Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  I can’t admit any of that. Holding onto feelings like that for someone who broke my heart ten years ago probably makes me crazy. I just can’t believe he’s actually back. I’ve held a place for him in my heart all this time, convincing myself that I had to be building the memory of him up in my mind and the real thing could never compare. Little did I know I wasn’t even doing him justice. Just thinking about the way I felt when he looked at me makes me crave a cold shower and a glass of wine. I’ve never seen a man pulse with sexuality and intensity like that before. I laugh a little to think of what would happen if he guest starred on Stalked. Every girl in America would have a new obsession overnight. Because they wouldn’t know what kind of person he really is.

  Hating him should be easy, but I already feel the soft thrum of desire from deep in my core. My bastard body doesn’t even know what’s best for it. Jesse is trouble. The only smart thing to do is keep my distance.

  Kennedy tries and fails to hide her smile. “Right. That’s why you look like you’re so turned on right now you might jump my bones.”

  I laugh despite my irritation. “I’d have to be really, really turned on to resort to that.”

  Kennedy looks thoughtful. “So it’s a possibility then? Noted.”

  I slap her arm, feeling some of my anger dissipating with her humor. “Creep.”

  She pouts, but I’m not falling for it. Kennedy has no shame, and hurting her feelings is pretty hard to do.

  “I need to get out of here before he catches up with me,” I say, fishing my keys out of my bag and waving.

  “Okay. I’m just going to wait here so I can get a glimpse of the guy that has you so turned on.”

  I open my mouth to respond to that and can’t, snapping it shut and hurrying toward my car. I get in and immediately call my agent, Frank, waiting impatiently for him to pick up.

  His shrill voice blasts in my ear. “Makayla, baby! You’re practically showering me with attention lately. I love it!”

  “Where the hell did you find the bodyguard.”

  “What? Oh, Mr. Slade? You said you wanted the best money could buy, and that’s what I got. This guy is like the Michael Jordan of the personal protection industry. His record is flawless and none of his clients have ever been hurt.”

  “Well I want another bodyguard. I can’t work with this one.”

  “You already paid him though. He cost fifty grand just for the week.”

  My eyes bulge and I lean forward, clutching the steering wheel so hard my fingers hurt. “Fifty grand, as in fifty thousand dollars?”

  “You said to get the best money could buy.” Frank’s voice is uncharacteristically hesitant now. “Didn’t you look at the contract I faxed over before you signed it?”

  No. I was too preoccupied with trying to drink away the memory of the man in the mask. “It’s just a figure of speech! I didn’t mean to literally go out and…” I sigh, pressing my palm to my forehead. It’s not Frank’s fault that I was careless with my words. “Just do me a favor and make sure I only have him for the one week, okay?”

  “Sure, of course,” says Frank, obviously just relieved to be getting off the hook. “I’ll let you get back to your day. Ciao!”

  He hangs up and I close my eyes, trying to gather some strength. Before I have a chance, someone in a suit tugs on the passenger door. I duck my head a little to try to catch a glimpse of who it is, but I can already tell from the fit body that it’s Jesse. I’m suddenly glad I locked the door. I expect him to yell for me to unlock it, but instead he just smoothly whips out a folded metal bar and shimmies it between my car door and windshield.

  “Hey! Stop th—”

  There’s a click and he opens the door, sliding into the seat smoothy with a satisfied sigh. He looks over at me, mouth pulled up in just the slightest hint of a smirk.

  Cocky bastard.

  “Where to?” he asks.

  “We are not headed anywhere. You’re going to step out of my car and I’m going to go meet my stepfather.”

  “I’m not ruining my reputation because some pampered starlet refused to let me protect her.”

  I suck in a deep breath through my nose, looking away from him. Looking anywhere but that obnoxiously gorgeous face that is begging to be touched and kissed. Or punched.

  He chuckles, “Your nostrils still flare when you’re pissed. It’s cute.”

  An idea occurs to me and I turn to face him. “You know what? Fine. You can protect me. I paid way too much money to let you go to waste. You can tag along with me to meet my stepfather and we’ll go from there.” We’ll see how long he can tolerate me before he quits on his own. He thinks I’m a pampered starlet? Good. It’ll make it easier to convince him to hate me.

  He gives me a wary look but nods. “Good. I’ll drive.”

  “No. I’ll drive,” I say.

  He smirks, leaning back in the seat and making himself comfortable in an infuriating way. The arrogant prick is trying to act like he just got exactly what he wanted. Unbelievable.

  I pull out of the parking lot and feel suddenly awkward in the silence that follows. While he may be comfortable sitting in silence like some brooding war hero, I’m not. Silence makes me uncomfortable. And when I’m uncomfortable, my mouth gets ahead of my brain.

  “So, what have you been up to since you ditched me?” I ask. “Other than push-ups.” I feel blood rush to my cheeks. Did I just say that? I have to press on the brakes when I realize how much I’m speeding already.

  “Ten years and you still hold a grudge against me? I’m flattered you’ve been thinking of me.”

  “Oh get over yourself,” I snap. “I just remember that you’re an asshole, and that apparently hasn’t changed.”

  “Yeah. You’re right about that.”

  We pull to a stop at a red light and I steal a glance at him. Brooding war hero is right. His face is a study in concentration, but his eyes are distant. What happened to him in the war? As much as I hate him for what he did, I hate seeing him suffer more, and part of me still wants to help him. I shake the thought. No way. I’m not going to be soft on him or go easy. He didn’t just leave, he made sure I would never even think about waiting for him when he told me about the girl he was seeing overseas. The girl he was leaving me for.

  The silence gets the better of me again and I find myself blurting another question. “So you’ve just been working as a bodyguard this whole time?”

  “I got out of the SEALs about a year ago. I’ve been working personal protection since then.”

  Personal protection. He doesn’t like the term bodyguard. Noted. “So why a bodyguard? You couldn’t think of anything else barbaric and mindless enough?”

  I don’t look, but I can feel his glare burning into me. I regret the question, but I won’t let that show. I’m just so pissed. As terrible as it is, part of me just wants to make him hurt as much as I do.

  “When I got back, it was like I couldn’t turn it off. I guess my brain got wired for living a few inches from death. Normal jobs…they wouldn’t work.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. I sigh. I feel like I should apologize, and I almost do, but I stop myself. I’m not ready yet. Maybe I never will be. I can’t forgive him.

  27

  Jesse

  It’s all I can do not to stare at her. Ten years and all she has done is get more fucking beautiful. I saw her on TV a few times, but it doesn’t even do her justice. The part that amazes me most is how the innocence still clings to her. She could tell me she’s still a virgin, and if I hadn’t been the one to take that from her personally, I would still believe her. And damn. She’s wearing her clothes from the show, but the thin black dress her character was wearing is riding so far up her thighs that I think if I leaned forward I could catch a glimpse of her panties. Jesus Christ. Her legs look so smooth and soft that I only imagine how great they would feel wrapped around me.

  If the angry scowl on her face is any indication, I’m going to keep imagi
ning, because she doesn’t look willing to let me anywhere near her yet. But fuck. What am I thinking? She’s a client. I don’t fuck around with clients. I never have, and I’ve worked for some clients who were practically begging to be fucked around with. Maybe it’s for the best that she seems to hate my guts. It will make it easier to keep my hands off her. At least a little bit easier.

  We arrive at her stepfather's building. It’s a towering skyscraper. At least forty stories. We park in the underground garage and I get out of the car first, scanning the lot and pulling my jacket over the Glock holstered at my side. If someone wanted to hurt Makayla, I wouldn’t blame them for trying to do it here. There’s only one way out by car and two more by foot if you took the elevator or the stairs. As few as three people could lock down the entire area and keep us from slipping away.

  “What are you scowling at?” asks Makayla as she steps out the car.

  “Places like this. They are perfect for an ambush.”

  She smirks, lowering her chin in an attempt to deepen her voice as she mimics me. “Perfect for an ambush.”

  She laughs at her impersonation, but I don’t return her smile. “If I’m going to keep you safe, I need you to take this seriously.”

  “Don’t I look serious?” she asks before adjusting her bag on her shoulder and walking past me. I’m forced to follow behind her, keeping my eyes on alert, scanning the garage for any sign of danger. I’m perfectly alert until I realize how perfect her wide hips and ass look from behind. She taps the elevator button and waits, crossing her arms.

  “We should take the stairs,” I say. “It’s safer.”

  Her eyes dart to the stairwell and she gives a tight shake of her head. “No. We’ll take the elevator.”

  I can tell there’s more going on than just stubbornness, but I let it go, for now.

  Two people file out of the elevator, leaving us to ride up alone together. I step between her and the doors once she punches in her stepfather's floor. I’m always watchful over my clients, but being around Makayla after so long has me hyper-alert and my fingers itching for my gun. I knew I missed her because I still thought about her after so long, but I didn’t realize I would still want her this badly. Fuck. I’ve practically had a hard-on since I first saw her on the set just thinking about the things I would do to her behind closed doors. Hell, even thinking about the things I would do to her out in the open has me hard.

  The door dings before we reach our floor and a Spanish woman with fuck-me eyes and tall heels clicks her way in. She does a double take when she sees me. “Jesse?” she asks incredulously.

  I give her another look and then it hits me. Shit. I met her at Maverick’s a few months back. I can’t remember much else, but I recognize her face now, and judging by the way she’s glaring at me, I gave her the VIP treatment.

  “You must have me confused for someone else,” I say.

  “No,” says Makayla, turning her full attention on the woman and planting her hands on her hips. “He’s exactly who you think. Jesse Slade. He can be a little forgetful. Why don’t you remind him what he did to you?”

  I can tell by the look in the woman’s eyes she thinks she’s about to out me to my girlfriend. “He fucked me and then kicked me out of his place the next morning like a dog.” She steps toward me, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

  Makayla gives me a look that hurts more than I’d like to admit, like she’s seeing me for what I’ve become and she doesn’t like it. Since when have I given a shit about what women think? I want to run my hands through my hair and go find some space, but I’m working, so I square up and watch the doors. Let her be pissed, let all of them be pissed. I just need to stay focused on the job at hand and get this done.

  I ignore the tense silence that follows until the door opens and we leave the still fuming woman behind. Makayla seems to be walking even faster now, striving to get more distance between herself and me.

  She walks past a secretary who obviously recognizes her and scrambles to call ahead to her boss before we reach his office. We move through a hallway crowded with doors until we reach a door at the end of the hall, set apart from the rest. Makayla raises a hand to knock and pauses when voices come from within.

  “...insurance policy will handle that,” says a man’s deep voice.

  “You had better hope, Mr. Walsh. If this scheme of yours falls through, then you won’t be far behind it.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

  The door swings open and a man in an expensive suit pauses when he sees us waiting outside, but only for a moment. He straightens his tie and shoves past.

  What the hell was that about?

  The office is large and obviously meant to be impressive. Everything seems over-sized from the rug to the desk to the paintings on the wall and even the ridiculous view. Everything except the man behind the desk, whose small size is amplified by the enormity of his surroundings.

  “Makayla, who’s this?” He asks. I recognize the voice. He’s the one who was just saying he would get someone money. Money for what though? And what insurance policy was he talking about?

  “My bodyguard” she says. She turns to me next, giving a sarcastically grand wave of her hand toward the small man behind the desk. “Bodyguard, let me introduce Hubert Walsh, my stepfather.”

  I try not to let my irritation show. I’m personal fucking protection. Not some low-rent bodyguard.

  There’s a man standing in the corner of his office wearing a suit that’s a little too big. He’s so burly that he’s probably more for show than for effectiveness, but he’s clearly security--no, a bodyguard. What is a businessman doing with a bodyguard? Most businessmen would obviously have security for the building, but only someone with a lot of enemies would feel the need to have a bodyguard stationed in his office.

  There’s a look on Hubert’s face as he sizes me up that I can’t place. I can tell he’s impressed with me, but it almost seems as though he’s irritated. “A bodyguard? He looks expensive. What happened to my frugal little flower?” He smiles adoringly at her, smoothing over some of the accusation in his question.

  Makayla straightens self-consciously. “He was actually very cheap. Practically free.”

  I shift in annoyance.

  Hubert purses his lips. “Sweetie, why didn’t you just ask? You could have had your pick of any of my men.”

  “If your men are all like him, I don’t blame her,” I say.

  Hubert’s face is deadly calm as he slides his eyes to rest on me. He makes a show of sizing me up and then huffing dismissively, looking back to Makayla. “Does he always speak without permission like that?”

  My fingers itch for his fucking throat. It would be so easy. Hell, I could just flip his massive desk and let gravity do the work of crushing his skull. The bodyguard probably wouldn’t even be fast enough to draw his gun in time to stop me.

  I’m not usually like this on the job. I put protection first and my own pride second. I just can’t stand seeing this fucker push Makayla, even if it’s just a little. The way he chided her for not using one of his men reeked of a controlling personality, like she’s obligated to run her decisions through him. Fuck that. She’s a grown woman and shouldn’t have to answer to a prick like him.

  “What was it you called me here to talk about again?” asks Makayla, clearly attempting to diffuse the tension. “And where’s Maria?”

  “Julia,” he corrects with an easy smile.

  Makayla makes an innocent face and shrugs.

  Hubert sighs, templing his fingers in front of his mouth. “I just got through talking with my good friend, Police Chief Watts.” He pauses to see if we’re impressed by the name he dropped.

  “And Chief Watts told me there is reason to believe these stalkers are more organized than the media would indicate. He thinks they are backed by a wealthy individual, and that their numbers are growing every day.” Hubert clears his thro
at. “My first thought was keeping you safe. So I made arrangements to have personal protection provided for you. I want you to cooperate with them, even if you did hire this… thug. You can keep him, but make sure he doesn’t get in the way of the professionals.”

  My jaw flexes and I’m a breath away from putting this soft businessman on his back and breaking his bodyguard’s nose. My voice is tense when I turn to Makayla, speaking low. “No way,” I say. “I work alone. They will get in the--”

  “I’ll cooperate with them,” she says to Hubert. “The more the merrier. Right, Jesse?” she asks.

  28

  Makayla

  The look on Jesse’s face is worth whatever I have to put up with by letting Hubert’s men protect me. His face doesn’t betray much, but his eyes are slightly narrowed and his nostrils are flared. I can practically feel the hot anger radiating off him. It feels good to get him back, even if I’m being a little childish to do it.

  But as quickly as the anger in his features came, it’s gone. His lips curl at the corner and his eyes relax, as if something funny just occurred to him. “Of course, the more the merrier,” he agrees.

  “Well, thanks Hubert,” I say, knowing he still wants me to call him dad. I see him flinch every time I use his name, but I can’t make myself do it. He’s not my dad. He has been nice to me and I don’t have anything real to complain about, but calling him dad wouldn’t feel right. It would be a betrayal. My dad was one of the few good things in my life before he passed. Hubert can be overbearing, possessive, and ruthless, but he does love me in his own way. It’s just impossible not to compare him to my father, not to catalogue every shortcoming.

  “Be careful out there. Call me if there’s any trouble.”

  We’re met by two members of my “team” right outside the door. They are the big beefy types, like men I would expect to see watching the door of a club. One is bald and the other has a closely shaved head.