Show Stopper: A Single Dad Bodyguard Romance

by Amy Brent

  I spat that last sentence a bit more than I needed to, and his eyes whipped over to mine. For a split second, I saw something akin to guilt pass along his face, but it was gone before I could pinpoint it. The man with the tape measurer was dragging him off, and I turned my attention back to the fabrics in front of me, just so I didn’t have to look at him.

  I didn’t realize how angry I was at him for putting a stop to things until just now. He was going to look amazing in that suit, and another woman was going to get to take him home.

  And that woman wouldn’t be me.

  “Any particular color you’d like for your dress, Miss Meyers?” one of the designers asked.

  “Something dark. Like crimson or black. Maybe a nice hunter green?”

  “Oh, the hunter green would go wonderful with your hair and eyes. Give me a moment.”

  I tried on dress after dress, with none of them really suiting what I wanted. I felt too constricted in things that were form-fitting, but the flowing fabrics hung on me like I was a clothes hanger. I tried on twenty-two different dresses before the last hunter green dress came in, and of course, it had a champagne-colored bow that wrapped around the waist.

  “I know it’s lace, and I know you hate lace, but just try it. For me, hmm?”

  I took the dress from the fitter and slipped into it. The moment I got it to my shoulders, I knew it was the one for me. The full-length gown had a sweetheart neckline that flaunted the cleavage I had, without overstating it, and the bow wrapped around my waist cinched it in a bit before the fabric flared slightly and swished across the ground. I felt like a princess who had finally found the dress she had been looking for, and tears rose to my eyes when I saw myself in it.

  “You look marvelous,” the fitter said. “And that’s right off the rack. No hemming, no tailoring, no nothing. It was like it was made for you.”

  “What do you think about pearls with this type of dress?” I asked.

  “Hold on. I’ve got a set I know you’ll love.”

  He left the room, and I was left with my thoughts. Part of me wanted to rush out and tell the tailor to switch the color of the shirt, but part of me wanted to match him Saturday evening. I didn’t want him to be upset or think that I’d intentionally matched him in any way, and then my brain finally kicked back into gear. Why the fuck did I care anyway? I was paying for this shit, and I could wear whatever the fuck I wanted. If he didn’t like the tux after the party, he could burn it for all I cared.

  Fuck him.

  The fitter came back in with a dainty pearl necklace and dangling pearl earrings that were perfect. He slipped the necklace around my neck and fastened it before he held the earrings up beside my face. I reached back to pile my hair on my head before I settled on my purchase.

  “It’s perfect,” I smiled.

  “And it matches that beautiful bodyguard you’ve got standing out there. You’ll never guess what color tie and cufflinks he picked.”

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” I said.

  “Green! Oh, I can't wait to see the pictures, Miss Meyers. The two of you will be stunning.”

  Of course, this would happen. Of course, we would match. Of course, all this princess love story bullshit would rain down on me the moment he threw up the walls and said “no.” I got out of the dress and gave the fitter the jewelry before I told him to go ring me up. I reminded him that I was purchasing the tux as well and told him Thomas would try to pay if I wasn’t out there. I put myself back into my clothes and cleaned up my watering eyes a bit, settling my mind before I reemerged.

  And just like I thought, Thomas was arguing with the fitter up front.

  “She told me not to let you pay. I’m just doing what I asked.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Ring it all up, and put it on my account.”

  “Please, Bridget. Stop. I can get this.”

  “Thomas, for the love of everything, I can afford it. Just let me treat you to something. Just once. Think of it as repayment for breakfast.”

  “The cost of that tux could buy an entire third world country breakfast,” he said.

  At that very moment, I felt the need to spill it all. I had to physically bite down on my lip to keep myself from saying anything. This tug, deep within the pit of my gut, almost broke down the walls I’d erected around my conscious mind. I almost told him my secret, right there in the middle of the store downtown, just to get him to understand.

  Just to get him to see.

  But I knew it would send him running. Even as my teeth bit down into my lower lip, they knew what I knew. My secret would send him running so he could protect his daughter, and something inside of me wanted him sticking around as long as I could have him. He was protection, yes, but he was also company. He was a man I wanted to talk to as well as fuck. A man I wanted to get to know as well as explore. And even though the exploration was off the table, I still wanted to know him.

  To exist with him. To be in the same room as him.

  “Fine,” he said. “But, you’re not paying anymore for me.”

  “Then stop paying for me,” I said.

  “Here you go, Miss Meyers,” the fitter said. “I hope you enjoy your purchase.”

  “Thanks,” I said, smiling. “You ready to go?”

  I watched him walk to the door and open it for me before he looked up into my eyes. It was the second time I’d caught his gaze today, and my legs felt like pudding, standing in the middle of the store. It was as if his stare could evaporate the bones from my very body and leave me vulnerable and writhing on the floor where I stood.

  “After you,” he said.

  Chapter 10

  Thomas

  I told Bridget to just keep the tux with her before I went home that day. The shopping trip had been tense, and the quip she had made about me going home with someone else revealed to me a vulnerability in her mind that I hadn’t caught earlier. It never occurred to me that by telling her we couldn't go any further that I was somehow rejecting her beauty, and I didn’t want her to feel that way. It was simply unprofessional, that was all, but I had no issues with trying things out between us once this job was over.

  I wasn’t sure how I was gonna fix my mess up, but I needed to find a way to do it before her anger pushed me away. Then, I’d really be out of a job.

  The moment I pulled up into her driveway that morning, I had to get into her car. Bernie was racing down the road, tossing us all around the backseat. I looked over at Bridget, who was practically half asleep, her body being tossed around like a rag doll. I reached over and tried to pin her upright to the seat, but the moment my arm hit her across her chest, she snapped her eyes open. She grabbed my arm like she was frightened of something before she realized where she was, and for a brief second, she looked over at me with the look of a scared little girl.

  “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Ah, there’s a damn scene I gotta shoot,” she said. “This picky ass director wants a scene shot from a different angle before he pieces it together.”

  “How’s that sleep going for you?” I asked.

  “Better late than never,” she said.

  We pulled up to the studio, and I ushered her out of the car. She was stumbling with exhaustion, and I had to help her into the studio. When we got in, a couple of people whisked her away to hair and makeup. I was instructed that I couldn’t go back, but the director told me it was a pretty simple scene, so she wouldn’t be back there for long.

  I stood by the director and waited for her to emerge.

  “How do you wanna shoot the scene, director?” someone asked.

  “We’ve got all the angles except the broad overhead one. Set up a camera right above the bed and let them do it a time or two. That should be it.”

  “What kind of scene are they doing?” I asked.

  “It’s their sex scene in the movie. I’ve got every angle except the ones audiences always love, which is the top-down angle. Essentially, we hang a high definition camera
above the bed and alter the shadows with lighting while they fake orgasms for a while.”

  Oh, good god. I was about to watch her do a sex scene. Of course, that’s what it would be after all we’d experienced and done together already. Running my hand around my head, I sighed as I looked for her in the background. She emerged with nothing but a light pink nightgown on, with a sheer robe of the same color, and I felt my cock twitch in my pants.

  This was not going to be good.

  “All right, Meyers!” the director called out. “We aren’t taking this from the beginning. We’re going straight to the sex. Ben, sit on the bed like Meyers is delivering her last line. Meyers, be poised to take a step toward him before he pulls you to the bed.”

  The director climbed behind his camera and set up everything. Lights were flashing, and panels were up around the bed while he centered the camera and toggled with its lens a little bit. Then, when he was ready, he called action, and I watched this man pull her down onto the bed.

  I recognized him, Benedict Maraschino. Obviously, a stage name, but one that attracted the sexy party girls nonetheless. He had branded himself with a simple picture of a cherry and was a real party guy when he wasn’t shooting films. Now, he was kissing and rubbing his hands all over a woman I had tasted just a few nights ago.

  I cleared my throat and cocked my hip out while Ben slowly removed the nightgown from her body. Her tits popped out, uncovered, luscious, and full, just like my teeth had felt that night in the club, and my palms began to sweat. His lips were wrapping around those perfect nipples, pulling them taut before he nuzzled into their bounce. Bridget was raking her fingers through his hair and rolling her hips into his body, and suddenly, my cock sprang to life against the pants I was wearing.

  I felt my breathing become short while I tried to resituate myself, and I could see a few people staring at me oddly from the corner of my eye. I backed myself up from the camera and settled into the shadows, away from everyone’s prying eyes before I shoved my hand down my pants and pulled my pulsing cock up against my body.

  Soon, Bridget’s moaning and panting could be heard all across the studio, and Ben began to thrust into her while her tits bounced in his face. His lips were everywhere on her, and a twinge of jealousy bubbled in my stomach, and I had to bite down on my lower lip to keep from calling out to her. His hands planted beside her head, and her eyes screwed shut in fake ecstasy. It reminded me of how angelic she looked, coming all over my fingers in that bathroom stall this past weekend.

  I felt the tip of my dick begin to leak with desire for her, and I turned myself around before I repositioned myself in my pants again.

  “All right, let’s wrap it up,” the director called out.

  Bridget’s moans got louder, and I could hear Ben’s hips snapping against hers. The covers fell away from their bodies, and I could see the thin lining covering her pussy. I bet it was soaking wet and smelled of the scent I couldn't get out from underneath my nose. I bet that man had no idea how lucky he was to be in the position he was with her right now.

  I felt my balls starting to hang low with need, and I knew I’d have to take care of myself later, whenever I could pull away from her long enough.

  Their bodies fell to the bed, and the director called cut. I breathed a sigh of relief while Bridget gathered the covers and yanked them around her body. She stood to her feet and began looking around the room, and a bubble of pride welled in my chest when I realized she was looking for me.

  I stepped out of the shadows and raised my hand, and she came walking over to me while she had nothing but the sheet covering her naked body.

  Fuck.

  “So, how do you think it went?” she asked.

  “That was fucking hot,” I said.

  “Wait, seriously?” she asked. “That’s still okay for you to say?”

  “Bridget, what I meant with our conversation this weekend is that I think it’s unprofessional for us to have sex. I didn’t mean it as an attack on you, or that I didn’t enjoy myself, because I really did. But with me being under your employ, it just isn’t right. Not right now.”

  “I know, I know. And I’m sorry for the way I snapped at you in the store yesterday. It wasn’t right. I was just, I don’t know what I was, really. Crazy, I guess.”

  “Hey, everyone has their moments. But really, the scene was steaming. People are gonna love it.”

  “Did you love it?” she asked.

  “There’s a reason I stepped back into the shadows,” I said, grinning.

  “Yes! Perfect! All right, time for me to go get changed so we can get out of here, and you can get home.”

  The ride back from the scene was much more relaxing. We talked a bit about the party and what time she wanted me to arrive on Saturday, and then she launched into what the movie was about. It was a story about an assassin running from her past who falls in love with a man who helps her confront it head-on. I had to admit that it was a love story I’d probably go watch.

  “Well, if you’re my bodyguard long enough, you’ll just come to the premier,” she said.

  I got her safely into her home before I went to pick up Lacey. I was always excited to hear about how her days were going, especially since we had gone almost a full week to school without the teachers having to call me to come get her. She ran into my arms like she always did, and I swung her around, planting kisses on her cheeks while she squealed and tried to wiggle away from my grasp.

  “Daddy! That tickles!”

  “I’ve got you,” I said.

  “Daddy! Stop! I can’t breathe!”

  She was giggling so hard she couldn’t catch her breath, so I buckled her into her car seat, and we started home.

  “We didn’t get to go outside today because it rained.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. Did it rain for long?”

  “Just long enough to cancel outside time,” she said, pouting.

  “Well, what else did you get to do?” I asked.

  “Well, we got to play with paints! That was awesome, and I was really careful not to get any on my clothes. See?”

  She spread her arms out for me, and while I could see mustard stains from her sandwich, I saw nothing that indicated she’d spilled any paint on her.

  “Way to go, Lacey. I’m proud of you.”

  “And we played with blocks, and Leo and Tracy took a nap with me again. We kept giggling and playing with Cheerios while Mrs. Tottle wasn’t looking.”

  “Sounds a little mischievous,” I said. “You sure you shouldn’t be sleeping?”

  “I don’t wanna sleep! It’s less time to see my friends. We also played with dolls, too. Oh! And I cooked a pizza!”

  “You cooked a pizza, huh?” I asked. “Well, how does pizza sound for dinner?”

  “Best dinner ever,” she said.

  “So, would you say you liked your day today?”

  “Daddy, I loved my day today. Just like I love you.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

  We got home, and I promptly ordered the pizza. Extra cheese for my little girl and a three-meat for myself. We sat on the couch, and she told me about her day while showing me what she’d learned. She pulled out drawings where she had labeled her colors, and she showed me how she was learning to spell her name. I pulled her in for a hug and told her how proud of her I was.

  When she was younger, she had a developmental delay. Her speech had been very behind, and many of her preschool teachers didn’t think she would be ready for kindergarten on time. It broke my heart to watch children her age try to interact and play with her, only to walk away when they got frustrated that she couldn't talk. She spent night after night crying in my lap, and that was when I decided we were going to try a different route.

  We were going to make this work.

  I put up index cards that named everything in the house, and we worked relentlessly on sentences. I bought her a tablet and put educational games on there to reinforce the same things I was tryi
ng to teach her. Little by little, she started to catch on. Babbling became words, and words became choppy sentences, and soon, she had gone from not being able to talk at all to knowing her colors, numbers, and the entire alphabet before she started school.

  I was so proud of my girl, and she was doing it all without that pathetic excuse for a mother she was born to.

  The doorbell rang, and Lacey went running across the house. I’d never seen a child who loved pizza as much as she did, but when she got to the door, she waited for me to get there. I’d taught her to never open the door by herself, even if I was there with her, and it brought a smile to my face when I realized the rule had finally sunk in.

  I was protecting my little girl just like I needed to.

  “One small extra cheese and one small three meat,” the deliver guy said.

  “That’s us. Here you go. Keep the tip.”

  “Thanks, man,” he said. “Have a good evening.”

  We sat at the table and devoured our pizza while Lacey continued to talk about her day. I listened to her talk about a turtle the class would get and how awesome it was gonna be to pet its shell. She talked about how next week, they were taking their first field trip and that the paperwork was in her backpack, so I made a mental note to go through it after she had gone to bed. I watched my little girl eat almost her entire pizza, smiling with sauce all over her face.