by Hart, Gemma
I had grown up on the edges of California, the deserts that practically touched Nevada. In Low Pointe, we had a population of 2,700 people. It was a small town with most people living very simply. You had to. There was literally nothing around us. The nearest interstate was ten miles out. Very few people ever entered Low Pointe and almost damn near nobody ever left.
But the town got on because of the Black Wings. I felt my throat tighten in that familiar wounded anger as I thought about my old MC. Black Wings was an institution in Low Pointe. The members all lived in Low Pointe and acted as kind of a protection squad for the town.
And protection it definitely needed. Because of its remote location, Low Pointe was the perfect spot for drug trade. And it came from all sides—from east in Nevada, south from Mexico, west from LA.
Dad had been part of the Black Wings. It was common to have generations within the club. I had always grown up proud of having a dad in the club. It meant something to me. I knew no matter how shitty or grim the town was, it was kept at least a little safer because of dad and the club.
So when I became of age, I was ready to join. I was ready to be initiated. But I was surprised when dad first hesitated about my joining. I was a little hurt at first, thinking he thought me too inadequate to join even though I had practically grown up within the club and the motorcycle garages they owned. I could pull apart a bike with my eyes closed and put it back together again with my hands tied.
But dad was insistent about my taking my time. He asked why I wasn’t more curious about the world and about seeing the rest of the country. Even the rest of California.
“There’s beaches, you know,” dad said with a wry grin. “California just ain’t all desert.”
I looked up at him as if he was speaking nonsense. “Why the fuck would I want to go to a beach?” I asked, genuinely perplexed by such a question. As we spoke, both of us had grease under our nails and calluses on our hands from years of riding.
Dad sighed and ran a hand down his gray stubble. “Because you’re just eighteen and all you’ve seen is this godfor-fucked town. You should see that there’s more to life than just Low Pointe.” He paused before pinning me with a direct look. “There’s more than just the Black Wings.”
I had been shocked to hear him talk like that. He had been a good and loyal member of the Black Wings MC for decades. Other members were proud to have their sons join the club. It was odd that my dad had seemed so reluctant.
But he had been persistent. Dad had come at me again and again with the idea of going out of Low Pointe and exploring. He kept telling me there was more to life and the world than I had seen and it was time I went out and saw that for myself.
Brow beaten and a little more than hurt by his reluctance at my joining, I had finally given in and joined the Army. It wasn’t exactly what he had expected me to do but he was happy nonetheless that I would be getting out of dodge and seeing what else the country had to offer me.
Once in the Army, I had felt a fierce and sudden drive to prove to dad that I was good enough for the Black Wings. Whatever doubts he had of my abilities, I was going to erase them by showing him exactly how capable I was.
I had joined the infantry and at my first chance I tried to push past the status of a regular foot grunt to the 5th Group Special Forces. I marched miles through jungles, I ate grass and bark during survival training, I was tortured in POW simulations, and after a horrendous amount of physical and mental assaults, I finally earned that green beret.
Medals were pinned and stripes earned over the six years I was in. Although I had initially started the Army as a way of proving myself, I had grown to really enjoy the life. I was a good soldier and I began to feel less reluctant with the prospect of continuing with a military lifestyle.
Then dad died.
Once I heard the news, I knew it was over. I was done with the military. I needed to go home. As soon as my enlistment was up, I declined the offer to renew and headed back to Low Pointe.
I had been welcomed back into the arms of Low Pointe and the Black Wings immediately upon my return. They had all expressed their sadness over dad’s sudden death. It had been a violent and unexpected heart attack. No one had seen it coming.
Least of all me.
Raze, the club president, immediately took me aside to talk about dad and the club. Within a few weeks I was initiated into the Black Wings. The only thing I regretted was not having dad there to see me become a member. I felt a pang at the loss of us not ever being able to ride together as Black Wings riders.
But I had finally found my place in the world. I was a member of the Black Wings. I would ride around town on my bike, feeling proud of the town that I protected. It felt good and nostalgic to know that I was riding and protecting the same streets that my own father had protected over the last several decades.
I had embraced club life and knew I had finally found my peace.
But that was until that one night.
That was until I had learned the truth.
That was until I had realized that dad had had a reason to try and push me out of Low Pointe.
I felt my back and neck tense as I remembered getting onto my bike and riding out of Low Pointe, anger and rage flying around me like a tornado of emotion.
I remembered when—
“We’re here,” Marsha said as the SUV pulled up to the Beverly Hills Hotel.
I snapped back from my tortured reverie and looked out the window to see the crowds already gathered around the front of the hotel.
Hand on the door handle, I looked over my shoulder and asked Jessa, “Ready?”
A delicate brow raised in amusement as she looked up at me with those warm hazel eyes that were now dancing with dry amusement. “Are you ready?” she asked, reminding me just who the newbie was in this game.
I grunted, surprised by her coolness and impressed by her calmness. She was no petrified starlet, terrified of every passing stranger. I watched as she flipped her heavy mahogany hair over her shoulder as she prepared herself for the crowds outside.
I opened the door and helped her step out.
Immediately cameras began flashing and people began screaming for her attention. Her security detail had ridden ahead and had already fallen into line to hold back the crowd of reporters and curious fans. They strained to prevent everyone from literally falling on top of the actress. It was complete chaos.
But Jessa smiled brightly and waved. She walked with sure steps down the line her security were providing. Whenever a section of the crowds got to aggressive and swarmed in, she didn't squeal or recoil. But neither did she bask in it and encourage the frantic fans so she could stroke her own ego. She simply took one step back and then continued walking, smiling serenely.
Jessa Blair.
I shook my head as I outlined her body with my arms, making sure that she got into the hotel safely.
This woman was something else.
Chapter Four
Rowan
I stared in silent amazement as we rode up the elevator together—me, Jessa, a team of security—to Jessa’s prepared penthouse suite.
For nearly the entire day, Jessa had sat in a small room where she had been thrust a different journalist every half hour who then poked and prodded her in the most intimate fashion, all the while recording it on camera.
As soon as we had arrived at the hotel, Jessa had been swept away so that she could have her make up re-done or whatever it was that make up artists did to keep themselves employed. She then was put into a new dress. This one was a dark blue.
I didn’t say anything but the blue was arresting on her. With her beautiful rich fair skin, the dark blue only made her look more glowing. Her long shiny hair was pinned back on one side but was otherwise free. I stared at the long locks tumbling down her back.
Fuck, there was no way this woman couldn’t have made it in Hollywood. She looked like she had been born to become an actress. And yet with every moment I spent with her,
observing her, I realized she acted nothing like a Hollywood celebrity.
With each nosy journalist, she expertly deflected questions that were too personal, repeated answers to tired old questions, and laughed whenever a lame or used joke was made.
I remembered once when I was riding on my bike down a stretch of desert towards Las Vegas, I had seen a huge billboard for one of Jessa Blair’s movies. Beneath the title of the movie, it had said in huge quotes, “Starring America’s Sweetheart!”
And I had snorted at what a hackneyed phrase that was. America’s Sweetheart. Yeah, right. Meanwhile she was probably some diva on set who would throw a hissy fit if she didn’t get her espresso on time.
But now I realized that even if they had hung that title of America’s Sweetheart on her as an old tried and true marketing ploy, I couldn’t imagine a better name for her.
Every reporter fawned over her. They felt as if she was making a genuine connection with them. Because of her sincerity and sweetness, she made them glow in the interviews, making the whole piece turn out better.
But now it was all finally over for today and Jessa could find sanctuary in her hotel room.
With her bodyguard. And security team.
Reaching the top level, the elevator opened on to a private floor. The five security guards fanned out and took up posts along the walls of her suite. Jessa walked, sure footed, towards the front door and slid her key card.
Not missing a step, I followed in right behind her before the door closed.
I saw Jessa’s head turn slightly over her shoulder as she heard my footsteps following hers but she made no comment.
God, I could see how fans could fall in love with her. She seemed to have a whole secret world hidden within her that seemed to beckon to you, tantalize you. You felt that if you could get close enough, you could share in her secrets and bask in that special light that only she seemed to cast.
Jessa headed towards the huge living room that had an entire wall of windows that overlooked LA. To the right even stood a small white baby grand piano. A huge bouquet of pink and white roses stood on the living room table with a small card from the hotel staff, welcoming her.
But Jessa took no notice of any of this and instead walked straight through the living room and down a hallway towards what I assumed was the master suite. Without a word, she entered the room and shut the door behind her.
Hm, I thought with some amusement, still a little miffed with the new security detail, are we?
I did a quick but thorough sweep of the rooms, making sure that we were all clear. God, this penthouse was fucking huge. It’s funny to think that only a year or so ago, I had been happily making do with a cot and some leaves. And now I was following around a starlet who was staying for probably the millionth time in a penthouse that was larger than most people’s actual homes.
Finding the place secure, I took a seat on the plush couch. I had been on my feet all day as well. Guarding Jessa was easier than guarding that wannabe singer in some ways but more difficult in others.
Jessa played no games and she certainly didn’t use her staff menially. I watched her treat everyone from her make up woman to a security guard with respect and kindness. She didn’t need people to constantly bow and scrape in front of her just because of who she was. That was good.
I had never been a very good bowing and scraping kind of guy.
But Jessa was also one who didn’t take direction without explanation. She fought being led about. She wanted some measure of control. I imagined that as someone who had been acting since such a young age, control was important. I can only imagine the kind of pressure young girls are under in Hollywood. The kinds of demands, expectations, and standards they are surrounded by. So it made sense that when Jessa had grown old enough to find her voice, she had decided to stand up for herself.
I admired it even though at the moment, it was annoying me.
As an effective bodyguard, I wouldn’t always have time to explain exactly every single one of my decisions before they’re made. She would have to trust me to make the right choices and follow my lead.
But therein laid the problem. That was what made Jessa Blair difficult. Could she learn to trust me?
“You’re still here?”
I whipped around in my seat and saw Jessa wrapped up in a thick white robe, her long hair wet and falling down her back, clearly fresh out of a shower.
Without any of that make up on, she looked clean and pure. She looked younger. Her eyes were soft and wide, although at the moment they were narrowed down as they looked towards me.
“Of course I’m still here,” I said. “Where did you expect me to be?”
“Not here,” she answered flatly.
For some reason, I wanted to grin at her tone.
I wisely decided against it.
“Well, as your personal bodyguard, that wouldn’t make much sense not to be near where you are.”
Jessa’s brow creased as she sighed in frustration. “I thought you were just going to do a security sweep and then leave.”
I nodded. “I did my security sweep,” I said. “But I’m staying.”
Jessa was swimming in the robe. It was much too big. It made her neck and hands and ankles look much more delicate by comparison.
“Did you find anything?” she asked.
I stared at her in confusion.
“During the security sweep,” she clarified impatiently. “Did you find anything during your security sweep of the rooms?”
“Oh,” I answered. “No. Nothing alarming present.”
Except me, I thought against my will.
And I swore I saw the thought of “Except you,” brush across Jessa’s hazel eyes.
Jessa threw up her arms in confirmation. “There!” she said triumphantly. “You see? Everything is safe as a bug in a rug here so I don’t think you need to stay. I have a team of five standing outside. If you really feel like playing the hero, you can go out and join them.”
I stood up and walked over to her.
Without her heels on, the top of her head barely brushed against my shoulder. Although she exuded a sturdy charm that made her seem bubbly and fun, I could see that close up, she was more fragile and delicate.
As soon as I had stepped into her space, she had lowered her head, looking straight ahead at my chest. No bravado when confronted head on, missy? Come now.
I hooked a finger under her small chin and compelled her to look up at me. Those clear hazel eyes peered up arrestingly. I felt my chest tighten in an unfamiliar way as I looked down at her.
“I am here to protect and guard Jessa Blair,” I said slowly. “You are my sole concern. So whether you are in a penthouse suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel or in an alley shack in Mexico, I’m going to be there by your side. I don’t leave you. My job is to always stay.”
I felt her breath hitch. I was dying to run my thumb against her soft bottom lip. The image of me biting down on the lip as I squeezed her body hard against mine flashed through me, leaving behind an electric heat.
Looking down, it seemed as if Jessa had felt it too. I could see her pupils dilate a little, her breathing coming in quick and shallow.
“You can’t always be by my—” she started.
I pulled her chin up a little higher so she didn’t miss a word. “Always,” I emphasized. “I’m by your side. You don’t go anywhere without me.” Instinctively, I pulled her in a little closer. She stepped easily towards me.
“I’m your protection,” I said lowly, imagining the taste of her lips. “I’m your guard. I stay with you.”
There was a moment of heavy silence between us. I think both of us were letting our imaginations run wild for a minute. I know I was. This little Hollywood vixen had brought out something so raw and electric within me, it was taking me by surprise.
Finally, Jessa pulled away and I let her. She took a few steps back as if wanting to get some space between us.
She ran her long fingers ag
ainst her chin, touching exactly where I had touched her. Had she felt that immediate zing of heat when our bodies had met?
“Fine,” she said breathlessly, as if she had been running. “Do whatever you want. Stay if you want. There are no extra bedrooms anyway.” And with that, she turned around and ran back to her room, shutting the door behind her.
I was an ex-grunt. A bed? I was glad when I had a bundle of soft leaves. And this penthouse sofa was softer than my real bed. I didn’t need a bed.
What I did need though, was a wake up slap. Because no way in hell could I possibly be falling for someone like Jessa Blair.
Chapter Five
Jessa