by Beth Yarnall
Crosby sat at his desk, pulling a long drink from the flask he kept in his bottom drawer. He wiped away the bright pink drop from his bottom lip, but not before Mi had seen it. He thought he was fooling everyone by putting stomach medicine in a container meant for alcohol. And he was. Everyone, but Mi.
He looked up at her with blurry, red eyes. “Third time this week.” He held up a hand. “Before you say it, I know. It’s not Davy. But goddamn it, I hate this shit.” He leaned back in his chair and waved for Mi to sit down, so she did. “The police don’t have one single lead and I know you’re not going to like it, but Sellers hired you a bodyguard.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but was cut off.
“Goddamn it, don’t fight me on this. It’s a done deal. With Lucy out on maternity leave, you’re all we’ve got. And there’s no way Sellers is going to stop shooting the show for one single goddamned day. You got me? You’re cash in the bank. Ratings haven’t budged an inch since Lucy got too big to hock dildos, proving you’re the real draw, not her.” He waved an idle hand around. “Must be that ancient Chinese secret thing or something. Hell, I don’t know. All I know is that Sellers protects his investments and right now, you’re investment number one.”
Mi would have corrected him that she was one-quarter Japanese. The rest of her heritage was comprised of a mixed bag of European descendents, but she knew Crosby didn’t care. That wasn’t the point. A bodyguard. She didn’t like the sound of that. A bodyguard meant real danger and she didn’t think a handful of threatening letters and one or two random acts of vandalism warranted a rent-a-cop.
“But Detective Rolls said it was probably a couple of over zealous members of that religious group, C.A.L.M. Unless something’s changed that I don’t know about.” She searched Crosby’s face and instantly knew she hadn’t been fully informed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Shit.” Crosby dropped his gaze to a paper on his desk, pausing for a moment like he was making an important decision. “I don’t want to scare you, kid, but I suppose you’d find out about it sooner or later.” He lifted the top couple of papers, then carefully slid out an envelope and handed it to her. “These are copies of what was handed over to the police.”
Mi didn’t comment on how much his hand shook when she took the envelope from him. That small tremor sent her nerves jangling. If Crosby was this upset over what was inside the envelope, then it had to be bad. Very bad.
She braced for it, but the reality of what she had to face was worse than she ever could have imagined. She flipped through the photos, one after the other, caught by the snippets of her life that had been well documented on film. Her unlocking her car in front of her house, in the produce section of the grocery store, in line at the dry cleaners, sitting in a church pew, holding a box of tampons in the drug store, having lunch with Lucy. And the final one—the one that had her clutching at her chest—was of her and her mother, feeding the ducks in the park under a hot Texas sun with the baby stroller parked close by.
She looked up to find Crosby watching her closely. “Are you okay, kid?”
She shook her head, unable to form the words she had for the emotions welling up inside her, trying to claw their way out.
“In that case, let me introduce Lucas Vega. Your bodyguard.”
She jerked in surprise, turning her head to the side, then up, way up. That low hum started again at the sight of the still man from the studio. He stood feet above her, looking down at her with no emotion. Certainly, nothing like the sensations clanging around inside her caused by his nearness. He was dark, like a shadow, dressed in all black with black hair and near black eyes. And not at all handsome. Which strangely made him more attractive to her.
Mi clutched the photos tighter. “No.”
“Sellers owns this station and all our asses. There is no ‘no.’” And then Crosby said something he avoided as though it gave him a violent rash. “Sorry, kid.”
She knew there was no way out. Those two simple words sounded with a thud in her head, like a trunk lid closing with her inside.
“She’s a peach once you get to know her,” Crosby said to Lucas, standing. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted and to make sure Davy’s finally unscrewed his screw up.” Crosby pointed at Mi. “Three minutes and then I want you back on set twirling dildos. Jesus, if my mother could see me,” Crosby mumbled to the ceiling as he left the room.
*
Lucas wasn’t sure what to say. Miyuki Price-Jones off camera was nothing like he’d thought she’d be. First off, she was small, too small, looking more like a teenager than the twenty-eight her file said she was. He knew she wore the glasses for the sex-kitten effect on the show, but what the file hadn’t said was what a strange color her eyes were, gold, like an old coin.
The file also hadn’t said anything about her having a kid. He wondered why. It wasn’t like her reputation would be compromised. She sold sex toys for fuck’s sake. Something told him that her having a kid would add a complication he wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with. Must have been why Cal Sellers had left that bit of information out of the file. And why Lucas would look into it as soon as he got the chance.
She didn’t speak or pay him any attention at all as she shoved the photos back into the envelope, her movements jerky and rushed. Then she sat there, holding the envelope, staring at it as though she didn’t know what to do with it.
“May I?”
She jolted at his question, spinning in her chair. She eyed his outstretched hand as if he’d strike her with it. That thought made him frown.
She clasped the photos to her chest. “No.”
He withdrew his hand, disguising his uneasiness at her reaction to him with a careless shrug. He was used to people making judgments about him. Usually he spun those misconceptions to his advantage, but for some reason her negative assessment of him rankled. He told himself it was better this way. Her discomfort meant she’d take direction from him if things got bad. And that was good.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Vega.” She rose to face him.
The first thing he noticed was that she was a little taller than she first appeared. The next thing he noticed was that despite her paleness from shock, her spine was straight, her chin high. It would take a lot to really rattle Ms. Price-Jones. That, too, was good. Maybe this favor he was doing for Cal wouldn’t be so bad.
“I didn’t mean to be rude.” She indicated the pictures. “It’s just that these are personal.”
“It would help me to know what we’re dealing with.” The truth was he wanted to study them more closely than the glimpse he’d gotten over her shoulder. He told himself they would tell him more about who might be after Ms. Price-Jones, but the real truth was he wanted to know more about her.
She frowned down at the envelope. “Oh.”
“And please, call me Lucas.”
“Lucas.” She said it as if she were trying it out to see how the letters felt on her tongue. Which brought his attention to her mouth and its fullness. Her tongue darted out, leaving her lower lip wet.
He had the strongest urge to run his thumb across it just to see how it felt.
“How does this work? This bodyguard thing?”
Lucas brought his attention back to her eyes, which were wide behind her fake glasses. With fear or something else? He couldn’t be sure. He wanted to put her at ease. He almost reached out to touch her, but wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t bolt if he did. Instead he shifted his stance, trying for reassuring.
“I’m with you twenty-four seven. I go where you go.”
“Oh.” She didn’t look reassured. If anything she looked more agitated.
“You won’t even know I’m there.”
She gave a shaky laugh. “I seriously doubt that. You’re awfully hard to miss.”
“What I mean is, you’ll go about your day same as always.”
“Except for my very large shadow.”
He cracked a hint of a smile. “Yes.”
She smiled in return and then the most remarkable thing happened. She touched him, taking his hand in hers. “Well, then, nice to meet you, Lucas. Please, call me Mi.”
“Mi.” It was his turn to try out her name, and he liked the way it made him feel.
She released his hand. He missed the contact.
“I’d better get back before Crosby starts yelling.” She looked at the envelope again, a frown creasing her brow. And then she thrust it at him, hitting him mid chest. “Here.” She released it without waiting for him to bring his hand up. He grabbed it before it hit the ground. “When you’re done, burn them. Shred them. I don’t care.” But she didn’t look at them as though she didn’t care. “I don’t want to see them again.”
That he believed, and he wanted to be the one to make them go away for her. He wasn’t sure why he felt a protectiveness toward her that went beyond his job description. A protectiveness that was entirely personal. He wanted to be the shield that separated her from the things that made her eyes wide with fear and had her flinching at an outstretched hand.
Lucas tucked the envelope into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and followed Mi back to the studio where it looked as though they had gotten everything straightened out. People milled about, checking or testing things, shouting out and answering commands. He felt out of place here. Everything was so fake: the seating group meant to look like anyone’s living room, the backdrop with a windowed view of anyone’s neighborhood, and the woman standing in the midst of it all, getting her hair and makeup touched up. Mi.
Gone was the reserved, almost shy, woman he’d met earlier. In her place was the on-camera siren who sold sex toys, handling them like a pro. That thought made his shoulders twitch. Would he be the first to assume a woman who sold sex toys also had vast intimate knowledge of how to use them? What kind of crazy kink would a woman like her be into? Watching her switch on a vibrator and stroke the shaft while extolling its virtues affected him more than he wanted it to. More than it should have. He wondered if he was the only one getting turned on by her display. He’d bet not. A woman like her would have men tripping themselves to get to her.
But there had been no reference of a husband, boyfriend, or any other kind of personal relationship in her file. Maybe there were too many to mention. He shifted his feet, more uncomfortable with that notion than he had a right to be. He thought again of the photo of Mi and another woman by a lake with a baby stroller. The other woman looked too old to be the mother of an infant. So if the baby wasn’t Mi’s, whose was it? And where was the baby’s father?
Mi held up two odd looking things with small clamps. “Next up we have a beautiful set of cordless vibrating nipple clamps from Love’s Slave. Foreplay fun or masturbation enhancement, these lovely vibrating clamps are made of soft, supple rubber and are adjustable for your pleasure. Tickle, tease, and please your perky tips hands-free, batteries included…”
Jesus. Lucas’s gaze immediately dropped to Mi’s breasts as she spoke. He first imagined using the nipple clamps on her, but quickly discarded that image, replacing it with his hands and mouth, licking and coaxing her nipples to stiff peaks…
“Increase your orgasmic pleasure by combining your Love’s Slave vibrating nipple clamps with the vibrator or dildo of your choice. Only twenty-nine, ninety-nine and available in three colors: pink, purple and silver…”
He’d like to increase her orgasmic pleasure and not with some battery operated contraption, but the old fashioned way with hands and tongue and the slide of skin on skin. He pictured his hands pressed to her small breasts, his thumbs tracing circles around her aroused flesh…
“Also from Love’s Slave we have the Ride ’Em Cowgirl, a stationary ride-on vibe with three speeds. Just place the Ride ’Em Cowgirl on your bed or floor and set your own pace, slow and sensual or fast and hard. However you like it, you decide…”
A fine sweat coated Lucas’s forehead and upper lip. He adjusted the front of his pants, picturing Mi naked, rising over him, riding him like a cowgirl…
“This bubble gum pink ride-on vibe has adjustable speeds and a strong suction cup attachable to any surface for when you want to ride doggie-style…”
Fuck. His hands flexed at his sides as he pictured Mi on all fours in front of him. He gripped her hips, taking her hard and fast from behind just the way he’d like…
“Don’t forget tonight’s show special: Decadence’s Heart-on For You, a beautiful hand-blown glass phallus with a heart shaped handle and sensual beads for added stimulation. And Pleasure at Home’s own Slippery When Whet, a water-based, non-stain lubricant to enhance your sexual experience. Regularly fifty-nine…”
Was she wet right now? Did she get turned on, handling the long hard shafts, describing how to use them? Did she pleasure herself in the darkness of her bedroom late at night?
“We also have some wonderful products for gentlemen, beginning with the Super Stroker 3000 from Midnight Embrace.” Mi held up some kind of tube-looking device. “Extra long to accommodate any sized man, this deep throated stroker will bring you to completion and beyond. Soft, full lips wrap around your shaft, gently sucking…”
He’d experienced less painful torture in the Navy. He didn’t get why people bought those things, but watching Mi’s sales pitch was the most erotic thing he’d seen in a long time. And it had been way too long since he’d had anything but his own hand to slake his lust. Needing another focus for his attention, he shifted his feet and looked around. He was thirty-two, not a fifteen year-old boy unable to control himself for fuck’s sake. He wanted to fill a sink and dunk his head, give it a good solid soak for the things he’d been thinking. Instead he let his gaze wander the studio, studying the layout, the exits, and the people. He catalogued everything, storing the knowledge away. He was here to protect Mi, nothing more. If only he could erase the erotic images that flickered across his mind like a porno movie.
Damn Cal and his stupid favor.
*
An hour later, Mi wrapped up the show by repeating Pleasure at Home’s two phone numbers—one for women and one for men—and reminded her viewers that they could view all of tonight’s products and more online on Pleasure at Home’s website.
“That’s a wrap,” Crosby shouted.
Mi stepped off the stage, glad to be out of the glare of the lights that seemed sharper with the headache hovering at the back of her head. Her gaze automatically wandered the far corners of the studio, looking for Lucas. She found him near the door, arms folded over his chest. She could just make out his dark shape in the shadows. He looked more imposing than ever. She remembered how gentle, almost kind, he’d been with her earlier. The contrast in him gave her shivers.
She handed Tracey, the makeup artist, her on-show, trademark eye-glasses. It had been Mr. Sellers’s idea for her to wear them even though she had perfect eyesight. He’d thought the sexy librarian look would be a perfect contrast to Lucy’s blond bombshell. She missed Lucy. Doing the show without her wasn’t as much fun, but with just weeks left of her pregnancy, Lucy didn’t fit Pleasure at Home’s provocative image. A hugely pregnant woman wasn’t sexy, according to Mr. Sellers.
Mi and Tracey headed to the makeup room just off the main studio. Pleasure at Home was wildly successful, but not successful enough for anything more than a glorified closet as a makeup room. Tracey pulled the bobby pins from Mi’s hair while Mi attacked her face with a baby wipe. She hated the thick pancake makeup required for on-camera work. Tracey finished brushing out Mi’s hair just as Mi wiped the last of the makeup and cold cream off with a tissue.
Tracey set down the hairbrush and began cleaning up the makeup counter. “You’re all set, Mi.”
“Thanks, Tracey,” Mi said as she gathered her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She turned to find Lucas crowding the doorway. “Oh! Hello.” Had he been there the whole time?
He examined her face as though it was a riddle that needed solving. “You have freckles,” he whispered more to hi
mself than her.
Mi lowered her head a little, touching a finger to her lightly speckled nose. She hated her freckles. “Yeah, since I was a kid,” she answered just as quietly.
“Hmm.”
She couldn’t tell if that was a good ‘hmm’ or a bad ‘hmm.’ He continued to study her face, his gaze tracing over every inch as though it intrigued him. She knew she looked much different without the makeup, which exaggerated the almond shape of her eyes, the fullness of her lips and the sharpness of her cheekbones. Most men only saw the sex kitten who sold personal pleasure devices, expecting her to be wild in bed. Her on-camera self was sexy and sought after, but her off-camera self was freckled and easily skipped over.
She didn’t know why the way he looked at her now made her feel apologetic, it just did. And it annoyed her. “It’s the makeup. I’m supposed to look the part.” She dropped her voice further until it was barely audible. “You know, seductive and alluring.”
He frowned, a deep V forming between his brows.
“Mi, you forgot this.” Tracey held out Mi’s cell phone, angling herself for an introduction to Lucas.
“Thank you. Tracey Casey, meet Lucas Vega, my—” And then it slipped out, catching Mi as unaware as anyone. “—boyfriend,” she finished, not daring to look at Lucas. What had she just done?
“Pleased to meet you,” Lucas said smoothly as though it were true.
“Boyfriend?” She could feel Tracey’s questioning stare, but she didn’t dare look up.
“Yes, ah—”
Lucas cut in. “We’ve just made it official.”
And then Lucas draped his arm across her shoulders, bringing her up against his side. A decidedly hot and altogether hard side. She could smell the leather of his coat mixed with the fundamental scent of warm male. It was all she could do to not turn her head and rub her face against his chest, luxuriating in his scent like a bitch in heat. Instead she brought her arm up and under his jacket, laying her hand flat on his lower back just above the hard ridge of what was probably a gun. More heat. His muscles twitched under her palm.
