The Bodyguard: A Navy SEAL Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  She’s dreaming about something sexual, and her contact with my body is fueling the dream and vice versa. The right thing to do would be to wake her up, and fast, but how can I? If I wake her up right now she’d be mortified. She’d realize she was about to hump me in her sleep and I’d have to explain why my cock is hard enough to split diamonds.

  She moans again, hips pressing more firmly into me this time. Her arm pulls back farther and now her small hand is limp on top of my cock. With painful slowness, her fingers wrap around me until she grips my length, hips now working against me in a slow rhythm. I feel the heat between her legs and her wetness against me.

  I’m so fucking turned on it’s a testament of willpower that I don’t jump on top of her right this second and fuck her for all she’s worth. But she’s asleep. This isn’t real. I shouldn’t be fucking enjoying this.

  Her hand starts to move against me, stroking me up and down as her hips grind harder into me. Her moans come more freely now, and her breath is hot against my neck. I lay completely still, closing my eyes against the mounting pleasure, knowing how incredibly fucking wrong it would be to cum from a handjob she gave me while she was asleep. But Goddamn. If this keeps up, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.

  Just when her thighs clench around my leg and I can feel the heat of her wet pussy against me, she freezes. I turn my head to look at her face and see her eyes wide open. She recoils from me like she’s been bitten, turning her back toward me. “Please tell me I’m still dreaming,” she whispers.

  I chuckle. “It’s possible.”

  “Oh my God,” she groans. “Please promise you’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll do anything.”

  “Deal. Go on a date with me.”

  There’s a long pause. “To convince people we’re really engaged again?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “Because I enjoy spending time with you and I want to take you out. Or I could spend the rest of my life reliving the time you humped my leg in your--”

  “Okay. Fine. I’ll go on a date with you. Just please pretend this never happened. I just--yeah,” she says, falling silent.

  I grin, closing my eyes and let sleep come, even though I know I’m going to have the worst case of blue balls in recorded history in the morning. It was worth it.

  By the time I wake up, Aubrey is already out of the bed and the sheets where she was laying are cold. I frown, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I hear voices coming from the kitchen and stumble out in nothing but my briefs. I stop dead in my tracks when I see who it is.

  Julianne is in my fucking kitchen. She’s sitting at the table while Aubrey sets a plate of eggs in front of her. Sophie and my mother are at either end of the table, eating and quietly eyeing Julianne. Except my mother isn’t quiet for long.

  “Did that turn out how you wanted?” asks my mother, pointing to Julianne’s obvious nose job. “It ended up pretty pointy.”

  Julianne appears to be trying to control herself for some reason and only takes a deep breath, forcing a smile. Her smile widens when she sees me standing shirtless in the doorway. Aubrey fumbles the plate she’s carrying and nearly drops it.

  “You cleaned up the broken glass?” I ask, ignoring the fact that my fucking ex-wife is eating breakfast in my house for some reason.

  “Broken gl--” starts Julianne.

  “Yes,” says Aubrey.

  “Thanks, sweetheart,” I say, moving to her side and gripping her around the waist. I plant a quick kiss on her lips like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and grin when I hear Julianne blow out an annoyed breath.

  “Oh. You’re here,” I say, looking at Julianne like a cockroach that just scampered onto the table.

  “Yes. My lawyer was going to serve you with papers to tell you, but I wanted to come and tell you myself. I thought you deserved to hear it from the mother of your child,” she says, shifting her eyes to Aubrey to see if her phrasing sparked a nerve.

  Aubrey looks unimpressed, and she actually goes as far as placing her hand on my abs. She cranes her neck to whisper in my ear. “I didn’t salt her eggs.”

  I bark a laugh, looking at Julianne, who clearly doesn’t enjoy being out of the joke. “This is funny to you? Well, I’m glad. Because I might have felt bad taking your daughter from you if you actually gave a shit.”

  “Language,” I snap.

  “What?” asks Sophie, who looks up from her plate for the first time.

  “Don’t worry about it, Soph. I’m handling it.”

  “Handling what?” She demands.

  “I’m with the pipsqueak, Liam,” says my mother. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  Julianne throws her head back and laughs with exaggerated enthusiasm before clapping her hands together. “Oh, this is rich. He hasn’t told you all? You didn’t wonder why that woman wanted to come in your house and look around?” Julianne makes a very obvious effort to put on a sweet, motherly face and softens her voice to talk to Sophie. “Honey, mommy is going to get you back. Don’t worry, you won’t have to live in this cess pool for much longer.”

  “I barely know you,” says Sophie. “Daddy? What is she talking about?”

  The way she looks at me tears at my heart and I have to clench my teeth from saying something I shouldn’t in front of her. “I’m going to figure out a way to stop this, Soph. Don’t worry.”

  “He can’t stop it, honey,” says Julianne. “Mommy is going to get you back.” She looks at me defiantly, quirking an eyebrow in a way that says, unless…

  Unless I pay her what she wants. Unless I give her the final push down this path of greed that has nearly destroyed her. Unless I wipe away any possible hope of my little girl ever knowing the woman who gave birth to her cares about her.

  “Message delivered,” I say coldly. “Now get out of my house.”

  Julianne stands. “Happily. These eggs are terrible, by the way,” she says to Aubrey. “Your fiancée should learn how to cook. And honey,” she says, kneeling to try to kiss Sophie’s forehead. “I’ll--”

  Sophie interrupts her by forming a cross with her knife and fork. “The power of Christ compels you,” says Sophie dryly.

  Julianne makes a distasteful face. “Charming. Well, I’ll see you all in court soon.”

  Her heels click out across the marble on her way out, leaving us all in an annoyed silence until my mother decides to break it. “You know, Liam. I’ve heard you can order a hit on a person for as little as a hundred grand. Want me to ask around?”

  “Mom...” I say sternly. As much as I despise Julianne right now, the last thing I need is for my own mother to talk about ordering a hitman to kill her in front of my daughter. Whether I agree with the way Julianne has lived her life or not, I need to keep my head on what’s best for Sophie. Except lately, I’ve been watching how Aubrey interacts with Sophie, even after Sophie decided to turn colder towards Aubrey after our fake engagement. Watching her has me think maybe she could be the perfect mom to my little girl, and maybe I could leave Julianne completely out of the equation.

  But there’s no way to know how this is all going to work out, and I can’t afford to burn bridges where my daughter is concerned. So for now, I have to stay the course and do everything I can to prove this household is the right household for Sophie and convince the lawyers and the judge that sending her to live with her biological mother would be a massive mistake.

  Sophie groans. “Daddy. Are you sure I came out of that woman?”

  I grin. “Who knows. Maybe we took home the wrong baby.”

  Sophie smiles. “You mean it?”

  I laugh. “Hey, I know this is hard to believe, but there’s a good person in there. Your mother just… I mean, I’ll be damned if she gets custody of you, but she can be a good person. Sometimes.”

  “Maybe they will write that on her tombstone after grandma orders her murder,” suggests Sophie. “Here lies Julianne, the mother and ex-wife who could be a good person. Sometimes. Okay, not re
ally that often, but we’re sure it could’ve happened if she had lived longer.”

  I try not to grin. “That’s not funny, Soph.”

  “Then why are you smiling?” asks Sophie.

  Aubrey makes a noise and I realize she’s covering a laugh with her hand.

  My mother shows no hesitation about laughing out loud. “If I’m not around when she bites it, Sophie, let that be my dying wish to you. Make sure that is really on her gravestone or I’ll come back and haunt you.”

  Sophie’s face goes white. “Please don’t haunt me.”

  “Mom,” I say.

  My mother throws up her hands defensively. “I’d only haunt her a little bit, give me a break.”

  34

  Aubrey

  I start my morning as I usually do, with one main difference: I slide out of bed and try not to sneak a guilty look at Liam’s shirtless form sprawled beside me. I invited him to sleep beside me the night before last because I was honestly spooked, but when he took it upon himself to get into bed beside me again last night, I didn’t quite have the willpower to stop him. I did, however, manage to make it through the night without humping him in my sleep. At least as far as I know.

  My cheeks burn hot just at the memory. At least he’ll never know I was dreaming about sleeping with him. I slip into the bathroom, closing the door quietly to avoid waking him, smirking at the need to be quiet. I’ve never lived with a guy before, and all the little things make our fake engagement feel so much more real, like seeing his toothbrush beside mine on the sink. Having to put the toilet seat down after him, having him straighten things up behind me like the endless hair ties I leave lying around.

  Sharing my bed might be the best of all, though. I don’t care what we call this thing between us, I’ve never slept so well in my entire life. Just feeling the weight of him beside me in the bed, and the faint aura of warmth that comes from his body is enough to make me feel invincible. I feel like nothing can hurt me, and I’ve slept more soundly than I ever have before. Apparently I was even sleeping soundly enough to basically give Liam a handjob and get myself off on his leg.

  I lean over the sink, wincing and marveling at how the level of complete and total embarrassment the memory brings doesn’t seem to dull at all, no matter how often I think of it. Not thinking of it would be a hell of a lot easier if I hadn’t touched his… thing. I bite my lip. My hand couldn’t even wrap all the way around it. I don’t know how long it was either, because I yanked my hand back as soon as I realized what I was doing, but I think it was very big, and that particular fact is equal parts exciting and terrifying.

  Not that it’s ever going to be in me or anything, but if it was, I don’t know how it’d fit.

  I shake my head, looking at myself in the mirror. Listen to me. I’ve felt like a basket case ever since Liam came back. At first I never thought there was even the remotest of chances that we would ever be together. Then I thought he might be interested and I realized I couldn’t let anything happen. And then I somehow decided getting fake engaged to him was a good idea. I guess I can blame that on a combination of my fear of Jake and my weak-willed desire to get to be with him in a way that can end without the disaster of a real break-up.

  Now?

  Now I want this to work. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe it was in one of the small moments I saw between him and Sophie. Maybe it was in the way he protected me from Jake. Or maybe it’s just my desperate, twenty-four-year-old virgin brain telling me to do whatever gives me the greatest chance of being with him. I don’t know what it is yet, but I know I want us to work. I want to be Roxanne’s daughter-in-law, even if someone might think that’s betraying the memory of my mom, I’d know it isn’t. It’d be a way to keep feeling like she is in my life, no matter how small a way that is. And I want Sophie to be my step-daughter. She’s such a sweet and unique little girl, but I also can see the emptiness that the lack of a mother has left inside her. Liam is a great father, but he can’t fill that space all by himself.

  They need me, and the realization settles in my chest with a resonating hum.

  “Morning,” says Liam. He walks into the bathroom, shirtless and wearing only briefs, his normally perfect hair in disarray giving him an irresistibly sexy, just-out-of-bed look.

  “Morning,” I say. Half of my brain is still trying to digest all this. I feel like an imposter. Virgin girls my age aren’t supposed to be allowed to have moments like this with guys like Liam. He deserves a woman with experience and far more confidence than I’ll ever have. Yet here I am, feasting my eyes on a man who could have stood in for any Greek master sculptor’s model.

  “You owe me a date, remember? I’ve got work this afternoon but I’m cashing in tonight.”

  “Oh?” I say. “Where are we going?”

  “That’s a surprise,” he says, grabbing his toothbrush and squeezing out a neat line of toothpaste on the bristles.

  “Is it something illegal again?”

  He makes a face like he hadn’t considered that, but is now giving it the appropriate thought. “Well,” he says, after spitting some of the toothpaste from his mouth. “I think I need to treat you to a more normal outing. I can’t have you thinking I’m some kind of delinquent if I expect you to marry me, after all.”

  I grin. “Is that the goal now?”

  He smirks back at me. “That has always been the goal, sweetheart. Marry the wholesome caretaker and keep custody of my daughter.”

  I force a quick smile, feeling as though I’ve just been slapped with a hefty dose of reality. Right. That’s still what this is all about to him. The rest is just flirtation and games. I’d be doing myself a favor if I remembered that, but it’s hard not to get confused when I’m wearing a beautiful engagement ring and sleeping in the man’s bed, after all.

  “Yep,” I say with artificial cheer. “That is definitely the goal. Number one priority.”

  He rinses his toothbrush and strides back out of the bathroom, slapping my ass on his way.

  I jump up, eyes widening in surprise. I just barely catch the hint of a smirk on his face as he leaves.

  Roxanne moves her hands carefully, arranging the porcelain elephant figurines on the display in her room with the utmost care. She collects all things elephants, and takes a day every week to move through her collection and thoroughly dust off each elephant, big and small. The process of replacing them on the shelves is a long and laborious one, and for some reason, Roxanne insists that I be present every time she does this.

  “Engaged to my son,” she muses.

  I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as she maneuvers her wheelchair to reach the highest shelf of her display case.

  “Yes,” I say awkwardly.

  “You pregnant?” she asks.

  “Pregnant?” I blurt. “Roxanne, I’m a--” I clear my throat. “No. Definitely not pregnant.” Unless you can get pregnant from some heavy humping and apocalyptic levels of embarrassment--in which case I’d be having sextuplets.

  “Hm,” she says. “It doesn’t make sense to me, then. Why would my son, who has treated commitment like a disease he wants to avoid catching at all costs, suddenly propose to you so quickly?”

  “Maybe he likes me,” I suggest.

  Roxanne scoffs. “No man ever got married because he liked a woman. Marriage might as well be castration. Cut off his balls and hang them out to dry. You think he’s going to do that because of like? No. Either he feels something for you stronger than he should for how little you’ve known each other, or you’re blackmailing him. Are you blackmailing my boy, Aubrey? Don’t think I won’t cut you in your sleep,” she adds.

  I laugh nervously. As usual with Roxanne, I’m only ninety-nine percent sure she’s joking. There’s always a glint of something dangerous in her eyes that makes me wonder if sometimes she really means her threats. Whether I like to admit it, part of me can picture her coming at me with a knife, and it’s not something I want to live out.

  “Bla
ckmail? Seriously?” I ask.

  Roxanne shrugs, setting down an elephant and then making a minute adjustment until she’s pleased with the placement. “I’ve heard of stranger things. You know that Ted Bundy seemed normal to everyone who knew him. But once the truth got out…” she raises her eyebrows meaningfully at me.

  “I’m not a serial killer,” I say.

  “Don’t you think Mr. Bundy would’ve said the same thing if he was confronted?”

  I sigh. “What can I do to prove to you I’m not a serial killer or a blackmailer, then?”

  “You can go through with the marriage. Until this thing is final and the priest says the words, I’m not sure I can trust you.”

  “Well,” I say, “Guess I’ll just have to make sure this thing happens, won’t I?”

  Roxanne gives me a look over her shoulder that holds no humor. “Yes. You will. Or I will bleed you, honey.”

  I make a confused face and something close to a whimper slips out of my throat. I love the old woman, but holy cow is she scary.

  Liam looks dashingly handsome in his suit and tie as we enter the movie theater. It’s a classically styled building that looks straight out of a movie hobbyists imagination. The carpets are lush, velvety red and the walls are plastered with classic movie posters and advertisements, including a Coca-Cola ad that looks to be a hand-painted woman with 50s style hair and makeup, smiling while holding a case of glass Coke bottles. The hallways leading back to the theaters are lined with signed pictures of famous celebrities from the 50s and 60s as well.

  I grin up at Liam, who smiles down at me. “What do you think?” he asks.

  “It’s fantastic, but where are all the people?” I ask.

  “They normally just run on the weekend, so I had to call in a favor to get the employees to come in and screen a movie for us.”

  I would roll my eyes at the typical rich guy gesture, but somehow I don’t sense any of the puffed up need to impress I would expect to accompany something like this. Liam seems to have just genuinely wanted to take me here and he didn’t want to wait. His eagerness lights a spark of excitement in me, and I can’t stop myself from smiling as I take it all in, feeling like this is all for me.