Sweet Talker

by Robin Bielman

  I doze off in the limo on the drive to my house, but as soon as the car stops I’m wide awake. “Want to come in for a midnight snack?” I ask Ethan.

  “What’s on the menu?”

  “I was thinking I’d make cinnamon toast.”

  He gives me a soft smile. “Sounds good.” It’s our favorite late-night snack. Or it was. It’s still mine and by the joy on his face I’d say it’s still his. I make a killer cinnamon toast.

  “Good night, Pascale,” our driver, Ben, says after Ethan asks him to sit tight for a little while.

  “G’ night. Thank you.”

  Ethan’s hand warms my lower back on the walk up to my front door. Once inside we head straight into the kitchen. I put my purse down, slip off my shoes, and wash my hands. He gets comfortable standing against the counter with his arms crossed and eyes on me.

  The secret to exceptional cinnamon toast is a pinch of nutmeg. My mom taught me to add it when I was young. I grab the bread, butter and my special pre-made CT blend. “I had fun tonight,” I tell him.

  “Me, too.”

  “Best part wasn’t the wedding, though.” Although it does rank way up there as best nights I’ve had. I’ve been to one friend’s wedding since graduating college and in the past month I’ve been to a wedding and a reception with Ethan. Both were more fun than I anticipated.

  “What was the best part?”

  “Seeing you pilot the helicopter.”

  “I liked you in my passenger seat.”

  “Makes me wonder what other secret talents you have.” I butter two slices of bread then sprinkle on the cinnamon and put them in the toaster oven to cook.

  “Funny. I’ve been wondering about your other talents, too.” He says this easily enough but my spine stiffens. I feel like we’ve started some kind of cat and mouse game and I don’t like it.

  “I’m going to change my clothes. Why don’t you have a seat on the couch?”

  With a nod, he moves in the direction of the family room while I hurry down the hallway to my bedroom. I trade my dress for my light blue polka dot drawstring pajama pants and matching long-sleeved shirt. Padding back into the kitchen, I’m a bundle of nerves again. I plate our toast, cooked just enough to melt the butter and darken the cinnamon.

  “Here you go,” I say, taking the spot beside him on the couch. I hold up the plate between us. He checks out my jammies, cataloging every polka dot as if the tiny circles are a direct link to raising tingles on my skin. (At this moment, they are.)

  “Thanks.” He takes a piece of toast.

  “Welcome.” We eat in amiable silence. The toast is soft, the butter and cinnamon melted to perfection, and I let out a little moan as I chew the last bite and place the plate on the coffee table.

  “Still your favorite snack, I see.” His voice is a little deeper than usual.

  I lick a crumb off my finger. “Yes.”

  He clears his throat then averts his eyes to somewhere across the room before resting them back on me. “So.”

  “So.”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “How do you know there’s something on my mind?”

  “You get a little crease right here.” He rubs his finger across his forehead just above his eyebrow.

  I try to relax my facial muscles. He laughs. “Still there,” he says.

  “There is something I need to…” I let out a breath. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from you and it’s slowly eating away at me.” I tuck my leg under my bottom and sit up taller. This could cost me my job, but for everyone’s sake I think it’s best to come clean.

  “How about I make it easy for you?”

  “Easy for me…?” I rub the side of my neck.

  “It’s obvious you’re harboring a major crush on me and can’t stop picturing me without any—”

  “Ethan!”

  “—shoes on. Jeez, Nichols, get your mind out of the gutter,” he says around a smile.

  His playfulness and dimples are my downfall. I shake my head. “I’m a bodyguard, Ethan. Your bodyguard. Your family hired me to protect you.”

  “I know.”

  Falling back against the couch cushions, my body vibrates with irritation. My jaw clenches in anger.

  How the hell does he know?

  Chapter Ten

  One Kiss Is All It Takes

  Ethan

  It’s impossible to see steam come out of someone’s ears when they’re angry, but if it were possible, I’d see a boatload right now.

  “How long have you known?” Callie demands. The cute little crease above her eye is magnified when she’s riled up.

  “I knew something was off after I got the snake letter.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “That was weeks ago.” She presses her lips together and mumbles something under her breath I can’t make out. “Did Finn or Drew tell you?” she asks, seemingly sure it was one of them.

  “Neither.” I comb my fingers through my hair, realizing belatedly how bad this looks. “I had a friend do a background check.”

  She does a slow blink before her green eyes spark with fury. “Must be some friend,” she grits out. It’s cute, not that I would ever make light of her response. She has every right to be upset, but I think she’s angrier she didn’t figure out I knew sooner.

  “Don’t be mad. I did it for a good reason.” I take her hand in mine, grateful she doesn’t pull away, and hold it atop my knee. “I wanted to know more about what happened to Hillary. I thought that was why you acted a little off and I needed to fill in the blanks from the past ten years. I was worried about you.”

  She looks down at our hands as I rub my thumb over her knuckles. Her hand is much smaller than mine. Softer and smoother. And yet I’ve no doubt her hands could be deadly if need-be.

  “Learning you were a bodyguard and my mom hired you was dumb luck,” I continue. “I didn’t dig any further than that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

  “I was angry at first. Pissed that I was being lied to.”

  “Your family loves you. They only had good intentions.”

  “I know, but I told them to back off and they didn’t listen. Once I cooled down, I decided to play along.”

  She glares at me.

  “Hey, you’ve been lying to me.”

  “No. Not exactly. I’ve been keeping something from you. Big difference—and it wasn’t up to me. I was doing my job. If you’d come right out and asked if I was a bodyguard, I would have told you the truth.”

  She’s got me there, but what’s done is done. I’ll do my best to make it up to her. “Tell me now. Tell me everything.” Because once this gap between us is closed, there won’t be anything keeping us apart.

  “Are you asking why did I become a bodyguard?”

  “That’s a good place to start.”

  She slips her hand free and brings her knees up, wrapping her arms around her shins. A faraway look clouds her eyes. We’ve always been able to talk to each other and I hope now is no exception. “After Hillary’s death I was numb,” she reveals. “I went back to school and almost failed out of my classes. Life was hard without her in it and I didn’t want anyone else to feel what I was feeling. What her parents were feeling. So, after graduation I decided to go into executive protection.”

  “Instead of business management.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ve made quite a name for yourself.”

  “I thought you didn’t dig too deep.”

  “According to my friend, the facts were right there. He told me your last assignment was with Ireland Wilton.”

  She trembles ever so slightly and I watch a swallow work its way down her throat. “That’s right.”

  “We’ve met a few times over the years. She picked my brain about opening a restaurant of her own. I didn’t know she needed executive protection.”

  “I can’t talk about it.”

  I’m n
ot sure if she means she can’t because she left under bad circumstances and is bothered by it or she can’t because of some kind of confidentiality agreement. Either way, I’ve uncovered enough information for one night.

  “Now that the truth is out in the open, I guess you’ll be moving in with me?” I only half-tease. Pascale, under my roof, is an all-too appealing scenario.

  She cracks a smile. “I don’t know. Do you still like to walk around in your underwear?”

  “I could ask you the same question.” An image of her in nothing but tiny panties that covered only half of her butt cheeks fills my head. Crazy curly hair falling around her shoulders. A coy smile that made my dick instantly hard. She did an exceptional job of walking around in her underwear.

  “Only on days that end with ‘y.’”

  “Perfect.”

  “In all seriousness, I’ll have to have a conversation with my boss tomorrow, but clear communication is going to make this so much easier between us. You haven’t received anything suspicious at home, have you?” She lets go of her legs and relaxes against the back of the couch.

  “No.”

  “Good. What about anything at work I don’t know about?”

  “No. I’m honestly not worried about this. I can’t think of anyone who might have a grudge against me.”

  “It could be a complete stranger. You’re in the public eye and this woman, whoever she is, could simply be infatuated with you or feel rejected because she thinks the two of you belong together.”

  A shiver runs down my spine. “I’ve never minded my last name until now.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

  “How about my front?” I scoot closer. It’s late. We’ve hashed out a lot in ten minutes and a solid night’s sleep will do us both good. But the flare of palpable desire suddenly rolling off her is all I need to end this night with something more than words.

  “Ethan,” she says softly and yet the air crackles with energy that isn’t soft at all. It makes my clothes feel tight, my skin hot.

  One kiss.

  I’m not going to blow my second chance with her. I plan to take this slow. Young and carefree, we jumped into bed the first day we met. Older now and hopefully wiser, I can’t risk my heart again if she plans to walk away when her assignment is done.

  Her lips barely brush mine.

  One light touch, her olive-green eyes locked on mine, and my body is hers to do with whatever she wants.

  Stay in control, dude.

  I take her face in my hands and for a few moments I look my fill. Delicate cheekbones. Small forehead. Long, dainty eyelashes that remind me of innocence. A wide, full mouth with a tiny scar on her upper lip that argues against inexperience.

  Unguarded and worldly.

  I kiss her back with equally soft measure, keeping us connected. Her lips smile against mine. Her eyes sparkle. I press more firmly and she closes her eyes, no doubt to enjoy the pleasure I’m about to bring her mouth. (Her words once upon a time, not mine. And imagine how much better I’ve gotten over the years.)

  She puts her palms on my chest. A tiny “Mmm” slips between us. I tug her bottom lip between my teeth. Kiss the corner of her mouth. Kiss the other corner. Tilt her head to the side and open my mouth to kiss her harder. Her lips part and then she kisses me back, taking my tongue hostage with hers.

  I pull back to catch my breath then dive back in. Lips, tongue, zero control. Sensations spiral down to the base of my spine. Her hands move to my shoulders and she crawls onto my lap.

  The sensations move to the front of my dress pants.

  Open-mouthed kissing continues like we’re starved for more, more, more. Callie runs her fingers through my hair. Her body grinds against mine.

  I drop one arm and curve my hand around her ass, bringing her flush against me. I’m hard as a rock and want her to know it. My other hand slides to the side of her neck. She tastes like butter and cinnamon and I lick the roof of her mouth.

  She pulls back a fraction. “Did you just lick the roof of my mouth?”

  “I did.”

  She wiggles her hips. I swallow a groan. “I liked it. Do it again.”

  I kiss her top lip, draw it between my teeth, then soothe it with my tongue before I hold her entire mouth with my own, hoping she feels what this kiss means. Her kiss was and still is the best kiss I’ve ever experienced. She makes a little whimper of impatience so I give in to her request and put my tongue to good use inside her warm, wet mouth.

  We make out for I don’t know how long. The kiss is frenzied, then slow. Wild then composed. Once I’m positive we’ve set a record for my longest kiss and I’m seconds away from ripping her pajamas off her to kiss other places, I pull back.

  Jesus. If I thought she was stunning pre-kiss, she’s even more beautiful with heavy-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks.

  I wrap my hands around her waist to lift her off my lap. She holds on to my shirt like she doesn’t want to let me go and my ego soars. Swollen, pouty lips almost get me to reconsider leaving.

  Standing, I adjust myself. Her eyes dip to the bulge behind my zipper before fixing back on me. She grins. She did always like her effect on me.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.

  At her dazed expression, I add, “At Royal? I’ve still got you as a restaurant manager, don’t I?”

  “Yes. Of course,” she says, the haze clearing. “That’s still my cover.” She gets to her feet. “And let’s plan to keep it that way. I don’t normally keep my identity a secret, but I don’t want the staff to act any differently around me.”

  “Easy enough.”

  She steps around the coffee table to walk me to the front door. “I really like working at Royal.”

  “Did you even work at any of the restaurants on your résumé? I mean, I’m guessing that everything on it was fabricated?”

  “Good guess. But I remember everything I learned while working in college, and I’m happy I get to be part of that world again. At least temporarily.”

  There’s a word I don’t want to hear, even if it’s the truth.

  “I don’t know. I’d say you’re the—” I tick off one-two-three fingers on my hand “—fourth best manager I’ve had.”

  She gives me a playful push in the shoulder. “Fourth?”

  “Okay, how about a tie for third?” I tease. “Justine did mix up a reservation for Oprah once.”

  “You’re so full of shit.” She opens the stained wood front door.

  “Am I, though?” I taunt. I doubt any background check she did on me included the accidental mishandling of reservations.

  “How about I prove you wrong? I’ll be your number one manager by the end of the week.”

  “You have something up your polka dot sleeve?”

  “More like right here.” She uses her pointer finger to circle the air around her well-kissed mouth.

  I laugh. “Are you telling me you think the way to number one is by kissing me again? Because FYI, none of my other managers kissed me.”

  She scoots me out the door then leans against it. “I’m happy to hear that, and to answer your question, maybe.”

  “Is that a definite maybe?”

  “Guess you’ll find out.”

  “Looking forward to it.” More than she knows.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bodyguard Problems

  Pascale

  When Ethan sits in the chair across from me at Royal, I pretend to be so busy on the laptop that I don’t have time to look up at him. I am typing an email back to Ren. My situation with the Auprince family is all good. They weren’t thrilled at first, but once they learned Ethan knew the truth and he remained amenable to my help, they were on board. In this instance, my personal connection to Ethan definitely helped. I absently type, Now that my secret is out, is it wrong to want Ethan to bend me over the table?

  “What’s got you hiding a smile this afternoon?” he asks.

  Delete. Delete. Delete. “Nothing.” I
quickly finish my message without mention of wanting it from behind. I don’t think the idea will automatically go away, though, so I’ll talk it out with Ren in person when we next meet at the gym. Because it is wrong. Growing more attached to Ethan is a mistake. Affection clouds judgment. If I get too comfortable, I may drop my guard.

  “Looks like something. Your ears are pink.”

  I pull off my ponytail holder and let my hair fall over my renegade ears and around my shoulders. I’ve got a black belt in karate, speak more than one language, have defused tense situations with my level head, and yet one whiff of Ethan’s sexy man scent and my brain goes haywire.

  In my defense, I can’t get the kiss we shared four nights ago out of my head. (Talk about dropping my guard. I was ready to drop my pajama bottoms.)

  He puts his elbows on the table. I see this in my peripheral vision since I’m still staring at the computer screen. Here’s the current problem: He brought me flowers this morning. He bought them from the sweet old lady who owns a tiny little stand around the corner. She put together a special bouquet of yellow blooms because Ethan told her they were for a woman who reminded him of sunshine. So, you see, if I don’t get my feelings on lockdown before I look at him again, everyone in the restaurant will know that his thank you means much more to me than a simple thanks.

  I hit send on the email to Ren then click over to the blog post that earned me Ethan’s gratitude. (And the number one manager spot. The joke I made about my mouth had to do with talking to one of the most influential restaurant reviewers on the planet and asking him to dine with us.)

  “Check it out,” I say, turning the computer around and finally meeting his eyes.

  “It’s up already? Elijah was just here last night.”

  “The magic combination of a great writer and digital.” I met Elijah through Ireland. He travels all over the world writing on cuisine for digital magazines. His Hypothetical Los Angeles Michelin Guide received tens of thousands of hits monthly, and now that the Michelin Guide has officially returned to LA for the first time in ten years, he was happy to join us at Royal to review the food. (Technically, Michelin inspectors are anonymous, but I promised Elijah we’d keep mum.)