by Lucy Score
Waverly rubbed her hands over her face. The microwave dinged and she brought his plate back to him.
“Please don’t fight me on this,” Xavier said quietly. “You either, Kate. From now on, security takes you to and from here. And it would be better if you could stay here for a few days, at least until the premiere.”
“I guess we can have Padma come here,” Waverly said, thinking of her dress designer who was going to freak when Waverly told her she couldn’t wear that dress now. She thought of the picture and shuddered.
“We could probably pull in a trainer from the gym, or we could go old-school and dig out those Jillian Michaels DVDs your mom has squirreled away. Oh, and I can reschedule your meeting with the publicist.” Kate suggested.
“Ugh, Media Barbie. I forgot about her,” Waverly groaned. Her mother’s publicist Gwendolyn—never, ever Gwen—was fanatical about media relations and press junkets and press statements. “Just move the meeting here. Otherwise my mother will sic her on me when I’m not prepared, and she’ll lecture me on eyebrow grooming again.”
Kate snorted and dumped her plate in the sink. “So listen, X-Man. Since I’ll be Wave’s new roommate, do you have any hot security guys who want to follow me home so I can pack some stuff?”
“I don’t know where they fall on the hot scale, but yes, I’ve got one waiting outside for you. Take the Tahoe,” Xavier told her, handing over the keys.
“Woo! Air-conditioned seats for my ass. I’ll be back in an hour unless the guard is really hot.” Kate winked and pranced out.
Xavier finally got to finish his meal and leaned back in his chair. He looked tired and angry. Waverly cleared the table.
“Hey. In my family, you cook you don’t clean,” Xavier insisted. He joined her in the kitchen, opening the dishwasher and loading in the plates. “It was really good, by the way.”
Waverly gave him a tired smile. “Thanks. I’ll tell Mari you approve.”
He rummaged under the sink for the detergent and started the washer. “Is it shitty of me to say that I’m surprised to see you cooking and cleaning up?”
“Yes, yes it is,” Waverly laughed. She led the way into the living room where they both sank down on the couch. She pulled her feet under her and hugged a pillow to her chest. “I don’t like having a lot of extra people around in my personal space.”
“You’re the toilet scrubbing kind of Hollywood princess?”
Waverly snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far. A very discreet housekeeping service comes in once a week when I’m at the gym, which I’m sure you already knew.”
“It’s good to know that you’re not too human,” he teased.
They fell silent for a moment.
“I need you to not worry, Angel. I’m going to take care of this. I’m going to take care of you.” Xavier’s voice was firm.
“I know you will, Xavier.”
“Then why do you look so worried?” Xavier’s hand rested on the cushion between them. It felt like an invitation to touch him. She scooted her foot toward him, and he took it in his hand.
“Why was the envelope addressed to you?” she asked. It had bothered her since she saw it. “He’s supposed to be fixated on me, but now he’s sending you fan mail.”
Xavier took his time answering, rubbing lazy circles on the bottom of her foot with his thumb. “I’m no psychologist, but I’d say that he sees me as an obstacle and wants me to know that he has every intention of getting around me.”
Waverly had suspected as much. “That worries me,” she admitted.
“Don’t. I’d much rather he tried to come after me. I’m not an easy obstacle to get around.”
“I’ve noticed,” she said dryly.
“I’ve got a guard on the grounds now twenty-four seven. He’ll monitor the systems on-site and be able to respond to any visitors or deliveries. Ganim won’t get near you here,” Xavier promised. “I’ll talk to your parents tomorrow about all this so they know what’s going on. Unless you want them to know tonight.”
She shook her head, a headache threatening. “Tomorrow’s soon enough for everyone to find out. Actually, do you mind if I talk to the publicist before you talk to my parents? I need to know if news like this can damage the premiere or if it’ll somehow boost it.”
“That’s pretty sick,” Xavier sighed.
“Welcome to my world.”
“Is there a reason you want me to wait on telling your parents?”
Yes. “I just want to make sure I’ve got all my bases covered,” she answered.
“Okay,” he ran a hand over the back of his head. “Do we need to talk about that kiss?”
“You mean us breaking our pact less than twenty-four hours after we made it? Nothing’s changed has it? You’re still code-bound, and I’m still… not looking for any complications.”
Xavier nodded his head. “We’ll consider the subject closed.”
They stared at the blank TV screen for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts.
“I met your pals at the end of the driveway,” Xavier said finally.
“The photographers?”
“Arnie seems pretty nice. I think he’s in the wrong line of work. But that Douchebag Joe? He was made for this.”
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Kate returned with a bag full of necessities the night before, and they’d crashed on the couch and streamed half a season of Arrested Development. Xavier had set up shop at the kitchen table reviewing security footage, coordinating with on- and off-site Invictus staff, and occasionally smirking at the entertainment on the screen.
When Kate had crawled off to the guest room close to midnight, Xavier closed the lid on the laptop.
“Long day?” Waverly asked from her perch on the couch.
“I’ve had longer.” He interlaced his fingers behind his head. “You should get to bed.”
Waverly wet her lips. “Are you leaving?” She didn’t want him to go. Even with a guard outside, she still felt safer with him here.
Xavier was silent for a long moment. “I’d prefer to stay here—on the couch. Just for tonight, until we have a better handle on things tomorrow. But I’ll go if you want me to.”
“Stay.”
He looked relieved, and she wondered if he was as reluctant to leave as she was to let him. Xavier nodded. “I’ll grab my bag which, by the way, now contains an entire micro wardrobe thanks to my swim here with you.”
“So you don’t need to borrow any pajamas?” she grinned, not the least bit apologetic.
“Got it covered.”
“You’re such a Boy Scout,” Waverly teased.
She lingered in the living room until he returned with a duffle bag. “I feel bad about relegating you to the couch. Why don’t you take my room, and I can—”
Xavier shook his head and pointed at the front door. “Anyone comes through that door, I want them to have to get through me to get to you.”
Since when did she find over-the-top protectiveness hot? Waverly wondered.
“I’ll get you some bedding.” She padded barefoot into her room and returned with a pillow and two neatly folded cashmere blankets. “There’s towels in the bathroom and leftovers in the fridge. Help yourself to anything.”
He nodded and watched her fuss over the bedding.
“Is there anything else—”
“Go to bed, Waverly.”
Even with the couch between them, the tension was palpable. He’d ditched his jacket earlier in the evening and rolled up his sleeves. With the holster and gun and the ready-for-action look in those whiskey eyes, Xavier looked dangerous and made her feel safe.
She looked her fill for a moment, taking in the pure perfection of his face, the graceful strength of his body. Her guardian. He’d keep her safe. But who would protect her heart from him, she worried.
With a palpable sense of reluctance, Waverly drifted toward her bedroom. She glanced over her shoulder. One last l
ook. “Good night, X.”
“Good night, Angel,” his voice was a rasp of warring want and restraint.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
She woke the next morning groggy and disoriented. Just the thought of Xavier sprawled shirtless on her couch—which she knew he was because she’d peeked in the middle of the night—had kept her up most of the night.
Renaissance masters would have spent lifetimes trying to capture his perfection in marble. He slept with one arm behind his head, the other splayed across his muscled stomach, his fingertips tucked just beneath the untied waistband of his cotton pants. He was hard in his sleep—the rigid length of him visible through fabric had her breath catching in her throat. The moonlight played over his broad chest, the subtle hollows of his cheeks. A day’s worth of stubble made him look more bad boy than Boy Scout.
Waverly felt her body react with a hot fist of lust. He was so close, so touchable. What would he do if she traced her fingers over those planes and valleys, lower and lower…
She’d gone back to bed, tossing and turning, thoughts and fantasies swirling in her head. Frustrated and exhausted, she’d finally fallen asleep and dreamed of her guardian ranging himself over her, taking what he wanted.
He’d made coffee. The scent of it dragged her out of bed and into the kitchen before seven. And, because she blamed him for her restless night, she glared at him when she accepted the mug he held up for her.
He hadn’t even bothered to put on a t-shirt yet, and his spectacular form was on display. She hated him, just a little bit, for being so beautiful. He was staring at her, no, glaring at her.
“Don’t piss me off already, Saint,” she said, sighing into the coffee.
“Then put some fucking clothes on,” he snapped.
She looked down. Her nipples were trying to fight their way out of the white cami she’d slept in. In her exhausted funk, she hadn’t bothered to pull on shorts over her pineapple print underwear that cut high on the thigh and butt. Oops.
Judging by the morning wood that was straining against his pajama pants, Xavier Junior liked what he saw.
“What about you, Mr. Coffeemaking Adonis. Put a damn shirt on before Kate wakes up and I have to pry her off of you with a crowbar.”
“I don’t have time for games, Waverly. You’re not getting laid, so get your ass in there and put on something that holds those things in,” he waved a hand at her chest.
“Excuse me? You think I’m trying to get laid because I walked into my own fucking kitchen for a God damn cup of coffee?”
“You do not wander around here dressed like that,” he argued.
“This is what I slept in!”
“Well, you’re not asleep now so cover the fuck up!” He stepped in on her, looking good and pissed. She held her ground with a stubborn jut of her chin, and they glared at each other for several tense seconds.
Waverly wilted first. Exhausted and angry, she sprawled over the countertop of the island and put her forehead on the cool granite.
“Why are we fighting?” she groaned.
“Jesus, don’t they make underwear with more material?”
“Oh my God, stop looking if it bothers you.”
“Angel, my team is going to be in and out of here constantly. You can’t prance around in shit like that or I’m going to have to fire every single one of them.”
“Ugh. Fine. But at least get that thing under control,” she said, pointing at his throbbing cock. “And put on a damn shirt.”
She stormed into her room and pulled on a two-piece bathing suit and cover-up. She’d hit a few laps in the pool before sneaking into the gym in the big house. She needed to burn off some of this frustration before Gwendolyn got here. If she didn’t, she was guaranteed to say or do something her mother would make her regret.
“I’m going for a swim,” she said brusquely, heading for the front door.
“Waverly.” Xavier closed the refrigerator. He’d pulled on a t-shirt, though it was fitted enough to leave little of his spectacular physique to the imagination.
“What?”
“I’m sorry for yelling at you.” He made it sound like it pained him to apologize. “I didn’t sleep well last night, and I took it out on you.”
“I didn’t get a lot of sleep either,” she admitted.
He gave her a long look. “Maybe it was for the same reason.”
A blush heated her cheeks. She had a feeling he wasn’t talking about Ganim. Had he seen her in the doorway?
“I’m sure we both had a lot of things on our mind,” she said diplomatically.
He gave her a half-smile. “How about I make breakfast while you swim? Consider it part of the apology.”
“I like my bacon extra crispy,” she said, keeping it cool.
She didn’t bother easing into the water. The pool was heated to prevent the mundane suffering of cold pool water on a sensitive belly. Waverly shed her cover up on a lounger and dove into the crystal blue waters. She surfaced and cleanly carved through the water with a freestyle stroke.
Her very first movie at the tender age of six had been a reimagined, modern day Swiss Family Robinson. The swimming lessons had stuck and now she could outswim just about anyone who dared challenge her.
She let her mind empty of thoughts of Xavier and Ganim, the premiere, and where she wanted to be at summer’s end. Emptied until the only things left were the count of her strokes, the steady pull of her breath. Here in the water was peace and presence. Here everything was fine and safe. Waverly powered through a dozen laps and then slowed to a more leisurely pace for the last few. When she finally surfaced at the end, bare feet greeted her.
Xavier set her coffee mug down on the stone edge of the pool. “Breakfast is ready.”
“Thanks,” she said breathlessly.
He held out a hand to her, and she took it, letting him haul her out of the water with ease.
She grabbed a towel from one of the stations that ringed the pool. “Kate up yet?”
“Yes, and whining that she’s going to waste away before you—and I quote—‘get your ass out of the pool.’”
Waverly sighed. “Let’s get this day started.”
“Are we good?” Xavier picked up her mug and handed it to her.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
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Gwendolyn Riddington-Macks was a cool, cunning, ball-busting power publicist. Her client list included the crème de la crème of Hollywood’s A-list. She had single-handedly rebranded dying franchises, launched unknown talents to spectacular heights, and kept the wraps on all her clients’ secrets. Her fees were astronomical. Her honey blonde hair was always styled into a chic chignon. Her pencil skirts always ended three inches above her knees and her heels were never under four.
Waverly couldn’t begin to guess Gwendolyn’s age. The woman had the enviable twin fortunes of good genes and a very skilled plastic surgeon for a third husband.
“Waverly,” Gwendolyn offered a cool, firm handshake when she was escorted into the parlor in the main house. There was no smile or pleasantries. Her clients didn’t pay her to be warm and fuzzy. “I understand you have some business to discuss before we talk about your tour.”
“I do. Would you like some water or tea?” Even with Gwendolyn, Waverly found herself unable to dispense with those pleasantries. She led the way to the round pedestal Hepplewhite by the windows that Mari had set with meeting goodies, including crystal glasses of cucumber water and an artful display of MarieBelle chocolates.
Gwendolyn sank gracefully onto the silk covered, armless chair. She ignored the spread before her and brought up a photo on her phone. “Is this, by chance, what you wanted to talk about?” She turned the screen to face Waverly.
Her stomach clenched. “I’m going to kill her,” Waverly whispered. This time her mother had gone too far.
There on the gossip site was a blurry picture of Xavier and Waverly by the pool. From Xavier’s a
ttire and their close stance, the story the picture told was clear. And for those too lazy to draw their own conclusions, the caption spelled it out. “Waverly Sinner has upgraded to twenty-four seven security. Her new bodyguard enjoyed a cozy breakfast with his charge after spending the night. We wonder how secure her bedroom was last night?”
“We’ve talked about this before,” Gwendolyn continued. “You can’t let her keep feeding them. Especially not without passing the stories through me first. She’s getting sloppy, and I’m not going to be happy about cleaning up another one of her messes.”
“Short of taking her phone away from her and locking her in Betty Ford, do you have any suggestions?”
Gwendolyn drummed her white nails on the mahogany. “Let me handle Sylvia this time. She needs to have the shit scared out of her again.”
“I’d appreciate that. I’m not sleeping with my security, by the way,” Waverly told her.
“It doesn’t really matter whether you are or aren’t,” Gwendolyn responded in her trademark tone of disinterest. “It’s the perception we need to weigh.”
Waverly bit back a retort and smiled politely instead. “Of course. The issue at hand is I have a stalker situation that’s begun to escalate. Xavier and my assistant spent the night last night after an incident here at the house. My concern is the premiere and what impact additional safety measures and media attention about the case will have.”
“Mmm,” she said noncommittally. “How serious a threat are we talking?” Gwendolyn asked, typing notes into her tablet. Waverly had the impression that literally everything had happened to Gwendolyn’s clients, and she already had a protocol ready to put into effect. Nothing phased the woman.
“I’m filing an official complaint with the police today.”
Gwendolyn nodded and continued to type. “All right. I’d like to speak to your head of security before I leave. I’ll have a statement drafted by noon, and we can at least refute the banging the bodyguard rumor. Is there anything else, or can we move on to the premiere?”
Gwendolyn’s concern for her welfare was underwhelming.