Guarding Madison (Bodyguards, Inc.)

by Tabitha Gibson

  “Let’s get something straight here, Mr. Trace. You work for me. Not the other way around.”

  Trace swung around and grabbed her suddenly, pulling her in his arms. She found herself enjoying his touch, but she knew it would lead to disaster.

  He leaned down and took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he did. She froze, confused by the sudden urges her body screamed out for. How could any one man be so impossible and incredible at the same time?

  He leaned in further towards her neck. His whiskers brushed lightly against her jaw. His warm lips moved closer to her ear. Chills raced through her straight to her nipples which she was sure he could sense through her silk blouse and his black, cotton tee shirt. She flushed but was it from how hot he was making her or embarrassment?

  He said something then and she struggled to understand what he was saying. Forcing all thoughts of hot sex from her brain, she strained to hear what he was saying.

  “And I will be staying next to you in the spare room whether you like it or not. If you need me, I’ll be there.”

  Slowly he released her. She lifted her gaze up and almost melted under his smoldering one. “Do we understand each other?”

  She could only answer his question with a nod. He turned and left then, back to the room he claimed as his, through the connecting door.

  She wiped the drool at the corner of her mouth with dignity and made a mental note to advise Levi’s jeans that they should pay Trace for making their jeans look so damn good.

  “By the way.” His voice startled her straight into embarrassment. “This door stays open. Period.”

  His announcement sent her straight into a rage.

  Chapter 2

  Trace eyed the driver curiously before approaching him. The driver nervously switched his cleaning rag from one hand to the other before setting his gaze on the driveway.

  “Name?”

  The man cleared his throat and stammered out, “Wil… William Williams, Sir.”

  Was he kidding? “You can call me Trace.”

  “Yes, Mr. Trace.”

  “No, just Trace.”

  “Certainly, Mr. Trace.”

  “What’s with the whole mister thing around here,” Trace wondered out loud.

  “Well, protocol states –-“ William began but Trace cut him off.

  “How long have you been working for Miss Jordan?”

  “About two years. Mr. Starler got me this job.”

  Trace watched him stare around at everything but him. Trace had the sense this man was hiding something.

  “You a con?”

  William looked offended. “Most assuredly I am not a con artist. I have an excellent reputation–“ he began but Trace cut him off.

  “Ex-con. Does that clear it up for you Willie?”

  “It’s William, not Willie,” he stated with a tone of distain. “And to answer your question,” he began but was silent. Trace watched several emotions play over his face before the driver hung his head. “I do have a record. I made a mistake and it has haunted me ever since.”

  Trace studied the man intently. He looked like a typical, stuffed shirt. What could the man have done that was so bad it cost him prison time?

  “Hunger will do things to a person, Mr. Trace,” he began then held up his hands in apology. “I beg your pardon, Trace.”

  “So you pocketed some grub. Is that it?”

  William never lifted his head. “It was humiliating to say the least. My father disowned me. My mother died broken hearted. I had tarnished the family name. I’ve floated from odd job to odd job ever since.”

  Trace made mental notes as he inspected the limousine. It was your typical Here-I-Am-Look-At-Me vehicle. He was glad to see at least the windows were tinted. He bet the glass wasn’t bulletproof though.

  “So am I dismissed from my employ here?”

  Trace looked back to the driver and focused deep into his eyes. Trace had a way of reading people through their eyes. He could almost always tell if they were lying or worse. He could also tell if they were an honest soul and William was just that.

  “No, you aren’t fired. But from now on, you take orders from me. Understand?”

  “Miss Jordan won’t like that. She tends to just show up and we go.” He began to wring his hands. Trace could see that he was afraid of the changes going on but they were necessary.

  “I’ll handle Miss Jordan. From this point on, all trips beyond these gates go through me. Savvy?”

  “Yes Sir. I mean, Trace.”

  “Good. Now, the doors are to be locked at all times, regardless of if the vehicle is behind the gates or not. No maintenance is to be done without me being present and under no circumstances is anyone other than a list of people I give you allowed inside the vehicle. Any questions?”

  William shook his head no and let out a pent up breath when Trace stuck his hand out to shake. With a final look around, Trace headed back inside the house.

  “I have a question,” Madison said. Her arms were crossed and a scowl marred her features.

  Jay looked up from his desk and sighed deeply.

  “Don’t sigh at me. Since when do you have the right to just hire people without asking me?”

  “Since I became your manager,” he said and stood, then gave her a fatherly kiss on the forehead. “And since I came to love you as a daughter.”

  Madison gave in to her softer side and hugged Jay. “I know you care Jay but a bodyguard? Really. The tabloids will have me at the top of the diva list in no time.”

  “No, they won’t. Not unless they don’t know you. And due to my brilliant skill in the PR department, they know just enough to keep them happy and your privacy in tact.” He went back to his chair and sat heavily.

  “So who is he?”

  “Trace?” Madison nodded. “My nephew. I trust him completely and he’s damn good at what he does. I might actually start sleeping better at nights.”

  “You’re that worried?” Madison frowned. It wasn’t like Jay to be so dramatic but his constant persistence now worried her where before it had been a minor annoyance.

  Jay smiled. “Not anymore.”

  Madison smiled too and turned hearing Carol at the door. “Lunch is ready.”

  Jay rose and put his arm around Madison’s shoulder and walked with her to the dining room.

  She was surprised to see Trace already there. And in her chair. She walked over to where Trace sat and cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

  Trace looked up at her. She could’ve just drowned happily in his gorgeous velvet brown eyes. He had thick eyebrows but not overbearing. That belonged to his lashes; Long and lots of them, they were the type of lashes that most women would kill to have, and not just the women in her business. She wondered if he knew just how truly good looking he was?

  “Yeah?” His voice warmed her still. The slightly gravelly tone held a commanding sound yet she was at ease. Still, he was sitting in her place at the table.

  “That’s my chair,” she said, trying to sound full of authority.

  “There are seven other chairs here.”

  “But I always sit here,” she replied, raking her nails on her palms. Palms that itched to both slap his face and run the length of his muscular arms.

  “Now you sit here,” he said and motioned to the chair next to him.

  “But then I can’t see outside,” she said and hated that she sounded almost whiny.

  “And no one can see inside to where you are sitting.”

  She folded her arms; not to look mad but to cover the mad hard-on her nipples were taking once again. He was so damn infuriating and hot as hell. Madison stood her ground and tapped her foot, waiting for him to move.

  Trace sighed and stood, pulling out the chair next to the one he had vacated. Madison’s smile was wide but cut short. She let out a yelp when he pushed her down into the very chair she didn’t want. He sat back down in her chair and to her surprise, dropped a napkin in his lap.

  Madison gave a
very un-ladylike grunt and followed suit. She swore Carol chuckled as she set the grilled chicken salad on the table.

  Madison peeked over at Trace who had a look of dismay on his face. She followed his gaze to the large bowl containing the green leafy lunch and allowed one corner of her mouth to rise. “Mmm, my favorite. Looks terrific, Carol.”

  “If you’re a rabbit,” Trace muttered.

  “What’s that, Trace?” Madison asked with all the innocence of a child hiding a marker while standing in front of a masterpiece on the newly painted wall.

  “Nothing,” he said and helped himself to an extra piece of the grilled chicken.

  “Salad is good for you. Helps to keep your figure in fine shape.”

  “My figure is just fine,” he groused but smiled as he saw the extra fixings of boiled eggs, bacon bits and croutons.

  “Well the rest of us have to watch ours and it doesn’t make sense to have Carol make two different meals,” Madison said, a touch of defense shrouded her voice.

  Madison had struggled with her weight all her life. Diets came and went as a child. As she got older, nutritionists became her guests instead of friends from school. Her mother had told her that she would become too fat and no more scripts would come her way and they would lose the life style they had become accustomed to. It was really the lifestyle that her mother had become accustomed to. Madison would have been just as happy with a one room cabin in the woods.

  Her mother had scoffed at that thought and instructed Carol on the foods that Madison was to have daily. Thankfully she was gone on a vacation and wouldn’t be back for a few more weeks. Still, Madison enjoyed chicken salad with ranch dressing. She just used the low-fat dressing when her mother was around. Today, it was full-fat with full-flavor.

  “Your figure is just fine the way it is as well,” Trace remarked without looking at Madison. He was busy enjoying one of Carol’s homemade, flaky croissants.

  Madison blinked speechless. No one had ever said her figure was fine. Well, no one that ever really meant it and somehow she knew in the back of her mind that he meant it. He didn’t appear to have a hidden agenda like the other two did. The only two she had ever given herself to that is.

  Her mother certainly had an issue with her figure and let her know about it as often as possible.

  Madison’s face flamed. She picked at her ranch covered lettuce and became very self conscience of her weight. Memories of her mother’s harsh comments, her former boyfriend’s sadistic remarks and the tabloids constant haranguing of her larger size rushed to her, causing her to lose her appetite. She rose and without word, raced out of the room leaving several stunned faces behind.

  Once in her room, she closed the door behind her and moved quickly into her closet to pull out a shoe box. Inside was a secret stash of candy bars, chips and her weakness, Hershey kisses. She slid down on the floor and had three silver kiss wrappers opened and balled up empty before a knock interrupted her binge. Assuming it was Jay or Carol she called out for them to come in and opened another kiss. She wasn’t surprised to see Trace’s boots stop near her legs.

  He didn’t say anything, just sat down and held out his hand. Madison bit her lip and lost her fight with the tears. She hated herself for being so weak. She crushed the wrapper back around the candy, dropped it in the box and handed it to Trace.

  Trace rooted around in the box and pulled out a Snickers bar then handed it back to Madison. He remained silent as he ripped open the wrapper and took a bite. The silence was broken by the smacking of his lips.

  Madison dug back in the box and pulled out the same kiss, unwrapped it again and popped it in her mouth. She dared a look at Trace but he was too busy polishing off the candy. He finished by licking his fingertips, an act that brought a whole swarm of butterflies to Madison’s stomach. She put the lid back on the box and pushed it to one side.

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  Madison closed her eyes and turned her head away from Trace. What could she tell him? Oh, you know, the old battle of the bulge, nothing to worry about. She had never felt fatter than she did at this exact moment. And she was so damn embarrassed.

  Here was a completely gorgeous guy who thought she looked fine, not heavy-set or chunky and what does she do? Run away and stuff her face. She sighed deeply.

  “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Madison’s heart hammered hard in her chest. An out was just what she needed, what she could count on to not face up to her problem and what she always depended on to push things out of her mind.

  But she knew what she should do. Face the issue and not continue to run from it.

  She turned towards him but continued to stare down at her hands in her lap. A bad habit she had acquired from the confrontations with her mother. At least she was trying.

  “I’ve battled my weight all my life,” she said, her voice shaky and filled with emotion. She dug her nails into her palms, raking them along their length.

  Trace leaned over and took her hands in his. His warmth washed over her and she relaxed. How odd that this man who barreled into her life with the force of a freight train could be so gentle.

  “Most of the time I lost,” she said with a nervous laugh. “But with hard work, I could try to come out the winner.”

  “My comment was a compliment. Why the vanishing act?” Trace asked. He sounded confused and she didn’t blame him.

  “It’s… It’s hard to come face to face with it sometimes. Certainly not from a stranger like you.”

  “Stranger? I’m hurt,” he said and sniffed dramatically. Madison peeked up and returned the smile she found on his handsome face.

  “You know what I mean,” Madison said and lowered her head again.

  “Hey… none of that here,” Trace said and lifted her chin with his roughed fingertip.

  Madison was strangely comforted by this intimidating looking man. She looked up further to his eyes and stared for what seemed an eternity. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for but something sparked in her then. An ally perhaps? A friend? Definitely a protector. Either way she should give trust a try with this man, and she would. At least, for now.

  “Did you know that one of the sexiest actresses of all time, Marilyn Monroe, wore a size sixteen?”

  “That’s never been proven,” Madison said with a laugh. Wait. Did he just put her in the same class as Marilyn Monroe? And did he just reference her as sexy?

  An alarm sounded then, three short bursts, then a long one. Trace’s hand went for his gun immediately before Madison could stop him. He rose and motioned for her to stay down.

  “Trace wait. It’s not what you think.”

  He turned and looked down at Madison then offered her help as she began to stand. She hid the box of her secret treats and tried to move past Trace but he wouldn’t let her.

  “Not until I know what that alarm is for,” he said. He looked fierce but sexy.

  “I know what that alarm was for,” Madison said and her stomach begin to churn. No amount of chocolate could make her feel better. No secret snack could help her face the impending doom that the alarm signaled was coming.

  Her chest tightened while her palms became cold and clammy. She rushed out of the closet and to her mirror. A quick brushing of her hair and smoothing of her clothing didn’t stop the panic that was quickly rising. Madison hurried to the door only to have Trace snake out an arm and hold it against the door to keep it shut.

  “You aren’t going out that door until I know what that alarm is for,” he stated again.

  She could see him gearing up for a fight but it was one she was sure he wouldn’t win.

  “I’m here to protect you Madison.”

  “You should worry about protecting yourself,” she replied.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My mother is home.”

  Chapter 3

  Trace couldn’t believe what Madison just said. Her mother was home? An alarm sounds when her mother
comes home? It was laughable. He almost did laugh, until he saw the intense worry and color draining from her face.

  He followed her from the bedroom and down the stairs. Madison walked quickly into the living room and got into the line that had formed near the French doors. He frowned seeing the staff so uptight and what he could only pin down as scared. His uncle, who was in the line next to Madison, looked the worst out of the whole bunch.

  He was curious to see this woman that placed such fear in the entire household. Except him, of course. He took up a position near the entrance to the living room but was slightly hidden by a tall plant.

  Trace heard the front door open and the click of heels down the marbled hall heading in their direction. Adrenalin rushed through him hard and fast. He stood ready, itching for a fight with the figure that came through the doorway.

  Once it did, he had to cover a grin.

  A woman, barely five feet in height came into the room and stopped before the line of people there to greet her. She looked fragile really. Steel grey hair was pulled back sharply into a bun at the nape of her neck. A black suit covered her rounding frame while Trace found the source of the clicking on the marble to be short, square heels.

  Behind her was what Trace assumed to be her driver. He looked the same as the others, timid and afraid. He carried several bags and one medium sized basket with a white ball of fur inside. Great, just what he needed. An ankle-biter.

  The dog seemed to be the only one to notice him. Trace gave the dog a stern look and was rewarded by its dark nose hiding further down in the basket.

  It was eerily silent in the room. The whole pin dropping commercial came to mind. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when the source of everyone’s fear spoke first.

  “The foyer is a mess.”

  The statement sent Carol running out of the room. Trace raised a brow.

  “Apparently no one bothers to check messages around here. I asked for an update by fax over an hour ago,” she commented. Her voice was harsh and clipped.

  Jay stepped forward. “Yes, Ma’am, we’ve been trying to fax your number but there appears to be a bad connection—“