by Molly Joseph
She laughed and shook her head. He pushed past Franz, holding up a hand when the man released a string of irritated German.
“We need to go,” he said to Lola. “Say goodbye to your friends.”
Instead she gripped Hans and Franz’s hands and dragged them along with her as they made their way to the quieter lobby of the club.
“Come on, Ransom,” she whined. “It’s so early.”
“It’s the opposite of early, and you have to perform tomorrow. I mean, today.” He scowled down at his watch, then grabbed one of the security guys and asked him to hail a cab.
Lola huddled with her German studs, her eyes bright and flirtatious. They stroked and fondled her, spellbound. Ransom had to resist the urge to swat their hands away. At last the manager gestured from the door.
Ransom tapped Lola on the shoulder. “Come on. Ride’s here.”
She popped up along with her fondlers, and brought them with her toward the exit. Toward the taxi. Ransom stepped in front of the car door before they could slide in.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No extra passengers.”
“It’s okay, Ransom,” Lola called from inside. “You can sit in front. We’ll sit in the back.”
“They’re not getting in the car. We’re leaving.”
She looked out at him like he was an idiot. “They’re coming with me. They’re coming back to the hotel.”
“Like hell they are. No.”
The taxi driver watched without comment, his dark eyes bugging behind black-framed glasses. Lola pouted and reached for the men. “They’re coming back with us,” she insisted.
“They’re not coming back with us,” Ransom replied in a calm, patient, and very firm voice. “They’re going back inside the club, and you’re returning to the hotel to go to bed.”
Hans and Franz exchanged tragic glances. Ransom jerked his head toward the nightclub’s door. “Leave. Go back inside. Not tonight, fellas.”
Lola grabbed their hands and spoke to him through clenched teeth. “I don’t think you understand. They’re not leaving. They’re coming back to the hotel to have some fun with me. I have needs, you know. You can wait out in the hall if you like.”
He could wait out in the hall? Disbelief transformed to something more like fury. She thought he’d wait in the hall while she cavorted with these two complete strangers in his hotel room? “I don’t think you understand,” he said, aware that a dozen or more people were watching this sordid exchange. “No one is coming back to the hotel with you.” He said it slowly, with dire emphasis. “No one. Tell your boys goodbye.”
She must have seen something in his eyes that finally convinced her she wasn’t going to win this battle.
“Fine,” she yelled. “Fuck you.” She turned to the Teutonic wonders. “Good fucking night. It was nice meeting you.”
She ducked back into the cab and slid across the seat as he entered behind her. “Fairmont, bitte,” he said to the driver, giving him the name of the hotel.
The cab eased into traffic as Lola seethed beside him. “You’re such an asshole,” she said. “You’re so joyless and horrible. I hate you. I fucking despise you.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
She turned to him, ready to attack. He grabbed her hands before she could hit him. “Don’t. Ever,” he said, and he meant it. “Calm the fuck down.”
“I can’t calm down. I don’t want to calm down. You’re going to deny me sex when you’ve already taken away my drugs? How am I supposed to have fun?”
“You seemed to have plenty of fun tonight without the drugs. Now it’s time to get some sleep.”
“I won’t be able to sleep, you stupid ass bodyguard. I’m fucking horny as shit and you just double cock blocked me.”
He glanced at the cabbie, who was pretending not to listen to the drama in his backseat. “Keep it down, okay? You’re going to be embarrassed about this in the morning. Show some self-respect.”
“Self-respect?” She looked like she was about to combust. “I wanted to fuck those guys. They were fucking hung.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they were rubbing their erections on me for the last half hour.”
“Oh, that’s classy, Lola.” She flabbergasted him. He didn’t know what to say. “You seriously thought I’d allow you to bring those two guys, who you’ve never met before, back to the hotel room?”
“You could have waited outside!”
“Forget the whole waiting outside thing. It’s never going to happen. I’m your bodyguard. Strange, foreign men alone with you in a hotel room? Not a fucking chance.”
“What am I supposed to do for sex?”
He had to hand it to the cabbie for keeping a straight face. “Use those toys I saw in your luggage,” Ransom said. “They’re safer.”
“Fuck you.” She turned away from him, blinking at the back of the seat. “Are you seriously telling me I can’t have sex the entire rest of the tour?”
“I’m saying you can’t pick up strangers in nightclubs and bring them to our hotel room.”
“Who else am I going to have sex with?” She turned back to him, her cheeks flushed with vitriol. “Maybe you should fuck me, Mr. Bodyguard, since you just dismissed my perfect chance at two big, fat, delicious co—”
He held up a hand to silence her. “No. That’s enough. You’re not allowed to talk to me that way.”
“Who’s going to stop me?”
“You’re going to stop yourself, because you’re screaming at me like a jonesing crack whore, and it’s uncomfortable for everyone in this car. Enough.”
She subsided. He expected her to, because he’d used his mean bodyguard voice, and it was no-nonsense.
She turned instead to the window, her fingers tapping against her knees. After ten blessed seconds of silence, she started up again, only quieter this time. “Any woman who enjoys sex must be a whore, right?”
“I didn’t say you were a whore. I said you were screaming like a crack whore, which is the truth.”
“Those guys were hot.”
“They were strangers. It’s not safe.” He put a finger under her chin so she’d have to stop fuming and look at him. “And for the record, I don’t ever want you to talk to me about other guys’ cocks again, especially about how fat and delicious you imagine them to be. Do you understand? Have some respect.”
“I don’t respect you. I’ll never respect you.”
“I’m talking about respect for yourself.”
That shut her up all the way back to the hotel, although he began to think her ranting and raving was better, since it distracted him from inconvenient thoughts. Who else am I going to have sex with? she’d asked. Maybe you should fuck me, Mr. Bodyguard.
If he wasn’t her bodyguard, and she wasn’t his nutso client, he would have been happy to assuage her rampant horniness. But that wasn’t possible. Aside from the fact that he’d probably break her if he fucked her the way he wanted to, there would be the messy emotional aftermath. He knew with a sixth masculine sense that her aftermath would be crazy. Batshit, atomic crazy. He’d dealt with enough craziness in his career.
He didn’t need or want it in his personal life.
*
Once again, Lola found herself standing in the shower, staring at a stranger’s fucking toiletries. A cock-blocking stranger who’d lectured her like he was her dad, although her dad had never lectured her like that. Where did Ransom get off?
Ugh. She needed to get off.
And it wasn’t happening tonight.
She’d tried. She’d attempted to rub one out in the shower, but his dumbass shampoo was staring her in the face, making her go cold.
She couldn’t go on like this. At the very least, they needed to move to a suite, so she could escape into the privacy of her own space, and not just the privacy of a long, hot shower. Greg would have to help her convince the tour producers. If he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, she’d have to beg them herself.
&nbs
p; She finally gave up on trying to find release in the shower, and shut off the water with a string of oaths, the nastiest ones she could think of. Because he was out in the room, she had to dress in the steamy, humid bathroom. Either that, or parade naked in front of him. She considered doing it, just to make him as blue-balled as he’d made her, but in the end, she couldn’t scrape up the courage.
She pulled on her pajamas and the long fleece robe she was glad she’d packed, even if it took up a lot of room in her suitcase. She’d brought it because hotel rooms were sometimes cold.
And sometimes infiltrated by asshole strangers.
When she opened the door, she found Ransom stretched out on top of his bed in a worn tee and dark gray sweatpants. It was the first time she’d seen him without the suit and tie. He looked more like a regular man, which was unsettling. She wondered if he was married, even though he didn’t wear a ring. Jesus, she’d screamed at him about fat, delicious cocks. She’d screamed that he had to fuck her.
No, not exactly. She hadn’t exactly said that, but she’d been thinking it.
She was still kind of thinking it now, but that was just because of frustration and horniness. Ugh.
She put on some hand cream and went to her bed. Ransom ignored her, flipping through the local TV channels, and she was grateful for it. She slipped off the robe and got under the covers, pulling the sheets up as far as she could without smothering herself.
“Going to sleep?” he asked.
“Yes.” God, yes, I don’t want to stay up and spend time with you, you cock-blocking asshole.
He turned off the TV and got out his laptop. “Just so you know,” he said as he opened it up, “there’s an alarm on the door. If you touch it, or try to disable it, it’ll go off.”
“Afraid I’ll sneak out?”
“No one’s been able to manage it yet, so I wouldn’t recommend trying. It’ll also keep anyone unwelcome from sneaking in.”
She turned away from him and closed her eyes, and tried to think how she felt about a door alarm. All of this was crazy. She lay very still so he wouldn’t look at her, but she found she couldn’t drift off. It’d been a long time since she’d gone to sleep on her own, without the help of downers or black outs, or minibar booze, or sex, especially after she’d been out partying. She felt wound up, with too many thoughts. She couldn’t sleep.
After a while, she heard him get up. In the silence she could make out his progress across the room. He went into the bathroom, peed, and brushed his teeth. She heard all of it. It was both fascinating and disgusting. She covered her eyes in dismay. God, this was so messed up, but Greg was right. She’d brought this on herself. She’d been too wild, too careless, too much of a party girl.
Ransom came back out when he finished brushing his teeth. The darkness behind Lola’s lids got darker, and she knew he’d turned out all the lights. She could hear the bed sigh under his weight, and the whisper of the sheets as he pulled them up over his body. Without drugs to dull her senses, she was hyper aware of every sound of his existence. She could even hear his breathing, in, out, slow, calm. This must be the quietest hotel ever, she thought, to hear him so clearly.
In the end, it was his slow, steady breathing that finally delivered her into sleep.
CHAPTER FOUR
Unsettled
She was grateful he let her sleep until afternoon, but when she woke, there was another healthy breakfast, another forced walk through the busy streets of Hamburg. This time they walked around the lake beside the hotel, through the touristy area. A couple of people recognized her and stopped to ask for photos and autographs, which made her feel better even if she felt like shit.
Ransom said nothing about her meltdown the night before. She’d been stone cold sober enough to remember everything, which sucked. He hardly spoke at all on their walk, aside from telling her which way to go when they came to a corner, and coaching her through intersections like she needed help crossing the street.
Whatever. She was coming to accept this as her life for now, but it was only a few more weeks before the tour ended and she could return to her regular activities in L.A. She had a great house there, and lots of friends to party with. She’d also accumulated a sizeable stable of fuckbuddies. Tons of men wanted her, so she could take her pick and demand whatever she wanted from them. Now that she had money and fame, she could pretty much get whatever she wanted from anyone.
Except one person.
She slid a look to the side, to the tall, suited bodyguard who shadowed her. What kind of freak exercised in a jacket and tie? She wore a sweater and jeans, which made more sense for a walk, but whatever. Nothing about him made sense. Walks were stupid. He wouldn’t let her listen to music when they walked either. He said it wasn’t safe for her to wear earbuds, that she needed to be able to hear who was around her, and listen to his directions if something happened.
But what the fuck was going to happen? This walk was a waste, and she had work to catch up on back at the hotel. She had samples to preview and songs to listen to, beats that people sent her from all over the world. Even big artists sent her music, asking her to use excerpts in her tracks or live sets. Her whole life revolved around music now. Walking aimlessly? Not so much.
“When do we go back?” she asked.
He pointed to the hotel in the distance. “We’re walking around the lake. We’ll be back when we’re back, unless you want to swim across.”
He was always saying snarky shit like that, although it didn’t exactly sound snarky because of his deep, formal voice. He looked Hispanic, and his last name was Hispanic, but he didn’t have any noticeable accent.
She looked across the lake. Ugh. Walking was so boring. That was the only reason she decided to talk to him, to kill time. “So, where are you from?” she asked.
He shoved his hands in his pockets before he answered her. “Los Angeles. Eastside. Lived there all my life.”
“Oh. You’re not from, like, El Salvador or something?” She said El Salvador with an obnoxious Spanish accent. She thought it was funny, but he gave her an irritated look.
“Do you realize that’s offensive?”
“What?” She blinked at him. “Are you racist against El Salvadorans?” She used the accent again. His frown deepened.
“I’m an American, Lola. I was born in L.A. My grandparents lived in Ohio and Pennsylvania before that. I’m not racist against anyone, except maybe people with pink hair.”
He never smiled when he said anything, but that made it funnier. She grinned at him. “I’m just giving you a hard time because I don’t like you very much.”
“Unfortunately, the feeling is mutual.”
They walked another moment or two in silence. Then she asked, “Do you hate all your clients?”
He gave a big, dramatic sigh. “No. Not always. But nine times out of ten, my protectees and I don’t get along.”
Ooh, protectees. How official and bodyguard-y. “If you don’t get along with most of your protectees, why do you do this job?”
It took him longer to answer this time. “The money’s good,” he finally said, “and the opportunity came along at the right time.” She could tell by his expression that wasn’t the whole story, just what he was willing to tell her.
“I suppose you earn that money, working with pains in the ass like me. How long have you been doing this? Bodyguarding and stuff?”
“A while now. Almost eleven years.”
“You’re married, huh?”
He turned to her, his brows drawn together. “Why do you think I’m married?”
“I don’t know. Because you’re old, and you always wear a suit.”
“First of all, I’m not old. I just turned thirty-seven.” He straightened his tie. “And I wear a suit because I’m a professional, not because I’m married.”
“So you’re not married?”
“Not yet. But I’ve got a pretty big extended family. Parents, stepparents, four sisters, three brothers, and all
of them have been churning out kids.”
“Do you like to hang with your nieces and nephews?”
His frown deepened. “When I get back to the old neighborhood, yeah. It’s tough to make time in this business. I work a lot.”
“Building up a nest egg for when you get married and have kids?”
“What’s with you and the marriage and kids?” He turned the question on her. “Do you want to get married and have kids?”
She gave him a flirty smile. “Thanks for the invitation, but no. You’re way too old for me.”
She was hilarious, but he didn’t appreciate her sense of humor. He only rolled his eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest, sighed, and stepped up the death march toward the hotel.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“I’m bored.” She didn’t want to look at him and his judgey expressions and eye rolling. She kept her gaze forward. “I want to get back. I’ve got shit to do.”
“What kind of shit?”
“Work shit. I do work, you know. I’ve got to spend time mucking around and putting beats and melodies together. Those festival sets don’t just materialize out of my ass.” Defensiveness crept into her voice, although she usually tried to maintain a flippant, carefree vibe. People found that more attractive than the stressed-out reality. “I have to listen to a lot of music in order to create music. I have to plan dance sets. I have to come up with new mixes or people get bored.”
“People get bored, or you get bored?”
She shrugged. “What’s the difference? The point is, I have to stay on my game, even when someone’s trying to fuck things up.”
“If you’re talking about me—”
“Who else would I be talking about?” She turned to him, not being flippant or carefree at all. Oh well. He saw through her cool girl act by now. “You’re the one who’s living in my space and rooting through my shit, and taking away my stash so I can’t relax. You’re the one cock blocking me when I had two big-ass, gorgeous German guys on the hook—”