by SR Jones
She leaves and I sit on the bed, exhausted beyond belief. This whole experience is growing more surreal by the hour.
The bed is so soft it’s like lying on a cloud. The door to the bedroom opens, and Priest pokes his head around. “Food’s up,” he says.
I roll onto my front, prop my elbows on the bed and my hands under my chin. “You have to try this bed,” I say.
He gives me an imperceptible look. Closed off and guarded. “Close protection officers don’t lounge around on beds with their clients. Come eat.”
God help me, I must be insane, but I push again. “It’s the softest thing I’ve ever laid on. Come here. Try it.” I pat the bed, and he shakes his head, turning as if to leave the room. “Erm, Earth to Priest, I’m not trying to get into your precious little panties.” He’s pissing me off again. I genuinely wasn’t trying it on with him at first, but his reactions always seem to goad me. “What are you so afraid of?” I ask him. “Big guy like you. Scared of a little woman like me?” I bat my eyelashes rapidly.
He narrows his eyes. “Is this the real you?” he asks, taking me aback.
“What do you mean?”
“This pushy, bratty persona? Is this the real you when you’re not terrified for your life? You know, like when you get a rescue dog, and you think they’re quiet and well-behaved, but then on day four they chew up the sofa? Because they’re settled all of a sudden. Is this what’s going on with you? You started out all sweetness and light, and now you’re a spoiled brat?”
I think I fucking hate him.
I think I half love him.
I think he’ll end up just leaving the way everyone does. Probably get bored and leave me here with Matteo and Giovanni and the whole fucked up vibe that’s going on in this place.
My aunt died. My mother died. My father left, over and over. No one stays. Not really.
I push off the bed and stalk across the carpet to Priest. Placing my palms flat on his chest, I shove him as hard as I can. “So, what if it is? What are you going to do about it? Huh? Gigantor? You’re too chicken to lie on the bed next to me,” I scoff. “What ya going do to about my bratty side, huh? A big fat, fucking nothing, that’s what.”
The air between me and my close protection officer, as he calls himself, could be on fire there’s that much heat swirling between us. He stares at me, and emotions race through his gaze so fast, I can’t catalogue them. One moment, I’m standing hand on hip, head to one side, being a bitch, and the next I’m over his shoulder, ass in the air, and his huge hand comes down on said ass in a fierce slap that rings out in the room.
I let out a high-pitched yell and struggle against him. “What the hell?” I demand. “My father is paying you; put me down right now.”
“You asked me what I do to bratty, pushy little princesses. I’m going to show you.”
“No, you are not. Put me down.”
“Not happening.”
He turns us around and walks to a desk in the corner of the room. He places me on the floor, kicks my legs apart roughly, and orders. “Hands on the desk.”
My heart is pounding. What is this? I do it, though. Why did I do what he said so instinctively? I glance behind me.
“Eyes forward,” he growls, and I face front.
I fucking do what he says like some automaton.
“Do you think you’re the one in charge here?” Priest asks me, his voice low.
Deadly calm covers his skin. A shield of nonchalance against my tempestuous emotions.
I’m shaking, but I don’t hesitate to reply. “My father hired you. I can call him right now and get you taken off my protection. So, yes, I am.”
I don’t want to lose Priest. He’s the only thing in this fucked up world that makes me feel safe, so why do I keep pushing?
Because you want him, and he keeps rejecting you? My inner shrink helpfully provides the answer.
“That’s not what I asked.” His voice is so damn reasonable. “What I asked is, do you really think you’re the one in charge here?”
This is so screwed up because I should be humiliated, but instead, I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my entire life. I’m also in a strange place. I have a certain amount of anxiety thrumming through my veins at this sudden change between us, but it’s a good anxiety; not the horrible zinging shit. It’s more akin to anticipation.
The answer to his question is clearly, no.
I’m so not in charge. Hell, how can I be when I’m clearly not in control of my own bodily responses.
I shake my head, unable to admit it. My legs are trembling.
Is he going to smack my ass again? I kind of want him to.
“I tried,” he says, mystifyingly.
He sighs. “Tried to be honorable, good. Do the right thing. Stay the right side of the line. You kept pushing, though.”
I did, didn’t I? I’m not sorry either, if it breaks through to him.
“You don’t want to be in charge, do you?”
God help me, I don’t. I want someone to just make it all stop. The noise in my head. The zinging damn electricity that hasn’t left me since I was taken. I want that all to stop, and I want to be pulled back into the real world. The one where there’s not something separating me from truly being a part of the life going on around me. Ever since I was taken, I’ve been mildly dissociative. Being a damn shrink sucks when you become your own patient. I know what’s going on with me, but I don’t have the tools to fix it.
I can’t even decide what to wear in that stupid closet full of clothes that aren’t mine.
Should I wear the jeans and t-shirt, or the smart pant suit? Should I call my father and ask him outright if he’s scum? Should I go back to Dubrovnik or start a new life somewhere like America or Canada? Should I become a therapist or fuck it all off and go live a life on the ocean? Should I take my next breath?
I. Want. It. To. Stop.
I want someone else to tell me what to do. For now, at least.
Eat the salad, Roze. Breathe, Roze. Drink the water, Roze. Put the pantsuit on, Roze. Go to sleep, Roze.
Suck my cock, Roze.
Shit. I’m so screwed up.
He touches me, and it is feather light. Two fingers on the pulse point on my neck. “You’re a mess. Your heart’s beating so fast. Are you scared?”
I nod. “Yes,” I whisper.
“Of me?”
“No,” I say truthfully. “I’m scared of myself. Of my life. Of the future. Not you.”
“You ought to be scared of me.”
“Why?”
“How many men have you been with, Roze?”
I stiffen. “That’s rude. How many women have you been with?”
“Don’t know. I screwed around some when I was younger, drank and partied too much. Last few years? None.”
None?
“How much have you been fucked, Roze?”
My pulse jumps under his fingers. It’s such a personal question, and one that if I answer truthfully means he will walk away for good. His savior complex will kick in. That need he has to do the right thing means he won’t take my virginity.
“Not much. Not much at all.”
“Exactly. You’re playing a game you don’t understand.”
“You could teach me.”
“I’m your protector; not your teacher. Not your boyfriend. Not your lover.”
“Why not be all of those things?”
“I want to,” he says slowly, breathing against my neck as he whispers the word want.
He leans in closer and smells my hair.
He smelt my hair! God, this is weird but hot.
“I want to show you so many things, but it’s wrong. You’re a mess,” he says.
I bristle at that.
“I’m even more of one,” he adds.
“A match made in Heaven,” I joke.
“Or Hell,” he says.
“You get one last chance to reconsider this. One. We’ll go eat. You will sleep alone tonight
in the bed here, knowing I’m right next door. Then tomorrow, if you want to reset things between us, we’ll go back to what we were. Protection detail and client. You decide, despite me telling you it’s a very bad idea, that you want to make this something so much more, you give me a sign. I won’t be the honorable one if you do because, darling, I’m about all out of self-control. Now, do not push me again tonight.”
He gives me a considered look. “There are rules too, going forward. Yes, you can get your father to replace me, and if you really want that, have at it. However, so long as I’m your protection detail, I am in charge, totally, when it comes to your safety. You do what I say. Take your time. Think. Decide.”
He trails his hand down my throat, cupping it gently, around to my neck, and down my back. Warm lips kiss my neck, and I jump.
“Make sure you really know what you want.”
Then he’s gone. Nothing but cold air behind me, and the door closes softly.
Oh my God. What was that?
He’s giving me one last chance to walk away from this. I should. I really damn well should.
I won’t.
Chapter 16
I tuck into my steak, and Roze eats her salad in her room.
I’m so fucking hard for her, I bet my dick could break down the door all on its own.
I’ve given her a chance. Part of me is hoping she’ll go to sleep and wake up deciding this is the worst idea ever. Then she’ll simply stop sending me all the signals and treat me like her bodyguard. Part of me is praying she wakes up and gives me her bratty, mouthwatering best.
I cut, breathe, chew, and swallow. Trying to find my Zen.
The steak is amazing, I have to say. Of course, it is. Everything Bianchi touches seems to be gold. The flash fucker sends a private jet, and if that’s not enough, he plies Roze with champagne and then gets designer clothing on board for her.
I’ve told Reece that I don’t like his vibe so far.
My phone vibrates with a text, and I read it.
He’s just looking out for her. No need to be jealous.
Jealous? I’m not fucking jealous, but it’s creepy. Weird. Overreaching.
I think back to a moment on the jet. She’d settled back in her chair with the new clothes and makeup fucking Bianchi had provided, licked her lips, and smiled.
“This lipstick reminds me of my aunt,” she had said. “It has a flavor.”
And… I suddenly wanted to know what flavor. I wanted to taste it right off her full mouth.
She looked good enough to eat in the simple clothes she chose while on the plane. The soft sweater had molded to her tits and shown me how perfect they were. I’ve already seen the goods. It hasn’t lessened my desire. Only made it stronger. More insistent. I want to see again. And again. I want to touch and taste too.
My cock is painful at the thought of her naked, under me.
I make myself finish the food, get up, and place my plate back on the tray.
There’s a knock at the door. I go to open it and see the blonde from the plane. Clements was she called?
“Yes?”
“I thought I’d see if you wanted some company?” She smiles at me, and it’s seductive. Polished. Practiced.
Things I normally like, but now pale into insignificance when compared to a brunette with pools for eyes and a cheeky side she hides until it bursts free.
“How much do you get paid for fucking the guests?” I ask.
She doesn’t react. Her cheeks don’t color. Nothing. “I don’t get paid,” she says with a shrug. “I’m Giovanni’s cousin. I work for him because it pays well, and I get an apartment here. I can screw who I want. There’s no pressure from him to do so, and no censure either, if I do take a shine to a passenger. I don’t often. In fact, you’re the first man I’ve come onto in over a year. It’s late. I’m tired but horny. You look like you’re in the same boat.” She glances pointedly at my dick. “You look like a beast in the sack, and I love it rough. Why don’t we have some fun? No harm, no foul.”
I think for a beat. If I want to kill this thing between me and Roze, this is the way to do it. Fuck the air stewardess in the room right next to where Roze is. Make it loud. She’d be so hurt; she wouldn't want me anywhere near her. I can’t do it. Damn it, I can’t.
The idea of Roze staring at me, her eyes full of tears is too much.
I shake my head at the blonde and offer her a smile. “Sorry, no can do. I’m on the clock. Can’t be distracted. Thanks for the offer, though.”
She gives me a flippant shrug of her shoulders and an easy grin. “Oh well, you look like you would’ve been fun.”
I watch her walk away. I must be insane because she’s much more my speed than Roze. She knows what she wants. Roze is a walking, talking, bag of confusion. She wants things she doesn’t even understand. Roze will be messy. Long, tall, blonde will be easy.
I don’t want easy. Not since I found out how attracted I am to complicated.
I slept for shit. The irony wasn’t lost on me. I could have snuck into Roze’s bed the way she did to me and slept wonderfully, if past experience of her being beside me is anything to go by. I didn’t. I told her I’d give her space, and I have. I grab the quickest of showers and am about to brush my teeth when my phone beeps on the nightstand.
I exit the bathroom and pick up my phone. It’s a message from Reece.
Looks like the threat might be longer term than we would like. Gezim has stirred up a hornet’s nest of shittery, and it seems Jan had more connections than we thought. The Starz Allianz is splitting. Albanians on one side, Poles on the other. If this becomes an all-out war between them, Roze is going to be in danger for longer than initially planned out. We’re looking at the staff we have here to see if there’s a more permanent detail we can put on her. I get that babysitting long-term isn’t your assignment, but if you can stay another week or two, until we can work something out, that would be great. Check in at the usual time.
Shit.
Two things hit me at once. Firstly, the fact she’s in more danger than we thought doesn’t only register with me on a professional level, but a personal one. If I thought by not fucking her I could stay purely on the professional, I thought wrong.
Secondly, the idea of someone else taking over from me in a week or two makes me want to punch the wall. I know I’ll find it almost impossible to hand her over.
I need to talk to her and prepare her for this being a longer haul than we anticipated. In fact, it’s about time I got her up. I tighten the towel around my waist, knock on her door, and when there’s no answer, I push it open. The room is empty. She must be in the bathroom. I go knock on that door, and when there’s no answer, my heart rate picks up. What the fuck? She knows not to go anywhere without me. Shit. What if she’s in trouble.
I hear screams and splashes from outside, and I push open the bedroom balcony doors. The sight I see makes my blood boil.
It’s hot outside for the time of year, but it’s not swimming pool weather; not even in Southern Italy.
Yet Roze is in the pool, with Bianchi.
What the ever-loving fuck? That utter asshole. He’s playing fucking games, and he’s about to find out that I’m not in awe of him or scared of his wealth or connections.
I stalk back into my room, throw on some jeans and a t-shirt, brush my teeth so violently, I’ll probably have shredded gums, and storm out the door.
When I reach the pool, I can see how they’re not frozen. There’s a sort of gazebo situation going on, and that’s where the sun lounges are. Above them are huge, glowing halogen heat lamps. They’re creating summer out of winter. The sky is a clear blue, but there’s a cool breeze, and the breeze is blowing steam, forming from the top of the pool over to me.
The scent of chlorine hits me, and it only makes me more damn angry. This flashy piece of shit has a heated pool, enough heat lamps to contribute a decade to global warming, and he has Roze in the pool with him.
Not acceptable.
“Roze.” I walk to the edge, and stare down at her.
She jumps, turns to look at me, and her face falls as she clocks my expression.
“Get out of the fucking pool, now.”
“Excuse me,” Bianchi drawls. “I must have misunderstood. I was under the impression that Miss Roze here was the employer, and you were the paid protection. No?”
I ignore him.
“Roze. Now,” I order, snapping my fingers at her in a dick move, but fuck me, I’m livid.
She does as I say. She immediately climbs out of the pool and grabs a huge, fluffy towel.
“What?” she snaps.
“You don’t go anywhere without me. Ever. Got it?”
She frowns. “It’s a fortress, Priest. Who is getting in here?”
“Are you stupid? In fact, don’t answer that. How do you know that the Italian Stallion over there isn’t working with your father’s enemies?”
Her face falls. “You said… Reece said—”
“I said that it seemed legit, but if it weren’t, I would keep you safe. How the fuck can I keep you safe if I wake up and you’re nowhere to be seen. Do you know how worried I was when I went into your room and it was empty?”
“I’m sorry. I was hungry. I went and searched out some food, and found Sylvia. We chatted a little. She said that Giovanni was in the pool, and I was intrigued. I mean, in this weather? So, she brought me out here, and there’s a pool room with bathing suits in a variety of sizes. I borrowed one and had a swim. I fancied it. I should have come and told you. Sorry.”
“No. You shouldn’t have left the fucking room in the first place without me by your side.”
I could throttle Bianchi. Out of the corner of my eye, I note him climbing out of the pool. He strolls over to us as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
“You fucking do something like that again, and I’ll kill you,” I tell him.
He laughs. “I didn’t do anything. I was swimming, and your charge appeared in a bathing suit and joined me. Don’t blame me if you can’t keep hold of your charge.”
I don’t even stop to think. I pull back and punch him in the face.
