by Lucy Score
He wore a tailored suit, polished shoes, but there was a roughness around those edges. A sharpness in the eyes and the determined set of his well-defined jaw. In the way he held himself, Waverly sensed a restrained power like a beast waiting to be unleashed.
She knew danger when she saw it, and this stranger was lethal.
He wasn’t an actor, some leading man sent to tempt her. She was sure of that. This was no golden boy, making bank from his pretty face. It wasn’t pretty. It was breathtaking. Things that beautiful were always trouble, and she wanted no part of it, of him.
He smiled then, a lift of the lips, as if he read her mind. She swore she could feel the echo and pulse of his heartbeat from across the room. It matched her own.
“Oh, Waverly! There you are,” her mother chirped, setting down the teapot with a clink.
“Here I am,” Waverly agreed vaguely, trying to drag her attention away from the stranger with probing eyes.
“Come. Sit,” her mother ordered.
Waverly made a valiant effort to stop staring back at the man and took a seat on the pearl pink silk sofa across from her mother and Phil. She refused to relax. There was an ambush coming, and she wanted to be ready for it.
“Xavier,” her mother turned to the man by the fireplace. “Come join us,” her invitation much warmer than necessary.
Waverly watched him as he pushed away from the marble surround and strolled toward her. She was at war with herself, wanting him closer and, at the same time, wishing he’d stay on the other side of the room.
Waverly wasn’t aware of standing, but when Xavier stopped in front of her, she was on her feet.
“Waverly, this is Xavier Saint,” her mother began.
Of course that was his name.
The man extended his hand, the same subtle curve of amusement on his sinful lips. A dare. After a brief hesitation, she accepted his offered hand. Their palms met, and she felt a crackle of electricity. Definitely a warning to stay away, she decided. She gripped his hand and shook it firmly pretending that it was Phil’s cold spaghetti handshake instead of the confident, hard contact against her skin.
Xavier had yet to say anything, and Waverly was inclined to extend the silence between them. Rather than a barrier, it felt like a bubble with just the two of them inside.
“Xavier is your new security.” Sylvia’s airy announcement popped the bubble like a dart.
“Excuse me?” Waverly felt her insides ice over. She started to tug her hand free and glared up at him when he merely tightened his grip. In her bare feet, Saint still had several inches on her, and his gaze warmed considerably. He made her feel vulnerable, exposed. She didn’t like it. Waverly set her jaw and dug her thumbnail into the flesh between his thumb and index finger.
She bared her teeth in a fierce smile as he tightened his grip crushing her fingers. “So nice to meet you, Mr. Saint,” she said sweetly, drawing on her acting skills to dare him to contend.
“The pleasure is mine, Ms. Sinner.” His voice was as rough as his edges and sent a delicious, unwanted chill down her spine.
“I told you they’d get along,” Sylvia trilled to no one in particular.
Saint let go of her hand and Waverly felt the rush of blood returning to her digits. She didn’t retreat to the empty chair at the end of the Lalique coffee table but reclaimed her spot on the sofa. Xavier laid claim to the seat next to her, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat gracefully.
Their shoulders brushed, and Waverly immediately shifted to get some distance. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding, Mr. Saint,” she began, interlacing her fingers on her knee. It was hard to look imperious in yoga shorts, but she’d make it work.
“Now, Waverly,” Sylvia said, trying to head off Waverly’s dissent. “Let’s discuss logistics.”
Sylvia loved logistics. Every moment of her mother’s life was planned out in excruciating detail with the sole goal of maintaining her brand… and satiating her need for attention. When parts began to go to younger actresses, Sylvia effortlessly changed gears to focus on building Waverly’s brand and career. She looked at her daughter as an extension of her own success.
“Darling, put that away so we can discuss this,” Sylvia said to her husband.
Robert dropped his phone on a side table and pasted on an enthusiastic expression. Nothing like a family of actors, Waverly bit back a sigh.
“Yes. Let’s discuss,” Waverly said agreeably. “I don’t need security. No offense, Mr. Saint,” she offered.
“None taken, Ms. Sinner,” he said coolly.
“Oh, come now. Let’s not be so formal,” Sylvia said, clasping her hands together.
“Fine,” Waverly agreed. “No offense, X.”
“None taken, Waverly.”
She didn’t like the way he said her name, as if it was a private joke.
“I don’t need security,” she stated again. She hated repeating herself because it meant that no one was listening to her, as usual.
“Now, Waverly,” Phil spoke up for the first time, his round cheeks flushed. “After last week, it’s clear that some measures must be taken to ensure your safety.”
“Yes,” Sylvia agreed, nodding her head vehemently until her blonde curls trembled. “You certainly weren’t taking any safety precautions when you flew out of here for some silly reason, and you were careless. What were the photographers supposed to do? Be understanding that you had a bad day and leave you alone?” She laughed at her own joke.
Waverly drummed her fingers on the linen arm of the sofa. “I didn’t leave for ‘some silly reason,’” she said, looking pointedly at her father, who suddenly became fascinated by the tips of his loafers.
“Waverly, you haven’t been yourself lately. Not only were you careless last week with those photographers, you’ve been ignoring social functions, you haven’t settled on a new project yet, you’re refusing to do any press on the accident. Why, Zoey Grace had the cover of Indulgence last month. You go to the same gym, yet she manages to hit the gossip sites twice as often as you do.”
Waverly realized that they didn’t want security for her safety. They wanted security to keep her in line. “I wasn’t being careless,” she said, zeroing in on that offense. “I’m never careless. The photographer was the one who got out of line, not me. Why do you want to punish me when it was a grown man acting like a criminal?”
Sylvia sighed dramatically, a diamond laden hand floated to her heart. “Do you see what I have to deal with, Xavier? You try reasoning with her.”
Xavier shifted his gaze from Sylvia the Martyr to Waverly the Enraged. She glared at him. If he couldn’t read that his presence was unwelcome, he was an idiot.
“Waverly,” Xavier began. Again, her name from his mouth was like a rough caress. “Security isn’t meant to be a punishment. Regardless of whose behavior was out of line last week, you could have been killed. With your level of visibility, you face greater risk than the average twenty-year-old.”
“Exactly,” her mother interjected. “Darling, I know this is hard to understand. You’re very young, and your father and I have done everything we can to protect you ourselves.”
Waverly saw it, that quick tightening of Xavier’s jaw, but it was gone just as quickly. She wondered what it meant. She wanted to make a smart remark, to get in a dig that would make her mother feel something real before she disappeared again into the scripted soap opera in her head. But she couldn’t, so she bit her tongue and counted down from ten.
Her father crossed his legs restlessly. Conflict and confrontation were anathema to Robert Sinner. He preferred subtle, passive-aggressive tactics to get what he wanted. “Look, darling. You are an important, special person and unfortunately that puts you at a greater risk for unwanted attention.”
“We tried security before,” Waverly reminded them. Though, a sidelong glance at Xavier reminded her that the two goons Phil had hired were nothing like the man next to her. She�
�d spent the summer she turned sixteen slipping their coverage. After a few half-hearted attempts to catch up with her, they’d struck a bargain. Waverly would leave the house with Hoss and Lenny, and they’d all go their separate ways until it was time to return home. It worked for a month until the tabloids busted them by shooting Waverly at a tennis lesson while her bodyguards were caught “guarding the bodies” at a strip club.
“This time will be different,” Sylvia predicted cheerily. “Xavier is the best at what he does, and you’re not going to test him.”
It was like waving a forbidden electronic device in front of a toddler. She shot Xavier a look. Those unreadable eyes met hers again and hardened. A challenge? Another dare?
“I’m not sixteen anymore. I can handle myself. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Her parents exchanged a glance, and her father cleared his throat. He plowed on with the script she assumed her mother had provided. “Waverly, you’re misunderstanding this. We aren’t doing this to control you. We’re doing this to protect you. You are the most precious thing in the world to us, and you must be kept safe.”
Waverly opened her mouth to argue, but her mother interjected.
“If you feel the need to fight us on this, we may have to review the terms of your trust,” Sylvia said, taking a proper sip of tea.
Waverly could feel her heartbeat throbbing in her head. Her parents had tucked away every one of the paychecks she’d earned before she turned eighteen into a trust. A trust that would finally be hers in four months on her twenty-first birthday. She’d been careful with the money she’d earned on her own and, combined with the trust, it would mean freedom and independence. And her future plans depended on having that money in her control.
Of course her mother would threaten her with that. And of course she would surrender.
She listened to the nineteenth-century mantel clock as it ticked off the seconds. Waverly could kiss the next four months of her life good-bye since she would be stalked by the devil himself.
“Fine. Your fragile special snowflake will be under lock and key from now on,” she said, rising abruptly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a fitting for a ball and chain.”
CHAPTER THREE
He gave her a thirty-second head start before excusing himself from the back-patting fest in the parlor. Robert felt that it had gone better than expected while Sylvia was predicting to Phil that Waverly would be attached to a new movie by the week’s end. They were all either blissfully ignorant to Waverly’s rage or just didn’t give a rat’s ass. Either way, he was all too aware of what a pissed off starlet was capable of.
If she were anything like the other girls he’d guarded, she’d strike back with a drug binge or a sex tape.
But something told him Waverly was different. He’d seen pictures and videos, but nothing had prepared him for when she walked into the room. Flawless golden skin, mile-long legs that demanded attention in short Lycra shorts. She wore her corn silk hair piled on her head in some kind of sloppy knot, providing an unobstructed view of the graceful curve of her neck and her movie star face. She wore no makeup that he could see to enhance her high cheekbones over delicate hollows. Full, unpainted lips had parted when she spotted him watching her. Her gray-green eyes were wide and heavily fringed with lashes. And in those eyes, he could see storms brew as her parents broke the news to her.
She wasn’t what he’d expected. And that was a problem. He’d thought he’d be meeting Sylvia’s mini me. But she was different, and that was trouble. His physical reaction to her took him by surprise. He’d spent years honing his control, reining in his reactions. And all she had to do was walk into a room and get pissed off for his blood to migrate south.
The attraction wouldn’t be an issue, he assured himself. He wouldn’t let it. He’d get used to looking at her, and that punch-in-the-gut reaction would dull. And once he got to know her, the interest would be gone. He knew the spoiled princess type. There wasn’t anything a girl could do on the outside to make up for being a vapid vacuum on the inside. He’d find the ugly or the annoying in Waverly and be back on an even keel before dinner, he decided.
He caught up to her by the pool, the crystal waters sending off blinding sparkles under the mid-morning sun.
“Waverly.”
He was pleased when she stopped, automatically obeying the command. It was a test, as everything else would be over the next few days. He needed to know her so he could predict her. This job wasn’t just about protecting starlets from outside threats. It was more often about protecting them from themselves.
She must have realized that she’d subconsciously obeyed because she straightened her slim shoulders under her hoodie and marched toward the pool house.
“Stop.” He put enough authority into the command that it should have scared the girl. The time and energy it took to win a battle of the wills with stubborn and spoiled was a waste and Xavier had crafted a workaround. First step: Make sure she knew he was in charge.
Waverly turned around to face him and marched back to him, temper flaring. “You bellowed?”
If he didn’t have to ensure her safety, he might have actually liked her. Her barely contained temper was entertaining. He decided to push her a little bit further. Establish authority early.
“For an actress, you don’t hide your feelings well,” he commented.
“For a bodyguard, you have a lot of opinions about my acting ability. I guess I’ll just go cry myself to sleep over your review.”
“You’re not mad at me,” Xavier said mildly. “You’re pissed because you feel like the family puppet.”
“Dancing monkey, actually,” Waverly corrected.
“Potato, po-tah-to,” he quipped. “The bottom line is you can cut the spoiled brat act with me and deal with the fact that I’m not leaving.”
“Calling me a spoiled brat is you trying to cement our relationship? Clever.”
He rewarded her with a smile to show her she wasn’t getting to him. “You’re going to have to get used to me, Angel.”
“Angel?” Her well-shaped eyebrows arched.
“Your code name.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet?” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
“I like to go for irony with my code names. Besides, if I used Bride of Satan it wouldn’t be much of a code, now would it?”
Waverly’s jaw dropped at the insult, but she recovered quickly. “What’s the sentence for manslaughter in California?” she asked innocently.
Yeah, under other circumstances, he’d definitely like her.
“Three to eleven. But I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why’s that?” she asked him.
“You’d be thirty and irrelevant before you got out.”
It was meant as an insult, a dig at the Holy Grail of Hollywood, but the spark of yearning he saw in her eyes surprised him.
“Okay, you want to talk? Let’s talk. Put your cell phone on the table.” She nodded at the polished driftwood table next to him.
“Why?”
“I want to make sure you’re not recording this conversation.”
Protocol dictated a firm ‘no’ to diva demands, especially in the beginning when establishing authority. But if it helped to build trust, what could it hurt? He reached into his jacket and fished out his phone.
“Does that happen often?” he asked, placing the phone on the table. “Do people record you when you think you’re safe?” He put a hint of sympathy into his tone to disarm her.
Waverly stepped past him to the pool’s edge. Arms crossed, she stared out over the vista of hills and homes. A lonely princess surveying her kingdom, he thought.
“It happens sometimes.” There was a quiver in her voice.
He moved next to her, and they stood shoulder to shoulder. To an outsider, they’d look like a united front. He let her brood, contemplate the unfairness of her lucky life. There were two security cameras that
he could see from here. They’d need more and an upgrade to the overall system. He’d have his hands full, but they would all come around, and Waverly would stay safe.
“It must go with the territory,” he answered her.
“So does this,” Waverly sniffled.
He should have seen it coming, but damn if she didn’t catch him off guard. In a move slicker than a ninja’s, Waverly danced in front of him, hooking her arm around his neck. He thought for a split second that she was going to kiss him. And that thought, that anticipation, was enough to slow his reflexes.
She pulled and spun, yanking him off balance. There was no time to save himself, the crystal blue water was rushing up to meet him. But he managed to wrap an arm around her waist and drag her down with him. The heated pool water closed over his head and he heard her laugh. She was grinning at him, her hair floating around her like a golden halo.
She looked like a mermaid. A mermaid who needed to be taught a lesson.
He reached for her, contemplating the satisfaction of drowning her, but she flashed away, her long, slim legs pumping.
By the time he clawed his way to the pool’s edge, she was pulling herself out of the water at the far end.
“How’s that for acting, X?” She blew him a kiss and sauntered off in the direction of the pool house, water streaming from her clothes.
--------
Waverly cued up a playlist on her phone and paired it to the speaker in the bathroom. She turned on the water in the shower and shucked off her dripping clothes. She tossed them in the claw foot tub to deal with later. The bathroom was miniscule in comparison to any of the eight in the big house, but Sylvia had managed to outfit it with all the luxurious necessities.
When Waverly turned eighteen and asked for access to her trust to buy a house, her mother had insisted she had a better idea. That idea involved a two hundred thousand dollar renovation of the already very nice pool house. Now, Waverly enjoyed a modicum of privacy surrounded by pops of saturated color that reminded her of a candy store and furniture that looked like a sorority pledge class had designed it.