She turned her head, the brilliant golden strands tumbling over her shoulders, and she caught his gaze and he saw that blue gleam again, challenge and defiance and, beneath it, fury.
That thing kicked again, and this time there was no mistaking the feeling. It was down low, in his groin, a hard pulse of excitement.
She was tiny and white and golden, and her dress clung to her curves like poured milk. And she was looking at him like she was daring him to chase her, to catch her. Take her down on the floor right here and do whatever he wanted to her.
Jesus Christ. This shouldn’t be happening. He should not be feeling this, not about her. If he wanted to break his drought, there were plenty of other women to choose from. But she was a mission and a fucking complicated one at that, and the last thing he needed right now was complicated.
Ignoring that hard pulse in his dick, he snapped his hand out and this time she wasn’t quite fast enough, his fingers closing around the warm, golden skin of her upper arm. Her eyes went wide, blue flaring in rage, and there was a second where he thought she was going to take a swing at him, and part of him almost wanted her to try it. Give him an excuse to grab her hand and pull her in close, get that tight, curvy little body against his.
She didn’t take a swing—fortunately for both of them—but she did try to pull away. And that was just as bad in the end, because he found himself doing what he told himself he wouldn’t do, gripping both her upper arms securely and tugging her closer to him. She’d gone rigid and there was definitely rage in her eyes as she stared up at him, her lovely mouth a hard, defiant line.
And he found himself just standing there motionless as the dancers swayed and writhed around them, looking down into her upturned face, watching the violent swirl of emotion in her fascinating sea-blue eyes.
She was nothing like he’d expected. Her file seemed to indicate she was a daddy’s girl who did whatever her father wanted. Who did good works and supported her family at various functions. There was nothing in it about her sneaking out to nightclubs. Nothing in it about the wildness he saw in her gaze.
Or the fury. Or the fear.
Yeah, fucking complicated, this princess.
And you like it.
He bared his teeth both at the thought and at her, then bent so she could hear him over the music that beat like a drum all around them. “Never run from me again,” he murmured, making his voice hard, a warning. “And most especially not into the middle of a fucking crowd, in an unsecured area, when you’re currently having death threats leveled at your family.”
She was tense in his hold and through the smell of sweat and aftershave and heavy perfume of the other dancers, he caught the faint scent of something sweet, like sugar. Anger burned hot in her eyes, the lines of her lovely face rigid with it.
Then she said unexpectedly, “Dance with me.”
Taken completely off guard, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say for what had to be at least a whole minute. “Dance with you?” he managed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“That’s what I came here to do,” she said stubbornly. “So that’s what I’m doing. You can either dance with me or you can—”
“Do you think this is a joke?”
That angry blue gleam in her eyes flared again. “No. I think this is a nightclub.”
“You little idiot.” His hands tightened on her. “Any one of the people around us right now could have a knife, a gun, a fucking bomb. They could kill you within seconds. And you want to fucking dance?”
She flinched a little in his hold, but he didn’t release her. She had to know how serious this was.
“You know it’s bullshit, right?” Callie said, fury written all over her face. “This whole death threat thing. It’s just another excuse for my father to—” She stopped all of a sudden, looking away and biting her lip, as if she hadn’t meant to say it.
And he wanted to question her more about it, but the longer they stayed in the crowd, the harder it was for him to protect her, and that simply wasn’t happening.
They needed to get off the dance floor right the fuck now.
“Princess,” he growled. “I don’t give a shit about dancing and I don’t give a shit about your father. What I give a shit about is my job. And that’s protecting you. So right now you have two choices. You either get the hell off this dance floor of your own free will, or I’ll pick you up and carry you off it myself.”
She stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“No? Try me.”
She said nothing, her jaw tight, her mouth even tighter.
“Well?” he demanded, getting impatient now.
She was quiet a moment, not saying anything and not moving, the hot blue glitter in her eyes fixing on him like he was the devil himself. And he found himself tensing, readying himself to pick her up if need be. She’d probably struggle, but he’d secure her legs with his arm so she wouldn’t be able to kick. He’d have to be careful with her though, because she was very small and very delicate. He wouldn’t want to break her.
You kind of want to though. Break her just a little bit.
A muscle in his jaw tightened. No. Fuck, no.
Liar.
“Let me go,” she muttered, and he did. Slowly. Tensing in case she tried to escape again.
But she didn’t. Instead she turned in the direction of the exit and began moving toward it, not looking back at him once. Her shoulders were rigid, her chin lifted high; she was pissed, he got that loud and clear.
Well, he was fine with that. She could be pissed with him all she wanted, as long as she got the hell out of this nightclub and he got her somewhere safe.
He followed along close behind her, staring down any fool stupid enough to get in her way, but as they went past the stairs to the balcony area, one of the people she’d been sitting with just about ran into her.
“Hey, where are you going?” the woman shrieked, swaying on her high heels. “’Cause if it’s to the bar, you can get me another cosmo.”
“No,” Callie sighed. “I’m going home.”
“What? Why the hell would you want to go home?”
Callie lifted one shoulder. “I don’t know. Ask Jack-Hole over there.” She jerked a thumb in his direction.
Jack-Hole. Like he’d never heard that one in his entire life before.
He glowered at the woman, who took a couple of startled steps back up the stairs, then growled at Callie, “Come on. Out.”
She didn’t say a word or glance at him, continuing toward the exit as if he didn’t even exist.
Fine. As long as she got that pretty little ass of hers out of here, he didn’t care.
He followed her out of the nightclub, scowling as they came through the doors and out onto the snowy sidewalk. The temperature had dropped about a million degrees and Callie had started to shiver the moment the cold air hit her bare skin. No wonder. It was as cold as a witch’s tit and the little dress she wore covered exactly nothing. Plus, she had sandals on her feet. She must be freezing. Why hadn’t she at least brought a jacket?
Jack hated the cold, but since protecting Callie Hawthorne was part of his job description now, he shrugged out of his jacket and came up behind her, laying it over her shoulders. Physical discomfort was normal for him, but it wasn’t for her. No reason she should freeze to death while he was perfectly able to stand it.
She glanced up at him in surprise as he adjusted the leather over her shoulders. “What are you doing?”
“Giving you something warm to wear, what does it look like? It’s fucking freezing out here.”
It was a measure of just how cold it was that she didn’t immediately shrug the jacket off, clutching it around her instead. “T-Thank you,” she said faintly and not without a little reluctance.
He frowned. “You don’t have a jacket with you?”
“No. Obviously, I don’t have a jacket. Because if I did, I’d be wearing it.”
Okay. Fair enough. “What about transport?
”
“I got a taxi here.”
“Don’t you have a driver?”
“Yes, but . . .” She glanced away. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”
Ah, of course. She was supposed to be at that charity thing, wasn’t she?
“Does my father know?”
He gave her a narrow look as she shivered on the sidewalk, assessing his next move, which was obviously to get her somewhere warm. He’d deal with the issue of her not wanting her father to know where she was later. Right now, getting out of here was his most pressing concern.
The senator had been explicit that his daughter was to have 24/7 protection, which meant that Jack was to stay in her town house at night. It wasn’t a problem, he’d just hoped to have some time to survey said town house, take a look at and deal with any security issues, before he got there.
Unfortunately, though, since his whole day had been wasted running around after the woman he was supposedly guarding, he was going to have to survey said town house tonight. It was a process he preferred to go through with the place empty, but as it was after midnight, that was going to be impossible.
Grabbing his phone out of his pocket, he quickly keyed in the number of her driver that he’d been given in his initial meeting with the senator.
Callie watched him as he gave the guy the address and beneath the angry gleam in her eyes, he caught the flicker of fear.
Oh yeah, she really didn’t like the idea of people knowing she was here.
“You could have called an Uber,” she muttered after he’d ended the call. “You didn’t need to get Jim here.”
“I’m not trusting a fucking Uber,” he said shortly. “And your driver is your quickest and safest ticket out of here.”
She looked like she might protest, but clearly thinking better of it, she turned away instead, drawing his jacket more tightly around her narrow shoulders. She was shivering harder and he thought her toes were going blue with cold.
Turning, he scowled at the empty street. “He’d better get here fast. You need to get somewhere warm.”
“I was somewhere warm,” she said acidly. “Until you told me I had to leave.”
“Just doing my job, Princess.”
“A job I didn’t ask you to do.”
“We’ve had this discussion.” He checked the street in the other direction, making sure there was no one suspicious hanging around. “Your father hired me to protect you and you weren’t safe in the club. End of story.”
“Well, now I’m out of the club. So you’ve done your duty.”
He turned back to her, meeting her deep blue eyes. “You didn’t catch the fact that I’m protecting you twenty-four-seven? That means my duty is never done. At least not until I’m released from this job.”
Anger flared across her lovely face, bringing color to her pale cheeks. “Twenty-four-seven? You can’t be serious. That means . . .” She trailed off.
“That I’m coming home with you?” Jack finished for her. “Yeah. Sadly, it does.”
CHAPTER 4
Callie wanted to punch Jack King’s scarred, arrogant face so badly her whole hand itched.
Fury burned in her blood, which wasn’t exactly unwelcome since it made her less aware of how fucking cold it was standing on the sidewalk in the middle of a Boston winter, wearing only a white slip dress and sandals.
And his leather jacket. Not forgetting that.
Well, and that was another thing she wanted to fling in his face, and the fact that it was too cold for her to refuse it only made her even angrier.
She was still fuming from the way he’d dragged her out of the club, taking that last precious bit of her evening away from her. She’d wanted to dance—just one last time—but he’d been all about the stupid, nonexistent death threats and wanting to get her out of there, chasing her, pulling her.
You kind of liked him doing that.
Callie shoved away the memory of moving through the writhing bodies of the dancers, of the excitement collecting in her throat at the awareness of Jack’s big, powerful presence looming behind her as he chased her. Of the intense flash of heat that had shot through her as his fingers had closed around her arms and he’d pulled her close.
Oh no, she didn’t want to think about that. Or about the ultimatum he’d given her, that she needed to leave right now or else he’d pick her up and carry her out himself. And especially not her own reaction to it, which had been to wait and see if he really would have picked her up and carried her out.
Her pulse beat a little faster at that and she couldn’t understand why the thought excited her as much as it did, as had the thought of him chasing her.
God, maybe she was insane. In fact, she’d been insane the whole goddamn evening, losing her cool with him, calling him Jack-Hole, shoving at him. As if some part of her knew that doing all that was completely safe and there wouldn’t be any consequences.
Stupid. There were always consequences and now they were coming to bite her on the ass. Jim would pick her up and Jack-Hole would call her father to tell him she’d been found in a nightclub and then everything would go to hell in a handcart.
She would have her father’s rage to face, and a bodyguard who’d be reporting on her every move. There’d be no more freedom for her and what little privacy she’d once had was now gone.
She was going to end up like her mother, wasn’t she? Broken and cowed, obeying every order, nodding her head with every word her husband said. Doing whatever he wanted. Brainwashed into thinking he was protecting her, that he had her best interests at heart. That he loved her.
But he’d never had her mother’s best interests at heart and he didn’t love her, because if he did, her mother wouldn’t have bruises on her arms some mornings. Or on rare occasions, the faint purple of a black eye, hidden beneath a layer of skillfully applied foundation and concealer.
Callie gritted her teeth, ignoring the fear that coiled down low inside her, cold as the snow that dusted the sidewalk under her sandals, and hung on to the anger instead.
No, she refused to be that woman. Her father could try controlling her by slowly placing restriction after restriction on her, gradually curtailing her life so that eventually she’d be able to do nothing without his permission. Yes, he could try.
But she had plans. She would escape. Eventually she’d get herself out from under his thumb.
Sadly though, that wasn’t tonight, which meant she was going to have to suck up the fact that she had a bossy, asshole bodyguard who was going to be coming home with her. Tomorrow maybe she’d figure out the best response to that, but right now the most pressing thing was not freezing to death on the sidewalk.
“Fine,” she muttered. “I don’t care. But I’m sure you won’t mind if I keep your jacket a little longer.”
Jack only nodded before turning away to give the street one of those long, searching glances again.
The fact that the temperature was plunging didn’t seem to bother him. Then again, he was in jeans and boots, with a long-sleeved black thermal on top, while she was in . . . well, not much.
Callie drew the leather jacket tighter around her shoulders. It was very warm and smelled of leather and some kind of unidentified spice that she was disturbed to find she liked. She wiggled her toes, her feet starting to go numb, and decided to float the idea of going back inside before she got frostbite.
But before she could speak a familiar black town car pulled up to the curb, and a flood of relief went through her.
Finally. Her ride.
She moved toward the rear door, her sandals sliding on the icy pavement as she reached for the handle.
Only to have strong fingers wrap themselves around her upper arm, jerking her to a stop.
Oh hell no. Not a-freaking-gain.
Callie tried to pull herself out of Jack’s grip, but it was like trying to yank an iron bar out of wet cement. Even more annoyingly, he was leaning into the driver’s window as he held on to her, paying her no mor
e attention than he would an eager puppy straining at the leash.
“Let go of me,” she snapped, suddenly desperate to get into the warm interior of the car. “I’m freezing to death out here.”
His head turned, his eyes thin slits of emerald as he gave her an irritated glance. “Wait,” he ordered, then turned back to the driver.
Who wasn’t Jim, now that she noticed.
The driver waved a card in front of Jack’s face and grinned, muttering something about being a replacement since Jim had called in sick unexpectedly.
Callie didn’t really care. She just wanted to get in the goddamn car where it was warm. She pulled against him again, a secret part of her thrilling at the strength of his fingers and how securely they held her, while another part found it maddening.
He should have danced with you. What would it be like to be held close by him?
Her whole body quivered at the thought, and she pulled harder, suddenly disturbed by it.
He gave her another of those sharp, irritated glances. Then, cursing under his breath, he moved to open the rear door for her, holding it open as he released her.
Callie didn’t wait. She virtually flung herself inside, shivering helplessly as the warmth hit her chilled skin, this time not even noticing as Jack got in beside her.
Her feet were numb and so were her fingers, and it took her a good couple of minutes before the chill that felt like it had settled into her bones began to fade.
Then awareness began to expand inside her.
The door was shut and the car was moving, and Jack was sitting beside her, one powerful thigh almost brushing hers. He was radiating heat, his long, rangy body like a furnace, and he smelled like the jacket she was wearing. Of something warm and spicy, making her want to press her face against his skin . . .
Her mouth dried. Oh boy, she was crazy. Something had happened to her inside that nightclub, something she really didn’t understand. And now that she was outside and reality was reasserting herself, she understood it even less.
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