by T. E. Sivec
I hadn't hesitated to jump into the action, but I let myself get distracted. I let myself care too much about the subject I was paid to protect. I was paid by the city of Nashville to protect and serve all of its citizens. I let a few small conversations and a silly connection I thought I felt get in the way of doing my job. I forgot about all of my training and what you should never say and emotions you should never give away during a hostage stand-off. After I tackled Joe to the ground and relieved him of his weapon, I stood back up and looked around to find my partner with a bullet through his chest and a mother and daughter with matching ones through their heads. I was so busy trying not to crumble to the ground in grief that I forgot to cuff Joe. He jumped up from the ground, grabbed my side-arm, and shot himself under the chin, blood and brain matter splattering against my police uniform.
The sound of the phone ringing tears me away from my dark memories of that night. I need to focus on what I’m being paid to do. Who gives a rat’s ass about the relationship Layla has with Eve? Gwen is right. It has absolutely nothing to do with the stalker case. It has nothing to do with me. If this is the way Layla chooses to live her life, I don’t give a flying fuck.
Pulling up the file on the computer where Gwen stored the scanned copies of the letters Layla has been receiving over the last year, I go over them and take some notes, focusing my mind on what's important, not on what doesn’t matter.
Layla and the choices she makes do not matter. She’s her own person and can do whatever the fuck she wants. I couldn't care less.
It’s been three weeks since Brady and I went on our run. Three weeks since he's actually acted like a decent human being to me. I have no idea what changed between then and now, but the playful, friendly Brady has been replaced with the stand-offish, all-business Brady. I tell myself that I should be happy about that because it’s not like I need the extra distraction that friendly Brady gives me. I don’t have the time to daydream about kissing the dimples on his cheeks or the warmth I felt as I watched him talking to his niece on the phone.
Then why the hell are you doing it right now?
We’re sitting next to one another at the same conference room table where we met. But this time, I’m not on the opposite side of the table wondering who the hell he is and what he’s doing in my domain. Now, we’re sitting so close that every once in a while his leg brushes up against mine, and I have to fight down the urge to reach over and place my hand on his thigh to see if it’s as muscular as it looks.
I’m still wondering who the hell he is, unfortunately. I’m still questioning if I can trust him and if the two sides of I’ve seen of him so far will be it, or if there’s some other personality lurking under the surface waiting to jump out and confuse me even more.
“So you don’t read all of your fan mail?” he asks distractedly as he sorts through a pile of stationery, unopened envelopes, and torn-off sheets of paper—all with words of praise, thanks, or backhanded compliments from my fans all over the world.
Aside from barely saying two words to me for the last few weeks, and only replying to me with curt answers, Brady has been here at the office every day poring over all of my mail or following me to all of my meetings and practices, making inquiries and taking notes. He had asked me to come in today because he has a few questions. Well, actually, he had sent an email to Finn asking me to come in today, which of course pissed Finn off. I’m still treading lightly with him after the incident in the woods. He feels slighted, like I chose Brady over him. I would never choose anyone over him. It'll take some groveling and sucking up on my part to reassure him that I would never choose Brady over him, but he'll eventually come around. He always does. I tried my best to smooth things over with him when he received the email.
“Why the hell is he emailing me for? And why does he need to bother you with this shit? If he has questions, he should just ask me,” Finn angrily complained as he scanned through his emails on his phone.
“Finn, he’s doing his job. You know there is no use fighting this. Eve hired him and we just have to live with it for a little while. He’ll see that there’s no claim to these stalking allegations Eve has insisted on, and he’ll go back to his life and let us get back to our normal routine,” I explained, softening my voice and trying not to get frustrated with his constant resentment towards Brady.
I really had no idea where it was coming from. Eve had hired plenty of outside consultants over the years to check that our security was top-notch and to make sure things ran as smoothly as possible. Finn had never been this irritated and outright rude with anyone before.
“You and I both know you are amazing at your job and know what you’re doing. Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
The pleading in my voice must have gotten to Finn. His features softened; the furrowing of his brow smoothed out and a small smile curled up the corners of his mouth.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make things harder on anyone, especially you. I’m just frustrated.”
I walked over to him and slid my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head.
“Thank you, Finn. He’ll be gone before you know it, you’ll see.”
Thankfully, Finn’s kept his attitude in check since that conversation. Brady still isn’t gone, though, and it looks like he has no intention of leaving until he finds something to validate Eve’s claims.
“I don’t open any of my mail,” I answer, getting back to his question and scooting as far away from him on my chair as I can without falling off the other side. “We have assistants here who open all incoming mail, and they enter all of the sender’s information into a database and scan a copy of the original letter. They hand-pick a few a week for me to personally respond to.”
Brady nods in response as he picks up a few letters and looks at the return address before placing them in a pile to his left.
“So, did they bring the letters from this Ray guy to your attention when they came in?”
I shake my head, leaning forward and placing my elbows on the table. “No. I get threats and weird letters all the time from people, so when the first few came in, they just filed them away like usual. But after the fifth one, the program we use to keep track of the letters flagged them, letting us there was a pattern with the same sender. That’s when they took the letters to Eve. And that’s when she called you. I’ve only seen two of the letters in person.”
Brady starts gathering the hundred or so letters from this week into a pile before shoving them into a canvas bag he brought with him. When they are all put away, he stands up and slings the bag over his shoulder.
“I told the admins that from now on I want all mail to come straight to me before they open it. If this guy sends something else, I want to be able to dust it for fingerprints. The old letters have been handled by too many damn people for me to get anything off of them.”
He turns his back and starts walking towards the door.
Jesus, he couldn’t even crack a smile or say one word to me that isn’t about business. What the hell is his problem?
“How’s your niece? Did she like the signed poster I gave you for her?” I ask, forcing him to stop before he can escape.
Maybe reminding him of that small piece of his life he shared with me will lighten him up a bit so I can see if that man was real.
“Yeah. She said thanks,” he replies gruffly, his hand hovering over the door handle.
“I was thinking of going for a run later today before I have that appearance at the new club opening,” I throw out there.
Desperate much, Layla?
I’m practically begging him to be alone with me. I just want to see if what happened in the woods was real or just my imagination. He was a real person then, not this robotic business man. He smiled and he laughed and he made jokes. He wanted me to be honest with him and trust him to do this job, but I can’t do that if he's going
to shut down like this and pretend like he hadn’t sung one of my songs to his niece while I stood right there listening or thrown me over his shoulder like a caveman, smacking my ass and making me laugh with stories about his niece the whole drive home. As much as I hate admitting it, I’m attracted to him. There was a spark that day in the woods. I miss that spark—that first initial attraction to someone where all you can think about is what their kisses will taste like and what their hands will feel like on your bare skin. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt those butterflies in my stomach. Hell, who knows if I ever have? We’re both consenting adults. If there is a mutual attraction, why not scratch an itch? It’s not like it will be a conflict of interest. Sure, Eve hired him, but it's obviously a sham. I'm sure Brady won't find any further proof to her stalker claims, and before I know it, I’ll never see this man again.
“Finn’s down the hall waiting for you. I’ll tell him you need to get a run in.”
And with that, he is out the door without another word.
Maybe it is be best if I never see him again. Obviously, that spark I felt isn’t mutual, and now he probably thinks I’m just pathetic and desperate. I must be if I thought a guy like that would let his guard down long enough to have some fun.
The club is packed so tight, I can barely move. Club Envy is filled with celebrities, reporters, and a bunch of specially selected patrons who can go back out into the world after tonight and tell everyone what a raging success the new club is. I don't want to be here tonight, especially after pounding away my frustrations from my earlier interaction with Brady on a five-mile run. I'm exhausted, mentally and physically. I keep telling myself that any attraction I feel towards the man is foolish and a waste of my time.
All I had wanted to do when I got home was curl up and NOT think about Brady. Unfortunately, that isn’t in the cards for me. Eve planned this appearance months ago, and if I even mention the idea of skipping it, my decision will be made into a huge ordeal and a messy argument that I'm not in the mood for.
So instead, I suck it up, put on the hottest dress I have in my closet, and decide to make the most of the night by dancing my ass off with a bunch of good looking men that I'm absolutely not imagining are Brady when I close my eyes and our bodies brush against each other on the crowded dance floor. Luckily, the music pumps through the sound system and cancels out the need to make small talk with any of them.
Over the shoulder of my current dance partner, I catch Finn’s eye at the bar as he keeps watch over me from a distance while nursing a ginger ale. I roll my eyes and nod my head towards the guy who doesn’t understand the concept of loud music and how it isn’t conducive to telling someone your whole life story. Finn lifts his chin in response to my unspoken plea to rescue me from Chatty Cathy in a few minutes. Once I’m satisfied that he gets my message, I turn away from Finn and my dance partner, and raise my arms above my head, swaying to the beat of the song. I hope he’ll get the hint. If my back is to him, maybe he’ll refrain from trying to tell me about his ex-wife. Thankfully, he stops talking, but this just gives him the opportunity to push himself up against me and rest his hands on my hips while he moves his body with mine.
I close my eyes and pretend like he’s not there. Oh, who am I kidding? I pretend like it’s someone else with their hard body pressed flush with my back, sliding against me and making me burn with need.
The guy’s hands momentarily leave my hips and his body moves away. Before I can be grateful that he's finally realized I'm not going to participate in his conversation, he’s back, but this time he wraps one arm around my waist from behind and pulls me roughly up against his rock hard chest. In my black, backless halter dress, I can feel his muscles and his warmth through the cotton of his shirt against my bare skin.
Now that’s more like it.
I can’t tell if it’s the same guy or not, but I don’t even care as a new song starts, slower and sexier than the last. I recognize it instantly as Bloodstream by Stateless. This song always makes me think about sex and this time is no different, especially having a man this close to me. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around my waist with his fingers splaying across my flat stomach. His other hand grabs my hip and pulls me back as close as possible to his body until my ass is firmly nestled against his erection.
Oh shit. I should move. I should really, really move.
I should not be enjoying this at all, but everything is clouding my judgment tonight, and being irritated at Brady’s inability to be a human being isn’t helping the situation. This guy’s arms around me make me feel secure, and I’m not going to lie, feeling his hardness against me turns me on. It feels good to finally feel something.
The thump of the base is pounding through my body, and I push myself even closer to my dance partner who moves his hips slowly and seductively in perfect rhythm to the music. I rest my arm on top the one circling my waist and reach behind me with my other arm, grabbing onto his hip and securely holding him against me as we continue to move together with the sensual tempo of the song. I feel a hand slowly slide across my bare shoulder, and I shudder at the contact of his hand against my skin, realizing he has taken it off of my hip so he can move my hair out of the way. Without conscious thought, I tilt my head to the side to give him access to my neck.
I should have come to my senses long before now, but nothing else matters except feeling his lips on me. I should be embarrassed that I’m acting so out of character. I don’t dance like this, I don’t get turned on like this, and I don’t feel things like this. I should be walking away before a photographer notices me on the dance floor and takes a picture that will be flashed all over the front pages of all the magazines.
Our movements slow until we are barely rocking our hips together, our bodies still pressed as close as we can possibly get, and I can’t make my feet move to put distance between us if I tried.
I let out a small whimper at the first feel of his warm, wet lips against my neck. A rush of heat and desire explodes between my legs, and I dig my nails into his hip to keep my knees from buckling when he pulls back slightly and snakes his tongue out to lick my sweat-glistened skin. His lips reattach to my neck, and I feel his teeth graze roughly against the sensitive skin there. I've never imagined that something like this could feel so good, and I never want it to end. I don’t care that we’re on a dance floor in the middle of hundreds of people or that my mother will most likely have a field day with this when she finds out.
I want more. I want to feel something I’ve never felt before. I want that explosion of desire and need, and right now it feels like this nameless, faceless man is the only person in the world who can give it to me. I want to forget my problems for just one minute, focus on absolutely nothing but touch and sensation and a thrill of excitement that’s been lacking in my life for far too long.
“Do you even care that I could have been your stalker manhandling you out here on the dance floor?”
The sound of Brady’s deep voice in my ear is like a bucket of cold water thrown down my back. I jerk around and out of the warmth of his arms, staring at him in shock and embarrassment.
I was rubbing myself up against a guy who obviously wants nothing more than to humiliate me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout angrily over the music, trying to will the reddening of mortification on my cheeks to go away before he notices.
Brady closes the distance I put between us, slides his arm back around me, and pulls me up against the front of him.
He looks down between us, and his nostrils flare as he gets a great view of my breasts which are pushed up against his chest; they practically spill out of the top of my dress with the force of his grab. He quickly brings his eyes back up to mine, and they are cold and hard as they bore into me.
“I came here to make sure you were safe. And it’s a damn good thing I did since your bodyguard is too busy with his hand on the ass of some slut up at the bar,” he growls.
I break eye contac
t and glance over to where he’s pointing with his thumb. Sure enough, Finn has his back to the dance floor while he chats up a redhead.
Looking back at Brady, I have to force myself to stand my ground as I stare at the anger rolling off of him. His legs are planted in a wide stance, and I can see a vein pulsing on the side of his neck. He really is pissed that Finn isn’t paying much attention to me.
“You know, I’m a big girl and I’m pretty sure I can handle dancing at a club without someone babysitting me,” I fire back, shoving against his chest until he releases me.
Standing that close to him just reminds me of what it felt like moments ago when I was dancing with him—how lost I was to the feel of his body moving in perfect sync with mine and his arms burning like a brand around my waist as they trapped me against him.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he throws back, narrowing his eyes at me in disgust as he looks at my pupils. “Do you even care that you were grinding your ass all over a stranger like a—”
My mouth drops open and a gasp escapes past my lips, the color draining from my face when he pauses with his assessment of me.
“No, please, continue. Grinding my ass all over like a what?”
I know exactly what he's about to say before he thinks better of it. Slut, whore, tramp… I just want to hear him say it.
He refuses to take the bait and continues to stand stock still in the middle of the dance floor, his hands clutched into fists at his side as the anger rolls off of him.
“For your information, I don’t drink. Ever. And you may run hot one minute and cold the next, and your moods change so fast you’re giving me a constant headache, but last time I checked, you weren’t a stranger. And what the hell WAS that anyway?” I demand, throwing my arm out to the side angrily and pointing to the spot where we had been dancing moments ago.
