by Madison, Mia
She frowns at that, then sighs and gives in. “You’ll just hassle me until I say yes anyway.”
“You’re learning, princess.” I ignore her glare and nudge her toward the room at the end of the hall where the x-ray tech is waiting. “Let’s get it over with, yeah?”
When we come back, Sofia examines her while I wait impatiently outside the room. Juliet emerges looking grumpy. I send my cousin a questioning look, and get back a doctor-patient-confidentiality blank stare.
Damned ethics. “Thanks, Sofia. I’ll bring you that wine.”
“Forget the wine.” She lowers her voice. “In case you haven’t heard yet, your family is hosting mine for Sunday dinner. Bring your princess.”
“That’s playing dirty, cuz.” I never bring women to Sunday dinner; my relatives make all those alphabet spy agencies look like amateurs. Though the thought of Juliet surrounded by Adamos doesn’t bother me as much as it should.
“You owe me,” Sofia reminds me ruthlessly.
People think Adamo men are tough, but take it from me — we’ve got nothing on the women. “Fine. We’ll be there.”
And maybe I’ll bring my cousin a little surprise of her own.
3
With Me
“I need to get going,” I tell Nico when he finishes his little tete-a-tete with Dr. Adamo. No doubt she was filling him in on my exam. Which bugs me, but I guess with family the rules are different.
“Going where?” he says, as if he has a right to know everything about my life now. It puts my back up — like everything else about him. When I don’t answer, he says, “Like I said, princess, you’re stuck with me until things settle down, so you might as well make the best of it.”
He gives me a slow smile that probably makes other women tear off their clothes, in public or not. And I hate the fact that I feel that smile deep inside, in places no man has ever touched.
I can’t believe he kissed me. And I kissed him back, and didn’t want him to stop. Ever.
The things he said right after that made me want to kill him, but they also greatly intensified my tingle problem, to the point where I felt my panties getting wet. What is wrong with me?
“Juliet.”
Dammit, daydreaming again! This man makes me lose my mind in more ways than one. “I have class,” I tell him grudgingly.
“Right.” He escorts me out of the clinic and toward the SUV. “Okay, here’s the deal: until we know what’s up, you don’t go anywhere without me.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I’m close to panicky at the thought of having to be around Nico Adamo all the time. Never mind that part of me — a small, treacherous part — feels safe with him, and even likes him taking care of me. “How am I supposed to explain to everyone why I’ve suddenly acquired a bodyguard?”
“You don’t.” Those dark, dreamy eyes turn guileless. “We’ll just say I’m your boyfriend.”
“I — you—” Sputtering to a halt, I seize on the most salient thing I can think of. “No one would ever believe you’re my boyfriend.”
One eyebrow arches skyward, just like his brother’s did earlier. It must be an Adamo thing. “Why not?”
I can’t believe it needs explaining. “Because you’re—” Impossibly hot. No, I can’t say that; his ego’s big enough already.
“You look like …” My face heats, but I stop myself before I say the sexiest rock-star biker on the planet. “Someone who wouldn’t be dating me.”
We’ve reached the SUV. Nico gives me a searching look, then lets his gaze travel the length of my body, down to my toes and back up again. It’s frank but not lascivious, and for some reason I don’t feel offended.
“I think, princess,” he says at length — in that same candid-but-not-flirty way — “that you don’t see what I see when I look at you.”
My face gets hot again, but this time, there’s a strange sensation in my chest too, all warmth and light and … something that feels like bubbles. “Well,” I say, flustered, “you probably don’t see what I see when I look at you, either.”
Dark eyes lock on mine. A long, simmering silence stretches between us, and then Nico beeps the SUV open and holds my door for me. I climb in without a word, heart and mind both racing.
Did we just have a civil conversation? We did. Not only that, we basically complimented each other, and it was … nice. Better than nice.
I don’t know what to do with that.
Maybe I can get through this whole ordeal without hating every minute of it. Maybe Nico and I can be, if not friends, then friendly.
Never mind that all I really want to be with him is naked.
“Got your school stuff?” he asks as he settles into the driver’s seat, and that fast, the moment’s gone, and we’re back to business as usual. It gives me a pang, but I push the feeling aside. When you’re a politician’s kid, you get used to dealing with inconvenient facts.
“No, it’s at my apartment. We’ll need to stop there on the way.”
He puts the vehicle in gear without complaint, but as we pull out onto the street, he says, “So, what did Sofia say? Any concussion, whiplash, other injuries?”
I blink. “She didn’t tell you?”
“No. That was about something else.”
Huh. Score one for cousin Sofia. I don’t want to answer him, though; not because she told me anything bad, but because I need to keep some secrets.
I’m too vulnerable where Nico’s concerned; that’s what it feels like, anyway. As though he could strip me bare without touching me, understand me inside and out without ever sharing anything deep himself. It has me asking, “What about your parents?”
He gives me a puzzled scowl. “What about them?”
“You know about mine. Who are yours, and what do they do?”
“You avoiding the question, babe?” There’s a soft growl in his voice that makes heat bloom between my legs. I press my thighs together, afraid that he’ll somehow detect my response.
“She just said what I already told you. That there’s nothing really wrong.” Not exactly true, but close enough. “I should take some ibuprofen to help with any possible muscle inflammation.”
“Then why are you asking about my parents?”
Stubborn man. I decide on the truth. “Because you have me at a disadvantage, and I don’t like it.”
A smile tugs at his mouth. “Fair enough.” He turns toward the campus; either he already knows where my apartment is, or he assumes it’s somewhere in this direction.
“My dad recently retired after thirty years as a general contractor,” he begins. “He met my mom when she came through town as part of an all-woman rock band on tour. They hit it off, and after the tour was over, she came back to town. They got married three months later.”
“Is it just you and Rafael?”
“Six kids, all boys.”
“Oh my god. Your poor mother.”
He laughs, and it might be the most wonderful sound I’ve ever heard, deep and rich and full of life. That strange warmth happens in my chest again. I stare at his profile, his straight nose and strong jaw, and it hits me.
I have a crush on my bodyguard. My much older, hot-as-sin, wet-dream-worthy bodyguard.
Who’s pretending to be my boyfriend.
I am in so much trouble.
* * *
When we reach my apartment building, I have to ask. “How’d you know where I live?”
“Rafe sent me your address.” He taps his phone.
The meeting hadn’t actually reached the point of me giving out that information before Nico interrupted us, but I guess guys like them have access to the necessary databases. I follow him to the front entrance, where he waits for me to slide my access card through the slot, then enter my personal code into the keypad.
Accepting all the security precautions at this complex was the price I had to pay for my mother letting me live on my own. Today’s the first time that it hasn’t all seemed faintly absurd.
There’s a security guard inside who nods a greeting and watches me access the elevator with the same two-step method. The elevator car, which could hold half a dozen people comfortably, feels tiny with Nico inside it.
We ride up to my floor, the fifth, and go down the hall to my apartment. Nico stops me before I can repeat the process a final time. “When’s the last time you were here?”
“This morning. I went from here straight to Powell Construction.”
“All right.” He nods for me to go ahead, but stops me again once the door is open. A quick glance inside — and suddenly he goes on alert, the tension in his big body triggering my deepest lizard-brain fears.
“Stay behind me,” he orders, and now there’s a gun in his hand. Holy cow. I don’t have time to panic because he’s moving into the apartment, clearing the rooms military style.
The corridor feels unsafe. Anywhere that isn’t near Nico feels unsafe. I creep in behind him, staying well out of his way, and stare at the wreckage.
My apartment is a shambles. Furniture lies overturned; my sofa has been ripped open. Cupboard doors stand open in the kitchen, their contents all over the counters and the floor.
I don’t want to see my bedroom. The sense of violation is already too much.
Nico comes back to me. The look on his face — eyes cold, hard, flat; mouth compressed into a thin line; jaw tight — should scare me. It doesn’t.
“You have any electronics?” he says. “Laptop, tablet, another phone?”
“Just the one phone.” I hold up the handbag I’m carrying, that I took to the internship this morning. “And my laptop, and an iPad.”
He nods, and I know what he’s going to say before he speaks. “They took both of those.”
I feel sick. “I have photos of my family on my laptop. My friends.”
“If this is related to what happened this morning, they’ll figure out pretty quickly that you haven’t accessed those devices, or sent any messages with attachments. You haven’t, right?” I shake my head. “We’ll get a list of friends from you, check on them.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The room recedes; my vision goes gray. Then I’m sitting in one of the chairs by the little round table in my dining nook, head between my knees, a large, warm hand on the back of my neck, and Nico’s ordering me to “Breathe, princess.”
His voice is gentle but firm, and I suck in a shaky breath, then another, as my vision returns to normal. “Sorry,” I say when I can speak.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” The matter-of-fact statement helps me feel steadier. He waits until I meet his eyes, gives me a critical once-over, and nods in apparent satisfaction. “I need you to go to your bedroom and pack a bag.”
I’m relieved that I don’t have to stay here; I don’t think I’ll ever feel safe in this place again. “I need to call my mother.”
“We’ll get to that. I’m calling the cops, too. Pack first.”
I get to my feet, still feeling strange, disoriented. “Do you have some kind of a safe house?”
“Yeah.” Something flickers in those dark eyes and is gone again. “But you’re staying with me.”
4
Three Things
I don’t want to think too hard about that decision. It’s non-negotiable anyway, so there’s no point wasting time analyzing it. I just know I don’t trust anyone but me to keep Juliet safe.
On the other hand, the fact that I want to follow her to her bedroom and stand guard while she packs is a red flag. I have to keep my head screwed on straight, for both our sakes.
Forcing myself to stay in the living room, I call Rafe to fill him in and find out who on the force is handling the report from her vehicular incident, then call that same cop and give her the details about the break-in. Her response is crisp and no-nonsense, so I’m content to let the police do what they do while we run our own investigation.
By the time that conversation is over, Juliet’s come out of her bedroom, a suitcase in one hand, her backpack in the other. She’s been crying, but she’s not falling apart. My kitten’s got spine.
She’s changed out of her skirt and sweater into jeans and a collared shirt, with a v-neck sweater over that. Very put together, and totally fucking adorable.
Despite the unknown threat, I want to kiss her until her clothes are all rumpled, then peel them off and give her carpet burn, right here on the floor of her apartment. This woman has me hard all the damn time.
While I’m escorting her out of the building, I get another look at her ass in those jeans. Damn. I can’t wait until I’ve got her naked.
Once we’re on the road, she pulls out her phone and calls her mother. I can only hear Juliet’s end of the conversation, but it’s not hard to guess its direction when she says, “Yes. I’m with him now.”
A pause, and then, “I need to go to class, Mother. I’ve already missed one today. I’m sure we can work out a time to talk with you and Dad later.”
Great. Just what I need. On the other hand, if Senator North is paying our bill, then she’s technically the client.
“Yes, I’ll be careful. All right. I’ll talk to you later. I love you too. Bye.”
Ending the call, she presses two fingers against the bridge of her nose, then tucks the phone away. Storing her words in my memory banks for later, I follow Juliet’s directions to one of the parking lots on campus.
“What class is this?” I ask her as we head into a square monolith of a building.
“Intermediate managerial accounting.”
Whatever the fuck that is. “Sure. Right.”
A tiny smile, but it lights up her face, gives those big gray eyes a warm glow. It becomes my instant mission to make that happen again. Happen more.
“It’s basically about how managers use accounting data to help them make decisions,” she explains as we enter the classroom. Which is full of kids.
College kids, but it suddenly makes me aware that I’ve got at least a decade on most of them. I’d forgotten that with Juliet; my princess seems older than her peers.
Heads swivel our way, and then the whole room is silent and staring, including the professor. “I told you no one would believe it,” Juliet mutters under her breath.
“Then we better put on a good show,” I murmur in her ear, letting one hand linger at her waist. It wants to stay there, curl around her, sneak under her sweater and shirt to stroke her skin. “Do you want to go up and talk to your professor?”
“It’ll make your cover story even less plausible … but it’s probably a good idea before she kicks you out.” Which the woman looks ready to do. So I take Juliet’s hand and let her lead me up to the front of the room.
“I won’t be any trouble,” I tell the professor, keeping my voice low, before Juliet can say anything. I don’t know if she’s a good liar, but if she’s not, trying to explain my presence with anything but the truth will only make things worse.
“You’re already trouble.” She sends me a cool-eyed, assessing glance that makes me glad I followed my gut. “And if you’re a college student, I’m the Pope.”
“I have reason to be here,” I say in the same undertone.
Her gaze flicks to Juliet, who nods in agreement. “Is it a reason that’s going to endanger my other students or this campus?”
Smart woman. “Highly unlikely. Not that kind of problem.”
“Ms. North?” the professor says. It pisses me off that she doesn’t take my word for it, but also makes me respect her more.
“It’s …” Juliet swallows. “Not boyfriend trouble or anything. It shouldn’t affect anyone else.”
“All right,” she says after a beat. “Thank you for letting me know.” With that, we’re dismissed. Juliet takes what I assume is her usual seat, near the front of the room, and I go to stand against the back wall, where I can see everything and everyone.
The class, what I can follow of it, makes my eyes glaze over, but fortunately my main focus isn’t on the content, but
on our environment. I get more than a few looks from students who glance my way while pretending their attention is on something else, but none of them seem to be focused on Juliet.
Except for one guy, who’s watching her surreptitiously. And a group of three young women in another part of the room, who keep looking between me and Juliet, whispering and laughing.
Growing up with only brothers, I never got a first-hand education on the interpersonal dynamics between the females of the species. A lot of it still baffles me, but if I’m reading their expressions right, the way these three are looking at my princess isn’t friendly.
I can’t be sure what the guy’s intent is; maybe he’s curious, or has a thing for her, or he’s a creeper or a stalker. He makes me want to flatten him, but he’s not necessarily a threat.
As soon as the class ends, the trio of students make a beeline for Juliet. I get there first, while also keeping an eye on the guy. He hasn’t left the room; he’s lurking a few feet away.
I don’t like that. Keeping my body between them, angled so he’s in my line of sight, I ask Juliet, “You ready to go?”
Three things happen at once.
She nods and stands up, slinging her backpack over one shoulder.
The three women reach us, flanking us on one side.
And the guy, his eyes fixed on Juliet, reaches into his backpack and starts to pull something out.
5
You’re On, Hot Stuff
One moment, Nico’s standing right by me; the next, he’s suddenly several feet away, pinning a guy to the floor. I hear a collective gasp from the mean girls, who I’m sure were just about to lob some thinly-veiled barbs about my “boyfriend.”
Everyone who’s still in the room has backed away, giving Nico plenty of room to deal with the student on the floor. He has the guy’s arms pinned with one big hand, and with the other he’s checking the inside of his backpack. Every couple of seconds, his eyes sweep the room.
