The Bodyguard: A Navy SEAL Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  Hearing him use the pet name makes my heartbeat race a little, adding a confusing surge of warmth to the anger I feel. “No. That wasn’t you. I know you.”

  “You knew me,” he corrects. “War changed me. Everyone wants to look at me like some fucking hero since I came back. You know what I see when I look in the mirror? A killer.”

  I want to reach out and touch him. He’s so strong and powerful, but I can see how much he hurts, how much he needs some compassion. I wonder if he gets anything but lust from women and I suddenly feel sorry for him. I’m afraid of him. I still feel that, and I’m still not ready to forgive him for what he did, but I don’t want to see him hurt. He’s suffered enough for me and for everyone else he went over there to protect.

  I move closer to him on the couch, reaching for his knee, but he stands before I can touch him.

  “Don’t,” he says. “I don’t want this to get complicated.”

  I can’t help laughing a little. “Well you’ve done a perfect job of preventing that.”

  He stalks off toward his bedroom, but I don’t give up. I follow after him. He turns to face me. “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Let me in. Let someone in.”

  He dismisses me with a wave of his hand. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Feel sorry for the people who have had the misfortune of crossing my path. Yourself included.”

  “Stop with the tough guy bullshit,” I snap. “You showed me the journal. You wanted me to see how you felt even if you couldn’t talk about it. So why don’t you just let me help?”

  He sits on the bed, forearms resting on his knees. “That’s not why I showed you the journal.”

  I sit beside him, painfully aware that I’m sitting next to him on his bed. My heart flutters a little as vivid images of him pinning me to the soft mattress with his powerful arms flash in my mind. “Then why did you show me?” I ask, voice practically a whisper.

  “Women think they want a guy like me. They think the danger is exciting. How many of them would still be sniffing around if they watched me jam a fucking knife in a young kid’s heart? There’s a big difference between fantasy and reality, and back there, you saw it. I figured you would try to run off on me soon. I just thought you deserved to know the truth before you left.”

  I can practically feel the unspoken question hanging between us. It thrums in the air like something electric. Something alive. You’ve seen the real me. What will you do now?

  Part of me is screaming to kiss him, to pull him into me and kiss him with everything I have, to let him take me. Another part is begging me to run. He’s dangerous and he’s damaged. And he broke my heart into a million pieces. I should just walk away, but I can’t. I put my hand on his thigh in an attempt to show my compassion and immediately regret the decision. His thigh is thick and hard, tempting me to squeeze and move my hand along his lean leg.

  I nearly pull my hand away, but then I see the bulge of his cock against his pants growing. Jesus. I had forgotten how big it was. Hell, maybe it has gotten bigger. I bite my lip.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  I move my hand up his thigh, frowning as I do. It’s almost as if my hand is moving of its own volition. “Helping you to relax.”

  He stands, shaking me off. “Well stop it. You think fucking you would relax me? I don’t mix business and pleasure. It’s that simple.”

  I reel back, stung a little and feeling an unexpected wave of anger rise up. “God. Just when I think I can forgive you for being an asshole, you--”

  “Careful,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “Watch that fucking mouth of yours.” There’s anger in his face. Red, hot anger that would terrify me if I didn’t also see a hint of lust behind it and the bulge of his cock against his pants.

  Why does being scolded like a child make my skin tingle? Jesus Christ. I know what I’m going to do before I do it, and the idea terrifies me. “No, you watch my fucking mouth real close so you don’t miss a word,” I say, fighting the mischevious smile that threatens to split my face. Getting pissed turns him on? Well, that shouldn’t be hard... “Asshole. As in you’re a fucking--”

  He closes the distance between us in a heartbeat, pinning me to the bed and gripping my cheeks so that my lips smoosh together. He looms over me, eyes dark and face even darker. “You don’t want to piss me off,” he snarls.

  On the contrary… I’m finding myself in the middle of a fantasy I never knew I had. I’ve spent so long trying to project confidence and control. The idea of a man like Jesse wrestling that control away from me has all my nerves prickling in anticipation and my nipples hard. My body feels so alive, electric, almost. My wild eyes follow the strong line of his arm as he holds himself up over me, the muscles of his forearm straining as he pins me to the bed.

  I jerk my face out of his grasp, mustering up all the venom I can manage. “You’re too scared to fuck me because you can’t handle me,” I gasp, shocking even myself with my boldness.

  He straightens, getting off me and standing up. For a disappointing moment, I think he’s going to walk away and leave me here, exposed and embarrassed. Instead, he flicks the buttons of his pants loose in one a smooth motion. He lifts the black shirt over his head and takes my breath away with the rigid lines of muscle that cover his body. I could cut my tongue on any one of those perfectly sharp lines, and if this goes on much longer, it’s a risk I may have to take.

  I watch as he drops his shirt to the floor with so much menace that it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Makayla what in the hell are you doing? Doubt creeps up in the back of my mind, logical, reasonable doubts. The biggest of which is the fact that I haven’t seen Jesse in ten years, and now I’m about to sleep with him after just a day of him being back in my life?

  He moves toward me, all the power in his body directed at me, practically paralyzing me. What am I doing? I ask myself again.

  He climbs on the bed and flips me over. I struggle a little, but it’s half-hearted at best. He pulls my pants down with one hand and I turn just in time to see him raising a hand, as if he’s about to fucking spank me.

  I close my eyes, expecting it to come. The moment passes and I look back at him. He freezes. The heat in his eyes melts away and soon his cool, green eyes are back, regarding me. He lowers his hand and shakes his head. “Not like this,” he says simply, almost sadly.

  “I’m sorry,” I gasp, suddenly embarrassed and pulling my pants back up. “It’s not your fault, it’s just--God. I’m such a fucking idiot,” I say, rushing from the room and leaving Jesse on the bed.

  I shut the door behind me, pacing around his living room, seriously considering bolting for the tenth time in the last hour. Just leave. There are probably thousands of bodyguards I could hire. So what if I paid his ridiculous fee already. I make enough money to cover it. I go to my room and grab my phone from beside the bed. It’s the only possession of mine at his apartment other than the clothes on my back. Leaving would be so simple. So clean.

  Even if I leave, I know he’ll find me. He may be arrogant and he may be an asshole, but I have no doubts about his competence. There’s no way I could slip away from him for long.

  No. I can’t leave. I’m stuck here, and my stupid stomach is rumbling with hunger. Just thinking about having to face Jesse after trying to seduce him and then the way I couldn’t even look him in the eyes after he stopped me. I just ran out of the room like a chicken. He probably thinks I’m batshit crazy. I go to his refrigerator and open it, raising my eyebrows when I find a jar of my favorite kind of pickles. I twist the metal lid off and crunch into one, turning and nearly dropping the whole jar when I see Jesse standing there, blocking my exit from the kitchen.

  “You always did go to pickles when you were upset,” he says, smirking a little.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt, forgetting there’s a half-chewed pickle in my mouth.

  Jesse covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to smile. “There’s nothing to be sor
ry. I’m the one who let my tastes cloud my judgment. I shouldn’t have...”

  An image of his raised hand over my bare ass pops in my mind. His tastes… “No, it wasn’t you. I just got carried away. I practically jumped your bones. I don’t, well, do that. I’m not a prude or anything, but I don’t just sleep with guys like it’s no big deal. I made a mistake. I take full responsibility.” My cheeks burn red and I can’t make myself meet his eye.

  He quirks an eyebrow, stepping in to grab a pickle and snap off a bite. He was kind enough to put his shirt back on and re-button his pants, but my memory still burns with the image of how incredible he looked. “I shouldn’t have taken your bait,” he says. “I don’t want to compromise our professional relationship.” He lowers his voice. “And if I did, I’d…” he chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe we should just keep this simple. It’s a job, right? That’s all.”

  “Right,” I say, a little too quickly. “We should keep this simple.” For now, at least.

  We may have poured water on the flames just now, but I feel a growing certainty that it’s only a matter of time before I end up pinned beneath his hard body again, and I’m not sure either of us will be able to stop next time.

  8

  Jesse

  I wander the set while Makayla gets ready for her scene. It’s a fascinating place, even though I would rather there weren’t so many unknowns. My eyes trace the rafters overhead where someone could easily sneak up with a weapon, or the many nooks and crannies behind the flat set-pieces and large equipment. Even the caterers and delivery guys who seem to endlessly stream in and out of the set could be here to hurt her. I’m on edge the whole time, clenching my hands and regularly straightening my suit just to reassure myself with the weight of my Glock holstered at my side.

  Last night was… interesting. I woke up in the middle of the night, having the same nightmare about when I was captured back in Abu Siad and tortured for a week. I could have sworn I heard Makayla shushing me and felt her hands gliding down my body, easing me back into bed. It’s impossible though. I’m as light a sleeper as there is, and one glimpse of her would’ve had me completely awake.

  I hate how much vulnerability I’ve already shown her. All the years of hardening myself to emotion and shutting it out seem to have melted away as soon as I saw her. She has me feeling real fucking pussyish right about now, and I could use an outlet for my anger, but there’s no time to hit the gym or go for a jog. If the news stories and my sources are right, these stalkers aren’t fucking around. I can’t afford to let her out of my sight any more than I have to.

  I watch Makayla reading her lines with Kennedy. They’re laughing about something, and her friend keeps glancing my way. Makayla eventually bulges her eyes at her slightly, pulling Kennedy’s chin away from me with two stiff fingers.

  “She’s something, isn’t she,” asks Jason, who slips up to my side.

  I don’t dignify him with a response, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he settles in, crossing his arms.

  “We dated once, you know,” he adds. “Makayla and I. Well, I took a go at Kennedy too, come to think of it.” He punctuates this by trying to give me a back slap, like it’s a funny fucking joke.

  But I turn slightly, catching his wrist before he can touch me. I meet his eyes, making sure I have every last ounce of his attention. “Next time you try to touch me, I’ll break your fucking arm.”

  I let go, shoving him away a little as I do. He straightens his jacket and stalks off, glaring once at me over his shoulder as he goes. Fucking asshole.

  A kid who can’t be older than eighteen shuffles up beside me. “Don’t mind him,” he says. His voice is a little higher pitched than it should be for his age. I give him a curious look. His lanky arms are folded and he’s clearly trying to look casual, even though the way his hands are shaking and his throat is tight makes his nervousness painfully clear.

  I could tell the kid to fuck off, but something about him amuses me, so I only grin down at him. “You know him?”

  “Oh yeah. My name’s Ed, by the way,” he shoves an oversized hand toward me.

  I grab it and shake, trying not to smile when he squeezes my hand so hard it makes his face scrunch up.

  “Jason’s a douchebag. He never deserved Makayla,” he adds.

  My grin grows. “Is that right?”

  He laughs a little and blushes. “She’s the reason I took this job. I pretty much just go get coffee and things like that for the crew, but hey, it gives me a chance to watch her every day, so I’m not complaining.”

  I open my mouth to say something because he’s starting to give me the creeps, but he sees my expression and laughs. It’s a quick, halting sound--sharp intakes of breaths and a wheezing exhale.

  “It’s not like that,” he says. “I’ve always wanted to be an actor. I love watching her work. She could do so much better than this crummy show. She should be on broadway or on the big screen. Whatever she wanted, really.”

  I size the kid up again, trying to imagine what sort of roles he could play, but come up short. I feel a little sorry for him. “What makes her so good?” I ask. To me, acting never seemed too impressive. You just read off lines from a script and go through the motions they tell you to. How hard could that be?

  A light enters Ed’s eyes. “Her presence, for starters. She knows just how to use silence to demand attention. She regulates the volume of her voice to force you to want to lean in closer, wanting to hear her every word. I mean, just watch her,” he says, pointing toward the set and lowering his voice. “They’re about to shoot.”

  I look toward her. She stands on a set that looks like the outside of a bar. Blue light bathes her to simulate night time, and a single, yellow streetlight buzzes overhead. She moves to wait inside the door to the “bar” while Camillo, the director, counts down and then calls action.

  Jason bursts from the door of the bar, grabbing Makayla hard by the arm and dragging her behind him. My muscles tense and I itch to walk out there and rip him off her. It’s just a TV show, Jesse, don’t be stupid.

  Makayla pulls, trying to free herself from Jason. He pushes her down and she crumples to the ground, defeated. Her small hands rise to cover her face as her body shakes with sobs.

  “Get up!” he yells down at her.

  My hand slowly moves to my side. I feel the shape of the Glock and briefly entertain the idea of shoving the barrel as far down Jason’s throat as I can. Ed snaps me out of it when he nudges my arm.

  His voice is so low I have to lean down to hear him. “...absolute control. See how much she says with her body language?”

  I look back to her. Yeah, I notice. That’s why I’m having so much trouble remembering they are just pretending. Maybe it’s her skill at acting that has me ready to go end this fucking Jason guy.

  Jason stomps toward her, less convincing in his actions than Makayla. Seeing them side by side exaggerates the difference, now that I’m looking for it. He has an artificial air to his voice and movements, making it obvious he’s conscious of how he’ll look and sound on camera. Makayla on the other hand… she’s really feeling the emotions somehow. When she pulls her hands away from her face to scoot back away from him, the terror and pain in her face makes my heart twist. Where is she going to find that kind of pain? What memory is she calling up from the depths of her past? I wonder if she remembers what I did to her to feel that kind of sadness. The thought pisses me off. Seeing the emotion on her face and knowing I could have caused that makes me hate myself. I’ve wondered all this time if I did the right thing, and looking at her now makes me sure I didn’t. I fucked up. What else is new?

  They died because of you. All my fucking men. Dead. The thought bubbles to the surface, turning my stomach over and making my fists clench. I briefly see the image of the rocket explode against the brick wall my men were hiding behind--the wall I told them to hide behind. I push it down. Of all the memories, it’s the most painful, and I can’t take it right now.
/>   “Stay back!” she shouts.

  Jason stops short. A few extras on set are gathered around them, watching the scene in shock.

  “You knew who I was from the start. Don’t play stupid now. You knew the whole time.”

  Her voice is low enough that I barely hear it. Every word is laced with pain and regret. “I thought you could change.”

  He laughs. “For you? Get up. Get up!” he repeats, yanking her to her feet as the gathered crowd gasps. “Stop blubbering,” he growls as he drags her off set.

  I feel a ball of emotion in my stomach, strongest of all is the desire to hurt Jason. Even if he is just following the script, I wanted to hurt him before I watched the scene. I’m also blown away by Makayla’s talent. I knew she was special, but seeing it first-hand is something else. She really could do better than this show.

  Ed nudges me and gives me a big, toothy smile. “See what I’m saying?”

  I surprise myself by laughing a little. I can’t help but like the kid. “Yeah. You’re spot on, kid.”

  He beams. “You want coffee or anything Mr… I never caught your name.”

  “Slade. Jesse Slade.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “That’s good. You should audition to be the next James Bond.”

  “Nah,” I say. “Not for me. No thanks on the coffee, either.”

  “Suit yourself!” he says, jogging toward the back exit of the set.

  A few minutes later I catch up with Makayla once she’s changed out of her outfit for the scene she just did. She showered too, and her thick hair is still wet. As far as I can tell, she’s not even wearing makeup. I can’t think of a woman I’ve ever seen who looks as good. She’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, but seeing her so dressed down is sexy as hell. I love the way she doesn’t even have to try to look fuckable.

  I mentally steer myself away from that line of thought. She’s not fuckable, Jesse. She’s my client. I shouldn’t even be thinking about that. The moment I start getting distracted with thoughts like that, I put her in danger. I need to be on my game and thinking about the job, not that perfectly tight ass of hers.