Gambling on the Bodyguard

by Sarah Ballance

  “I guess he’s still got it.”

  She didn’t even turn to look at Jax, though she briefly entertained the thought of grinding her spiked heel into his foot. “He doesn’t look happy to be here.”

  “You wouldn’t either if someone said you’d leave in a body bag.”

  She swiveled to look at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead.”

  “Funny.”

  “Same threats he’s gotten all week, none of which have led to anything even remotely worrisome. He’s got a half dozen suits on his payroll in here, and as much as I know he wouldn’t want to admit it, he’s sweating.”

  “Is that why he looks like that?”

  “Like what? Devastatingly handsome?” Jax said the words with boredom, as if he’d heard them a thousand times, and she hated that a version had once come from her.

  “Like he’d rather be anywhere else.”

  “Hard to blame him under the circumstances,” Jax said, “but he needs to up his game if he doesn’t want to piss off all those women.” He shot her a sideways glance. “He’s supposed to make each one feel like she’s the only one in the room. That’s what his manager tells him before every event.”

  “That’s what they all want, isn’t it?”

  He gave her a hard look. “I guess you’d know.”

  Ouch. “That isn’t fair.”

  “Maybe not. But it’s true. If it weren’t true, you wouldn’t know my name.”

  Ellie took a breath and did her best not to show it. “Is this you trying to drive a wedge between us because you’re afraid of how you feel about me, because things aren’t as over as you seem to want to think they are? Or is this you being jealous?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I get it. It’s both. Well, guess what, jackass. I haven’t wanted him since the moment I set eyes on you. You can take it, leave it, or run from it. What you do with that is your choice, but don’t you dare lay it on me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, casually, like he’d just offered to get her a drink. “I’ll catch up with you in a few.”

  She stared daggers at his back as he walked away. She wanted to go after and dare him to look her in the eye and tell her, dammit, that he didn’t care, but to what end? He’d already admitted he cared. What good would it do either of them to dwell on it? None of this was meant to last. She’d go back home to Minturn knowing for the first time what it felt like to be needed, and she’d feel the void more than she ever had. And he’d stay there, living in the damned desert, all the while insisting he didn’t need the sun.

  Whatever.

  She all but stomped over to the punch bowl and got a refill. A man asked her to dance. She declined, then had immediate second thoughts. Jax hadn’t been happy with the guy buying her a drink downstairs, so maybe if he saw her with someone else…

  Nope.

  She wasn’t playing games. Vegas would always be his. She didn’t want any other memories to crowd that out. And she didn’t want to hurt him. Despite what he claimed about their nonexistence as a thing, she didn’t want him thinking for one second that she thought she could move on. She had no idea what his memories would hold, but one thing was for sure—he’d look back and see her in his arms, not someone else’s. And so would she.

  The punch disappeared. She went for a third. She’d have to slow down, if for no other reason than she’d spend half the night in line for the ladies room. Ball gowns, even like hers of the soft, flowing variety, didn’t exactly mesh with bathroom stalls.

  Her determination not to be anyone’s but his landed her on wallflower duty, but that was okay. The event, like the rest of Sin City, was surreal. She recognized a number of other cover models, which surprised her. If she knew faces other than Focker’s, her singular attraction hadn’t been as singular as she’d thought it, but it didn’t matter now. What she wanted couldn’t be found on the cover of a book.

  Nearby, a group of women fangirled an author who looked bewildered by their shrieks. They made a small scene, drawing some attention. Ellie sidestepped them, her gaze automatically skating the room for Jax. When she found him again, her heart skipped a beat, then tumbled down a flight of stairs. He definitely wore a tux that night. The fact that he periodically tugged at his collar only made him impossibly more adorable. He was all broad shoulders and blue eyes, his short dark hair still tousled. She remembered running her fingers through it, holding on for dear life while he changed everything she thought she knew about sex. She felt impossibly privileged that he’d shared himself with her.

  Would the wanting ever stop?

  She waved off a waiter with a tray full of fluted glasses. The punch had her a bit lightheaded. It was supposed to be non-alcoholic. Had to be the sugar. It and Hershey’s World had provided most of her sustenance for the day, so it was no small wonder she was upright. Instinctively, she searched the room for Jax. She found him near the corner Focker had apparently adopted, for she hadn’t seen him anywhere else all night. She thought of the threats Jax mentioned and wondered if Focker felt safer in the corner.

  Or if he had before whatever was going on over there had started happening.

  She watched as Jax edged between Pretty Boy and a red-faced man who gestured wildly. One of those angry husbands he’d mentioned? Focker had turned white as a sheet, and Jax was pushing the other guy toward the exit. Subtle enough not to draw a bunch of attention, but leaving no question that homeboy was out. Uniformed hotel security waited near the door and took over for Jax. Relief sliced through the tension in her shoulders. Jax met her eyes briefly, then looked away.

  She just stood there, aching. Thinking she should leave. What if he thought she was waiting for him to bring her to Focker? She’d probably never get the chance to tell him otherwise, and she didn’t want him thinking it.

  No, no, no.

  She needed to get out of there. Maybe have a steak. Filets came wrapped in bacon, didn’t they? Yep, that was it. She’d go find a place that served a mean bacon-wrapped filet mignon and she’d sip water until her head stopped spinning. Then she’d go back to her room and stay there until she had to head to the airport.

  Done. Deal.

  She deposited the punch glass on a tray of empties and turned for the exit. No good-bye. No chance he’d think she was hanging on. Just…done.

  Almost to the exit, she was plowed down for the second time that day. She stumbled out of the way, backstepping several paces, managing with the help of a stranger to find her footing before she fell. Then she realized who had hit her.

  It was the man Jax had escorted out, and he was headed straight for Pretty Boy’s corner.

  She saw Jax’s gaze register on the intruder. Saw the moment he got pissed. Saw, as the man moved away from her at an angle, that he held a gun.

  Oh, God, no.

  The scene played out in stop motion. The man holding the firearm. Focker diving behind a table. And Jax, that son of a bitch, going straight for the weapon. The attacker’s eyes…Ellie didn’t think she’d ever forget the rage there the moment his gaze shifted from Focker to Jax. Behind Jax, security quietly cleared the immediate area, and she remembered wondering what the point was. Would the gun only shoot straight? Would a bullet not travel the distance of the ballroom? And then she realized the bullet would have to go through Jax. They all knew it. They all expected it, and they just stood there, a bunch of bastards in the odd sea of calm where most of the guests didn’t seem to realize anything was amiss.

  Jax. His name stuck in her throat. Tried to claw its way out, but screaming would only distract him so she bit back, forced back the tears already fighting to fall. She waited in terror for the blast of gunfire. Worried the guy had already pulled the trigger under guise of a silencer and Jax’s motions were all momentum. No blood. There was no blood.

  In an instant, slow motion morphed into crippling speed. Jax flew, slamming into the man, twisting his arm toward the ceiling in one blunt motion that sent them both sail
ing. The assailant hit the floor, and Jax landed on top of him. One blow to the man’s arm and Jax had the gun. By the time she realized what happened, he’d pulled something out of the weapon and handed the pieces to one of the other security personnel, then sat there on the intruder’s chest. Breathing hard, but otherwise outwardly unfettered. Like it was nothing.

  Like he hadn’t run up to a gun that had been pointed at his chest.

  His eyes met hers. People rushed around him, and for a moment he was gone. Then someone dragged the gunman to his feet, and the crowd of security personnel rushed past him, leaving Jax standing there. Alone.

  Which, one way or another, had been his game plan all along.

  He’d told her as much, but the bitter, terrifying truth was something she couldn’t unsee. Tears spilled over, and she turned away. She heard him call after her, but there was no going back.

  “Colorado.” He caught up to her, grabbed her arm.

  She looked down at the offending touch, then at him. Saying nothing.

  He dropped her arm, but not her gaze. “We need to talk. Let me go clear it with security. I’m sure I’ll have to answer questions, but everything is on surveillance footage. Just…will you wait?”

  She nodded. Hadn’t meant to, but it happened.

  He wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “Wait for me.”

  She nodded again, then watched him walk away. The next day it would be her leaving. Over was over. What difference did it make? Sad, confused, and tear-stained, she turned her back on him and visited the ladies room. There was no salvaging what little makeup she wore, so she washed her face and started over, then headed back to wait for Jax.

  She felt like what she’d witnessed had been down a rabbit hole, and now she had to blink her way back out. Surprisingly little fuss had been made of the incident. Surely the news spread like wildfire, but there was already nothing to see. Rumors were equally inflated—a mob hit—and dismissed—publicity stunt—and the revelers continued on with their party. She didn’t even try to be a part of it. She just waited for Jax. An hour passed, after which she was asked by the police to answer a few questions. She found they were set up in another conference room, where there was no trace of Jax. She recounted what she’d seen, then left her contact information. When she exited the interview, she found him standing in the corridor.

  “I’m sorry you got wrapped up in that,” he said. Not like a lover, like a man who had worshipped every inch of her body, but like he felt obligated. Polite. Stilted. Like he hadn’t almost fucking died.

  Her emotional dam, which by that point rivaled the Hoover holding back the Colorado, burst. If she had a downstream, everything in its path would have been obliterated. “That’s it? That’s what you’re sorry for?”

  Her voice hit a volume that had people looking their way. Jax took her arm and led her down the hall and around a corner. “Yes,” he said. “You could have gotten hurt.”

  Anger flared, then exploded. “What about you?” she yelled. “Damn you, Jax. You’re not expendable. Do you get that? You don’t get to just die because you think no one cares.”

  “I get to do my job,” he said evenly, “because that’s what I’m paid to do.”

  “No one is paying you to die. You don’t even like him, but you’re willing to die for him!”

  “You’re right.”

  She counted to five. Then ten. She bit back the anger. The fear. The whatever-it-was that had her chest in a fevered, achy knot. “How long are you going to punish yourself for something that happened sixteen years ago?”

  “This has nothing to do with that,” he said evenly.

  “It has everything do to with that,” she shot back. “You think everyone is worth saving but you, and you’re wrong. If anything had happened to you—”

  “Then what? You’d be on that plane tomorrow either way, so what difference does it make?”

  She stared at him, stunned. “You think I don’t care? You’re the one pushing. You are the one so damned determined not to care about anyone that you won’t see what’s in front of your face. And I’m done, Jax. I’m done fighting for something you so obviously don’t want.”

  She spun to leave, but he caught her. His features were tight. Tense. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She stood there, chest heaving. Tears threatening. Her entire world tipping and spinning on what he’d say next. “Then say it. Admit it.”

  He let her go, and her heart sank. Shattered. She turned to go, but his soft words stopped her in her tracks.

  “I want you.”

  She turned. Stared at the man who had become such a part of her she no longer recognized who she’d been before him. Wondered if she’d only imagined those words on his lips.

  “I want you,” he said again. Louder. Bitter. “You fucking come in here, and you’re everything I thought I couldn’t have. You’re the sun in the damned sky. and I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Is it the truth?” He voice shook. Her body shook.

  With tension threading his limbs and his eyes flashing blue sparks, Jax looked like he could pulverize granite. “Yes, it’s the goddamn truth.”

  “Then stop fighting it,” she whispered.

  A moment passed. Then another. The distant sounds from the ballroom faded, and all that was left was the thud of her heart in her ears and the jagged edge of his breath.

  Then his mouth was on hers. Passion tore through the kiss. Tore through her, and then she was against the wall. He cupped her breast, toying with her nipple through the fabric. Then pinching, and when she gasped he deepened the kiss. Needing the heat of his skin, she fumbled blindly with his shirt, only to have him release her and rip free the fasteners. Buttons popped and danced erratic circles in the periphery, bubbly like champagne.

  “Your shirt.”

  “Don’t care.” He reached down and slid his hands up her legs, dragging her gown to her thighs. Then he lifted her, once again trapping her against the wall. This time his mouth aligned with her breast, and he snatched the offending fabric, freeing her to the heat of his tongue.

  If he hadn’t held her, she would have hit the ground. The rough licking, softness of his lips, and bite of his teeth had her spiraling. She tightened her legs around him, her body begging for the sweet relief of pressure, any pressure, against her clit. He responded instantly, dragging his hand from her ass to push his fingers inside her.

  “Fuck, you’re drenched.”

  She wriggled against his hand, desperately seeking contact, but he withheld. Probably on purpose, the jackass. “Now.”

  One word. One demand. When he withdrew she almost hit him with her small clutch, which she inexplicably still held, but then she realized he was fumbling with his zipper. The seconds until he freed himself felt like an eternity, but then he’d pushed aside her thong and he was inside her, hot and thick and filling her with a pressure that bordered on pain. She almost came on the spot.

  Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.

  He gave a moment’s pause—not long enough for any civilized person to adapt to his size—then withdrew and came back with so much force the wall rattled at her back.

  “Do it again,” she managed.

  He rolled his hips back until nearly free of her, then slammed back, thrusting deep. And this time he didn’t stop. She was helpless to do anything but hold on as he fucked her hard. Against a wall. Just around the corner from a very busy corridor.

  Orgasm tore through her with ruthless speed. He must have felt it, must have been waiting for it, for mere seconds after the first ripple shuddered through her he muttered a string of obscenities and changed his pace from long strokes to short stuttered bursts. The motion had him rocking against her clit, had her seeing stars. Another bigger, brighter explosion rocked her, a dizzying combination of exquisite pressure and burning heat, as he landed hard against her. His cock pumped without him, driving against her G spo
t as he ground his pelvis lightly against her.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  She didn’t know where one orgasm stopped and the next began. Only that all that punishing force had disseminated into sweet mercy, and it wasn’t enough.

  Nowhere near enough.

  He eased out of her body, then steadied her as she attempted to find her feet. She straightened her gown as he tried to fit back in his pants. She giggled.

  He caught her when she swayed. “What the hell. Are you okay? You haven’t been drinking, have you? Because if that happened—”

  “It definitely happened.” She was dizzy. Hot and aching. Needy. She had one night left, and spending it without him wasn’t an option. “Take me upstairs, Jax. Take me up there now so it can happen again.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Well, hell. Jax stood there on the verge of dropping to his knees to beg Ellie’s forgiveness for not using protection, and she was demanding more. Maybe she hadn’t realized what happened. If so, that was the biggest neon sign in the city that he shouldn’t take her upstairs, but there wasn’t much point. He’d make damn sure he didn’t forget a second time, and there wasn’t taking back what already happened. He was clean—he knew that for a fact—and if there were any other consequences…well, they’d deal with that later. Twelve hours wouldn’t make a difference.

  He held her hand on the way to the elevator, and as soon as the door slid shut he pulled her into his arms. Kissed her. Tasted everything. She was soft, molded to him, and well and truly his. No idea what the hell he was going to do about that, other than spend the night making sure she knew he cared. He never meant for that to be a question, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t accept where they were headed.

  Separate ways.

  It hurt. Crushed him that she’d be gone. But the burn would have to fuel him, because there was no way on this earth he deserved this woman. He’d already proven, again, that he couldn’t protect her. And she’d made it clear she’d never forgive him for doing his job.