“With a bunch of Roman statues, apparently.” I shook my head at them as I approached. They lined the drive and encircled the house, as if standing guard.
They were about as effective as the alarm system. I weaved my way through them to the back door. My old lock-picking set felt heavier than it should have in my pocket, almost like it was carrying the weight of all those years when it had been a necessary part of my survival kit.
I grit my teeth against the memories as I slid my tools into the back-door lock. It was like riding a bike. Some skills never leave you, I guess. The tumblers slid apart without a sound, giving me access. Just as silently, I slipped inside.
The place was just as bloated and pretentious inside as out. This room must have been designed for hosting balls or something. It was huge and round, empty except for a piano and a staircase. I ignored the first and made for the second, keeping to the edges of the stairs. I doubted that they would have complained under my weight—they seemed to be made out of solid stone covered in carpet—but I wasn’t about to take any chances.
I had a point to prove. That’s all I was doing, I reminded my thundering heart. Proving a point to this girl.
A single long hallway split the second floor, with doors coming off either side and a second stairwell at the end. The full moon sat at just the right angle to light the place up, so I stashed my flashlight in my pocket.
Single doors and double doors. I made a guess, and was proved correct; the double doors led to the bedrooms. The first was entirely empty, not a scrap of furniture to be seen. I moved on to the next. A bed, perfectly made and utterly empty. Back in the hallway, I took a moment to think.
She would probably take the bedroom closest to the stairs for easy access. Since I came up the back stairs, that put her at the other end.
Quickly and quietly, creeping along the edge of the hallway, I made for the room at the end. These doors were different. Darker wood, carved with simple leaf designs. Master bedroom. I steadied my breathing until my heartbeat no longer deafened me, then I slowly turned the handle.
It was like walking into an ’80s music video. The long, thin white curtains blew into the room, teased by the early summer breeze. Her bed, white with an enormous number of pastel-colored pillows, contrasted with her deep tan and dark brown hair. Her shape, clearly visible beneath the thin sheet, was as close to perfect as I had ever seen. As I stepped closer, my heart thudded again for a different reason.
Paisley was absolutely breathtaking. She looked like an angel, lying there with her hair trailing across her face, her full lips pushed out as if waiting for a kiss. I allowed myself a single moment to imagine all of the tender ways I would have liked to wake her up.
Then I clapped my gloved hand firmly and forcefully over her pretty mouth.
Chapter 6
Paisley
Leather. Strong hand. Can’t breathe. It’s a nightmare, I told myself, just a nightmare. I tried to turn my head, but the hand held me still. Kidnapper!
I screamed, the sound muffled by his hand, and began clawing at the shadow in the dark. I struck flesh, and he let out a yelp.
“Whoa, settle down,” he said, backing away.
I sat up breathlessly and pressed my spine against the cushioned headboard, pulling the covers up over my chest like a frightened child. It was only then that I remembered that I had gone to bed naked that night.
Fury blazed through the fear, kindling my voice.
“Who the hell are you?” I demanded.
“Tyler Macintyre,” he said, extending a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I jumped away from his hand, keeping the covers tight over my body, and switched on the light beside my bed. His mouth twisted into a small smile, his blazing green eyes filled with calculations. Tyler Macintyre…
“Jude’s security guard?” I asked, confused.
“Your security guard,” he corrected coolly.
“Do you make a habit of breaking into prospective clients’ houses and terrorizing them?” I demanded, my own eyes flashing.
He smirked, then sobered quickly. “I would rather prove that you need me than have someone else do it for me. Someone with other motives.”
“Oh, really? And just what were your motives, crawling in here like a bug to put your hands on me while I sleep?”
My face was still hot with the mortification of nudity. I should never have to feel that way about being naked in my own bedroom. I flew out of bed, wrapped in my sheet, and looked down my nose at the stunningly attractive (stop that, Paisley) unlawful intruder, daring him to respond.
“Simple,” he said calmly, maintaining his distance. “It took me two minutes to break into your house. The alarm didn’t go off. For all the alarm company knows, you turned it off yourself. The lock on your back door took less than fifteen seconds to pick.”
“Jude must have told you how,” I hissed between clenched teeth. “I’ll murder him!”
“Jude had nothing to do with any of this.”
“I’ll make sure he never works with another celebrity ever again, the slimy… What did you just say?” I froze as fear laced through my veins.
“I don’t know a Jude,” Tyler shrugged. “Never met your manager. Which is my point, Paisley. If I, a random security guard, can find you…who else could find you?”
Bart. The name flashed through my mind in bright flashing lights. The things he said he would do to me in those messages…
It was probably all talk, just a frustrated guy blowing off steam. But what if it wasn’t? What if my last two rejections pushed him over the edge? I shivered, suddenly cold.
Tyler lifted my thick terrycloth robe off of the chair where I had tossed it, and lobbed it over the bed. I caught it with one hand, barely keeping myself covered in the process.
“Turn around.”
He did as I told him, and I slipped into the robe. The weight and texture of it was instantly soothing. I could almost wrap it around myself twice, and it trailed to the floor. I felt like a child when I wore it, in a secure sort of way. I hugged my waist after I tied it, then slid my feet into matching fuzzy slippers. Feeling a bit more like myself, my breathing began to slow.
“Now,” I said, holding my head high. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call the police.”
“Because you don’t know how to reset the alarm,” he said, one shoulder rolling under his fitted leather jacket.
I raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down in a manner I hoped was intimidating. Really, though, I was just taking him in.
He was magnificent. Broad shoulders, tapered waist, a skintight black T-shirt which rippled over his powerful chest and ripped abs. Black jeans hugged his hips and muscular legs. His dark hair, just a little longer in front than it was behind, reminded me of a bad boy in a ’90s movie.
“I can call the alarm company,” I countered finally, icing my tone to compensate for the desperate squiggle of desire heating my insides. “Try again.”
His lips quirked in surprised amusement, and I lifted my chin defiantly against the delight rippling through my chest. I didn’t need his affirmation; he was at fault here!
Taking a breath to acknowledge that my loneliness was messing with my judgment, I crossed my arms and waited.
“All right, how about this. I will cut my rate in half for you as an apology for the scare. But that comes with conditions.”
“I’m listening.”
“First, I live here while I’m working for you. One of the bedrooms down the hall, maybe the one with the blue curtains.”
Ice-cold fury shot down my spine. He had been all through my house!
“Did you rifle through any drawers on your self-guided tour?” I demanded.
“Not a single one,” he answered with a low laugh. “Second condition: I come with you when you run around the country doing your pop-star thing. It would take work to find you here, but you broadcast your location when you’re on tour; they wouldn’t even have to think about it.”
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An image of a sloping brow and greedy grin popped into my head. Tyler was right. Bart had managed to hit every last one of my concerts last year. I felt sick to my stomach remembering it, and I lowered myself into the scoop-backed chair beside the nightstand. What if he did find out where I lived? It obviously wasn’t that hard. I had only been here a week and one determined person already made it happen.
He looked around the room as I glanced up at him. Probably looking for weak spots. My own perception suddenly shifted. The pillars below my balcony were sturdy enough to climb, if a person was strong enough. I kept the doors open when I slept because I liked the breeze. An intruder wouldn’t even have to have Tyler’s skill to get to me. I swallowed hard as cold sweat beaded on my spine.
“Don’t look so scared,” he told me gently. “Hire me and I’ll be as close as you want me to be.”
I didn’t know if he was trying to insinuate what I thought he was insinuating, but it sent my mind spiraling in a whole new direction. As close as I wanted him to be?
My neglected body reacted to the idea before I had even processed it fully. If I hired Tyler, he would be here all the time. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Just his leather-clad, muscular self, with those intelligent green eyes, alone in this big house with me. I could always go in a different room if he became insufferable. He certainly had the potential; I could see it in the set of his jaw.
I stood again and paced the thick carpet, shooting glances at him here and there as I turned the options over in my head. I could call the cops, and the alarm company. The news would pick up the story. Next thing I know, Jude and Dad and Lacey would be blowing up my phone, demanding that I get a bodyguard. I wouldn’t have a choice after that.
Or I could tell him no and send him on his way after insisting that he put the alarm back together. There would be no pressure from the outside then, but I would lie awake nights imagining all the different ways someone could kidnap me or kill me…or worse.
I shuddered involuntarily, and he cast a piercing glance in my direction. I turned away, pacing the other direction. Besides, if the Bart situation continued to escalate, what would I do? Bart was a big guy, with plentiful resources. I was lucky he hadn’t showed up at my door first.
I paused, turning to look Tyler full in the face. If Bart ever did show up, I wanted him to come up against a cocky, solid wall of muscle. Tyler fit the bill, and he was obviously invested in the job. He wouldn’t run at the first sign of trouble. He was too proud for that. It showed in every line of his body, in the way his smiles flirted around the corners of his mouth without ever exposing themselves.
“What’s your price?” I asked him.
“Two thousand a month, plus room and board. Travel expenses paid by you.”
I raised my eyebrows. Even at half price he was bidding too low. I’d actually done some research into private security. A live-in guard cost ten thousand a month in California, more if they were asked to travel.
Tyler was watching me, waiting for a response. My suspicion grew as he held firm to the low-ball price.
“Why so low?” I asked him, boring my gaze into his eyes.
He cracked a smile, that sultry laugh rippling from his throat once more. “Because it’ll be fun,” he told me. “And because I’m eighty-five percent sure that if I leave here, right now, you won’t get another security guard. I’m not looking to get rich on a paycheck, Paisley. I’d rather have you safe.”
“Why do you care?”
His lids lowered slightly, shielding his eyes. I saw him withdraw as clearly as if he had turned and walked away. My heart beat calm and steady. I could make a good guess at what he was going to say. He’d loved me from afar, he couldn’t stop thinking about me, blah blah blah. I’d heard it all before. I had been stupid to think that this could be anything other than another obsessed fan. My disappointment hit a peak, and then he spoke.
“Just one more step,” he said quietly. “Just one more line. One more risk, one more time.”
Chills raced over my body as I recognized the lyrics as my own. From my very first single, pre-released exclusively in Tennessee, back before the label knew for sure that they wanted me. I had poured my soul into that song, every scrap of heartbreak and frustration that went along with trying to make something of myself at the tender age of eighteen. I had been so impatient, so tortured by my own potential. I had almost forgotten.
Tyler turned the full brilliance of those eyes on me. “That song saved my life, Paisley. I’ve never told anybody that. Wouldn’t go down well in my circles. But it did, and I’ve been living with that debt ever since.”
“Oh,” I breathed dumbly.
I couldn’t seem to think of a response. He wasn’t the first person to tell me that my music had saved them; he was just the first one who wasn’t bouncing up and down in a T-shirt with my face on it, indulgent parents smiling on from a short distance. I was inclined to take his confession seriously, and it made my throat tighten with emotion.
“What… Um. What threatened your life, that my song saved you from?” I asked awkwardly.
He flashed a grin, but I saw the shadows in his eyes. “Mediocrity,” he said vaguely. “Maybe I’ll tell you the story one of these days.”
I’d like that, I thought, surprising myself. Now not only was my body betraying me, my emotions and curiosity were too. I needed to know more about him. Preferably during pillow talk… Stop that, Paisley, I ordered myself.
“You’re hired.”
Chapter 7
Tyler
“That’s all you have?” Paisley stared dubiously at the two duffel bags squatting in the center of the big bedroom.
I shrugged one shoulder. “I like to travel light.”
It was almost the truth. In reality, my winnings weren’t enough to cover Jeanne’s rent for the month, and I’d sold everything that was worth anything to make up the difference. She’d accepted it this month, but told me she wouldn’t accept a second gesture. Billy knew what he was getting into, she’d said. All that meant to me was that I would have to find an anonymous way to help her.
“Oh, I understand that,” Paisley sighed as she walked to the window. Pulling back the blue curtains, she looked out over the expansive property. “I always have to bring more than I want to. It’s just a hassle, you know? Carrying all that stuff around. Even with help, it still feels like a weight. A ball and chain.”
I cocked my head at her. Abandoning my stuff on the floor, I wandered over to look out the window beside her.
“That doesn’t really fit with the whole material-girl persona,” I commented neutrally.
Her lips quirked wryly and she shook her head. “Don’t tell anybody. You have to play the game, you know?”
“Why?”
Simple enough question, but she jerked her head sharply as if I’d slapped her. Her big blue eyes widened, then she laughed.
“Because you do,” she said. “It’s the only way to get your words out there. You want to write about, I don’t know…societal ills, you turn it into a song about love failed. Want to talk about mental health issues, you turn it into a bittersweet celebration of party life. Want to comment on the idiocy of excess, write a song about excess and make it hollow.” Her eyes flashed as she spoke, intelligent and just a touch angry.
“You can’t just say it straight?” I asked.
“Of course not,” she said, rolling her glittering eyes. “It’s like… Hm. Okay, so back in high school, my best friend was on the boxing team. When I watched him fight, I saw the same kind of thing. You can’t just go in for the hit, you’ll project your intention and you’ll get blocked. It’s the same thing with music. Or any kind of art, really. You can’t just say what you want to say. You have to cloak it in acceptable pop culture.”
A dimple flashed on her cheek for a brief second, making something tug deep in my gut. My fingers itched to brush the mahogany curls off of her shoulder, to slide around the back of her soft neck and pull
her toward me.
She intercepted my gaze and nibbled her plump lower lip. I cleared my throat and looked away, scanning the property for weak points. Every point was weak. It was a damn good thing she didn’t actually need protection.
“What is it you want to say?” I asked.
“What?” she asked a little breathlessly.
I slid a sideways smile at her. “In your music,” I said, letting amusement bleed into my voice.
“Oh.” Her face reddened, and she cleared her throat. “That’s kind of my problem right now. I don’t know what I want to say.”
“I don’t believe it. I think you know what you want to say and you’re tired of shielding it behind lyrical fluff.” Dance. Test jab.
“I wish,” she said with a little laugh. Blocked. “But I feel like I’m out of interesting thoughts. Everything I could possibly have to say has been said a thousand times before. I can’t even write an album about writer’s block, because that’s been done too.” She sighed heavily and turned those heartbreaking eyes up at me. “What would you do?”
“I wouldn’t write,” I said wryly.
“Okay, well ignore the actual writing part. Let’s say you have to come up with some kind of creative idea. Any kind of idea. But you can’t think of anything. What do you do next?” The intensity of her gaze told me she really wanted to know.
She must be desperate.
“I don’t think my methods would work for you.”
“Try me.”
The set of her jaw said she wanted a challenge. The gleam in her eye said “please.” How could I resist?
“All right, put ’em up,” I said, raising my fists and dancing away from her.
“What?” She laughed.
“You want to know what I do; this is what I do. When my brain stops working, I start fighting. Come on, you want to get past this or not?”
Protect Me - A Steamy Bodyguard Romance (You Can't Resist a Bad Boy Book 5) Page 4