Protect Me - A Steamy Bodyguard Romance (You Can't Resist a Bad Boy Book 5)

by Layla Valentine

  “Oh my gosh! Didn’t anybody call the cops?”

  “Yeah, but you know, they’re slow,” I said dismissively, starting to sweat. “But yeah, guy stands up. Only thing I can think to do is take out his knees. He throws a punch at me and I fall flat on my back, then I just launch myself at his knees. Heels collided, hurt like hell, but he stayed down that time.” I grinned at her, glowing in the memory of my most unexpected win.

  “That’s amazing,” she said, glowing with awe. “Your client must have been so grateful.”

  “I made a little bit of money, yeah,” I said, remembering the size of the purse…and the bets.

  “I had no idea your job got so violent so often,” she said, furrowing her brow. “Why did you choose it? Seems like there would be safer ways to use your skills.”

  “I’ve never been a big fan of safe,” I answered truthfully. “Never saw the need for it.”

  “That, I understand,” she laughed, clinking her tumbler against mine.

  * * *

  The next night, we went to her French restaurant. The food was good, but when I saw the prices, I just about had a heart attack. I didn’t mention it because I was walking in her world, now. The world of moneyed people and their unpronounceable dishes. I was suddenly glad for the excessive amount of money she was paying me.

  “When did you get into French food?” I asked. “Is that an LA thing?”

  “Not really,” she said with a shrug. “I fell in love with it when I was a kid. My dad used to take us all down to Louisiana every couple summers. He’s got family down there, and there are all kinds of restaurants. His favorite thing in the world is Cajun food, but I can’t handle that much spice. There are a ton of French restaurants down there, though, and my mom and I would make it a point to try a new one every year.”

  “You’re close with your mom?” I asked, hiding the little pang of jealousy.

  “Not so close now,” she said with a half-shrug. “She thinks I’m cheapening myself by turning my music into a career.”

  “How can you cheapen yourself by earning money?” I asked, legitimately confused.

  “Oh, she thinks money cheapens virtue, and she thinks that singing is a virtue along with all those other feminine traits and skills and things, so…” She shrugged helplessly again, making the glitter on her dress sparkle in the candlelight.

  “Well, I think your mother’s insane,” I said sympathetically. “If anything, you give the industry some substance.”

  “You think so?” she asked, brightening. “I worry about that. During my second album, I sort of…sold out, a little bit. A lot, actually. They gave me a list of topics and fads to hit, and I did. I did it really well, but I always sort of felt embarrassed about that album, you know?”

  “A means to an end,” I said firmly. “Without that album, you wouldn’t have skyrocketed to stardom. Without skyrocketing to stardom, you wouldn’t have the platform to say what you want to say. Just like that one diva.”

  “Which one?” She laughed.

  “I’m not supposed to know pop singers’ names, it’s bad for my image,” I told her with a grin. “She started out grinding out brain candy crap, got to be a superstar by following all the surefire industry tactics, and now? Every song she writes is leading this activist charge. She’s turned it into a huge deal, but she only got there by selling out first.”

  Paisley twirled her fork through her food, which didn’t look nearly fancy enough to deserve the crazy name. “You know, you make a good point,” she said thoughtfully. “I never really thought about it like that.”

  “Hey, if you need justification for literally any decision, I’m your man,” I told her with a wink.

  The truth of that statement almost made me wince. Somehow, I still hadn’t found the time to delete the tapes, and I hadn’t worked up the nerve to tell Dan to go jump in a lake without a houseboat. Soon, I promised myself. I’m just waiting for the right time.

  Chapter 18

  Tyler

  “You lied,” I accused her playfully as we stood barefoot in the kitchen. “You said you only cooked a little.”

  “This is a little!” she objected, gesturing to the assortment of various foods lining the counters. “I couldn’t get a job as a chef or anything.”

  “There’s a wide margin between ‘I barely cook’ and ‘I’m America’s next top chef’,” I teased.

  “Fair point,” she laughed. “Help me serve up, I’m not carrying all this to the table.”

  Of all the restaurants we had visited that week, this was already my favorite meal. Paisley was dressed in comfortable house clothes, just a pair of cutoff jeans and a tank top without a bra, her hair tossed up in a messy bun. She looked positively do-able, and I had every intention of proving that to her later. We ate in comfortable silence for a while as I made appreciative noises about her cooking.

  “You really enjoy good food,” she said with a laugh. “It’s very validating. What was your favorite food as a kid?”

  I paused, chewing slowly. The decision to ditch the tape had been step one toward whatever this was. Dating her all week had been step two. This right here was the tipping point, I could feel it. I could tell her how it really was for me growing up, and let her make the decision to keep going with me or not, or I could skirt around the truth and get out before it blew up in my face. Watching her in that moment, I knew I didn’t want to get out.

  “I didn’t much care what it was, as long as it was eatable,” I told her honestly.

  “Hungry kid,” she laughed. “But there must have been something that was your favorite thing, even for a little while. Something your mom made, maybe?”

  She herded me right into dangerous territory. I took it as a sign.

  Clearing my throat, I expanded. “My mom wasn’t around much. She left when I was eight. At least that’s what my dad told me. I didn’t actually see her go. I just, um…” My throat tightened up, and I took a swig of beer. “I woke up one morning and she was gone. All of her stuff, too. Pictures with her in them. Her apron. Even her dirty clothes, I mean, everything, gone. Like she had just stopped existing overnight.”

  “That’s terrible,” Paisley said sympathetically, touching my hand. “Did you ever find out what happened?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. I went looking when I was fourteen, but too much time had passed already. I didn’t know her family or anything, no grandparents or nothin’, it was just me and my parents. Records office had never heard of her. I thought I was crazy for a long time, but then I realized that I couldn’t exist if I hadn’t had a mother, so she had to be somebody, somewhere.”

  “What about your dad, he must have known something?” I saw the distress in her eyes, and it tugged at my heart because I knew it was for me.

  “I asked him,” I admitted. “Every year, usually on my birthday, I asked him about her.”

  “What did he say?”

  I slid her a sideways look, wondering how much to tell her. She’s strong, I decided. She can take it.

  “He said, ‘Don’t talk about that slut, you little bastard.’”

  Paisley gasped, covering her mouth with one hand. I looked away. I couldn’t bear to see that hurt in her eyes, even if it was on my account.

  “Did he ever…hurt you?” she whispered.

  I nodded, looking at my plate. “There were times…when he was drunk.”

  Paisley looked physically pained. “Didn’t… I mean… Didn’t anybody notice? Didn’t somebody do something?”

  I shrugged and sighed, looking out at the dwindling light.

  “Things were a little different back then,” I said slowly. “Today, you’ve got all this mandatory reporting going on. They might have had that back then too, I don’t know. I just know that if a kid showed up to my school with a shiner and they said they fell down the stairs, nobody questioned it. Kids being kids, or parent’s prerogative, or something.”

  She got up from her chair and moved around the table, sl
iding onto my lap to cradle my head against her chest.

  “I’m so sorry, Tyler,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t be. It is what it is. I survived, right?” I offered a weak grin, but she didn’t accept it. Her eyes were filled with tears, and she kissed my mouth gently.

  “You deserved better,” she told me, her eyes boring holes into my soul. “I want you to know that.”

  “I know,” I said, but my throat tightened around the words.

  Burying my face in her chest again, I allowed the burning tears to hide in her shirt, wicking away from my face before they could leave tracks. Paisley stroked my hair and rubbed my back. I recovered myself with a shuddering sigh and kissed her fiercely.

  “I think your dad is insane,” she said, giving my words back to me, gift-wrapped in her warm embrace. “You deserved to know what happened.”

  “Thanks,” I said lamely.

  We sat there for a long time, watching the sun set behind the trees. The pain of my exposed wounds subsided, pushed back into their dark place by the warmth of her spirit, by the curves of her body against mine. I could stay in her arms forever.

  The thought rocked me to my core. I had never considered forever with another before, not once. Forever was mine, just for me in my little cabin or boat or underground bunker. I guarded my forever jealously, always had. Somehow, she had slipped into that space.

  As I looked up at her beautiful, loving face, I wasn’t even upset about it. Sure, baby. Come invade my forever, forever.

  As her sweet lips met mine, I felt something new stirring in the cold, scarred recesses of my heart. Her body felt different under my hands, as if I was touching her for the very first time, as if her emotions were vibrating in the energy on her skin.

  She wrapped around me, straddling me, embracing me with her whole body. For the first time in my life, I felt safe. I had never even allowed myself to acknowledge that safety was something I wanted; something I needed. Her fingers in my hair, her heart beating against mine, suddenly had a new meaning for me. I wanted to tell her, but I never had been good with words.

  The pale blue couch in the drawing room was the one place left which didn’t have a camera pointed at it. I carried her in there, cradling her in my arms. Her erotic screams from our previous sessions echoed in my head, pornographic and hollow. They had given me pleasure, fed my ego. Tonight, I wanted something more. Something deeper.

  I lay her down on the couch, stroking her hair, gazing into her incredible eyes. I saw layers in them I had never seen before; warmth, curiosity, acceptance. They were, especially the last one, alien to me. She could have shouted it from the rooftops and I wouldn’t have heard her before. I heard her loud and clear now, ringing in every molecule of my body.

  “You’re beautiful,” I told her, touching her face.

  She laughed quietly, rolling her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “No, I…” I’m terrible with words.

  Giving up, I kissed her mouth. Gently, searchingly, finding all the sensitive places I had missed when I was devouring her.

  She sighed happily, entangling her limbs around me as my lips found her earlobe, the warm little hollow of her neck at her shoulder, that one warm place just under her collar bone. Turning to putty in my hands, she stretched languidly under my body.

  “I love how you touch me,” she murmured.

  “I love…” I trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. I silenced my lips against her soft breast, feeling her pulse quicken against my touch. The tank top was hardly a barrier, but I took my time peeling it away from her creamy torso. Sliding my hands beneath it, I felt every inch of her; every curve, every pulse, every firm muscle quivering beneath her feminine softness.

  Cupping her generous breasts in my hands, letting them spill over, I rolled her shirt up to her shoulders. Pausing to appreciate the perfection of her soft mounds in my hands, I dropped gentle kisses across them. Paisley gasped as I trailed over her nipple, hardening against my mouth. Tongue quivering with restraint, I flicked it against her with the delicate touch of a butterfly.

  A soft moan rewarded me; trembling fingers in my hair encouraged me. Sliding one hand down her belly, I unfastened her shorts, slipping my hand between them and her thin cotton panties.

  My instinct was to go hard. It was what I was good at, it was what I was used to; but I didn’t want to rip her pleasure from her like some kind of looter. Gently tracing the delicate contours of her sex with my fingertips, I moved to her other breast, giving it the same attention.

  Her breathing quickened, catching in her throat. I felt her warm and swell beneath my fingers, unfurling like a flower in the sun. Flicking my tongue over the velvety roughness of her nipple, I studied her body like the honor student I never was. Her thighs twitched together, a tiny movement that I usually would have missed.

  Following new cues, I moved my hand deeper into her shorts, touching her hot thighs with my palm, stroking them, drawing their energy toward her center. She hummed and purred with pleasure, arching like a cat against me. Releasing her breast, I moved my mouth down her trembling belly, hooking my fingers over her waistband as I slid down her body.

  Her shorts fell away, sliding down her toned, golden legs. Stopping between them, I ran my hands over her thighs from knee to hip, breathing hot air on her quivering mound. She whimpered quietly, tipping her hips toward me. I kissed each rosebud printed on her cotton panties, inhaling her gloriously musky scent. Her hard little clit radiated heat, drawing me to it.

  Pressing my lips against it, I slid my hands over her body, stretching up to cup her breasts, to roll her nipples between my thumbs and fingers.

  “Tyler,” she moaned, pressing into me.

  Kissing her over the soft cotton, I stimulated each dewy petal until each of her breaths was a gasping moan. I was aching to taste her, to sink my tongue deep inside her, to feel her ecstasy pour over me. Her fingers curled into fists, clawing at the fabric of the couch, her hips rocking rhythmically, her belly pumping with her sucking breaths.

  Slowly, so slowly, I unwrapped her. As the humid air hit her bare sex, a sob of pleasure escaped her, sending desire shooting through my body like a flaming arrow. I licked my lips, almost nervous. She was so ripe, so ready.

  Tentatively, tenderly, I lowered my mouth to her wet heat. As I dipped my tongue into her honey, she cried out, tensing against me, pressing her thighs against my ears.

  She was sobbing for release. I knew what to do, where to press, how to force her to the cusp and drag her over. Instead, I trailed my tongue up to her throbbing clit and slipped a finger inside of her. Her desperate sobs quieted to a purring moan and she moved against me, twitching her hips like a Latin dancer. Following her lead and her rhythm, I stroked her inside and out, feeling the hot pressure build within her.

  When her rhythm hit a peak, I slid a second finger in with the first, hooking them gently against her G-spot, letting her roll over me, use me like a toy. Tongue, lips, fingers, everything I had was hers. She arched against my kiss, her purr rounding into a primal moan, her legs shaking.

  “Oh God, Tyler, yes!” She cried out as she pulsed hard around me, crossing my fingers inside of her.

  The pleasure rolled out of her, stretching out longer than I knew it could. When it tapered off and her breath steadied, I pumped my fingers slowly inside of her, moving my mouth away from her raw clit to kiss her thighs, her hips, the curve of her waist.

  Keeping one hand buried inside of her, I turned my attention to her breasts. She murmured my name as I teased and pleasured her soft, warm breasts, twirling my tongue around the erect pink tips.

  She was wild now, writhing instinctively, moaning from an ancient emotion. Her body moved around and against mine, bucking against the heel of my hand, demanding release. Her cry was a guttural scream as her rippling sheath sucked my fingers deep inside, and I hooked my fingers hard against her internal trigger. She shook and growled, clawing my shoulder as she came. After a breath, I began m
oving my fingers in her again, and she grabbed my wrist.

  Eyes blazing, she locked her gaze with mine. “Get naked,” she demanded breathlessly. “I need you.”

  I wasn’t about to make her ask twice.

  In the time it took me to strip out of my clothes, I was hard and throbbing, glistening for her. Biting her lip, she turned her limpid gaze to my cock. Impossibly soft hands wrapped around me, stroking me as she brought her pink tongue to tremble against the head. I groaned as she coaxed a dribble of pre-cum into her mouth, flashing wicked eyes up at me.

  “I want you inside me,” she murmured. “Make love to me.”

  I had been ready to plunge inside of her and fuck her like an animal. Her words cooled my superheated blood, reminded me that tonight wasn’t just another roll in the hay with some random soft body. This was Paisley. I wanted to make love to all of her—body, mind, and soul.

  I took a steadying breath and held her beautiful face in my hands, kissing her mouth gently as I entered her. I hadn’t noticed before how perfectly we fit together.

  I thrust slowly, my hands wandering languidly over her body. Kissing her deeply, I let her loving nature wash over me, let my heart swell in response to her touch. I heard love songs in my head, setting the rhythm. Pleasure and emotion swirled in her eyes, drawing me into the molten galaxy there. I watched them flicker and dance, changing as I moved inside of her, reaching out to me in silent connection.

  “I want everything,” I whispered hoarsely, only half-knowing what I meant. “I want to give you everything.”

  “All I want is you,” she murmured, arching her back to pull me deep inside of her.

  Falling into her with a whimper, I kissed her mouth, her face, her hair. Her breasts filled my hands, her heartbeat rattled my soul, and I breathed what she exhaled. Bound and connected on every level, we moved in synchronized waves toward simultaneous bliss. I saw the desperate peak cross her face the instant before she began to pulse around me.

  Hands on either side of my face, she gazed deep into my eyes and spoke. “I… I love… Oh!”