Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  My fingers go to a scar on his right shoulder, then down to one on his bicep. I look into his eyes as my hands find the bullet holes one by one. I know there are sixteen of them, but my fingers only find the twelve on his upper body.

  I lean down and kiss the one that’s only inches above his heart. The one that left him dead for over a minute until they were able to bring him back to life.

  “Ssshhh,” he soothes me as I wrap my arms around him, hugging him tight. My lips find his and I cling to him, never wanting this moment to end. Not wanting him to leave tomorrow and head into more danger.

  He lays down, taking me with him and arches into me, making me gasp. I ride him for what feels like forever. My lips on his. Our bodies giving and taking. Until, finally, his tongue plunging into my mouth, he finds his release.

  Someone’s shaking my shoulder, the callused hand rough against my bare skin.

  “Cam. Time to get up. Your crew landed and will be in the hotel lobby in about half an hour.”

  I roll onto my back, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. I don’t remember falling asleep. The last thing I remember was lying on Tate’s chest as his cock withered inside me, listening to him breathe.

  “Come on, sleepy head.” He pulls one of my hands from my eyes. I blink and realize he’s showered and fully dressed. His hair is still a little wet. “Hop in the shower. I had room service bring up a pitcher of juice and some fruit. It should be here any minute.”

  When I don’t move, he swats my butt, then stands and moves to the living area of the room. “What time is it?”

  “Nearly seven. Their flights were delayed. Bad weather in the States. Security team is downstairs.”

  I can’t believe I slept so long. “Have you heard anything from Grace’s papaw?”

  He comes to the door of the room and gives me an encouraging smile. I slump in relief. “He’s doing well. Double bypass. They expect a full recovery if he’ll stay away from the fried chicken and biscuits and gravy.”

  My stomach rumbles at the thought and I realize I’m starving. I lick my lips. And dehydrated. I sit up. And sore as all hell.

  Tate Rodgers can do a number on a girl.

  Groaning, I slide to the edge of the bed and stand on wobbly legs. I pull the robe up my arms as a knock sounds on the door. A few minutes later, Tate walks to the bedroom, a glass of orange juice in his hand.

  “I don’t think I can walk,” I say as I lift the glass to my lips. It’s delicious and I’m so thirsty I drink until it’s completely gone. He’s grinning, chewing a piece of gum, the muscles in his jaw popping in and out. He looks pretty damn pleased with himself.

  “Does that mean we don’t get a round two later?” he asks and takes the glass from me, before pulling me close to his chest.

  To my amazement, desire flares through me. “Round two? It’s like round seventy-two for me. Do you know how many times I came? You were inside me for hours.”

  His grin grows. “I want to be inside you again. Maybe I’ll take your ass later.”

  Horror fills me at the idea and I push at his chest. “Hell no. No. No. No.” I point at his crotch. “Keep that thing away from back there.”

  His golden eyes seem to darken and he stalks me until I’m pressed against a wall. “Afraid?”

  I swallow. “Hell yes I’m afraid. It would be like sending the space shuttle through a wormhole.”

  He laughs and lets me go. “Hit the shower, cockatoo. I don’t think you want your team witnessing your bed head.”

  Alarmed, I waddle to the bathroom and yell, “asshole” at Tate and try to force my bangs to lie down. How in the hell did they get straight up like that? It’s worse than Cameron Diaz in There’s Something About Mary.

  “Asshole!” I yell again.

  An hour later, I’m sitting around the table with the rest of my crew eating dinner. It’s awesome to see all of them again. There’s one chair empty. Janine. I force my eyes away from it and the memories of this morning. Wow. Was it less than twelve hours ago that all that went down?

  Ryan is sitting across from me. He’s the tech guy who pieces everything together. Teddy is the director and will spend hours upon hours cutting up my work until most of it is on the cutting room floor. Cheryl is his wife and basically does whatever is needed. This trip, she’ll fill in for Janine. So far, no one has asked me where she is.

  The two-member security team is sitting at the end of the table. Tate was so pissed when he realized the team was so small. We’d ended up arguing and I’d defended my position, once again, of not using Black Shield for my security. The last time I’d used his company, Tate had micro-managed everything I did. I’d been so mad I fired them all and went with another company instead. But he was right. I’d never tell him, but I realize I should have hired at least four. I make a mental note to call the security company tomorrow and add a couple for good measure.

  I haven’t told Tate yet, but we always go dancing on the night before starting a shoot. My crew is young, in their mid-twenties and I enjoy hanging out with them, letting loose with my friends.

  So far, none of them have sold me out, but seem to genuinely like me as a person. Plus, I offer a kick-ass pay structure it would be hard pressed for them to find anywhere else.

  “Which club we hitting up?” Cheryl asks and I grin. I can feel the heat of Tate’s stare beside me.

  I don’t look at him, just answer, “I was thinking we’d check out Babylon.”

  From the corner of my eye, I see him lean forward, still staring at me. “Forget to tell me something?” he asks and gives my hair a little yank.

  I bat my eyes at him innocently. “Forget? No. I didn’t tell you on purpose.”

  Lifting one of the ribs he’s been eating, he rips off a large chunk of meat. He eyes me as he chews and I laugh. “Is that a threat?”

  He nods and rips off another bite, sucking the meat from the bone. I wrinkle my nose, but my stomach twists when he reaches over and rubs his thumb over my lower lip, spreading sauce across my mouth.

  My breath does something funny in my chest at the very unexpected display of intimacy. Tate’s never done anything like this before. Not in public. I lick my bottom lip, then my eyes fly open in surprise.

  I fan my mouth. Shit. It’s hot! Shit. Shit. Shit. Crazy hot. Insane. The man must have a stomach like a brick.

  I smack him with my napkin as I press my bottle of beer against my lips. The cold does nothing to sooth the burn. His face is blank, but the corners of his eyes are crinkled up. He swallows a drink of his beer. “That was on purpose too.”

  I smack at him again, but he only catches the napkin, then my wrist and pulls me close, whispering in my ear. “If we were alone, I’d kiss it and make it better.” He pulls away, but doesn’t release my hand.

  I look down to where our fingers are joined. His big one completely encompassing mine. His knuckles are scarred, his fingers beat up, the cuticles ragged. Working hands. Hard working hands that have done things I don’t want to know about for our country.

  Tenderness twists through me and I raise his hand to my lips. I’m going to miss him so much. It might have been better not to see him at all. A year. He’ll be gone nearly a year. I don’t know how wives and serious girlfriends do it.

  “Are we seriously going to a club or are you yanking my chain?” He dips a fry in ketchup and shoves it in his mouth.

  I lick my lower lip which is still pulsing with the sting of the sauce. “Absolutely going. Can’t wait to see your moves.”

  It’s funny. Over the two years I’ve known him, we’ve not gone on dates, not really. Out for a bite to eat. A walk on the beach. We’d go for a run or swim. But very little in public. Especially since the paparazzi haunts me back home and Tate’s face has ended up on a gossip rag a couple times. He wasn’t pleased.

  “I love your dress,” Cheryl says and I’m pulled into a conversation about shopping and the latest trends. Cheryl is more hippy chic than anything, with long maxi s
kirts and her hair tied back in scarves. She’s very pretty with long auburn hair and freckles covering most of her body.

  She’s a stark contrast to Teddy, who even now has his shirt buttoned all the way to the top. He’s very serious and she’s very laid back, but they somehow make a perfect couple. They’ve been married for a year and have been on this project from the beginning. In fact, they spent their honeymoon in Madagascar when we contrasted the citizens there.

  Ryan has been with me since the beginning too. I found him through an advertisement at the local college. He’s quiet, with a dry sense of humor that takes a while to get used to. He had been in a relationship with my former assistant, Chad. When they’d broken up, he and Chad had found it difficult to work together. So Chad quit and I’d hired Janine. And no, I apparently don’t learn from other people’s mistakes either.

  After we’d eaten, we head to Babylon and the thumping hot rhythm coming from inside. I slide the bouncer a hundred I’d bummed from Link and we’re ushered right in. The place is huge and crowded. I love it immediately.

  I’d read on their website that the music was crossover, offering everything from Salsa, Vallenato, Electronica and Reggaeton. I look up at Tate, wondering what it would be like to dance in his arms. I nearly laugh out loud. The probability of getting him off a bar stool is most likely very slim.

  Inside, we’re met by a concierge I’d book a VIP section with earlier. He bows politely and escorts us to a terrace area overlooking the dancefloor. “Can we have a couple pitchers of margaritas?” I ask him and we’re soon toasting to the beginning of what we hope to be a productive and world enlightening segment of the documentary.

  The music turns from Electronica to something Spanish and driving, drawing us to the dance floor. “Come with me,” I shout to Tate and he just raises his eyebrow and lifts a beer bottle to his lips. I pout at him, but don’t push and allow Cheryl to pull me down the stairs and Ryan to twirl me into a dance.

  God, I’m still sore, especially in my thigh muscles and hips. But I ignore my body’s protest and move easily to the music. I look up and my breath catches as I watch Tate watching me. I feel his eyes glide down my body as I swing my hips to the driving beat. I smile up at him as arms come around me from behind. It’s Ryan and I lean back into his chest, goofing off with him like usual. But there’s a dick in my back, grinding into me and I quickly realize I’m mistaken. I pull away and turn, but am hauled into the arms of a greasy looking stranger.

  I push back and the guy doesn’t let go. “Baila conmigo, hermosa,” he says and wraps a hand around my waist.

  Before I can tell him I’m not interested, his eyes open in surprise and the arm that was gripping my back is gone. He sinks to his knees and Tate steps beside me, the man’s hand in his grip. “Lo siento,” he grinds out of a mouth twisted in pain.

  “Tell that to the lady,” Tate says and bends the man’s wrist harder.

  “Lo siento. Lo siento.” The man is nearly screaming his apologies.

  I pull at Tate’s arm. “It’s okay. Let him go. He didn’t hurt me.”

  Tate lets go and turns on me. “Where’s your fucking security?”

  I look around and finally see the two men coming in my direction. Before I can say anything, Tate is on them, bitching them out. I turn away and find Cheryl, not wanting to watch the ass chewing he’s giving them.

  “Are you okay?” Cheryl asks and I nod, but I’m really not. Then a camera flashes in my face.

  I’m blinded momentarily and then blinded again as another camera flash goes off. “It’s her!” Someone I can’t see is screaming and grabs my arm. Flash. Another bright light goes off and I cover my eyes, trying to battle through the blindness.

  “Can I have your autograph?” I nod, trying desperately to smile at whoever asked the question.

  “Tu vestido es hermoso.” I thank whoever complimented my dress.

  “Will you take a picture with me?” Before I can say yes, a female arm slinks around my waist and I smile automatically, hoping I’m looking toward a camera.

  Still blinking rapidly, I feel an ink pen thrust into my hand and I sign a cocktail napkin, unable to believe this is happening in South America. I don’t even know why these people think I’m special. I’m not a Kardashian for shit’s sake.

  “Tu hermano esta aquí?” a woman to my right asks. I shake my head. No, my brother isn’t with me. My eyes have finally adjusted, except for the little spots in my vision here and there. I see her look of disappointment, then her eyes look up at something over my head.

  Strong hands settle on my shoulders and Tate asks, “Ready to leave?”

  I nod and the group around me groans, begging me to stay, offering me drinks. I get pulled into some hugs and I don’t resist, just hug back as if these people are my friends. Those pictures will be posted online with one of two captions. They will either say: Met Camille Duffy #awesome or Met Camille Duffy #bitch. Or some variation of the two.

  After several minutes, I smile and wave a final time, bitterly disappointed with having to leave. I look around for the crew and find them waiting for me by the door. I beg them to go back in, to stay and have fun. They finally agree and Tate assigns the security team to stay with them, ordering them to be outside my room at eleven the next morning.

  Then he takes my hand and leads me to the door as a few other camera flashes go off. I smile and wave. Wave and smile. The story of my life.

  I know. I know.

  Boo hoo hoo.

  Chapter Nine – Tate

  Pulling Camille behind me, I ignore the flashes of the camera but silently curse as I know I’ll end up on some damn magazine or trending on some dumb ass Twitter account. I wonder what the headline will be this time. The last one shouted the question: Is Billionaire Heiress Banging Her Buff Bodyguard?

  People are dying. Children are starving. And people actually give a shit about something like this. I worry about our world. Really worry. Really really worry.

  If it’s not drugs, it’s mindless entertainment. From what I’m able to tell, they’re equally addictive.

  “I’m sorry,” she says and is practically running beside me. I slow my pace so she doesn’t have to work so hard.

  “Has that happened before? Outside the States I mean.”

  She shakes her head and steps into the cab I flag down. I step in right behind her.

  “No, I’m usually a complete unknown.” She pushes her bangs out of her eyes and behind her ear. “It’s one of the reasons I only go out in other countries.”

  It was strange. One minute, Camille was like anyone else in the crowd and the next, she was being assaulted from every direction.

  “Check your purse.”

  She frowns and grabs for the tiny silk bag on the thin silver chain she’d worn across her chest while she’d been dancing. She tugs the zipper open, and pulls out a lipstick. Then she pulls out a compact and a credit card in Link’s name. Finally, out comes a stack of hundreds Link had given her before he left. Then the keycard to her room.

  She looks up at me. “Nothing’s missing.”

  Relaxing a bit, I curl an arm around her shoulders and she settles in close while the driver navigates the traffic. “You think I should cancel the shoot, don’t you?” she asks me quietly, her fingers tracing up and down my thigh.

  “Yes,” I say without hesitation.

  She sighs and nods. “Will you hate me if I don’t?” Her fingers stroke higher. “I’m going to hire a couple extra security guys and wait to enter La Sierra until they arrive.”

  “That’s good to know. By the way, I could never hate you. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

  She giggles, a sound that reminds me of a little girl.

  “And hiring extra security is a wise decision. Where did you get those bozos anyway?”

  She stiffens, then relaxes, her hand continuing its journey up and down my thigh. “They aren’t that bad. They might not look like you, but I was assured they’re fully capable and wi
ll be an asset because they’re familiar with the area.”

  “And you did a background check on them?”

  She stiffens again. “Of course I did.”

  She’s lying. I can tell by the way her breathing changes.

  “Camille.” I draw out her name, anger punching me in the gut.

  “Tate.” She draws mine out right back. “I’m a business woman. I have it covered, I promise. Two more will arrive tomorrow and until then, I’ll stay in the safe zones. Everything will be fine.”

  My balls tighten. I don’t like this. “Just in case, let’s send their information to Deakins and let him run a check. If they don’t come out clean, I’ll send some men down. You wouldn’t have to worry about things like this if you’d let me take care of you.”

  She pulls away. “You mean micromanage me.”

  Fuck. This argument again.

  Before I can shout at her, we arrive at the hotel and I pay the driver and step out of the cab. She struggles to get out without exposing herself in the tight little dress she’s wearing, but finally wiggles out, taking my hand until she’s on her feet. I expect her to stomp off. Instead, she links her fingers with mine and says, “Let’s not argue. I don’t want our last night to be ruined.”

  I growl at her and she just rolls her eyes.

  “Oh stop it. I’m not afraid of you, you know.” Then she changes strategies. “I tell you what. Dance with me when we get to the room.” I go to protest and she hurries on. “Just one dance. And I’ll give you their contact information for a background check.” She sticks out her hand. “Deal?”

  I hesitate, then clasp her palm. “Deal.”

  The smile she gives me is so genuinely happy and so beautiful, I can understand how a man would want to do anything he could to see it more often. Her eyes sparkle as she turns on her heel and pulls me behind her.

  She wants to dance? I’ll dance with her and then I’ll fuck that smart little mouth. I watch her hips sway and hope she isn’t too sore because then I plan to fuck the rest of her. All. Night. Long.