by Livia Grant
"You don't understand. This is how it is in Hollywood," she mumbled.
He wrestled her hand away from her mouth, shoving a slice of bacon in as he answered her. "I understand perfectly. I just don't give a shit about Hollywood." He chucked her chin as she tried to spit out the greasy caloric nightmare, preventing her from spitting it out as he added, "I only care about you."
His simple words worked like magic. He only cared about her.
Instead of looking embarrassed by his admission, the blue in his eyes melted into an inviting pool she wanted to lose herself in. She had no idea what it was called or how it happened, but there was no denying the almost magical attraction they had for each other. It had been there the minute they'd met and he'd chased her down at Black Light. It had nearly destroyed her when he'd turned his back on it, walking out on her and making her think she'd imagined the whole thing.
As if he could read her mind, he answered her unspoken question. "I don't really understand it either. But I know this is where I'm supposed to be." He hesitated before adding, "Please, Khloe. Let me take care of you. At least until we find the bastard behind the threats and get them neutralized."
He was asking her. She should be happy, but it felt like they were treading in new waters. Renegotiating their scene. Only this time, there would be no roulette wheel calling the shots and there was more at stake than pushing each other's sexual buttons.
She needed more information.
"What do you mean by take care of me? What exactly are we talking about here?"
His eyes hardened again. "Effective immediately, I take over your personal security. Twenty-four, seven. I put together my own independent team of investigators to dig into the threats against you and ferret out who's behind them. I won't stop until they're behind bars." He paused and she was about to tell him that sounded perfect when he held his finger up to shush her.
He continued. "I also call the shots on who has access to you. You'll go where I tell you, when I tell you. I approve your schedule, publicly and privately, with your safety my number one concern." He squeezed her chin, ensuring she wouldn't look away as he added with the yummy authoritative tone that melted her core, "And... when we're alone, I'm your Master. Like we were back at Black Light, only I call the shots instead of the roulette wheel."
Khloe's heart lurched at his unexpected proposal, her brain and body at war. She'd half expected him to drop her off at the studio and then ride off into the sunset, never to be seen again. Relief that he obviously planned to stick around for a while warred with terror at the thought of turning herself over to him as he wanted. She was a successful, independent twenty-first century woman, and he was asking for unprecedented control over every aspect of her life.
This was not normal. But then again, nothing had been normal for them since the minute they'd met. But what if she couldn't do it? He was asking too much.
"Just like that? You waltz back in and demand complete control?"
"I rarely waltz, but yeah... pretty much."
The bastard had the audacity to grin the sexiest smile in his arsenal. It almost made her waver, but she stuck to her guns, grateful for the clarity of what she needed to do. She pushed away from him until she was standing on her own two feet, her hands on her hips.
"Here's my counteroffer, Mr. Helms. I agree to turn the investigation over to you, including control over my personal safety and schedule, but Trevor stays on. Until the culprit is found and behind bars, I will defer to you for all things regarding my protection." She paused, reaching out to hold his chin as he had hers, sending a loud and clear message. "As for being my Master behind closed doors... that one you're gonna have to earn back." His eyes widened at her demand. "You walked out. It hurt me, more than I'd like to admit." His eyes softened. "So, you have a bit of work to do before you earn that kind of unwavering trust from me again. Got it?"
Several long seconds went by as she held her breath, worried she'd overplayed her hand in the complex game they seemed to be playing.
He moved so fast, she had no warning. One minute she was standing in the kitchen with her hands on her hips in complete control, the next she was spun around, her torso bent over and pressed into the hard kitchen counter. Ryder opened her robe and ripped it away from her body, leaving her naked before him. He yanked her arms behind her back and used the belt from her robe to effortlessly wrap her arms together from her wrists to her elbows, subduing her completely under his control in less than a minute.
Electricity sparked where he touched her body, his hands roaming... exploring. She gasped for air, feeling lightheaded as he slapped her ass hard before using the same hand to slide through her shamefully wet pussy.
She didn't understand it. She didn't even know if she liked it, but there was no denying her body loved everything he did to it. The problem was, her brain couldn't quite get wrapped around it.
He pinched. He squeezed. He slapped. He caressed. He played her body, driving out all cognitive thought until she was nothing but a sexual blob, desperate for release. He edged her until it hurt.
"Ryder! Please!" She couldn't stand it any more. She needed to come more than she needed air. She trembled at his victorious growl of satisfaction as he finally buried his cock inside her, lifting her at the hips, her feet now dangling as he plowed her from behind like a man possessed.
She screamed as her first orgasm consumed her. Still in the throes of ecstasy, she was like putty in his hands as he lifted her off the counter by placing his hands on the back of her thighs, holding her still linked body in front of him as he effortlessly lifted her off his rod before letting gravity impale her again. He was like a machine–a piston at work–lifting and dropping her to a fast rhythm until he grunted his own release, hugging her to him as she felt the heat of his wetness filling her.
As she came down from her sexually-induced high, she felt Ryder trying to catch his own breath as he hugged her folded body against his chest.
Her arms were starting to hurt having been sandwiched uncomfortably between their grinding bodies, but he distracted her from the pain by sucking her earlobe into his mouth, nipping it intimately until he released her to speak softly against her ear.
"Challenge accepted, Princess."
Chapter 14
He zoomed in on the grainy photo on his tablet, his blood pressure rising. Ryder had spent the last thirty minutes reviewing the evidence collected so far in Khloe's stalker case. He owed Davidson one. The model turned club owner had used his celebrity connections to pressure the studio's investigators to forward over everything they'd collected to date on the case to Ryder's secure email account.
He didn't know what infuriated him more. That there was so little evidence other than that provided by the crime photos themselves, or that the people surrounding the actress presently drying her hair in his bathroom didn't seem to be taking the threats against her seriously.
He'd have to read everything more thoroughly later, but his early analysis of the evidence was that he didn't trust anyone in her inner circle. He'd started a list of possible suspects based on the photos, emails and threatening messages along with who had access to her private locations that had been breached.
The list was unfortunately long and growing. And her bodyguard, Trevor McLean, was at the top of his list. Something didn't add up with the guy. His first instinct was to fire his ass and keep him as far away from Khloe as he could, but he knew Khloe herself would dig in to try to protect him, which only made Ryder hate the guy that much more.
No, better to keep him close–watch him carefully.
He jumped when Khloe stepped close. He'd been so focused, he'd not heard her approaching.
"Where did you get that picture?"
Something about the tone of her voice made him turn to watch her. "Why?"
"Tell me! Where did you get that?" Her voice cracked with anxiety.
"Davidson sent it over. It's part of the evidence the studio investigators collected. Why does it ups
et you?"
Of all of the photos he'd reviewed, this one of Khloe talking to Trevor seemed pretty benign. She was facing away from the camera and the shot was taken too close for him to sort out where they were located. Taking a closer look, he didn't care for the look on McLean's face as he spoke with his boss, Khloe.
"Where was this taken?" he asked again. When she didn't answer, he added, "And when?"
She'd turned pale. The photo clearly unnerved her. "It was taken in the lobby of my New York apartment building the night of the first break-in. I was scared shitless. The police held back all photographers though. We didn't want any photos like this floating around and making it into the tabloids."
Ryder made a mental note to find out exactly who had authorized the secret photos.
He knew she wouldn't like it, but he had to speak up. "Tell me more about Trevor McLean."
She glanced up at him, curious, but answered. "What do you want to know? He's been with me almost two years now." She must have sensed where this was going because she added on, "I trust Trevor completely."
"That may be, but you have to admit, he has more access to you than anyone else. I've only seen photos and news feeds, but even I can tell he has the hots for you. How do you know he isn't behind the threats, trying to drive you to depend on him more?"
"Oh come on. That's ridiculous," she protested verbally, but even her Oscar-worthy acting skills couldn't hide the worry line on her brow. She wouldn't admit it out loud, but he knew Khloe had already given that possibility some thought.
"I have a lot more questions, but we need to head out if we want to get you there by eleven."
"I can't believe you're gonna make me wear this ridiculous outfit," she complained.
He'd called Aunt Ginny for help with a woman's wardrobe change, not wanting to put his passenger back into her elegant gown for the ride back to the city. It hadn't been as conspicuous in the dark of the night, but in midday Friday traffic on an L.A. freeway, her gown would draw unwanted attention. The sizes-too-big jeans held up with a belt and the black T-shirt would have to do.
"Aw come on. You look great," he teased.
He grabbed his already packed duffle before taking her hand and heading out to the Harley. It made him smile to see how excited she was to be riding the bike again. He'd half expected her to be afraid of the powerful machine. He punched the address of the studio into his smartphone before taking off for the drive back to civilization. He looked forward to the trip, especially when his passenger hugged him tighter as he gunned it.
Fifty minutes later, they pulled up to the guard shack of the Burbank studio where Khloe's next movie was being filmed. He'd asked Davidson to have his name added to the approved visitor's list, but was anxious to see exactly how much security vetting took place at the studio gates. Unfortunately, he wasn't surprised when all he had to do to gain entrance was give his name to the guard who checked his computer, and finding Ryder Helms on some list, granted him access to the grounds without even asking to see any identification.
He'd definitely be discussing the breach with the head of security right before he chewed him a new asshole for putting Khloe at risk with their amateur crap.
He hadn't even cut the engine to the bike when Trevor McLean rushed out of the luxury trailer. The asshole had the nerve to pull Khloe from the back of the bike before he'd even taken his helmet off.
"I can't believe you took off like that. You gave me a Goddamn heart attack." The asshole was turning her around, inspecting her as if she'd been injured.
As soon as he had their helmets secured, Ryder stepped next to Khloe, wrapping his left arm around her waist possessively as he reached his right hand out for a handshake. "Ryder Helms"
He wasn't surprised when the greeting wasn't returned. He watched Trevor's reaction carefully, catching the flash of jealousy just before he schooled his expression to mere anger.
"I don't know who the fuck you are, but you have some nerve pulling a stunt like that last night."
"What stunt was that? Pulling Khloe out of a chaotic mob and taking her to a safe house where she could be properly protected?"
The taller man's face turned bright red with anger. "I had things under control."
"Yeah, right. That's why Jaxson had to scoop her up and carry her to me at the curb."
Khloe wiggled from his embrace, stepping between the men. "All right, you two. I think we've made a big enough scene for the day."
Ryder glanced around. Small groups of people, many in period costumes, had exited nearby trailers, interested in watching the altercation.
"You're right. Let's go inside," Ryder agreed.
Trevor did not. "You're not going anywhere. I'll take it from here."
It galled him when Khloe placed her hand on his chest, trying to keep her guard calm. "Come on, Trevor. Let's go in and talk."
McLean wasn't listening. "Jesus Christ, you're actually gonna put up with this? What's going on? Are you firing me?"
"Of course not. Ryder is gonna be joining my security detail, that's all."
They were setting the tone for all things to come. He couldn't let her explanation stand. "Correction, Princess. I'm going to be leading your security detail." His eyes locked with McLean's before adding. "You're welcome to stay on, or resign. Up to you."
Trevor looked like he wanted to deck him, and despite his cool facade, Ryder felt exactly the same way in return.
The crowd around them was growing. He ended the standoff by grabbing Khloe's hand and pulling her into motion towards the steps to her trailer. The rush of cold air greeted them as he swung open the door, catching the group of people red-handed who'd been hovering near the entrance to eavesdrop on the altercation in the parking lot. Most dispersed quickly, looking embarrassed.
The only two who stayed near the door were the older couple he assumed were Khloe's agent and publicist. He'd been looking forward to asking them some questions. He didn't like the tone of several emails they'd exchanged with the police, almost as if they'd hoped to sweep the criminal investigation under the rug while still ensuring leaks of the details made it to the press.
He had expected them to react to his presence as McLean had, but he'd been wrong. Before he could even acknowledge them, Natalie Kaplan was hugging him, a broad grin on her face.
"I need to congratulate you, young man. Riding in and stealing Khloe on that motorcycle of yours was a brilliant idea! I don't know why I didn't think of it myself." She released him, but proceeded to pat herself on the back. "Of course, it would have been nice to have a heads up in advance so I could have prepped a few photographers. As it was, there were only a few freelancers in range to get the best shots of the stunt."
She leaned over to the counter and grabbed a tablet, pulling up a photo taken the night before out front of the theater. He'd been so happy to see Khloe, he hadn't noticed how scared shitless she'd looked as he drove up to the curb, prior to taking his helmet off.
Ryder prided himself for living life on his terms, rarely letting guilt factor into his choices, but in that moment, guilt was what he felt staring down at the photo of a terrified Khloe in Jaxson's arms.
She'd stepped close to see as well, giving him the chance to hug her and whisper softly against her ear. "I'm sorry I scared you like that."
She looked up, surprise registering before she smiled. "That's twice." He didn't have a clue what she meant so she added, "You've apologized to me twice in one morning. I'm not sure, but I'm guessing that's a record for you."
Damn.
"Smartass," he retorted, hating that she had his number and wasn't afraid to call him on it.
Natalie was rambling on, unaware of their intimate sidebar. "You can't buy this kind of publicity. Such a good buzz going today. You're trending on Twitter, of course, but the real coup is Harley Davidson just announced a surge in business. Their stock is up four percent!"
Ryder interjected, "I got news for you, but last night wasn't some stunt. My only goal was t
o protect Khloe, not draw more negative publicity."
Natalie babbled on, totally missing his growing anger. "Young man, there is no such thing as negative publicity."
Her husband, Bernie, was equally animated. "This will get you an added three million easy on your next contract. Moving a national brand's stock like that proves you have real star power with advertisers."
Ryder's blood pressure was going through the roof listening to them babble on as if the nightmare Khloe was living through was the best thing since sliced bread. For once, it looked like he had something in common with McLean because the bodyguard looked like he wanted to dispose of the Kaplans almost as much as Ryder did.
He gave Khloe a reassuring hug before stepping away and towards the older couple in the room. He didn't stop his forward movement until he had invaded their personal space, getting up in their faces, his most menacing expression on his mug, the one that he usually reserved for criminals and low-lifes he was about to interrogate. The gasp of shock from Natalie as she stumbled backwards into her husband was gratifying.
"Now listen up, because I'm only gonna say this once. You're done turning the illegal threats against your client into a publicity stunt. I'm taking over the investigation, and I'm gonna be digging deep, leaving no question unasked." He looked around the room, making sure he had everyone's attention before adding. "And if I find out anyone in her inner circle has anything to do with the threats against her, I'm gonna make it my life's mission to make sure the offender doesn't see anything but the inside of a jail cell for the next twenty years."
"Why I never! How dare you speak to me like that? Mystery man or not, you're out of line." Natalie turned to Khloe, looking for support. "Are you really going to let him speak to me like this?"
Before Khloe could answer, McLean decided to take sides–a major mistake.
"I'm with Natalie on this. I don't know who the hell this guy is or why he's here, but he clearly is a hothead prone to violence. You need to fire him."
