Vanguard Security

by S. J. Bishop

  I resisted the urge to sit down on his creamy, white sectional and see which photos hadn’t made it into the magazine. Maybe I’d order myself a copy. It seemed somehow rude to ogle your host’s naked body while he was ten feet away making you dinner.

  Burke was using the island to peel and slice potatoes. Behind him, a pot of water had been set to boil. “I feel like Belle when she enters the beast’s library,” I teased, sitting down at one of kitchen island stools. Fuck. Was I flirting again?

  “Beast, Savage,” murmured Burke as he peeled. He looked up at me, his blue eyes staring into mine, mildly irritated. “You and yours boss are going to give me a complex.”

  “I doubt it,” I said cheerfully. I was feeling incredibly giddy. I’d seen the dining room table and was having trouble not thinking about being bent over it, with Burke behind me.

  “There’s a wine rack over in the corner,” he said, nodding toward where at least thirty bottles rested in a large, metal rack against the wall. “Pick one out.”

  Bright white to go with lobster. I went to find a Sauvignon Blanc. There were glasses atop the wine rack, as well as a corkscrew, so I uncorked a bottle and poured us each a glass. He had good taste. The wine was crisp and refreshing,

  I’d imagined him to be a beer guy, but with Burke Tyler, I was beginning to realize that appearances were incredibly deceiving. So deceiving that I wondered if they were intentional. Was he misleading the world on purpose? And if so, toward what end?

  I shook my head.

  “What is it?” he asked, raising a thick, blond brow at me with curiosity.

  “You think Yvette’s an enigma,” I said. “Jeez. You’re on a commercial in which you yell ‘It’s party time!’ and leap into a pool, holding a cup of Dudley’s iced coffee, and I just found a first edition copy of East of Eden in your bookshelf.”

  He grinned at me, shrugging. “Gotta give the people what they want.”

  “Do you?” I murmured, taking a long sip of the wine.

  “So, tell me about Yvette. What do you know? Tell me about her family. About her upbringing. Anything that might help…”

  Right. I was here to talk about Yvette. I took a deep breath and launched into what I knew. I’m loyal to Yvette, so it’s not like I was revealing her deepest, darkest secrets. Besides, telling someone that she preferred white chocolate to dark chocolate wasn’t the same as telling him that she had a heart-shaped mole on the top of her left butt cheek. Yes. I’d seen it. She was a model. She was constantly in and out of clothes in my presence.

  I told him about how she’d grown up in Swiss boarding schools and how she was entirely self-made. It seemed that, with each bit of information I gave, he seemed more and more interested.

  We talked for about a half hour before the lobster was ready. Burke didn’t bother going to his dining room table. He joined me on the other stool so that we sat shoulder to shoulder. He poured us both another glass of wine.

  “Where did you learn to cook like this?” I said, nearly passing out after my first bite of lobster. He’d cooked it perfectly and had splashed some of the wine into the butter sauce so that it was mellow and bright at the same time. The potatoes practically melted in your mouth.

  “My dad’s a chef,” said Burke. “He owned a restaurant in Santa Barbara. Hired me throughout high school as a sous chef.”

  “And you became a football player…”

  “I’m six-foot-seven and run like I’m at least a foot shorter. I’m better at football than I am at anything else. And I’m damn good at other things.” He winked. My heart fluttered.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?” I said. He nodded.

  “Why do you have a coffee table book that has forty-six nude photos of you?”

  Two glasses of wine had made me bolder than I might have otherwise been, and Burke blinked before opening his mouth and roaring with laughter. When he stopped, he looked up, his eyes still sparkling with amusement. “Doesn’t everybody have a coffee table book of nudes?”

  “Is it wrong of me to admit that I want to see them?” What was I doing? Oh my God! What was I doing?!

  “Please,” said Burke, smiling, and we moved to the living room. I sat on the couch, grabbing up his book and flipping it open to page one. Burke sat closer, and his presence overwhelmed me, making it hard to breathe.

  The first few photos in the book were ones that I’d seen before, shots that showed off both Burke’s sheer size and athleticism as well as his “happy idiot” public persona. But as I flipped through, I saw why most of these photos hadn’t made the magazine. In them, Burke was much more serious. His poses more threatening, more masculine, and more raw. Silence descended between us as I flipped through the photos, stopping on one in which Burke was posed like the famous Thinking Man statue. His head was rested in his hands, his muscles were bunched and enormous, and his tattoo was in full view, with its tree and its ravens. Wow.

  Beside me, Burke was still, but his presence was a force I couldn’t ignore. I looked up at him to see that he was looking at me curiously. As if seeing me for the first time.

  “I like this one,” I said, and I knew I sounded breathless. I watched his eyes track my tongue, and I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly very dry. I wanted to reach out and have another sip of wine, but I didn’t want to break the sudden, electric tension that charged the room.

  “That tattoo is one of the most magnificent things I’ve seen,” I said, needing to fill the silence somehow. “Can I see it?”

  Burke held my gaze as he nodded and unbuttoned his shirt one small white button at a time. He stripped it off and tossed his shirt on the ground. His white undershirt was sleeveless and stuck to the impressive ridges of his muscle. He turned, presenting his left arm to me so I could see the intricate detail of the tree and see the hunger in the ravens’ eyes as they circled. “What’s that?” I asked, looking at where there seemed to be an outline of a hanged man near the top of the tree.

  “That’s Odin,” said Burke. “A Norse god. He sacrificed himself to the Tree of Life in order to be able to see into the future.”

  He was so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath. His gaze was devouring me whole. I couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop myself as my hand reached out to trace the edges of his tattoo. He seemed to shudder slightly beneath my touch. Goosebumps rose beneath my fingers. I looked up in time to meet his eyes. Both of us stilled as a jolt of electricity seemed to arc between us.

  I don’t know which one of us moved first, but suddenly, we were on each other. I was half in his lap, his arms banded about me, his lips pressing against mine with bruising force. Oh God, the kiss was incredible. I’ve never been so hungry for someone.

  He stood, holding me tight to his chest and, free from the couch, my legs wrapped around him, our kiss deepening, our tongues tangling, and our teeth clashing in our frenzy. Oh God, I was burning up, burning from the inside out.

  Breath left me in a whoosh as I hit the wall, held there by his chest. One arm caged me in; the other wound into my hair, pulling it from its usual braid. My hips ground into his, and the bulge that met them was almost frightening. Oh God, I wanted him so badly. I whimpered into his mouth, and he seemed to growl somewhere deep in his chest.

  I nearly leapt out of my skin when something vibrated against my thigh. I gasped, breaking the kiss. Another vibration. Another. He looked at me, his lips raw. One eyebrow quirked in a question. It was my work phone. It was Yvette. Yvette – the reason why I was here tonight.

  I hauled in one more, steadying breath and then pushed away. Burke’s hand encircled my waist. He placed me on the ground and took a step back.

  6

  Burke

  Fuck, this girl knew how to kiss. She wrapped her arms about my head and sucked at my tongue as if to pull it right out of my mouth. I hadn’t been this hard for a chick in months, but there was something about Sarah – about that quick, almost mischievous smile, about those all-seeing eyes. And when she’d stroke
d my arm like that – fuck.

  I ravaged her mouth, reveling in the pure sex she promised as she ground against me in an unmistakable rhythm. This girl was going to be fire in bed. I could just tell.

  To be honest, the buzzing startled me as well. It was in her pocket, but it was right up against my junk, and it buzzed three times in quick succession. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on the girl. She pulled her face away, and I stared down at her, pleased as fuck over her bruised lips and over the wild expression in her eyes. But as her vision cleared, she pushed away, and I set her down, backing up to give her space. Oh. This was so not over.

  Sarah smiled apologetically and fished her phone out of her pocket. She stared at it a moment, looked suddenly troubled, and her fingers moved, sending a quick reply to whatever fucker had interrupted us. “Excuse me…” she said, smiling up apologetically, but her eyes didn’t reach mine. She turned and took a step away. Then she stopped and looked back helplessly. I motioned toward a door a few feet down, where the guest bathroom was, and she rushed toward it. She was clearly looking for a moment to compose herself. Hell, I guess we could both use a moment.

  I took a deep breath and reached down to adjust myself so that my jeans weren’t quite so painful against an enormous and raging erection. Damn. I had not been expecting that. I’d only meant to pick her brain a bit. I wasn’t one of those guys who took advantage of any woman who entered his apartment. For fuck’s sake, I had four sisters. But damn, Sarah was a neat little package: smart, pretty, and damn fit, with a flirty side and these eyes that promised to blow your mind…

  I stopped that train of thought because something was buzzing. My watch. I looked down to where my smartwatch indicated that I had a phone call coming in. Who was calling at this hour on a…Yvette? Yvette was calling. I moved quickly because I’d left my phone on the kitchen counter. Snatching it up, I hit talk.

  “Hello?”

  “Sauvage?” Yvette’s dark, sultry voice sounded just as sexy on the phone as it had in person. “I got your letter.”

  My letter? The letter I’d left. How could I forget leaving the letter? I’d left it all of three hours ago! I smacked myself on the forehead, eyeing the bathroom, but Sarah hadn’t emerged.

  “I’m glad,” I said. “I’m glad you called.”

  “It was beautiful. So eloquent and open. I’d like to see you again, I think. Maybe I was too quick to judge that first night, yes? When are you free?”

  She was asking me out. Yvette Delacroix was asking me out. Sarah picked that moment to walk out of the bathroom. She’d re-braided her hair and reapplied her lip gloss. She looked put-together, like we hadn’t just been this close to fucking.

  “Sauvage? Are you free tomorrow night?”

  “Tomorrow night?” I said, realizing I sounded like a moron, repeating her. Sarah paused a few feet away and smiled at me, looking completely at ease. She mouthed: Is that Yvette?

  Dumbstruck, I nodded. And she flashed me two thumbs up. Was she kidding? Weren’t we just about to…

  “Go for it,” she whispered. “She’s interested!”

  “Burke,” said Yvette on the phone, sounding a bit impatient. “Tomorrow night? Oui ou non?”

  “Yes, okay,” I said, staring at Sarah, looking for any hint of what she was thinking. But Sarah was heading over to where she’d dropped her purse. I had to talk to her. “Listen, I’ve got to run. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Anywhere you want to go?”

  “I’m flexible,” said Yvette. “Call Sarah, and she’ll help you set something up.” She hung up the phone.

  I placed my phone back down on the kitchen island.

  “Hey, that’s great,” said Sarah. “That must have been some letter.”

  “I guess,” I said. Was she kidding? Had she not just felt what I’d just felt? “Hey, listen, we should talk…”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I won’t tell her anything,” said Sarah, waving her hand as if the kiss had meant nothing. “It’s not a big deal. Dinner was delicious, thank you! I’ll get you a reservation at one of her favorite places. I’ll send you the info tomorrow morning.”

  “Um. Thanks,” I said, starting to walk toward her, but she’d already hit the elevator button. “Hey, listen, wait, you don’t have to leave…”

  “No, it’s late anyway, and I have to work early.” Sarah flashed me another smile. “Yvette’s great! You should go for it!”

  Go for it? The elevator dinged, and the doors opened.

  “See you around,” said Sarah, and the doors closed behind her.

  7

  Sarah

  I’m a terrible person, Roz.” I was on Roz’s bed this time, watching as she got dressed for dinner. Her boyfriend was a reporter for the Globe, and there was apparently a banquet he’d invited her to. Roz didn’t have the best taste in clothes, but I wasn’t going to tell her that her purple sequined gown made her look like a disco ball.

  “Sarah, you’re not terrible. They’re not even dating yet. It’s not like you were having an affair! You just kissed the guy.”

  I could still feel his kiss on my lips. Even two days later, it still burned. I could still feel the wall against my back, and whenever I thought about that bulge, pressing right at the very core of me. Fuck!

  “Yah. But I knew he was interested in Yvette. One glass of wine, and I’m Jezebel!”

  Roz rolled her eyes, sliding in her dangling silver earrings. “You’re hardly Jezebel, and he’s a grown-ass man. He invited you over to his place, he fed you lobster, and he kissed you. Stop feeling guilty. What I can’t believe is that you hooked him up with Yvette. What were you thinking?”

  “I panicked.” And I’d been second guessing it ever since. Yvette hadn’t been interested in him – but I was. And I swear he’d been interested in me.

  “No shit, you panicked.” Roz struck a pose in her mirror and then spun, going over to her desk and searching through the mess there for something she apparently thought she needed. I’m surprised Roz could find anything in this room. It was terribly cluttered at the moment. Roz was a teacher, and piles of paper were strewn about her desk. Her floor was barely visible through all the clothing she’d tried on and discarded. “Seriously, Sarah, where's your self-confidence? You like the guy, right? What makes you think that Yvette is better than you are?”

  “You want a list?”

  “Sarah…”

  “She’s worldlier, she’s more beautiful, she has more money, she’s a damn deal smarter, she’s entrepreneurial…”

  “I get it, I get it, you worship at the Delacroix shrine,” Roz grumbled and then smiled when she found what she was looking for: a silver cuff bracelet. “Calm down. Seriously, Sarah, you’re pretty, you’re smart, you’re creative, you’re kind…”

  “Roz, stop, I don’t need a pep talk.”

  “Well, not anymore,” said Roz. “It’s too late now…”

  My phone buzzed, and I stared at it, cursing. “It’s Yvette,” I said. “She just got a call from the Chanel people. I’ve got to go send some emails. Have fun tonight!”

  Roz frowned at me. “Don’t work too hard, babe.”

  The next day, Yvette breezed into the office at 9:30. It was late for her (she usually arrived closer to 8:00), which meant she’d been out late the night before. But she was wearing a change of clothes, so she hadn’t slept at Burke’s place. In fact, she looked casually gorgeous. She wore a pair of designer jeans and a black top with a fuchsia jacket that offset the dark richness of her hair.

  “How’d the date go?” I asked. I would have asked her anyway, even if it hadn’t been with Burke.

  “The Sauvage?” she said. “I like him.” She smiled at me. “I wasn’t so sure the first time. He seemed a bit… I don’t know. Dull. But we talked about art and about culture. He’s funny. Quick and dry. Very French humor,” she smiled. “I let some of the paparazzi take our picture when we left.”

  “Really?” That wasn’t normal. Yvette usually tried to avoid pa
parazzi. She liked to control her own image.

  “I want that loathsome Luis to see it. I want him seething with jealousy.”

  Oh God! Had she gone on the date with Burke just to make Luis jealous? That would have been a totally Yvette move. She wasn’t a bitch – but she’d grown up wealthy, and she wasn’t the most empathetic person alive. Some people called her rude; I just thought of her as matter of fact.

  “But you like him?”

  “I do, yes. He’s handsome in a rough kind of way. I’m going to convince him to grow a beard,” she smiled. “He’s invited me to the ring ceremony.”

  “The ring ceremony?”

  “Yes. They win some plate thing – bowl thing? – and they get rings. Sounds ridiculous, but he said that Paul Chapin is catering the event – which means the food will be good. And there’s the press. Becca Barnes is going, too – so I said I’d go.”

  The Super Bowl ring ceremony. Melancholy rose up suddenly. If I hadn’t pushed Yvette at him the other night, would Burke have invited me to the ring ceremony? Probably not. Men like Burke Tyler – wealthy, handsome football players – viewed women like me as expendable. I’d made that mistake before with some of Yvette’s famous friends. A famous photographer had flirted with me at one of her events, taken me out to dinner, and then back to his place. We’d had fun, but that had been all he was interested in. I’m not even a D-lister. I’m an assistant. One of Yvette’s friends had once described me as popcorn – delicious but forgettable. While Yvette had come casually to my defense, the comment had hurt, and it had stuck.