Protecting His Brat

by Sorcha Black

  Ashamed of myself, I slid my hand into my pajama pants, remembering the feel of his hand on my neck, the rumble of his voice in my ear, his breath stirring my hair. He’d been so close—touching me as though he had every right to.

  In my mind, the fingers touching me became his fingers.

  The phantom Mr. Köhler knew exactly what I liked.

  * * *

  “Does this look okay?” I eyed my reflection in the free-standing mirror in the corner of my room, feeling very different than I normally did. The black sheath dress Mr. Köhler had helped me choose for Sarah’s art show was form-fitting and showed a modest amount of cleavage.

  Sarah was the only girl I actually considered a friend. We’d even gone to lunch together three times during the past year, and she seemed to like me as a person.

  Miraculously, Sarah was artsy and quirky enough to make me feel normal. She came from the kind of artsy family Mother disapproved of, but since she hadn’t completely forbidden me from seeing her, our friendship hadn’t fizzled out yet.

  “Very nice.” As usual, Mr. Köhler’s low voice did weird things to my stomach.

  “Which shoes should I wear?” I slipped on one of each.

  He rose from the sofa and approached, smooth and lethal-looking in his black formalwear. We’d match tonight, even though it would be accidental. The thought made me blush, but so did the appraisal in his dark eyes. I’d invited him to look, and now he was looking.

  Passages from one of the novels Mr. Köhler had bought me flashed through my mind.

  There was something so commanding about him, even though he didn’t speak much. He was completely self-possessed and always composed. Despite how much shopping we had to do, he never seemed irritated or bored, and ever since I’d told him I wanted to dress more maturely, the man had not only supplied his opinion, but had started choosing my clothes. I wasn’t sure why, but not only was I letting him, I liked it.

  Maybe too much.

  “The ones with the ankle straps,” Mr. Köhler said quietly.

  I slid off the one he hadn’t chosen and replaced it with the match for the strappy shoe. Before I could sit to tie them, he crouched in front of me and took charge of the delicate fastenings.

  My breath caught.

  Why was this turning me on?

  Not sure what to do, I stared at my bodyguard’s close-cropped dark hair. There was absolutely nothing sexual about his rough, scarred hands fastening the straps of my shoes. My belly was fluttering, as my hand hovered over his hair. What would it feel like?

  Instead, I touched his shoulder, pretending to steady myself when really I wanted to feel that electric current that seemed to pass between us whenever we accidentally touched. He probably didn’t feel that static connection the way I did.

  He finished the task then stood, looking down into my eyes for a brief, heart-stopping moment before I remembered to take my hand back from where it had slid down to his broad chest.

  “Have you chosen jewelry?”

  This close, he always smelled faintly like a combination of…gun oil and gasoline or something. I’d always thought if a man didn’t smell like cologne, he’d smell like sandalwood or coffee, or some other thing they smelled like in books, but not Mr. Köhler. The scent might have been unconventional, but I could breathe him in all day. The chemical combination might have been killing off my brain cells.

  Get a grip, Deen. You’ve never really been interested in anyone, so why on earth would you start with your bodyguard?

  So inappropriate. Maybe I was associating the books with the man who’d bought them for me. But how could I not? The fact that he knew what the books were meant he liked the kinds of activities they described, right? Or one would assume. Just how deep into the darkness did he go?

  “Uh…” What had he said?

  “Jewelry. Have you chosen any?”

  I stared at him blankly. We were so close that his breath caressed my face as he spoke.

  “Aberdeen,” he prompted quietly, making me shiver. He rarely said my first name, so when he did it felt…intimate.

  If he lowered his head and took half a step forward, our lips would touch. I stared at the small white scar that sliced down his bottom lip, wondering what it would be like to lick it.

  He stepped back, breaking the spell he had cast over me. I wanted to follow his retreat, but I knew better.

  “Deep thoughts?” He sounded amused.

  He probably knew exactly what I’d been thinking.

  Ugh. I was so pathetic.

  Someone being nice to me shouldn’t have resulted in some sort of weird crush.

  “Thinking about tonight,” I lied, turning away to go through my jewelry armoire. I sorted through the pieces I owned, but the idea of putting on flashy jewelry seemed frivolous next to my guard’s austerity. Absently, I chose a dainty seed pearl necklace and sat at my desk that doubled as a vanity to see how they’d look with the dress.

  Without hesitation or asking for permission, he took the necklace out of my fingers, the brush of skin against skin making me inhale sharply. He put the seed pearls back in my jewelry armoire, chose sapphires, and turned me to face the mirror as he fastened the choker around my neck. The jewels drew attention to my eyes even more than they had when I’d worn them with the outfit they’d been bought to match.

  “Good?” His touch rested on the back of my neck, and my eyelids felt heavy, but not with sleepiness. Rough fingertips slid over my nape, and I lowered my gaze, not able to meet his in the mirror.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He gave a quiet chuckle that may not have been sexy to other women, but it made me shiver. “I’ve never cared about fashion before, but you’re a pretty little doll.”

  God, if I looked at him right now, I’d either orgasm or faint.

  I was still trying to settle my racing heart when he drew his hand from the back of my neck. His fingers drifted almost absently down my spine to where my dress’s neckline stopped him. Just like the time he’d put me in the corner, it felt like a caress. Was it an accident or was it on purpose? Maybe he was feeling affectionate since I was his responsibility? It hadn’t seemed like an accident, but when I finally had the guts to look at him, his face was an impassive mask.

  Get a grip, Aberdeen.

  Him telling the fashion stylist I was beautiful didn’t mean anything. The man was paid to be nice to me, for heaven’s sake.

  Composing myself, I rose to gather my wrap and handbag and tried to ignore the prickling all along my skin. The spot where his big fingers had brushed tingled, as though my body had been asleep and woken when he’d touched it. Would it feel that way if he touched me in other places?

  “Ready?” I aimed for a light tone.

  Still rattled, I fell off my heel. He casually caught my arm, as though he’d anticipated my stumble.

  “Careful, Miss Kincaid. We wouldn’t want you to get mussed.”

  Was he flirting, or was I imagining interest there because that was what I was hoping to see?

  I’d always assumed I wasn’t very sexual, but then if he was my type, no wonder I’d never been interested in anyone before. I’d never met anyone like him. He was older, quiet, serious. Experienced, too, no doubt.

  But he was an employee, damn it. That made it weird.

  My friend Sarah had told me that as a teen she’d had a torrid affair with one of the groundskeepers at her parent’s estate, so sleeping with someone on the family payroll wasn’t unheard of. Still, it made me feel like a predator. I’d be pursuing someone who might not feel able to refuse. Would I be any better than a lecherous old man grabbing his young maid’s butt?

  I sighed, wondering if there was an advice blog that dealt with things like this.

  Mr. Köhler assisted me down to the car, opened the door for me and handed me in rather than letting the driver do it—almost like this was a date.

  On the way through the bumper-to-bumper traffic downtown, I snuck glances at
Mr. Köhler’s profile, his stubborn jaw and the cheekbone with the slashed scar along it, wondering how on earth Mother could think he was ugly. Maybe he wasn’t model-pretty, but he was like some dangerous force of nature—like a stormy sea with a strong undertow.

  “Is there something you’d like to ask me, Miss Kincaid?” He hadn’t seemed to catch me looking, and yet he’d known. Of course he had.

  “How did you end up being a bodyguard?” I was grasping at straws, but I found I actually did want to know.

  “Violence is the only thing I’m good at,” Mr. Köhler said blandly. “I enjoy it.”

  Oh, Lord. Why was that hot? It was scary, too, but…there was a magnetism to him. I’d never understood girls being attracted to bad boys in high school, but there was a difference between bad boys and dangerous men.

  Did he discipline his partners the way dominants did with submissives in the books he’d bought me? The vanilla erotic book had been a bit shocking, and the one he’d said was mainstream BDSM was shocking in different ways, but it was the darkest one that I was savoring one page at a time. I’d never want those things to happen to me in real life, but it was hot thinking of Mr. Köhler as a bad-guy love interest.

  “I’m sure you’re good at other things.”

  “Nothing I could put on a résumé.”

  We watched each other for a moment, the tension sharp. I had to be imagining the desire in his assessment. How did people indicate an interest in someone? Was there a secret handshake or something?

  The car came to a stop. We’d already arrived? Well, poop. I didn’t want this conversation to be over.

  Mr. Köhler yanked his gaze away from mine and exited the vehicle without waiting for the driver to open his door. He helped me out of the car, then followed me into the gallery like a silent, ominous shadow.

  Acquaintances greeted me as I ascended the marble stairs. It was too bad the only actual friend I had here was the guest of honor. It was also too bad I couldn’t spend the evening talking to Mr. Köhler, but no one stood around talking to their bodyguards at these things. Thank goodness three other people attending had security tonight. Often mine was the only guard in the room, and it made me feel conspicuous—although it had been even stranger when it had been Jake following me around like a hovering father.

  Maybe people would think Mr. Köhler was my date—a boxer, or maybe a mobster. The thought of people wondering if we were a couple made my cheeks heat but also made me hold my head high and straighten my shoulders. If people might think we were together together, I wouldn’t want to embarrass him by looking like a dull little mouse.

  I snagged a champagne flute off a tray carried by a passing server, using the drink as a shield as I glanced around for Sarah. My friend was off in a corner, surrounded by admirers, of course.

  To kill time, I walked slowly along the displayed artwork even though I’d seen most of the pieces numerous times before. Sarah’s art was heavily influenced by Romanticism, and I always wished I could buy one for my room, but Mother found the half-naked women Sarah depicted too provocative.

  “Your friend is very talented,” Mr. Köhler murmured so quietly no one else could have heard.

  “She is.” I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be good at something, let alone this good.

  I felt him lurking not far from me, and it was hard to pretend he wasn’t there with the electric connection buzzing between us.

  I focused on mingling, turning on the charm and doing my best to make conversation with people I had nothing in common with other than wealth.

  “Wow—Deen! I almost didn’t recognize you,” a jovial man said from close behind me. The touch on my lower back made me arch away. People rarely touched me, and the unexpected invasion of space felt strange.

  “Courtland,” I said, when I turned to see who it was. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

  He smiled sweetly and pushed his blond hair out of his eyes. “I’m in town on business, so Sarah asked me to swing by with my grandfather’s checkbook.” He laughed. “He already told me to buy something for the Burgundy Salon if I see anything appropriate.”

  From the corner of my gaze, I caught Mr. Köhler at stiff attention, like a mean dog defending its territory. He hadn’t growled, but I could almost feel his silent threat in my bones.

  It was his job to be protective. That was all it was—although he’d never seemed aggressive with any of the other people I’d encountered since he’d been hired. Court was the only one who’d touched me, though.

  “I saw you earlier from the other side of the gallery, but I didn’t realize it was you until I got closer.” His appreciative gaze surprised me. He’d never indicated any interest in the past.

  “New stylist.” I shifted a casual glance at Mr. Köhler. A corner of his mouth curled, acknowledging the shared joke, but he still didn’t look very pleased about Courtland.

  “Well, it’s not like she has a difficult job with you as the client.”

  I felt myself flush at the praise, and his kind brown eyes warmed.

  “You must get tired of compliments.”

  “Nope. You’re the first guy to compliment me.” I could tell he thought I was joking, but I was completely serious…well, except for Jake, and now Mr. Köhler. They were paid to be nice to me, though. It was different.

  We made small talk about the exhibit for a while, then Court talked about his recent trip to Iceland. As usual, he was easy to talk to, and he stayed with me for most of the evening, freshening my drinks and drawing other people over to join in our conversation. I was never sure how he managed it, but everyone seemed to immediately like him. He was that kind of guy. Pleasant. Sweet. Mildly and inoffensively funny.

  By the end of the evening, Courtland was standing closer, as though we were more than friends, his hand sometimes brushing my lower back as he guided me to different paintings and to different groups to mingle.

  The dress Mr. Köhler had chosen seemed to be male kryptonite. Several other men I knew, who’d never given me a second look before, joined us and paid interested attention to me.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. If I wasn’t interesting to them before the dress, how was I interesting now?

  My cheeks hurt from my feigned smiles, and the pressure to be social had given me a tension headache. I stepped away from the crowd and glanced at Mr. Köhler, who nodded.

  “Are you calling it a night?” Courtland’s expression hinted at disappointment. “Let me walk you out, at least.”

  I said my goodbyes to Sarah, who promised to call next week. Before we left, Mr. Köhler scanned the street, then we headed out toward the waiting car Mr. Köhler had summoned from wherever cars and drivers went.

  “Tonight was a pleasure,” Courtland said smoothly, as though we’d met up on purpose, and this had been a low key date. He pressed my hand and kissed my cheek, then helped me into the car. “Would you be interested in going to dinner with me sometime this week?”

  “I’m busy all week,” I blurted far too quickly.

  “Oh, okay.” His smile was apologetic, as though he’d overstepped.

  “But next week I might have time!” Was that too loud? It had sounded too loud, but maybe because it had echoed weirdly. Oh jeez, had I just agreed to an actual date? What was I thinking?

  He gave me a broad grin—sunny, open. “I’ll call you, then? I’ll get your number from Sarah.”

  “Um…’kay.”

  For a moment we smiled at each other awkwardly, then he closed the door and waved at me through the window before heading back inside.

  Mr. Köhler had silently slid into the seat beside me. The car was moving as I stewed about sounding like a complete idiot. I sank back against the leather seat and covered my eyes with one hand.

  “Problem?”

  “When we get home I need to pack.”

  “Are we going somewhere, Miss Kincaid?”

  “Somewhere rural where no one will think to look for us. I may have
to change my name.”

  He snorted. “You did fine tonight. You always do.”

  “Why did I agree to go out with him? What on earth are we going to talk about?” The worst part was that a month ago I would have given anything to have someone like Courtland notice me. Now, the vibe I got from the friendly cowboy seemed downright milquetoast compared to the edgy sexual attraction I felt around my bodyguard.

  “You seemed to have plenty in common tonight.”

  I checked to make sure the opaque privacy window was still firmly shut between us and the driver. “It was this goddamned dress.”

  He barked a laugh. “Miss Kincaid, I don’t think your mother would approve of such language.”

  “Are you going to tell on me?”

  “I have juicier secrets.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You wouldn’t tell her about my books!”

  “No, I wouldn’t.”

  Disgruntled, I frowned at him in irritation. “Don’t even joke.”

  “I apologize.”

  Before I could stop myself, I stuck my tongue out at him.

  “Very mature, Miss Kincaid.”

  “You don’t like him,” I accused.

  “Who?”

  “Courtland.”

  “I don’t know why you’d think that.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “He seems like a nice enough boy. I have no objection to him, if he’s what you want.” Had he said that last part…slyly? Cattily? There’d been something there, but he was so hard to read.

  The champagne I’d consumed was making me brave. I shifted in my seat to face him, and let my knee brush his thigh. I didn’t pull away, even though I could feel that stupid electric current passing between us again.

  “Courtland is nice.”

  He smiled pleasantly—his fake, work smile. I was learning there was a difference between it and his real smile. “Nice is a good quality in a prospective date.”

  “Sure.”

  He finally turned his dark gaze on me, waking up the butterflies that must have been dozing in my belly during the party. Why didn’t I feel this way about Court?

  Rather than continue the conversation, he shut me down by turning away and looking out the window.