The Billionaire’s Bodyguard:
Complete Collection
By Catalina Jade
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Copyright 2013 Catalina Jade
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are use fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, or to organizations, events or locales, is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.
This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language.
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Table of Contents
Bodyguard for the Billionaire
Bound by the Billionaire
Conquered by the Billionaire
Bodyguard for the Billionaire
The message didn’t come through any of the usual channels, not Mike’s company e-mail address or the department’s anonymous dropbox. It was hand-delivered—which, in a company that prided itself on its efficiency as much as Waters Industries did, was both unusual and strangely decadent. So Mike felt some trepidation when he broke the archaic wax seal holding the card closed and read the words inside.
“Alastair Waters will see you in his office at 5pm.” It was unsigned, but sealed with the mark of the president of Waters Industries, which meant it must have come from the president’s private secretary.
The new president’s private secretary. Because Alastair Waters had just succeeded his father… and more than one person was whispering that the handsome, dangerous young man had had his father killed to get the position.
No wonder the message was worded as a statement rather than a question. Within Waters Industries, the will of the president was law.
***
Mike didn’t know much about Alastair Waters—the new president of Waters Industries, one of the two megacorporations that ruled the city in everything but name. But then, no one did. The old CEO, Jonathan Waters, had kept his son far out of the limelight even as he moved in highly public circles. Mike doubted many people outside the Waters family estate knew much of anything about Alastair.
Oh, there were the few carefully-controlled pieces of information revealed to the press. They all showed a young man, fair and handsome, extremely intelligent, dedicated to his father’s company. But Mike had worked for Waters Industries long enough to know not to trust what those press releases said.
After all, his own job in the Department of Tactical Management—more commonly known around the company as ‘the enforcers’—was dedicated to making things go away that didn’t fit the company’s carefully-cultivated message. He’d gotten his hands dirty more than once to keep the company image clean. No doubt someone else, somewhere in the company, was managing Alastair’s image just as carefully. And Mike wasn’t in a position to see anything more. The enforcers were dangerous, yes, feared and respected by most of the company, but they weren’t influential. They didn’t spend time with the upper echelons of Waters Industry from whom they took orders.
At least, not until now.
The elevator to the president’s office at the top of the Waters Building was paneled in expensive brocade, softly lit, in stark contrast to the steel and concrete of the rest of the building. Mike could see the city flash by through the floor-to-ceiling windows, as the elevator lifted him inexorably above the dark and smoggy streets.
The elevator whisked him to the topmost floor so quickly he barely had time to orient himself before he was being shown out of the elevator by the president’s silent secretary, and into the office where Alastair Waters sat, regal as a king, behind an enormous desk.
He was as young as Mike had expected. But Mike hadn’t expected Alastair to be quite so… well, attractive. His blond hair, pale as candleflame, swept back from an aristocratic face of profound but chilly beauty. His ice-blue eyes held Mike’s gaze, and Mike realized with mounting fear that—although he’d stood eye-to-eye with hardened criminals and corrupt executives alike—he might not be able to maintain eye contact with Alastair. Alastair was pretty, yes, there was no other word for the delicacy of his features, but behind the beauty of every line of his face was an almost palpable edge of control. And of cruelty.
Mike folded his hands behind his back and tried to look calm. Neither fidgeting nor anxiousness was a trait much desired in enforcers, so even though he wasn’t sure whether he was here for a raise or a demotion or—always possible in the dangerous world of Waters company politics—a swift and silent execution. “You asked to see me, sir?”
“Yes,” Alastair said. “I brought you here to offer you a new position.”
That could be good, or it could be bad. Mike decided that there was no benefit in speculating (or, for that matter, worrying) without any more information. So he waited.
“In light of my father’s untimely death,” Alastair continued, “I am looking for a new bodyguard.” His voice was as smooth and as cold as polished ice. “I thought perhaps you would be interested in the position.”
That was not what Mike had expected to hear. “Sir?”
Alastair’s pale blue eyes glittered, and his mouth turned up at the corner, the barest hint of a smile. “It’s a simple enough question.”
“Yes, sir,” Mike agreed. “But I admit I’m confused. Your father had an entire department dedicated to security, including his own personal security.” The enforcers had never been part of security, let alone personal guarding.
“My father,” Alastair said, “had an entire department dedicated to security, and chose his roster of bodyguards from that pool. And now he is dead, killed by an unnamed assailant.” Again, the flicker at the corner of his mouth, the almost-smile. “I would say that calls into question the effectiveness of his methods, wouldn’t you, Michael?”
Mike, Mike thought, but didn’t say. No one had ever called him Michael, not even his long-dead mother. But you didn’t correct the Waters president. You just didn’t. “I suppose that makes sense. But sir, no disrespect intended—” and now Alastair’s pale-gold brows lifted, and Mike was afraid he was making a dreadful mistake, but he soldiered on “—why me?”
“I’ve been reviewing your records, and I’m impressed. Your experience indicates that you have a quick mind, a decisive nature, and… most importantly….” Alastair leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “A tremendous capacity for loyalty.”
“I believe my service has shown me to be loyal to Waters Industries from the beginning,” Mike said stiffly, stung by the word ‘capacity.’ “I have never—”
“You misunderstand me, Michael,” Alastair interrupted, silkily. “I wasn’t casting aspersions on your past service. But I don’t simply seek the general day-to-day loyalty of a company man.” He smiled, then, and the smile was sharp as a knifeblade. “I don’t want company loyalty at all. I’m looking for someone who can and will be loyal to me, and only to me—not to the company, not to the board, not to the stakeholders. Just to me. And I want not simply an employee’s loyalty, however deep that loyalty could run. I want complete loyalty. Complete, personal loyalty. I think you’re capable of that.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Do you?”
“I—” Mike began. He realized suddenly that he didn’t want to lie to Alastair—president, he reminded himself, President Waters, now that the old man was de
ad—he didn’t want to lie to President Waters, partly because he wasn’t confident he could without being caught out. So, cautiously, he said, “I’m not sure what you mean by ‘complete loyalty.’”
“I mean exactly what I say, Michael. I expect your complete obedience and your full attention. I expect to be your first thought and your first priority at all times. I don’t want a disinterested team to pretend to have my safety in mind. I want one person, watching my every breath. Do you understand?”
Mike felt his jaw and gut both tighten. “Sir,” he said.
“Don’t worry.” The smile was back, thin and cutting. “I wouldn’t order you to slit your own throat and expect you to obey it. Or at least… not yet.” He leaned back in his chair and regarded Mike. “But there will be compensations. It would be a significant promotion for you, after all. And unusual loyalty demands unusual rewards. I am not averse to using the stick, make no mistake, but when it comes to matters like this… the carrot gets better results. So. Do you accept the position, Michael?” He asked the question so calmly, as if he didn’t much care either way.
But it was important, Mike knew. He worked for the Department of Tactical Management, after all. He’d slit throats and broken kneecaps where necessary. He knew that the company always got its way… and right now, President Alastair Waters was the company. “Yes,” he said.
***
It was easy, deceptively easy, to fall into the new rhythm. The President’s secretary briefed him on what was expected of him. He had a twelve-hour shift, noon to midnight, during which he would not leave the President’s side. There was other security, of course, securing buildings, checking meeting rooms for bugs or bombs, checking any route from one place to another for potential issues… but it was always Mike there, by Alastair’s side, watching, guarding, protecting. From midnight to noon, President Waters’ other hand-picked bodyguard—a tough and lovely woman named Talitha, with whom Mike exchanged no more than a handful of words—was on duty. During that time, he was his own man. But for the twelve hours he was required, he belonged to the company.
No. Alastair had made it clear: he didn’t belong to the company. He belonged to Alastair.
There were, of course, perks. In addition to a sudden jump in his salary, he was given, rent-free, a beautiful apartment in the same luxury building as Alastair’s penthouse. He ate by Alastair’s side, which meant meals so expensive and delicious he rarely even knew what exotic thing he was eating. He rode by Alastair’s side, which meant that all his trips were in elaborate limousines or private jets. And best of all, he wasn’t expected to have fancy manners. He was a bodyguard, Alastair had explained. He was expected to be a little rough around the edges. It was good to be seen to be a little rough.
It all went easily enough for the first few weeks, until the bomb.
***
Mike knew there was something wrong from the first moment he walked into the meeting room. Something—something—just wasn’t right. But he couldn’t figure out what. He kept his eyes on the men Alastair was meeting with, watching for any unusual movement, looking for any lump or bulge that might reveal a weapon, but there was nothing. No untoward movements, all hands visible, nothing. No changes in the room. But something was wrong. Something was different.
“Your requests are not unreasonable,” Alastair was saying, his voice cool and unruffled as springwater. “But the interest amount you’re requesting is laughable, gentlemen. Please direct your attention to page thirty-four….”
Mike scanned the room, floor to ceiling, trying to figure out what was wrong, what was niggling at him. Was it a smell? He’d had the air pumps and filters checked just this morning. The windows were reinforced and shaded, the room brightly-lit by overhead floodlights to make it hard to hide anything.
Lights. Lights. All of a sudden, he knew.
“President Waters,” he said, interrupting the bankers at the table. They looked at him, affronted, but Alastair’s expression was completely calm.
“Yes, Michael?”
“We need to evacuate. Now.”
Alastair looked at him for just a moment, a brief, sharp moment, his eyes as cold and blue as the sky in winter. Then he nodded and rose to his feet.
The bankers scrambled, but Alastair evacuated with his usual unflappability, only a muscle tic in his jaw evidencing any anxiety. He let Mike take his upper arm and lead him out, not to the elevator—which could jam if the bomb went off—but to the stairwell and then down, down, down the concrete stairs. As they went, Mike radioed security, informing them that he suspected a bomb in the smoke alarm in the sixth-floor conference room.
“Fill me in,” Alastair said as they went. “What made you suspect a bomb?”
“Smoke alarm,” Mike said shortly. He half-led, half-dragged Alastair out the door—out the door and down the street, away, away, away from the potential blast radius.
“Smoke alarm?”
“Smoke alarms have a blinking green light when they’re working. An orange or red light when they’re out of power. If the connection to the main power system is out, the battery lights them up. If the battery is out, the main power lights them up. If they lose all power, they screech.” Mike paused, safely in an alley some yards from the building, an alley guarded by company security on both ends. “The smoke alarm in your office wasn’t blinking at all.”
“Which means….?”
“Which means it was cut somewhere. Could just be an error. It’s possible.” He scanned the horizon. “But it’s also a good bet it was cut by someone installing a bomb, either in the fixtures or in the ceiling.”
“Hm,” Alastair said, mouth tipping up at one corner. “Nicely done, Michael.”
Even though he knew better, Mike felt a flush of pleasure.
***
Mike knew that something was off, when he was ordered up to Alastair’s office at ten a.m. the next day.
For one thing, he wasn’t on duty until noon. He wasn’t ever on duty until noon.
When he reached the President’s office, it wasn’t the secretary that let him in. It was Talitha, severe and tough as ever and her dark eyes so knowing.
What did she know?
When Mike entered Alastair’s office, the door whisked shut behind him. “Sit,” Alastair said from the shadows.
Mike sat, as directed, in the leather-and-mahogany chair in front of the President’s huge desk.
Alastair emerged, slowly, from the shadow. He was wearing a white linen jacket, white on white, a paleness that might have washed him out but that, instead, simply gave him a pure arctic edge. “Don’t worry,” Alastair said. (Did he look worried?) “You did well yesterday, with the bomb threat.”
“It was just my job,” he began “sir—”
“Don’t interrupt me,” Alastair said, but mildly. “You did well.”
Mike felt his spine tighten in response to some unnamed threat. But what he said was, “Thank you.”
“You deserve a reward,” Alastair said. He circled around the big desk, and Mike tensed further. “No, don’t get up,” he continued, before Mike even realized that he had been preparing to stand.
“I don’t need a reward, sir, it’s my job.”
“It’s not yours to tell me how to reprimand my employees,” Alastair said as he prowled around Mike’s chair, “and so nor is it yours to tell me how to reward my employees. If I say you merit rewarding, then you do.”
“Yes, si—” Mike began, and broke off when Alastair moved fast as a snake, gripping one of Mike’s wrists in one hand and then the other, wrenching them behind his back. His hands were soft and cool but shockingly strong.
Mike had good reflexes, he knew that. So he didn’t know, exactly, why it was that he couldn’t get his hands free. Maybe it was just that he didn’t want to risk hurting the president in the attempt. Or maybe—
He felt cold metal and heard a click. Handcuffs. Alastair released his wrists and he tugged experimentally. Handcuffs, binding his wrists not onl
y together but through the mahogany bar at the back of the chair. Not only could he not use his hands, he couldn’t even stand up. A knot of fear grew in his belly, but he realized to his shame that the anxiety was matched by rising excitement that sparked over his skin.
Alastair stepped back and gave him a satisfied look.
Mike swallowed hard. “That’s a pretty strange reward, sir.”
“I think you’ll come to realize the advantages in a moment,” Alastair said. He put one hand on the back of the chair and leaned over Mike, expression cool, self-satisfied. “Tell me,” he said. “Have you ever had sex with a man before?”
What? Mike’s heart thundered and he had to swallow before he could answer. “No,” he said. “Sir.”
“Then you’re in for a double reward,” Alastair said, and without any preamble he pressed his hand directly to Mike’s crotch. Beneath the firm, cool pressure, Mike’s cock twitched, and he closed his eyes against a stab of humiliation.
“Sir,” he said, voice strangled, “I don’t think—”
“What did I tell you about questioning my decisions?” Alastair asked. He stroked, slowly and firmly, and to Mike’s horror he could feel his body reacting. He gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t stop his cock from hardening under Alastair’s insistent fingers. “Not all of you seems to protest,” Alastair murmured.
“Sir, I—”
“I have been very patient, Michael, but if you don’t desist babbling, I’ll have to gag you.” He twisted his fingers, wrapping them as far around Mike’s cock as he could go with clothes in the way and stroking once, hard. “Or is that what you want?”
Mike flushed, embarrassment warring with a shameful pleasure. He’d told the truth, he’d never had sex with a man before, never even thought about it really… but his body didn’t seem to care. His body just cared about the pressure on his cock, hard and good even through the layers of his clothes, and the warm wash of Alastair’s breath on his neck as he leaned over him. To his shock, he could feel a moan beginning to build in his chest, and he bit the inside of his lip to keep it in.
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