The Bodyguard: A Navy SEAL Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  I hear the shower start and I realize I’m alone in his place. Out of idle curiosity, I start to wander through the apartment, first moving through his kitchen. I’m surprised to see that it’s professional-grade with gas ranges and a temperature controlled glass case filled with dozens of potted herbs. I purse my lips. He either takes his cooking seriously, or he has someone he pays to do it for him. Probably the latter.

  I wander into another room set off from the kitchen and realize it must be his bedroom. I nearly turn and leave to avoid being more of a snoop than I already have been, but something compels me forward. I’m not sure what I expect to find… panties? Maybe even some floosie he forgot was still sleeping at his place? I try not to imagine how many women he’s had in the luxurious bed that fills the center of his room.

  I’m about to turn and leave when my elbow bumps a fancy display with an expensive watch to the ground beside his dresser.

  I wince, falling to my knees to pick it up when I notice a seam beneath the lowest drawer. There’s a small, almost imperceptible ridge where I can fit my finger. I put the watch back on the dresser and focusing on the ridge. I hook my finger in and tug, pulling out a thin drawer. There’s just a single composition book inside. It’s leather-bound and a little battered. I lift it carefully, noticing one of the corners is torn.

  I know I should close it and walk away. I try to stop myself, but my curiosity overpowers everything else and I open the book.

  October 27th, 2004

  Apparently I have to actually write in this thing. I tried blowing it off and they threatened to drydock me for the next mission if I didn’t start playing along with the therapist. I’m supposed to talk about my feelings in here. What the fuck is there to talk about? I’m pissed off and it doesn’t seem to matter how many of them I kill. I’m still pissed. They took my father from me, they made me leave my girl…

  I clutch the journal a little tighter. 2004… that was three years after he left me. He couldn’t be talking about me. After all, he said he never loved me in the first place, that he was trying to get laid. I take a deep breath and read more.

  The doc wants me to speak my mind, well, fuck it. I put my fucking knife in a kid’s heart back in Tajikistan. It was a night mission. A simple grab and go for some journalist that command considered an asset. We almost got out clean when I saw someone trying to get to the landline to call for help. A few seconds and he could’ve brought dozens of insurgents down on us. So I grabbed him by the mouth and stuck my fucking knife in his chest.

  It was only after he stopped twitching that I dropped him and saw how young he was. He couldn’t have been older than fifteen, and I killed him. The worst part was how they all patted me on the back for saving the mission and told me what a big fucking hero I was.

  Is that enough fucking emotion for one day? I don’t feel any better. A lot of good this fucking journal is doing.

  My heart aches for Jesse. I realize suddenly how selfish I’ve been. While I thought I was living a hard life because I had to face rejection after rejection auditioning for parts and playing in small, shitty roles to work my way up, he was dealing with all this? It doesn’t completely excuse what he did, but it helps, and I’m already regretting how I’ve treated him so far. At least a little bit. I hear the shower stop running and hurriedly put the journal back in place, feeling a stab of guilt for invading his privacy.

  I rush back to the living room and try to adopt something like a casual position on his couch, anything to imply that I wasn’t just helping myself to his deepest, darkest secrets like a complete jerk. He steps into the living room, black towel around his waist, bending his neck slightly to ruffle his still wet hair. He squints over at me, looking sinfully touchable with his smooth, muscled body fresh out of the shower. I know there’s no way he could know, but I shift under his focus, like he knows I’ve just been reading the journal in his room.

  “You look a little breathless,” he says, stepping even closer and making my heart thrum in my chest. “Is it from the view, or have you been sneaking around while I was in the shower?”

  “The… view?” I ask, voice barely above a whisper. He’s taking away all my self-control, all my poise and power. “You’re not exactly hiding it,” I say, averting my eyes and gesturing toward him.

  “I was talking about the ocean,” he says with a grin.

  No you weren’t. Asshole…

  “So what now?” I ask. “Am I just supposed to stay put and avoid doing anything remotely dangerous?”

  He moves to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge and tilting his head back to drain it. My eyes trail down to his powerful neck as he swallows it down. Even his stupid neck is sexy. Jesus. I tear my eyes away.

  “No. I’m yours, Kay… Makayla. My job is to shadow you, no matter where that leads us.”

  He’s already moved from calling me Miss Pierson to Makayla, but I can’t bring myself to correct him.

  “That wasn’t the impression you gave me when you dragged me here against my will.”

  The corner of his mouth twitches. “Well, I had to get… my dog from daycare and grab a shower.”

  “Your dog named Makayla. Right. I had almost forgotten.”

  His perfect composure falters for just a second when he steps toward me, still clad in only a towel, and jabs a finger at me. “I told you. The shelter already named her that.”

  It’s my turn to grin now. “Mhmm. So you just happened to pick the one dog out of a few dozen that happened to have the same name as me?” I glance at his dog who obviously has an eating problem. Her stubby legs are splayed out beneath her and she pants, eyes covered beneath the folds of her skin. “Not that she isn’t charming, of course.”

  Jesse frowns, looking at his dog in a way that is adorably protective. He kneels to scratch behind her ears and pat her bottom and oh God. If he just angled his hips a touch more toward me, I think I would have a full view of everything. I catch myself leaning to the side, like a bowler trying to urge the ball away from the gutter. I lean just a little too far forward and lose my balance. I have to jerk my body back and clutch the armrest to keep from falling.

  Jesse doesn’t even turn to look, but the way he bites his lip says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. For the hundredth time in a just the few hours since I’ve seen him again, I can’t help thinking what a tremendous asshole he is. Now I just have to figure out a way to survive this entire week without falling for him again.

  6

  Jesse

  Makayla is taking a nap on my couch and my dog is curled up beside her legs later that night. I smile to see the old girl warming up to someone new so quickly. I look around the apartment, noticing all the small things that are out of place from her obvious snooping session. I knew she would try it, but when I check the hidden drawer in my room and see the hair I carefully wedge in the crack has fallen, I’m surprised. This woman is no ordinary snoop. Damn.

  She can’t have had much time to read the contents, but she will have already seen more than I hoped. Just holding the journal in my hands makes them shake. I slam it back down in the drawer, steadying my hand on the dresser and lowering my head, fighting the memories that are rising up.

  I’m covered in dirt and blood. My hand is warm. God, it’s so fucking warm. I’m pressing the hilt of a knife into his stomach and yanking up like I’m opening the thick burlap of a sack of potatoes. I feel resistance as it moves through him, hot blood drenching my hand. He tries to collapse, but I hold him upright, finishing the job of ending him. He wraps his arms around me as he dies, almost hugging me, like he’s afraid to die alone. I should feel something. I should feel sympathy, fear, anger, disgust. But I feel none of it. That’s what worries me. I end his life and let his corpse fall to the ground and I feel nothing. Not a fucking thing.

  I snap myself out of it, wiping the cold sweat forming on my forehead away.

  War showed me the parts of human nature most people could never understand. I saw how
worthless human life can become, how quickly men can put their own survival above others. I saw how easy death comes, and how the world moves on, season by season, forgetting the dead and the dust they become.

  I went to war because I wanted to stop the pain losing my father created. I stopped the pain, but I stopped everything else, too. Being around Makayla is the first time in years I’ve felt closer to my old self, like part of me is still linked to her and how I was in those days. She’s helping me remember who I am, little by little. The worst part is I don’t know if I want to remember. Every step closer I take to my old self makes me realize how far I’ve fallen, and how much I stand to lose if I lose her again.

  I step back into the living room and stop in my tracks. She’s still asleep on my couch, one long leg dangling from the blankets. One very naked, long leg. I take in the smooth skin that glistens softly and the way her calf tapers perfectly into a narrow ankle, to feet that are a little larger than average. Rather than seeing it as a flaw, I always thought it was endearing. Makayla Pierson was always seen as perfect by everyone, but she always had those slightly oversized feet. It makes me grin to remember the ways she tried to avoid me noticing when we first started dating. Always black shoes, never open faced, and usually a size too small.

  Before I realize it, I’m only a few steps from where she sleeps peacefully on the couch. Her golden hair swirls around her heart shaped face, framing the perfect picture of innocence it makes. Such an innocent face that you would never expect her to lie or snoop through someone’s apartment when they weren’t watching.

  Thinking about the way she tried to deceive me has me wanting to… I bite my lip. Hard. No. I’m not even going to dignify that line of thought right now. She’s a client. I don’t care how fucking gorgeous she is or how much I’d like to see those perfect lips wrapped around my--

  Shit. Maybe I’m going to think about it a little, but I’m not going to do anything. I can manage that much.

  I’m about to turn and walk away when her eyes drift slowly open and then widen at the sight of me standing over her. She notices her leg hanging out from beneath the blanket and pulls it back under, covering herself again. Her dress must have ridden up a hell of a lot, and I’m guessing without the blanket I would’ve gotten a show to remember.

  “I was going to see if you wanted to grab a bite to eat,” I say.

  “You sure?” she asks. “Because it looked like you were thinking about taking a bite of me.”

  I smirk, rubbing my mouth with my thumb. Goddamn. What a fucking tease. She gives me a half-smile before it falters and she clears her throat. “Food sounds good, actually.”

  I’m a little surprised that she’s making it so easy on me, but I don’t fully let my guard down. “I know a place,” I say. “Just let me grab Makay… my dog some food.” I see her covering a smile as I head to the kitchen to grab my dog’s food. Okay, so what if the shit about the shelter already naming her was a lie. Her original owners named her Bat Girl, and I wasn’t about to walk around calling my fucking dog Bat Girl. So I named her Makayla. It was the first name to pop in my head, big deal.

  I use a can opener on Makayla’s wet food and pour it in her favorite bowl, giving it a fifteen second shot in the microwave, just the way she likes. I sprinkle a little salt on it for taste and stir in a handful of dry food. Then I set two treats for her on one of the bar stools. She has to stand on her hind legs to get to them, and it always takes her a few minutes to work up the energy to do it, but the old girl needs the exercise. I slap her plump belly as she waddles over to get her food.

  “Keep an eye on the place while we’re gone, girly.”

  When I stand, the other Makayla is leaning in the doorway with a huge grin on her face. I’m going to have to get her out of that fucking dress and into something more modest. If I’m going to have any hope of making it through this contract without putting my hands on her, I can’t have her walking around looking that sexy. “I never would’ve guessed you could be such a sweetheart.”

  “Shut up,” I growl, moving past her. I hear her following after me.

  “Do you always season her dog food?” she asks.

  I don’t even have to look over my shoulder as I pull open the door to know she’s still smiling ear to ear.

  “She’s picky,” I grumble.

  “You don’t think she’d eat whatever you gave her if she was hungry enough? Salted or not salted?”

  I sigh, increasing my pace as we walk toward the elevator, wanting to get out of this embarrassing line of questions. “She’s all I have. I’m not going to starve her.” I wince. That sounded way more pathetic than I intended, and judging from the look of concern on Makayla’s face, she picked up on every bit of it.

  Her smile is gone, replaced by a reluctant look of sorrow. “She’s all you have?”

  “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need a bunch of people complicating my life.”

  I feel her looking at me, waiting for me to say more. She can wait all she wants. I’m done talking about it. The elevator doors chime and let us out in the lobby. I motion for Makayla to wait in the elevator while I scan the room for anything out of the ordinary. Once I’m sure it’s clear, I gently guide her out by the small of her back. It’s habit, but when she doesn’t flinch away from my touch this time and lets me continue to protectively guide her to my car, I feel my cock stirring traitorously. The way the soft muscles of her back tense and relax with each step is making me think of how it would feel to squeeze her hips as she grinded into my cock, and that’s a thought I don’t need to be having.

  If being my client wasn’t enough to make her off-limits, the way I treated her ten years ago definitely is. I don’t deserve to be with her, and she definitely deserves more than my shell of a self getting entangled in her life again. But I don’t know if I’m going to be able to stay away. I might be too fucking selfish to keep my hands off her and keep my distance. I want to taste her lips again so badly it hurts, even if it’s just once.

  When we step outside, I grimace at the traffic choked streets. “Let’s just walk,” I say. “I don’t want to get stuck in this.”

  “Okay,” she says, oddly compliant.

  What’s more odd is she lets me keep my hand on the small of her back, and I don’t have the willpower to move it away. I lead her down the street. I’m wearing a low-key outfit of jeans and a black t-shirt and she’s still in the small dress from her shoot the day before. I’m surprised she hasn’t already been raising a fuss over going back to get fresh clothes. Most women I’ve met wouldn’t have left the apartment without fresh clothes, but she seems to be handling it. On a whim, I decide to take her inside one of the clothing stores we pass.

  She gives me a strange look, but I rifle through the racks and quickly pick out a light green top and gray leggings. I hesitate for a second and then grab a pair of boots too. She’s looking at me like I’ve absolutely lost it now, but I push on to the register and pay for the clothes.

  The guy behind the counter gives me a receipt, and I quickly snatch the clothes and hand them to Makayla. “Go put these on in one of the changing room.”

  She looks down at the clothes thoughtfully and then meets my eye with a daring boldness that has my cock hardening immediately. “What about panties?”

  I clear my throat. “Go on then. Pick some out.”

  She smirks, slinking past me and picking out the most dainty little red thong she can find and a silky black bra. She puts them on the counter and then turns, waiting expectantly for me. I shake my head, unable to do anything but huff a laugh as I pay for her lingerie and watch her step into one of the changing rooms.

  The changing rooms are little more than half-doors that leave me with a tantalizing view of her calves. I find my eyes lingering on that open space as I watch the dress fall to a pile beneath her feet. She kicks it away, and then her legs bend slightly and a tiny black thong follows behind it.

  Fucking hell.

  I turn to see the cashi
er smirking knowingly at me.

  “Fuck off,” I growl.

  He jumps a little, suddenly finding something to do away from the register. And away from me. I don’t look toward the changing room again until I hear the door open and see Makayla emerge. She looks ridiculously good in the clothes I picked out for her, and my gaze immediately drops to the way the gray leggings hug her curvy hips and emphasize the perfect gap between her inner thighs. Knowing she’s wearing the clothes I picked and saw her choose the underwear turns me on in an unexpected way. It makes her feel like she’s mine. And that thought feels dangerously good.

  She gets a plastic bag from behind the counter and stashes her old clothes inside, then follows me back outside.

  My hand automatically goes to the small of her back, it’s an instinctual reaction to being so close to her. A deep seeded need to touch her. It’s a compulsion and I’m relieved when she doesn’t stop me. The fabric of her top is thin beneath my fingertips and I drive myself fucking wild thinking about how good her bare skin would feel against mine. As we start walking down the street, I let the movement of her hips jostle my hand a few centimeters lower until my pinky rests just on the top of her perfectly round ass. I’m hard as a rock now, and mentally willing myself to move my hand away, but my muscles are in full-scale rebellion, refusing to obey any command that takes me further from her body.

  After a few minutes of walking quietly together, I begin to let my mind wander, imagining what it would feel like to have Makayla as my own. To walk with her out in public like this, just enjoying the evening and heading out to grab a bite, knowing that we might go back to my place later, where I could do anything I’d like to her. It’s a nice fantasy, but that’s all it is. I’m too damaged and she’s too different. We’re not compatible anymore, no matter how much the sparks seem to fly at the slightest touch. Besides, a quiet life like that isn’t in the cards for me. I’ve done and seen far too much to think I could be the kind of guy Makayla deserves.