude’s large frame covered mine, his body shielding me from whatever chaos was erupting behind us.

  Tires screeched again and someone yelled. Another voice hurled a stream of expletives.

  My heart beat wildly and I held still, cocooned in Jude’s protective embrace. I felt him turn his head, looking behind us.

  “Oh my god, are you okay?”

  “Did someone call the police?”

  “Call 911!”

  “Get the license plate.”

  “The car’s gone.”

  “He drove off. What a dick!”

  Jude slowly loosened his arms and inched back. He was crouched over me, his feet planted firmly beneath him. He put his big hands on my upper arms, as if to steady me while I uncurled myself from the pavement.

  “Are you hurt?” His voice was low, concerned but calm.

  “I don’t think so.” I’d lost a shoe and the other was barely clinging to my toes. Slipping my foot out of it, I took Jude’s hands and let him help me to my feet. “What happened?”

  “Black SUV swerved onto the sidewalk.” He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, but his attention was on everything around us.

  The back bumper hung off a maroon sedan that was parked along the street, and a handful of people stood around, most on their phones. A few were helping a guy in a tank top get to his feet not far from us. He had a bloody scrape on his leg. A man in a t-shirt and board shorts jogged over and stopped in front of the maroon car.

  “What the fuck?” He raked his hands through his hair. “My car. Did anyone get the license plate?”

  One guy said he’d tried to take pictures, but he’d been too slow to get a clear shot before the SUV had driven away. Another said the police were on their way.

  “Let’s go,” Jude said quietly.

  He let go of me and picked up my phone.

  “Are you sure we can leave?” This wasn’t just a matter of doing the right thing. There were already at least half a dozen people taking pictures with their phones. The last thing I needed right now was a scandal.