Theirs to Risk: A Forbidden Bodyguard Novel (Fame & Fortune Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  "Stand," he commands and I do, my body reacting to his words without question. "Surya Namaskar, four reps, follow me."

  And just like that he sweeps his arms above his head and folds at the waist and I follow him every inch of the way.

  I struggle. It’s not easy. My mind is like a wayward child in a sweet shop. But every time I lose concentration and my poses collapse, Blake stands and comes to my side, using those strong hands to urge me into the right position. His calm authority soothes me and even the cheerleader with the urge to kiss him is finally quiet as I manage to work through the practise. At the end, when he’s walked me through a meditation we lay on the floor, silently watching our chests rising and falling in time.

  For five beautiful long moments, I’m free of all cravings and I soar above the room, my soul released from the hunger deep inside.

  But as I watch his face: the smooth line of his nose, the wide lips I’ve wanted to kiss more than any others, the eyes that can still a room with their blinding brilliance, all I want to know is what he’s thinking and what he thinks of me now he’s seen me this way.

  Chapter Nine

  Blake

  "I can use my key?" I offer the bronze key attached to the Jeep’s remote. I’m taking ownership of that car. There's no way I’m riding around in a Town Car for the immediate future, and I’m guessing my old BMW is long gone.

  "I’ve got this, thanks." She unlocks the security bolt and the door pushes open. We both stand on the doorstep, hesitation running between us.

  Things feel different post yoga. She changed just during that one practise—I felt the snap of her concentration as she locked away the cravings, even if only for a short while. The air of vulnerability emanating from her as she’d struggled through the poses had twisted my guts.

  The yoga was hard. She fought the calm of the mind the whole routine; repeatedly I had to remind her to focus on her breath. She wanted to fight me and her fiery resistance had zapped across the space between us like a burst of electricity, but she also wanted to forget, to breathe without the ache—and she did, eventually. I’m not going to lie; I’m a proud bastard that I was the one who could give her that.

  "How did you learn this?" she’d asked. I knew she would. I’d just revealed a huge part of myself, and Sophia wasn’t the type of person to not ask a question.

  "Uh," I’d continued to breathe in and out with my movements, "I went travelling to India and learned there."

  Her eyes had snapped onto my face. "India, you?"

  I’d pulled her focus back onto the practise but I knew her questions were simmering under the surface.

  Sure enough, we are stepping through the door to the condo as she rounds on me. "India, Blake? How come I didn’t know this before? Or is this where you’ve been the last five years?"

  "Don’t be daft, Soph." I drop my keys onto the glass bowl on the hallway table. "I’m a grown man. I have to work otherwise there’s a limit on my funds." At my words her eyes skim over my body as if she’s searching for evidence of anything else I may have been up to the last five years. Maybe I should tell her I’ve been sulking and working boring as fuck jobs to keep my mind off her… or maybe not.

  I allow a small smile to form on my lips. "Does it surprise you I went to India?"

  "Yes. You seem so, uh, sensible." She shakes her head as if trying to get the information to sit right in her brain. "I know nothing about you, though, not really."

  We watch one another.

  Knowing I can surprise her makes me smirk, despite me trying to keep my face still. I like the fact I can do that. Davies can help steer her career; her mother can keep her in the limelight while she gets back on her feet, but only I can surprise her with facts about myself.

  I can teach her how to relax and recover. I own that. It’s mine.

  At the thought of owning any part of her, my blood pulses in my veins stirring my body to life.

  I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth like I’m still in the middle of practice, the effect she has on me is insane. "Some stuff happened back when I was young, back before I came here to work with you, and in the fall out I went travelling. I found myself on a beach after a party and when the sun came up a group of old people came along and began their sun salutations. There was something so peaceful about it, so I asked them and they directed me to a yogi." I’ve told no one this. Even my own family don’t know. If I told them, I would be laughed out of town. Yet, I can tell her. Strange.

  "A yogi?" her voice is full of barely masked disbelief.

  "Yeah, I spent six months there, learning." I should stop talking, with every word I’m blurring the professional lines between us. Didn’t you do that when you touched her, breathed with her, took her to yoga?

  "And then what?" She’s going to explode with questions, her eyes are wide like a deer's and it makes me want to grin like a schoolboy. I don’t.

  The space between us seems to shrink, although we are both rooted to the spot, still stood in the hallway, still suspended in time. "And then I came back."

  "And?"

  I hold her eyes. "And then nothing." I don’t want to share what comes next, the way I walked away from my problems and found my way into a bigger one by working with her.

  Her face folds into a scowl at my rebuke but I’m not going to do the caring and sharing shit with her. That’s not what this is about. I’ve already told her too much.

  Really, I should walk away, put some space between us, but I don’t. I twist the questioning and fire one right back at her. "What was rehab like?"

  She offers a dry laugh but when she looks up, meeting my questioning gaze, she looks very much like the little girl I used to know. "Hard."

  I nod. "Rehab is hard," I say—again giving away too much. “If rehab was easy everyone would do it, but it’s surprising how many people never make it to the full ninety days. How do you feel now?"

  "Better thanks. That was hard in the yoga… studio." Her face crinkles as she tries to describe the out of the way space I’d located for her to practise in privacy. Studio come jungle, it could be described as either.

  Finding such a place hadn’t been easy, not with limited time on my hands. There isn’t anywhere private in Hollywood and the places that are, aren’t the sort of areas you take a world famous young actress to.

  "You did well," I tell her.

  I freeze to the spot as slow realisation dawns.

  We are talking.

  Really talking, and I want it to feel wrong. I want it to feel like it did with that boring CEO on my last job, but it doesn’t. Instead it’s the most natural development in the world, like two old friends meeting up after an absence. Except, Blake, you twat, you aren’t old friends, you are client and protector and she is still eight years younger than you.

  Still, I carry on talking, "Although it looked painful. You’re as flexible as cement."

  She pauses, her face pensive before she switches the conversation in an unexpected direction. "I’m not calling the numbers on that phone, Blake." Her comment comes from nowhere and I stand there with my head tilted as I work out a response. It’s because she feels the familiarity between us too. She’s talking to me like a friend. I can’t have that.

  I shrug, moving away, breaking our suspended connection with a snap. As I head wordlessly towards the kitchen area.

  My stomach growls; it’s been a long day and I’m hungry and clearly losing my mental sharpness so I raid the grocery supplies I filled the empty cupboards with. Sophia stands in the hallway, a small figure, watching me walk away. When I turn from my vantage point in the open plan kitchen, she’s slunk off to her room, the door shutting with a click behind her and I feel like a bastard for slamming shut the door between us when I was the one who forced it open in the first place.

  We’ve been home for hours when she skulks back into the living room. I’m flicking through news channels bored out of my fucking brain. I’ve consumed the healthy food in the building and
I'm now munching on snacks. She flops past me onto the couch and picks up the bag of corn chips I’ve been shoving in my face. All this sitting around, waiting for her to come out of her room is going to dull my edge if I’m not careful.

  "I ache so bad. What did you do to me?" she asks, rubbing her slender thighs with kneading fingers. She’d walked into the room with her legs flung out at straight angles like planks of wood. I’m not going to lie. I smirk. A great big smearing smirk.

  Shaking my head, I mutter her a "pathetic" which sends her elbow flying for my ribs. "Do you want to choose?" I wave the remote at her, my eyes streaking along the tan length of her legs as she groans and tucks them up onto the couch under her arse. She grabs the remote and flicks straight for a cartoon channel. "Seriously?" I ask. "How am I supposed to keep abreast of current affairs?"

  "Abreast? Since when does one speak like that?" Her gaze wanders carelessly over my face and down my chest. I’m back in my suit and for once I’m glad. It’s like a suit of armour and I can protect myself from deep within its seams and stitches from her probing gaze. "Less chance seeing some gossip or headline if I’m on this channel." She points at Tom and Jerry with the remote control.

  Shaking my head, I try to comprehend what it must be like to feel that exposed at twenty-two years old.

  She turns her attention towards the television. "Is this how it’s going to be from now on, you and I sitting around watching telly like two long lost friends?" Her face remains forward even though I cast a sidelong look to catch her muted expression.

  We can’t be friends. I won’t allow it. "I’ve searched the condo." I wave my hand at the small space. "There’s nothing to do here, apart from drag out the dusty gym equipment hidden under the beds, so unless you want to go out someplace," I shrug, "I guess television and cartoons it is."

  I’m not exaggerating here. There is nothing in the apartment, it’s bare. Sparse would be a generous term. I’m just thankful there’s a sofa to plant my arse on.

  "And remind me again what you’re protecting me from? Apart from falling head first into the medicine cabinet."

  I snigger even though I don’t want to. She’s got a quick humour—how come I’ve forgotten that about her? "You are so dramatic."

  "It’s my job." She sneers a little and that dangerous familiarity steals back between us, turning dazzling spotlights on what would otherwise be stilted conversation. "These are so disgusting." She thrusts the packet of chips in my direction.

  "Hey, they are from your cupboard." Chips scatter over my legs and I brush at the crumbs. Orange streaks stain the black of my trousers.

  She grabs the packet back, searching the print on the Doritos before giving a dramatic sigh of relief. "Thank God. I thought I’d destroyed my taste buds with hard drugs, these are just out of date."

  I drop the redundant bag of chips onto the table and settle back on the sofa. She’s unnervingly close. Is she doing it on purpose? Or have I moved closer to her?

  "When can I add a number to my phone?" She rolls her eyes. "Is there a length of days I have to be a good girl before you’ll let me talk to anyone but those four numbers you programmed?"

  She is so ridiculous at times.

  I stiffen though. "Whose?" Silently I beg it isn’t his. I still blame Johnny Fairweather for the night that made me leave. The night I crossed the line and went too far, straying from professional to obsessed. But then in the back of my mind is the question mark hanging over the night which resulted in Sophia going to rehab. I don’t know the details. Erica hadn’t shared, and nor would I want her too, and Sophia still hasn’t told me what had happened—not that I’d expect that, not really. All I know is what the press reported. That he was there, and together they’d taken it too far.

  Still. Didn’t she tell me earlier their relationship was only for the camera? I can just about handle that. How I’ll cope with them filming together the following day is anyone’s guess. Hopefully the knobhead won’t give me a reason to punch him again.

  "I made a friend at rehab," she says shifting uncomfortably as if she has ants crawling on her skin. "I’d just like to stay in touch that’s all."

  Reluctantly, I turn to face her, cringing a little because I know she’s going to be pissed with my answer. "I don’t think that’s a good idea right now." Her face falls. "I’m sorry," I add but I know my lame apology won’t mean much.

  "Why? Why do you get to decide?" All her humour is wiped from her face, until she’s glaring at me through narrowed eyes, an angry kitten ready to pounce. “What if I just go ahead and ring anyway, regardless of your good advice?"

  "You won’t be able to, I’ve put a lock on it.” I sigh and rub my legs. I’m coming across like a total bastard. Beyond bastard—complete and utter twatish arsehole. “I’m just trying to help, Soph. You need to be away from all temptation, and if your friend is still going through the programme, it would make it real again for you." I knew this. Rehab could be a vicious cycle if you didn’t take your own achievements for your own and leave others to create theirs.

  I don’t explain. I bite down on my bottom lip.

  Her mouth falls open. "Away from all temptation? Half of those guys on the GMA set were high. If you’re here to protect me from temptation, I don’t think you are doing your job quite right." Her cheeks colour a rosy red and she thrusts her hands under her thighs. "What do you know about it, anyway? Why should I even be listening to you?"

  With the snap of an elastic band, all the calm, the familiarity slowly weaving around us whether I want it to or not, vanishes. I scowl. GMA hadn’t been my idea. I would never have allowed her to do that.

  I’m about to retort when the doorbell rings and we spring apart. Stalking for the door, I take my frustration out on the floorboards, stomping like a child. Davies leans against the door frame, looking like a lion who's just ripped the back leg off a gazelle. How the hell did he know about this place? Didn’t she say nobody except the driver knew? Erica. "Hey, hey, hey." He pushes straight past me and makes his way to the sofa, lowering himself into my space. I glower in response, a Neanderthal greeting. "Disturbing something, am I?" he asks, his eyes flickering in my direction with a questioning slant. He’s technically about five inches too close to her for my liking and I curl my hands into fists when I see her recoil from his presence.

  "How’s my favourite star?" The guy oozes grease. Even his hair is oiled and slick, his clothes just a fraction too tight, a step too close to the wardrobe of a sleazy pimp.

  She grimaces in response to his schmooze and my lips quirk. I hide it behind the most ferocious glowering glare I can rustle up.

  He ignores her, his fingers and hands fidgeting. "That was a great interview, Fee." Fuck I want to punch him when he calls her that nickname. Her eyes flicker to mine, sensing the waves of hostility rolling off me. "Twitters on fire, babe," he tells her, oblivious to the lack of response he’s getting from her. She hasn’t spoken a word to him yet, but he’s still conducting a full conversation. Grumbling, I walk my way to the kitchen area. "Coffee would be great, Henderson," he calls in my direction.

  Does he want a punch? I can easily oblige. I don’t make fucking coffee.

  Unless it’s for her, and that’s, well, different.

  "What do you want, Davies?" Sophia interjects before I can pace five steps across the living space and connect my curled fingers with his nose.

  "It’s time for lunch, babe. Come on get your glad rags on." He drums his hands on his knees. He doesn’t stop twitching. Yoga would be lost on him. Good, that’s my thing to do with her.

  She shakes her head, fear sparking in the depths of her pale blue orbs.

  Stepping up, I square my shoulders into his space. "She’s not going to lunch. Lunch was hours ago, and we had a McDonalds." There’s way too much territorial alpha aggression in my tone. It rumbles out of my chest like a caveman. He raises one sleazy eyebrow. My arms fold and instinctively move like a shield. Just in case he makes a grab for her and whisks her to
a bistro from under my nose.

  Davies looks up at me, his gaze shuttering slowly like a snake. "Listen, Henderson. I don’t know why you’ve been rehired. Sophia isn’t under any threat now, but you need to stay out of her business. You fucked everything up before and we don’t need you doing it again now."

  Stunned, I blink in surprise. He doesn’t know about the letters. My surprise can only last so long before I want to rip his head off and shove it up his arse.

  Sophia speaks first, stopping my rage driven path. "And I don’t know why she rehired you."

  He turns to her, his body relaxed, mocking almost. "Babe, you better be glad she did. The Stein Brothers want to see you in…" he glances at his watch. "An hour."

  Without waiting for agreement, he stands, grabbing a handful of chips from the bag on the coffee table. Bastard. They are my stale chips. "I’ll send a car. Leave the bodyguard help at home. He cramps your style, he always has."

  He stalks for the door, not giving either of us a backwards glance, chuckling away to himself. He likes this, having her weak and pliable. He’s a sick motherfucker if ever there was one.

  "I hate him." I spit my words as soon as the door clicks shut. "Your mother is deranged if she thinks him being around is healthy for you. He was strung out before, it was obvious. He probably still is now."

  She nods, her face guarded, her bottom lip dragging between her teeth as she worries the skin there. She doesn’t seem surprised by my observation. It clicks with clarity. It was Davies that got her hooked.

  A burning current of uncontrollable anger races through my veins. "Holy fuck, I’m going to kill him."

  Propelling myself forward I run for the door, yanking with all my strength. I launch like a missile of destruction down the pathway, determined to find him so I can destroy his smug face and jittery hands.

  "Hey." My hand catches his shoulder and I yank him, his feet flying from under him as if he’s on ice.