Scandalous (The Alpha Bodyguard Series)

by Sybil Bartel

  She froze for half a second, then took the pen out of her makeshift bun. Blonde hair fell halfway down her back. “Apparently you’re not that memorable.”

  I watched the slight shake in her hand as she picked up the brush and dragged it through her hair. “You enjoy lying?”

  She covered her surprise with a smirk. “I’m an actor.” She tossed the brush in the center console. “Take me to the hospital.”

  My cell vibrated with a text.

  Luna: Hospital’s expecting you. Spoke with her lawyer, new contract. You’re taking her to Neil Christensen’s house in Golden Beach after. Double gated entrance, no press access. You’ll stay there until we hear back from the lawyer. He said expect a week. Sending your go bag and groceries now. Anything else?

  I fired off a response.

  Me: She’s vegan.

  Luna: Copy that. Supplies on the way. Sending separate text with address and gate codes.

  A second text from him came in with the address, and I pocketed my phone.

  “Ready?” she asked sarcastically.

  I HATED HOSPITALS.

  But being able to walk into one and not be wheeled in was reassuring, even it if was through the delivery entrance and I was being escorted by a surly bodyguard and two hospital security guards.

  A silent ride up in a freight elevator and we came out on a floor that looked mostly administrative. The two security guards led us to an office at the end of the hall then left us to wait. I sat in a chair across from a large desk while Tank slash Gunther stood by the window scanning the parking lot.

  “Gunther, huh?” I didn’t know if it was his first or last name.

  He didn’t comment. He didn’t even look at me.

  “Sounds German.”

  His hazel-eyed intense stare swung toward me. “It is.”

  I would be lying if I said my stomach didn’t flip every time he looked at me. “That’s your first name?”

  “No.” He studied me for a moment. “Falcon.”

  I blinked.

  Falcon. Falcon Gunther.

  I couldn’t even wrap my head around that. Of all the names I could’ve imagined, the man in front of me being named after a bird would’ve never crossed my mind. It didn’t fit. Yet, I couldn’t imagine him being called anything else. “Falcon,” I repeated, just to feel the two syllables fill my mouth.

  His unwavering stare pulled me in and used me up, daring me to say more. He spoke more without saying words than anyone I’d ever met. I didn’t know if that scared me or intrigued me.

  “There’s a story behind that.” There had to be. “Falcons are strong, they’re birds of prey.” He was named Falcon for a reason.

  For a long moment, he said nothing. His arms crossed, his biceps stretching his shirt, he stood with his legs slightly apart like he was ready to attack. But then, with his voice low and quiet like I’d never heard, he began to speak.

  “My mother was Seminole. On the way home from the hospital after I was born, she saw a falcon. She took it as a sign.”

  Three sentences and my Midwest upbringing felt insignificant. “That makes you Seminole.” I knew next to nothing about Native Americans, but I had heard of the casinos the Seminoles owned in Florida. Colton, that asshole, had wanted to go gambling while we were here.

  “Half,” Tank corrected.

  I focused on the other part of what he’d said. “I’m sorry you lost your mother.”

  He held my gaze. “It was years ago.”

  “And your father?”

  “Alive and kicking.”

  “I take it Gunther comes from him?” I didn’t know why I was grilling him, but the more I looked at him, his dark hair, his strong features, his hazel eyes, the more I foolishly wanted to know.

  He tipped his chin once in confirmation. “He’s German.” He looked over my head. “Company.”

  I turned in my chair as a very young, very attractive doctor walked in through the glass-paneled office door with his hand out.

  “Ms. MacKenzie.” He smiled like a fan. “I’m Dr. Erickson. I’m head of administration here at Memorial Hospital. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” His expression turned serious. “Although I am sorry about the circumstances.” He leaned against the desk in front of me. “I understand you’re requesting a toxicology screen?”

  The manufactured concern, the way his eyes strayed to my chest, the too-close proximity to me—I instantly disliked him.

  Either sensing my discomfort or just exerting his alpha dog, Tank spoke up. “Details were already provided of what we need. You have the contact information on where to send the results. She’ll sign the consent forms, then a female will do the blood draw.”

  The doctor turned to look at Tank for the first time. “Yes, of course. And you are?”

  “Her security detail.”

  The doctor looked back to me. “I do need to ask you a few questions, Ms. MacKenzie. Would you like some privacy?”

  Not with him. “Mr. Gunther will stay with me.”

  “Yes, of course.” The doctor stood and moved behind the desk to the computer. “I just need to verify some information.” He typed a few strokes then asked me my date of birth, social security number, and address. Then he started in on the personal questions. After telling him I wasn’t on any medication, I wasn’t pregnant, I hadn’t had unprotected sex since my last cycle, and about a hundred other intrusive questions about how I was feeling, he stood up and came out from behind the desk. “Ms. MacKenzie, I must warn you about the limitations of a toxicology screen. If you were given LSD, the drug can pass fairly quickly.” He held his hand up as I started to protest. “But it’s my understanding we are still within a thirty-hour window, so if the drug is present, we should be able to get results.”

  Fucking great. “Terrific,” I replied dryly.

  The doctor gave me a fake concerned look. “Any other questions?”

  “No.” I just wanted this over with.

  “All right, that should do it.” He glanced at Tank. “I’ll send in a nurse to do the draw and collect a sample. Then Ms. MacKenzie can be on her way.”

  Tank nodded once.

  The doctor looked back at me and smiled. “I enjoy your films, Ms. MacKenzie. I do hope you feel better soon.” He held his hand out.

  I shook it and muttered, “Thanks.”

  With a nod toward Tank, he walked out.

  I waited till the door closed after him. “Fucking creep.”

  Tank glared at the closed door, but he didn’t say anything.

  I exhaled. “You do this often? Take clients to the hospital?”

  “When needed,” he clipped, still standing exactly how he was when we first entered the office.

  His stance, his short answers, his change in demeanor from breakfast—I got it. He was in protection mode, but I didn’t like it. I was stupid enough to want back the man I’d woken up next to. I was so desperate for non-fame attention and friendship that I was replaying everything he’d said and done this morning and analyzing it, wondering if I’d wrongly tried and convicted him of being an asshole.

  Worse, a single memory from last night of his voice saying my name kept circling through my head on repeat. An hour ago, an image of him washing my hair had been added into the mix, and I was unraveling.

  Which was exactly why I needed Peter to execute my plan. Immediately.

  I glanced at the man named after a predator, and I needed a distraction, both from him and the thought of a needle going into my arm. Reaching for my purse, I dug for my cell. I’d been ignoring the fact that I’d run naked on the beach, but I had to face it eventually. From the few details Tank had told me, I knew I’d have hundreds, if not thousands of texts, voice mails, and social media message alerts.

  My stomach constricting, my heart racing, I pulled my phone out.

  A large hand covered mine. “Leave it.”

  His deep voice, quieter than usual, his proximity, not hearing him approach, all of it made my heart start to pou
nd even faster. “I…” I suddenly wanted to cry. “I can’t.”

  With surprising gentleness, he took my phone from me. “It’ll wait.”

  The office door opened and an older nurse came in with a small mobile cart full of shit I didn’t want to think about.

  Cheerful and nice, she smiled at me. “Ms. MacKenzie, I’m just going to do a quick blood draw and collect a urine sample after you sign these forms.” She handed me a clipboard and a pen.

  I signed in the highlighted areas, then set the clipboard on her cart.

  The nurse pulled out a blood pressure cuff and deftly shoved my sleeve up before taking my blood pressure. Then she put a thing on the end of my finger and laid stuff out on her cart. “Your blood pressure’s a little high today, dear.”

  Breathing through my nose and out through my mouth, I tried not to look at the shit on the cart or think about the indignity of having to piss in a cup. “I’m not a fan of needles.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” The nurse tied a tight thing around my upper arm then looked up with motherly concern. “Are you a fainter?”

  A large hand closed over my shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”

  “It won’t take long at all.” The nurse smiled.

  Tank squeezed my shoulder. “Close your eyes.”

  Inhaling deep, trying to control my rapid breathing, I did as he said, and coldness touched my arm.

  My eyes popped opened, I saw the needle, and I panicked. “Wait.”

  Tank’s hand moved from my shoulder to the back of my neck. As if he knew me, as if he knew my fears, he issued an order. “Eyes closed. You’re okay.”

  “Just a quick pinch,” the nurse warned.

  She shoved the needle into my arm.

  The pain hit and irrational fear raced through my veins. Suddenly, I was so light-headed, my ears started ringing. “Tank,” I called, feeling like I was sinking.

  “Hold her arm,” Tank barked at the nurse.

  Two hands grasped my arm, and a second later, I was airborne.

  I gulped for air and opened my eyes, immediately seeing the needle in my arm again. “Oh God.” My head spun.

  Tank had his arms under me in a nanosecond, and he was cradling me to his chest, as he sat back down in the chair.

  My vision tunneled.

  “Lean her back, bring her legs up,” the nurse calmly instructed, her voice sounding like it was a million miles away.

  My legs rose up as my head was gently lowered.

  “Deep breath,” Tank ordered, his face right above mine, his scent everywhere.

  The hands on my arm moved. “Hold her still,” the nurse instructed.

  One of Tank’s huge hands held the back of my head, while his other arm remained under my knees, holding my legs up as his hand wrapped around my thigh. “Breathe,” he quietly commanded. “Almost done.”

  My lungs listened to him and I took a breath, then another.

  “Almost,” the nurse murmured.

  “Keep breathing.” Tank’s legs under my back shifted slightly.

  I took another breath and the ringing in my ears started to fade, but acute embarrassment seeped in. My voice weak, I pushed words out. “I’m okay. I can get up.”

  “No.” Tank’s hand tightened on my thigh. “Deep breath, right now.”

  I’d barely inhaled when I felt the pressure leave my arm and the nurse took the needle out.

  “There you go, all done.” The nurse pressed down hard on my arm before putting a Band-Aid on and folding my arm up. “Keep a little pressure on it for a minute.” She patted my knee. “When you’re ready, you can use the restroom in the hall for a urine sample.” She handed me a small plastic cup with a lid.

  Dying of embarrassment for first almost fainting and now holding a damn piss cup as Tank held me, I moved to get off his lap.

  He pulled me closer. “Hey.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Look at me,” he demanded.

  I glanced up, and his beautifully stern expression made me want to simultaneously crawl in a hole and never get up. “I’m good.”

  He studied me a moment, then slow, as if his movements were a measure of my stability, he lowered the arm holding my legs, brought my head up, then helped me to stand. When I didn’t waver or sway, he dropped his hands, but not his gaze.

  My cheeks flaming under his scrutiny, embarrassment drowning me, I needed to get out of the office. “Be right back,” I muttered, rushing out.

  My head swimming, my arm smarting, I found the bathroom and did what I needed to do. A few minutes later, with a cup of my own damn pee, hating Colton even more, I went back in the office.

  The nurse discreetly took the cup and tucked it onto her cart. “You’re all set, dear.” She glanced at Tank. “Get her some juice or something to eat, it’ll help with any light-headedness.”

  Tank nodded to acknowledge her without taking his eyes off me.

  The nurse pushed her cart toward the door. “When you’re ready to leave, the security guards will escort you out the way you came in.”

  We both said thanks, and the nurse left. Then I made the mistake of glancing at the wall of muscle in front of me.

  His stern expression made me instantly look away. “Thanks for….” I drifted off, gesturing toward the chair.

  He grasped my chin and brought my face back to his. “You should’ve warned me about the needle issue, Audrina.”

  Every time I heard him say my name, something inside me shifted and a yearning for a closeness I’d never experienced grew. And not just closeness. Not just this feeling right now of gratitude that he’d held me and taken care of me. I wanted more. So much more.

  I had a career most actors never dreamed of. I had money, fame, and brand recognition. I had movie producers lining up to work with me. I had famous men wanting to spend time with me. I had everything.

  But I didn’t want any of it.

  I wanted the touch of a man who cared.

  A smile meant only for me.

  A summer evening under the stars with no cameras.

  A month, a week, hell, a day without obligation.

  I wanted country roads and Sunday drives.

  I wanted holding hands and stolen kisses.

  I wanted everything simple.

  But the man who’d just held me, the man who’d been named by a mother who believed in the beauty of a predator, he wasn’t simple. I stared at his full lips, his strong jaw, his stern expression—if a man born to be a warrior could be beautiful, he was beautiful.

  But he wasn’t simple.

  Complex and dominant and commanding, and so intriguing he scared me more than what I’d asked my lawyer to do, Falcon Gunther was everything I needed to stay away from.

  Before I did something stupid, like grasp on to his strong neck and beg him to make me feel not so desperate, I stepped back. “I’m sorry—” I didn’t get the rest of the sentence out as I promptly ran into the arm of the chair and stumbled.

  Large hands caught my arms, and I sucked in a sharp breath as the heat of his skin sank through the thin material of my blouse. Awareness shot through my body as one of his hands moved to my nape.

  Oh God. “I-I’m good,” I stuttered, trying not to breathe in the heady scent of his soap and musk.

  His hand on my neck holding firm, his gaze burning through me, he watched me for two heartbeats, but he didn’t let go.

  The urge to reach for him overwhelming, I forced myself to look away.

  Quick, precise, he gripped a handful of my hair. Angling my head, my body, he stepped into me as he tilted my head back.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. I wanted him to kiss me. Please kiss me.

  Towering over me, a storm darkening his green-brown eyes, his voice dropped to a low warning. “Do not look at me like that.”

  As involuntarily as the breaths that filled my lungs, my tongue licked my bottom lip. “Like what?”

  GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.

  She knew exactly how t
he fuck she was looking at me.

  “Like I’m your only anchor.” It wasn’t a statement, it was a warning. This woman wanted more than my mouth on her. Which wasn’t something I did. Ever. I didn’t kiss women. I bent them to my will, then I fucked them and left. No kissing. No attachments.

  A shitstorm of emotions raced across her face before something close to calm settled in. I was stupid enough to presume her next words would be every bit the actress she was.

  “Right now, you are my only anchor.” Guileless, and with a trust I didn’t fucking want, she laid her shit out there.

  And because my dick had been hard since the damn shower last night, I bit out questions I had no business asking. “Boyfriend? Family? Support system?”

  “No, I don’t have anyone.” No hesitation, she rattled off her response without blinking.

  Fuck. Fuck. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why no support system?” I’d been around too long not to see the warning signs. Famous actress or not, a lonely chick was a lonely chick. Add a uniform, whether it was the service or Luna’s damn logo polos, and you became a target. I wasn’t above using a uniform to score, but a chick who clung to you? Not my scene and not fucking happening.

  Her chest rose with an inhale. “Jerry and Janette were it.” Her eyes a clearer shade of blue this morning without her pupils dilated as fuck, she stared at me for a moment. Then she dropped a bomb. “I just fired them.”

  Fuck.

  I wasn’t surprised she’d fired her asshole agent. Expecting the unexpected was how you survived. Shit rarely surprised me after Afghanistan and Iraq. Only a fucking fool would let himself get taken off guard after spending any time downrange. I figured something was up when she’d called her lawyer then he’d had her security contract switched to her control. But fuck. The ramification of Hollywood’s it girl firing the team that managed her career while I was her security detail? That fucking threw me.

  “You got someone else in place?” I had no business asking. My job was singular. Protect her from the paparazzi. I got paid whether she threw her life away or not. I didn’t need to get involved.