Mister Bodyguard (The Morgan Brothers Book 4)

by Lauren Rowe

  I narrow my eyes. God, I hate that Barry knows me so well.

  “And, by the way,” Barry continues, unfazed by my death stare. “A deal’s a deal. You agreed if you couldn’t get Zander to quit on Monday night, you’d accept your fate without a peep. If your bodyguard’s only crime is that he weighs a hundred pounds more than you thought—a hundred pounds of pure muscle—then you should be thrilled about that, not pissed. Now, come on. I promised Crystal you’d be sitting down for hair and makeup in five.” Without waiting for my reply, Barry grabs my arm and physically pulls me back to Zander and Javier. “Zander, Aloha welcomes you to her team with open arms and a happy heart. She’d like you to escort her to her dressing room for hair and makeup now, please.”

  “Of course,” Zander says in his deep, sexy voice. He shakes Barry’s hand. “Goodbye, sir. I promise to take immaculate care of our girl.”

  “This isn’t goodbye just yet,” Barry says. “I’ll see you at Reed’s party tonight.” With that, Barry kisses my turned cheek, wishes me a great show tonight, and leads Brett and Javier offstage.

  And, just like that, I’m alone with Zander Shaw. The gorgeous man I’m dying to climb like a tree. The man whose sheer physicality is making my knees weak. The man whose texts on Monday night made me smile and laugh and feel all gooey inside, even when I thought he looked like a bearded broomstick.

  Zander smiles politely and motions toward the wings of the stage. “After you, hula girl.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap. “I gave you permission under false pretenses.”

  He presses his lips together like he’s trying not to smile. “All right, then. After you, Miss Carmichael.”

  I stalk past him with my nose in the air. But even as I do, I can’t deny the butterflies releasing in a torrent into my stomach. Or the tightening I’m feeling deep in my core. The unmistakable tingling sensation I’m feeling in my nipples and clit and on my skin. Holy crap. I can’t remember the last time I felt this kind of immediate, undeniable sexual attraction to someone, if ever. And it’s certainly not helping matters that I’m suddenly remembering what Zander said about the size of his “engine” the other night.

  “It’s really great to meet you, Aloha,” Zander says politely behind me. “I think we’re gonna have a lot of fun together.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” I mutter.

  But I’m lying. Because, in truth, I also think Zander and I are going to have a lot of fun together... and just to be clear, by “fun” I mean a different variety than I’ve had with my beloved honorary uncle over the past six tours. A very different variety of fun, indeed.

  Chapter 10

  Zander

  So, let me get this straight,” I say, speeding up to walk alongside Aloha down the long cement corridor leading to her dressing room. “You’re pissed you’ve got a bodyguard who can actually bench press more than fifty pounds?”

  “No, I’m pissed I’ve got a bodyguard who lied to me.”

  “About being a skinny dude who can’t bench press more than fifty pounds.”

  “No, because I thought I was going on tour with a quirky, hilarious dude with inexplicable swagger—the kind of swagger that’s semi-delusional yet oddly inspiring in a Rudy sort of way.”

  “Oh, I’ve always wanted to see Rudy. We should watch it together.”

  “Fuck Rudy,” Aloha snaps. “And fuck you.”

  I laugh. “Well, gosh, that wasn’t a very Disney-like thing of you to say, Miss Carmichael.”

  Aloha picks up her pace down the cement corridor, swinging her arms angrily as she walks. “The point I’m trying to make here, Zander, is that, based on your fraudulent photo, I thought you were an improbable underdog with inexplicable swagger. A hipster with a superhero complex. Rocky. The Karate Kid. Those bobsled guys from Jamaica.”

  “Wow, that’s an impressive list of underdogs you’ve got at the ready.”

  She scowls at me.

  “Aw, come on, now. Don’t fall into the trap of judging a book by its cover. Maybe I am an ‘improbable underdog with inexplicable swagger.’ Seems to me you’re jumping to conclusions based solely on my appearance. And that’s wack, Jack.”

  She scoffs and motions to my bulging arms. “You’re not an underdog, Zander.”

  “Underdogs can’t have muscles? I’ll have you know sports mythology is riddled with stories of underdogs who—”

  “Gah. Never mind! Forget your stupid muscles. I didn’t even notice them. It’s that cocky look on your face that makes it impossible for you to be an underdog, okay? It’s like you know you’re some kind of god among men.”

  I laugh. Oh my God, this is fun. “I’ve got a cocky look on my face? No. ‘Cocky’ connotes a heightened but ultimately insupportable sense of confidence. And I assure you, my confidence is entirely supportable.” I wink at her, just to see what she’ll do, and she flashes me a look that makes me want to laugh with glee. “Bottom line,” I say. “You’re jumping to conclusions based solely on my physical appearance, and that’s something any kindergarten teacher will tell you not to do.”

  “Well, joke’s on you because I didn’t even go to kindergarten. In fact, I didn’t go to school at all. I got cast in my first TV series at age five and was tutored on-set forevermore. But guess what my tutors always taught me, Zander? You should never lie.”

  “Dude, I showed you a photo of a guy who could never be your bodyguard in a million years, thinking you’d call me out on it or laugh your ass off. How was I supposed to know you’d actually believe me and fall in deep lust with the guy? And, by the way, other than sending that ridiculous photo, I was totally myself with you during our entire text conversation. Probably too much myself. Which means that, walking alongside you now, I’ve got the exact same ‘charmsicle left out in the sun’ personality I had on Monday night. So, what’s changed? I’m now some ‘cocky’ asshole, just because I don’t look like an emaciated lumberjack?”

  She grunts in frustration. “When I thought you looked like an emaciated lumberjack, I wasn’t physically attracted to you. And that made me feel confident we could become genuine friends with zero complications or misunderstandings.”

  “You’re saying now that you’ve seen me, you are physically attracted to me... and that means we can’t be genuine friends?”

  “Exactly!” she says, shocking the hell out of me. “I’m physically attracted to you the same way you’re physically attracted to me.”

  “Oh, now I’m attracted to you?”

  “Um, hello. You made that pretty damned obvious back there onstage. You looked like you were getting ready to take a bite out of my ass.”

  My jaw hangs open. I stop walking and so does Aloha.

  She says, “You can’t honestly tell me you think we can have an uncomplicated, genuine friendship with all this ridiculous sexual tension between us. Light a match in this hallway and we’d explode.”

  I’m still too stunned to speak.

  “You know I’m right. This is going to be one hell of a ride for both of us. And all I’m saying is it sure would have been nice if I’d known in advance how insanely gorgeous you are so I could have prepared myself to act nonchalant upon meeting you—friendly but disinterested—rather than drooling all over you and showing all my damned cards right out of the gate!”

  She begins walking again and I follow suit, my head spinning. What is this creature? I thought Daphne was a straight-shooting, confident girl. But this one... She takes straight-shooting self-confidence to a whole new level.

  We reach the door to Aloha’s dressing room and stand outside it.

  “Well?” Aloha says. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I clear my throat. “About . . ?”

  She motions between us. “This. Us.”

  I have no idea what to say, so I go with the safest bet. “I’m sorry?”

  “That’s a good start. Now, what are you sorry about?”

  “For... drunkenly sending that photo of Fish to yo
u and pretending it was me. It was wrong of me to do it and wrong of me not to send a real one to you the next day after I’d sobered up.”

  “And?”

  Seriously? “And... I apologize if I was looking at you back there in any way that made you feel uncomfortable or objectified or disrespected. Believe me, it wasn’t intentional.”

  “Well, of course, it wasn’t intentional. Nobody ever ogles another person intentionally. That’s the nature of physical attraction. It’s involuntary. Animalistic. Do you think I could control looking at you like I wanted to climb you like a tree and kiss the hell out of you? And, by the way, I didn’t feel the least bit uncomfortable or objectified or disrespected by your ogling. In fact, I liked it. The same way I liked it when you flirted with me the other night during our text conversation.”

  Okay, this girl is giving me whiplash. “I didn’t flirt with you the other night.”

  “You sure as hell did.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. And I flirted right back. But only because I was drunk.”

  “Well, then, if I flirted with you, it was also because I was drunk. And stoned.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. Why can’t it work both ways?”

  “Because someone had to start it.”

  I sigh. “Look, how about we both admit we started flirting simultaneously the other night, but chalk it up to you being drunk and me being wasted and heartbroken. Okay? Let’s start over and move past all that and agree we’re going to be nothing but friends.”

  “Oooh, great plan. Except for this one little glitch: when you looked at me back there like you wanted to take a big ol’ bite of my ass and I looked at you like I wanted to climb you like a tree, both of us were perfectly sober. How do you explain that away?”

  I pause. Take a deep breath. And speak on my exhale. “Okay, we’re both physically attracted to each other. So what? Adults don’t always have to act on their mutual attraction. An adult is someone who’s able to say, ‘Hey, wow, there’s a person I find attractive and would very much like to kiss. But, oh, damn, that’s right, circumstances prevent me from making any kind of move on that person, so I’m just going to be that person’s friend.’”

  Aloha gives me a slow side-eye. A smirk dances on her perfect, pouty lips. “Oh. Okay. We’re adults who’ll maturely decide to be nothing but friends. Phew. For a second there, I thought this situation might get a bit complicated.” She turns toward the door of the dressing room and puts her hand on the doorknob. But then she stops and smirks at me over her shoulder. “It’s a bit of a bummer we’re both such mature adults, in full control of our impulses. Because if you were to make a move on me, I most certainly wouldn’t turn you down.”

  With that, she flashes me a wicked smile, opens the door, and strides into the dressing room, leaving me standing in the corridor feeling like I was just hit across the face by an extremely sexy—and dangerous—two-by-four.

  Chapter 11

  Zander

  I’m standing about twenty feet away from Aloha at the VIP meet and greet. For the past forty minutes, I’ve watched her greet fans in small groups, one after another—and each time, I’ve been blown away at Aloha’s charm and warmth and sincerity toward them. For some reason, it’s not what I expected from her.

  “Aw, I love you, too,” Aloha says. She’s in the midst of an ardent hug with an elated, shaking, near-hysterical Aloha-nator—a young woman of about Aloha’s age wearing a flower in her hair, the same way Aloha does on the cover of her Pretty Girl album.

  I shift my weight, keeping myself at the ready, just like Barry trained me to do. According to Barry, the hardest part of this job, especially when guarding someone who’s not in any known, specific danger, is not letting yourself slip into complacency. “You have to force yourself to constantly stay on high alert,” Barry explained. “Because there’s always the possibility some lunatic will come at her, out of nowhere—some deranged fan who’s convinced Aloha is his girlfriend and she’s somehow spurned him. Plus, there’s the added layer that even well-meaning fans can harm her, too. People get so excited to meet her, they sometimes squeeze her way too hard or even scratch and claw at her without realizing it. Just so you know, Zander, if anything happens to Aloha—if she gets the slightest scratch on your watch—I’m holding you personally responsible.”

  Yeah, that wasn’t a stressful conversation or anything.

  Another small group of squealing fans is led away from Aloha and the next group is ushered in: the local security guy from earlier today, along with a woman and two little girls.

  Aloha immediately showers the two girls with effusive kindness, even going so far as to summon an assistant to bring each of them large gift baskets filled with Aloha Carmichael swag. Finally, when the happy foursome is ushered away with their gifts, I catch Aloha’s eye and wink, telling her I’m impressed at the kind way she handled the birthday girl, and Aloha shoots me a hilarious look in return that says, “Dude, this ain’t my first time at the rodeo.”

  A commotion at the door draws my attention and I’m elated to discover Dax, Fish, Colin, Keane, and Maddy bounding into the room, all of them hooting and barking my name like they’re a football team and I’m their star quarterback. I lope toward my friends, greet them exuberantly, and then lead the entire motley crew to Aloha.

  “You,” Aloha says, pointing her finger accusingly at Fish. “You’ve got some explaining to do, Zander. And you’d better make it good or I’m gonna tell my big, beefy, gorgeous bodyguard here to kick...” She leans forward and whispers her next words, obviously not wanting any of the young Aloha-nators waiting out in the hallway to overhear them. “Your motherfucking ass.”

  Fish laughingly begs Aloha for forgiveness and tries to explain why five drunk and stoned dumbshits thought sending his photo instead of mine was an exceedingly brilliant idea. Aloha assures Fish all is forgiven and begins chatting with Fish, Dax, and Colin about 22 Goats and their upcoming debut album and world tour.

  As the boys and Aloha “talk shop,” Keane and Maddy migrate closer to me.

  “She called you ‘gorgeous,’” Keane whispers out the side of his mouth.

  “And beefy,” Maddy adds.

  “She was just being playful,” I say. “Aloha and I have already expressly agreed we’re friends and nothing more.”

  “Oh, really?” Keane and Maddy say in unison.

  “Well, that’s interesting,” Keane says. “You’ve been on the job for mere hours and, already, you two felt the need to expressly declare your mutual friend status?”

  “Interesting,” Maddy says. “I’d think two people wouldn’t feel the need to immediately friend-zone each other, unless there were something—maybe some sort of instant spark?—calling their mutual friend status into question.”

  “Well said, Mad Dog,” Keane says. He addresses me. “Look deep into my eyes, Sir Zancelot.”

  Rolling my eyes, I comply with my best friend’s command, but only because I don’t want him to make an embarrassing scene in front of Aloha if I refuse.

  Keane squints at me. “Have you been struck by one of your famous Zander Shaw lightning bolts, baby doll?”

  “No.”

  And it’s the truth. I haven’t. Yes, Aloha is hot—way hotter in person than I thought she’d be. But I most certainly didn’t experience any kind of “love at first sight” jolt when I met her. Not the way I have in the past with more girls than I care to admit—none of whom turned out to be the great love of my life, obviously. Now, did I experience amusement, infuriation, and extreme exasperation at first sight with Aloha? Hell yes. And was all of it peppered with a healthy dose of lust? Most definitely. But none of that is even in the same ballpark with love at first sight.

  “You have to come to Reed’s party tonight!” Aloha says, drawing the attention of my threesome.

  “Party?” Keane asks, sounding like a dog noticing a darting squirrel.

  Aloha laughs. “Reed’s throwing an after-party at his
house to celebrate the kick-off of my tour. He always throws parties for big tours. I’m sure he’ll throw one in London for Red Card Riot and you guys, too.”

  Of course, the group enthusiastically agrees to come to the party. More conversation ensues. And, soon, Keane is telling Aloha about Maddy’s “amazing,” award-winning documentary.

  “I love documentaries,” Aloha says. “What’s it called?”

  “Shoot Like a Girl,” Maddy replies shyly. “It’s about—”

  “The basketball one?” Aloha bellows, her eyes lighting up.

  Maddy looks floored. She nods, apparently too overcome to speak.

  “I watched that movie last month and absolutely loved it!” Aloha shrieks.

  Of course, Maddy freaks out and the two women begin fawning all over each other for a long moment. But when Aloha’s tour manager comes by to remind Aloha there’s still a long line of Aloha-nators waiting to see their idol in the hallway, Aloha says her goodbyes to the group, but not before first making Maddy swear to continue their conversation at Reed’s party tonight.

  As the group begins shuffling away, Keane hangs back just long enough to hug me goodbye and whisper, “My family is a bunch of dumbshits, man. They placed bets on which month of the tour you’d fall for Aloha, but, clearly, they should have bet on which day of the first fucking week.”

  Chapter 12

  Zander

  When I arrived at Reed’s house several hours ago, Barry told me I was off the clock. “I’m here. Brett’s here,” he said. “And we’re among friends. Just have fun with your friends and bond with Aloha. But don’t have more than a couple beers because our girl notoriously parties her ass off at opening night parties and it’s gonna be your job to get her back to the hotel in one piece. Probably as the sun comes up, if history repeats itself.”

  And so, I’ve been having sober fun all night. I’ve hung out with my friends, belly-laughed at them as they’ve partied like rock stars, and generally engaged in the best people-watching of my life. But, mostly, I’ve covertly observed The Package as she’s partied and danced with her famous friends and backup dancers. And after watching Aloha for hours now, both at this party and earlier during her impressive show, I’ve arrived at an inescapable conclusion about her: she’s sexy as fuck. Way sexier than I gave her credit for when I drunkenly watched her music videos the other day and pined for Daphne.