Protect Me - A Steamy Bodyguard Romance (You Can't Resist a Bad Boy Book 5)

by Layla Valentine

  She was interrupted by a passionate wail as ecstasy crashed into us, rippling an orgasm over her body, sucking mine from the deepest part of my sex. Bliss exploded in my brain like fireworks, licks of flame over my body, linking me with her, driving us over the cliff in an intense wave of passion.

  As I emptied into her, I held her close, desperately wishing that I never had to let her go.

  Chapter 19

  Paisley

  I woke up in his arms, surrounded by his scent. Music played in my head. The finished product of one of the many songs that I had started writing, one that I had transcribed into my laptop.

  A shudder of creativity bounced through my body, driving me out of bed. His arms twitched slightly as I rolled from between them and I almost stopped. One more lovemaking session couldn’t hurt, right?

  But I had been putting off my work for far too long. Even if I wasn’t really working for a paycheck anymore, I still had responsibilities; to my fans, to my label, and to myself. I blew my sleeping lover a silent kiss as I made my way out of the room, dressed in his T-shirt and my own blocky boy-short underwear.

  The house was filled with a tangerine haze in the humid dawn—the most inspiring color, the most inspiring time of day. I hit the button on the coffee maker, then, with a giggle, I turned it off again. I had been far too distracted the night before to prep the machine. The memory of his tender attention made me sigh, and I danced around the kitchen as I gathered the coffee things.

  Lyrics bubbled through my brain, percolating as the coffee did. A beam of clear light sliced through the kitchen, highlighting the edges of everything, making it look like an illustration. Even the world was feeling creative today, I realized with a grin.

  My laptop sat on the kitchen table, waiting for me. It seemed to almost pulse with pent-up energy, eager to get started. I carried my steaming mug to the table and offered the laptop a gentle caress.

  “All right, my friend,” I cooed at it. “Ready to make some magic?”

  Red polish glistened on my thumbnail as I flipped the lock and pushed the laptop open. It wasn’t what I was expecting to see, and it took me far too long to register what I was actually looking at.

  “Who was watching porn on my computer?” I wondered out loud.

  There was only one answer, really.

  Curious to find out what Tyler was into, I pushed play on the frozen video, my heart pounding frantically as if I were doing something terribly wrong. The way the woman moved as she pleasured the man with her mouth was hot, and I found myself regretting rolling out of bed before letting him ravage me again. The man’s arm swung into the frame, gripping the back of her head. Those tattoos. I knew those tattoos.

  My mouth went dry and I skipped the video forward. There was no mistaking it. That was me, presenting to him like some sex-starved baboon. My face went hot and barbed tears filled my eyes. Impulsively, I went back to the start of the tape. It started all the way back on the stairs.

  “Security,” I spat bitterly, wiping tears from my face. “Security, my ass.”

  I deleted the file, and the parent files that popped up as that one closed. Shaking with rage, I combed his computer for any traces of the video, and deleted the link to the cameras so he couldn’t access the rest of them. There was so much material stored on those cameras, so much that he could use to destroy me.

  “And make a buck in the process,” I realized, the words tasting like vomit on my tongue.

  The baseball bat I kept propped by the back door caught my eye.

  “Let’s go, diva.”

  I grabbed it, looking around the kitchen. There, just behind the pot of succulents by the windowsill, was a camera. I smashed it to pieces, and the crash fueled my fury. I found and eliminated one in the piano room, then destroyed the one I had watched him install above the stairs. Dragging the bat behind me like someone out of a horror movie, I crept into my bedroom.

  I remembered the angle. I’d had enough videos shot to know where the camera would have had to be, and I found it. My stomach turned over as I pushed my little purple elephant aside, separating it from its blue gingham counterpart. Their coupling was tainted by the black intruder, squatting with its wide eye pointed at my bed.

  “Tyler!” I shouted as I swung the bat, bringing it down hard on the little box.

  “’S’matter?” He tumbled out of bed, tangled in the sheets, his bleary eyes clearing quickly as he scanned the room.

  “Get out.”

  “What’s wrong? Intruder? Are you hurt?”

  “Shut up. You’re fired. Get gone.”

  My chest was heaving, sucking in fiery breaths, breasts pressing against the soft fabric of his T-shirt. The same feeling that had been so comforting mere minutes ago was oppressive now, and I couldn’t bear it. Dropping the bat, I ripped the shirt off.

  “Oh… New role play?” he asked, confusion giving way to anticipation.

  “No!” I threw the shirt at him, then stormed to my closet to pull a dress on over my head. “Get out, Tyler. Don’t ever let me see you again. You have ten minutes, then I call the cops. Or maybe I won’t; maybe I’ll just beat the hell out of you myself.”

  “Paisley, what the…?”

  “Did I stutter?” I whirled on him, eyes blazing.

  I watched him look from me to the bat, then to the shattered bits of camera on the dresser. Understanding spread across his face and he paled, caught in his lies.

  “Wait, I don’t think you…”

  “You gonna tell me it’s not what it looks like? ‘It was just for you, okay maybe not just for you, but Paisley, baby, you don’t understand what it’s like for the rest of us, money actually means something, we can’t just sit down and play around on the keys and make a bunch of money, we have to actually work, and don’t worry it’s going to be best for the both of us, just think how you’ll blow up afterward!’ Save it, Tyler, I’ve heard it all. Get your shit. Get the hell out of my house.”

  Tyler’s mouth had fallen open as I ranted. It snapped shut, his jaw bulging with tight muscles. I watched the shields fall over his eyes as he straightened his posture. Stiffly, he turned and walked out of my room, stark naked. He was ready to go in six minutes. I met him by the front door.

  “Here,” I spat, shoving his laptop at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t smash this too.”

  “Thanks,” he said through gritted teeth. “Paisley, I…”

  “Bye.”

  I shoved him through the door and slammed it in his face. I watched him from the window as he climbed into his beat-up sedan, his face a dark cloud.

  “Didn’t work out the way you wanted it to, did it? Onto the next! Who cares about the hearts left behind? Collateral damage, right?” The venom slowly seeped out of my voice as he circled the driveway. By the time his taillights disappeared down the street, I was in tears.

  Stumbling to the piano like a zombie, I used it the way I had when I was a kid—as a catch-all for my overflowing emotions.

  Just like all the rest. Tender hands on my body, warm eyes in my soul, swim in my open pool; love me, I’m the fool. Music and lyrics flowed together, fully formed.

  I opened my laptop, which was sitting on the piano, right where I’d left it. Shaking my head at myself, I started it recording. I wasn’t about to waste this opportunity. This was exactly the rawness I needed.

  I sort of hated myself for thinking that way, but it didn’t matter. After a moment, it was like the laptop wasn’t even there. Music poured out of my soul, verses and chorus, chords and rhythms, howling my pain into the ether. Better than a good cry, and ten times as draining. I sat there all day, until my wrists cramped, until my butt went dead, vomiting my broken heart onto the keys.

  By time I had to get up and stretch, the sun was on its way down. I had enough material saved for three songs at least, possibly more. I wasn’t going to think about that right then, though; that was too much like work. I just wanted to play.

  I cast a glance over at the wicker c
hair and ottoman which had held Tyler’s glorious body as he’d listened to me play. The memory was tainted, my numb mind wondering if he’d recorded that as well.

  “Leaking my music as we speak, probably,” I murmured absently. “Go ahead, Tyler. Make a buzz about the music. Just leave the rest of me alone.” Forever.

  Exhausted from the emotional purge, I drank something and ate a little, then trudged upstairs to bed. I didn’t bother getting undressed or changing into pajamas.

  Poster child for heartbreak, I crawled fully dressed between my sheets. His scent clung to them, and I inadvertently breathed it in. Instantly, I fell apart. Like a lost and broken child, I sobbed myself to sleep.

  Chapter 20

  Paisley

  Leather. Strong hand. Can’t breathe.

  “This isn’t funny, Tyler,” I mumbled through the glove over my mouth. “Leave, or I’m calling the police.”

  I glared into the dark at the shadow hulking over my bed. His face was warped somehow, and didn’t quite finish the image I’d seen in my mind’s eye. As sleep dissolved from my mind, terror shot through my body to my gut. It wasn’t Tyler.

  “Bart!” My scream was cut off as he pressed his hand harder across my lips.

  Everything Tyler had taught me about fighting flew from my brain, just out of reach. I wriggled and writhed, but Bart was so much bigger than me. He shoved a rag in my mouth, tying it behind my head, ripping my hair in the tight knot. I swung at him and he caught my wrist, like Tyler had but without the style and polish. As he twisted my arm behind my back, my scream was muffled by the rag.

  Ropes crushed my wrist bones together, sliced against my tailbone, and cut into my ankles. He’d hog-tied me. Humiliation at the indignity sparked my fury, and I screamed, pulling against the ropes. It didn’t do any good. Bart picked me up, tossing me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Fighting him until he dropped me, I landed sideways on the floor.

  My phone was under the bed. The message light flashed blue. As Bart dragged me across the carpet, the screen lit up. Incoming call.

  Help me, I thought desperately. Save me. But I knew it was useless. Anybody who would be calling my private number at this time of night would chalk my absence up to either sleep or artistic throes. It wasn’t unusual for me to disappear for a day or two at a time, folding into my own head.

  Cursing my predictability, I fought against him. His fist slammed into my gut, knocking the breath out of me, popping little black dots into my vision. Stunned and weak, I could do nothing but watch as he hauled me down the stairs and out the front door. I should have chosen a house closer to neighbors. A house near families with mouthy children and nosy old ladies.

  “Sorry, Paisley,” Bart said as he opened the doors to the van outside. “But I gotta.”

  I barely heard him. My heart was thundering with my panicked hopelessness. I wanted paparazzi and meddling people and overbearing parents. I wanted bodyguards and a community, someone to miss me if I wasn’t where I should be.

  I ached for my sister and parents. An ironic epiphany swirled into my mind as I was tossed unceremoniously into the back of Bart’s van. The people that I had done so much to separate myself from were the very people I needed in my life; not just to rescue me from crazed fans, but to inspire my music.

  I wished I had realized that sooner. As the van bumped down my driveway, I slammed against the back door. My skirt was caught, holding me there, away from anything I could use to brace myself. I’m going to die in here. With a sick twist in my gut, I wondered who Jude would hire to mix the scraps of my last recorded work.

  Chapter 21

  Tyler

  “So you screwed it up, is what you’re telling me.” Dan leaned on the bar, giving me his most disappointed look.

  “It was never gonna work, Dan. I couldn’t do that to her.”

  “No, you couldn’t, because you’re too stupid to put your laptop somewhere that she wouldn’t find it,” he said bitterly, snapping his towel at an errant fly.

  I swirled the drink in front of me, wanting to dive into it.

  “Could you have done that to Debbie? Not at the end when you hated each other. When you first met her. Could you do that?”

  Dan frowned, deep in thought, then sighed. “Boy, if I could remember what I would’ve done at the beginning, there might not have been an end.”

  “You wouldn’t have,” I said firmly, still twirling my drink. Slamming my hands on the bar, I made a decision. “I’m gonna call her.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Dan said, shaking his head. “She’s still pissed. Women don’t let stuff like that go.”

  “I just want to explain,” I told him, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “Tell her what really happened.”

  “That ain’t gonna make a difference,” Dan told me. “Once a woman gets an idea in her head…”

  “Shut up, it’s ringing.” And ringing, and ringing… Voicemail. Frowning, I dialed again. Same thing happened.

  “Screening your calls,” Dan said, nodding sagely. “I told you, boy. She’s not fittin’ to talk to you.”

  “If she was screening my calls, she’d just cut it off after the first couple rings. It’s gone the whole five. Damn it.”

  “Maybe she just doesn’t want to talk. Maybe she threw the phone in a drawer someplace.”

  “No, her sister calls her too much for her to do that. She never dodges her sister.”

  Dan raised his brows with a little smirk. I glared at him as I listened to the phone ring again. Across the bar, someone chose a song from the jukebox. A local metal band began to play, sparking a memory. That stupid oaf from the club, pinning Paisley to the wall. What if…?

  “I gotta go,” I said, tossing a few bills at Dan for my untouched drink.

  “She’s not gonna want to see you,” Dan called after me. “Get flowers!”

  No time for flowers. I knew in my gut that something was very, very wrong.

  After the scene that played out that morning, Paisley should have been stuck to her phone, talking to her sister and her girlfriends and anybody who would listen, telling them what an asshole I was. Any girl I knew would have done the same, and most of the guys too. Hell, look at me. I went straight to Dan. It’s just what people do.

  The more I thought about it, the more worried I got. I hit the gas, breaking speed limits without a second thought, blasting through the city to careen into the little suburban oasis. Right, two lefts, and a right. I could see her house in the distance. There were no lights on, not even in the piano room. An anxious knot squeezed my belly, and I hit eighty-five on that quiet little back road.

  An unmarked gray van was backing out just a little too fast, and I nearly collided with it as I turned to fly into her driveway. Just as I was moving to slam on the horn, I saw it. A tiny scrap of fabric sticking out from between the back doors. Deep red swirls on a pretty cream, the same dress she had thrown on in a fury that morning. Making the connection wasted valuable seconds, and the van was speeding away by the time I slammed the car into gear.

  “Oh no you don’t, you son of a bitch,” I growled.

  He was heading up Killdeer. Pulling up my mental map, I found the nearest cross street. I could get there faster than that van could, I was sure of it.

  Flipping a U-turn in the middle of the road, I sped in the opposite direction. Down Whooping Crane, up Bluebird, left on Red Crest, and…I nearly collided with the van’s taillights as I blasted onto Killdeer.

  Cursing, I kept going straight across. This loop was shorter, and Killdeer had a curvy bit at the bottom there which would slow the van down.

  I pushed my engine, redlining as I outpaced the gears, hitting a hundred on the straightaways. Yanking the emergency brake at the last second, I crunched the car to a stop dead across Killdeer. Headlights bore down on me. They weren’t slowing down, and they sure as hell weren’t trying to stop.

  I jumped from my car at the last possible second, not giving the van driver time to cha
nge direction to hit me. Diving out of the way, I watched as the van collided with my car, smashing it to pieces. The old-school steel body smashed the van’s nose in, sending steam and smoke spiraling from the engine. Adrenaline pumping, I ripped the driver’s door open and yanked him from the van.

  “You!” I hissed through my teeth as I pinned him against the side of the van. “Guess you don’t learn, right!”

  I smashed him in the face, cutting off whatever pathetic thing he was going to say. Grunting, he swung his big, slow, meaty fist at my face. I dodged easily, hammering his ribs as I ducked under his arm. With a wordless roar, he lunged at me, slamming me to the ground beneath his excessive weight. He was grabbing at my face, poking at my eyes with his thumbs. I saw pure hatred in his expression, and I knew what he was trying to do.

  “You sick bastard,” I growled, yanking an arm free to punch his throat. He choked and reflexively drew back, giving me room to work.

  A heel to the groin. A fist to the gut. I got him on the ground and instinct hooked up with training to shut off my brain. Pummeling him, I dislocated his jaw and shoulder, felt his ribs bend and snap beneath my knuckles, and blackened his eyes. By the time I paused to catch my breath, he wasn’t fighting back anymore. My heart sank like ice through my boiling blood, and I checked his pulse.

  “You’ll live,” I said, as disappointed as I was relieved.

  I dragged him to the rear wheel and peeled off my bloody button-up shirt. Ripping it in two, I tied his wrists and ankles. No surprises, not tonight. The back door was locked, so I grabbed the key from the front, my mind filled with images of what I might find on the other side.

  Unlocking the back door with hands trembling from rage and adrenaline, I faced the fear. As her dress tore, a muffled scream eased my frantic pulse.

  “Hey, Paisley,” I said, out of breath. “Now, I’m not sure what kinds of things you big country stars are into, but this don’t look like songwriting to me.”