Protecting Her Pride (Renegade Love Bodyguard Novel Book 2)

by Jade Webb

  “Thank God you're okay,” she breathes out when she finally sorts out the call. “Listen, if you need me, I’ll be wherever you are tomorrow. Just tell me where and I’ll be there.”

  “No, seriously, I’m okay. I’m safe here.”

  “Good,” she says, relieved.

  "Daphni, I heard you used some of those moves I taught you on Drizzle," Liam says, an obvious hint of pride in his voice.

  A smile pushes its way to my lips. "Yes, Liam. Solid punch to the nose, then a knee to his groin, then I threw an elbow to the back of his neck."

  "You threw an elbow, Daphni? God, Liam, what did you teach my sister?"

  Liam laughs, and I hear him press a quick kiss to Gabby's cheek. "Well, whatever I taught her worked, didn't it?"

  "I think I broke his nose," I say.

  "That's my girl!" Liam proudly congratulates.

  "Okay, you little psychos," Gabby intercedes, her voice turning more serious. “Daphni, I talked with Roman.”

  “Oh?” I reply, doing my best to sound disinterested.

  “He sounds like he’s doing well,” she says, before quickly adding, “He’s such a nice guy.”

  “God, why does everyone keep saying that?” I moan as I fling myself down onto the bed.

  “Maybe because he’s a nice guy? And he obviously cares about you.”

  I let out an amused chortle. “Yeah, sure. Roman hates my guts."

  “Daphni, you can’t honestly believe that,” Gabby argues. “He protected you and made sure to let us all know you were okay.”

  “Gabby, trust me, Roman Brantley despises me. And rightly so,” I add.

  “Daphni, why don’t you just let him in? Tell him how you feel?” Gabby asks.

  “I don’t feel anything,” I say, barely convincing myself. “And especially not for him.”

  “Daphni, you deserve to be loved, too,” Gabby says, her voice soft. I know that voice. It’s her “I don’t want you to freak out, so I’m going to say it slowly and softly” voice. Most of the time it works. Today, I can’t make myself believe her words. Because there is a part of me – an overwhelmingly large part of me – that doesn’t believe I do deserve love. Not after everything I’ve done.

  I force myself to laugh, though I know it sounds hollow and fake. “Gabby, trust me, I have millions of people who love me. Who needs a boyfriend when you have twenty million Instagram followers?”

  “Daphni—”

  “Seriously, Gabby, I’m good. And trust me, Roman is as infuriating to me as I am to him. He’s absolutely driving me nuts.”

  “You seem pretty worked up over someone you don't feel anything for,” Liam interjects, a smugness to his voice that, if I didn't absolutely adore him, would make me want to throttle him.

  “Okay, I love you both so much, but you are annoying me, and I’m hungry, so I’m going to go.”

  I hear Gabby smile through the phone, and I make a mental note to be sure to exact my revenge on the two of them next time I see them.

  “Call me tomorrow, okay?” Gabby adds before we say goodbye and hang up.

  My stomach rumbles again and I call Shakira over to my side. “Let’s go find some food.”

  As I descend the stairs, the smell of steak grilling greets me. I follow the trail until I step outside onto the porch, where Roman is standing over a small grill.

  “Smells good,” I say, as I look at the steaks currently turning a light brown.

  He smiles when he sees me and I feel a tightness in my chest at the sight. God, will there ever come a day that seeing Roman doesn’t cause such a visceral reaction for me? Will I ever be able to get over him and the way my heart annoyingly flutters in my chest when he smiles at me?

  “You’re up,” he says as he flips the steaks over.

  “Yeah, I crashed hard. I’m surprised this one didn’t keep me awake with all that snoring.”

  He looks down at Shakira, beaming admiration in his eyes. “Yeah, she’s a bit loud. I don’t know if I should be offended that she’s taken to you so well.” He turns to look at Shakira and pets her on her head. “Should I be so offended you ditched daddy?”

  “Roman, why did you lie about her?” The question leaves my mouth before I have a chance to take it back. Not that I want to. I need to know.

  He silently flips the steaks. “Daphni, you broke my heart. If I’m being honest, you shattered it into five million pieces." He turns his head to look at me, his soft, blue eyes telling me more than mere words ever could. "And when you looked at me and you wanted me, I just couldn’t let that happen again. I couldn’t let you destroy me again. I don’t think I could survive it. So I lied.”

  I take a step toward him. “Roman—”

  “Food’s ready,” he says, interrupting me. He pulls away from me, avoiding me. As much as I want to, I can’t bring myself to continue the conversation when I can clearly see how much I’ve hurt him. So when he shoves two plates into my hands, I snap my mouth closed and follow him back inside the house.

  We eat in silence. The air is filled with all the words we want to say, but neither of us is brave enough to start. A thousand different times, I try to force my mouth open, to just say something. But nothing comes. And as we finish our plates, I mindlessly twirl the fork in my hand, scared that this may be my last opportunity to tell Roman how I feel, to make things right. Especially now that I know he doesn’t have a girlfriend. I have a spark of hope and I’m not yet ready to walk away.

  “I have to take Shakira out for a walk out on the beach. Do you want to come with us?” Roman asks, and my head shoots up. Pushing back my excitement, I bite back a smile and nod. I don’t want to overwhelm him, but I can’t help but feel this is Roman extending an olive branch, and I don’t want to mess this up.

  We clear the dishes and drop them in the sink. Roman whistles for Shakira, and the three of us walk down the wooden steps and toward the empty beach. It’s another full moon, the soft light casting everything in dark, somber hues. Once on the sand, I slide off my sandals and walk barefoot. As Shakira runs, searching for sticks and chasing shadows, Roman and I fall into step, the only sound between us the crashing waves.

  Shakira runs toward us, a large stick in her mouth. Dropping it at Roman's feet, he tosses it into the water, sending her bounding into the dark waves to grab it. We pause to watch all 150 pounds of her leap effortlessly into the chilly waters to retrieve her prize.

  I tilt my head to look over at Roman, bathed in the moonlight. With the light cascading around him, his hard edges look softer. I gather my courage and force the words out of my mouth.

  “I’m sorry."

  Roman turns to look at me, his expression unreadable. Only when I look into his eyes do I see all the emotion swirling through them. “For what?” he asks.

  I expel a quick breath, a pathetic attempt at calming my racing heart. "For breaking your heart.” I force a laugh, but the sound comes out choppy and harsh. “For making you hate me.”

  Roman shakes his head. “I don’t hate you, Daphni. Whatever happened between us is in the past.”

  “Not for me,” I confess. “Every day that I see you again, that we’re together, it’s like fate is mocking me, showing me what I could have had with you, how happy I could have been with you. But I threw it all away.”

  “Daphni—”

  “Look, I know I messed everything up. Trust me, I regret it every day," I continue, the words now rushing uncontrollably out of my mouth.

  “Daphni—”

  “And you’re so good to me and—”

  “Oh Daphni, just shut up already.”

  Cupping my cheeks in his hands, Roman’s face lowers to mine and he covers my lips with his. I let out a gasp of air he sucks in, merging our breathes together. His hand pushes through my hair, angling my face to match his. And as his tongue enters my mouth, both exploring and claiming at the same time, I realize this is no ordinary kiss. This is a kiss seven long years in the making. Seven years of want and need. His
kiss, his lips on mine, his hands tunneling through my hair, resurrect hundreds of memories I had locked away of me and Roman.

  Those memories had been too painful for me to remember. I used whatever I could - alcohol, drugs, men – to force those memories into hiding. But now that I have him again, his arms wrapped around me, I realize I don’t want to hide those memories away anymore. I want them back. I want him back. And more importantly, I want the chance to make new memories with Roman.

  I curl my fingers into his shirt, pressing myself closer against him, and feel the hardness of his stiffening erection against my belly. Heat pools in my center and I slide against him, eliciting a husky moan from Roman that is one of the sexiest sounds I’ve ever heard. I want to record it and play it on repeat until I die. Still, he breaks our kiss apart, dropping his hands from my hair to wrap around my waist and pull me against him. Our chests heave as we both attempt to catch our breaths.

  “Roman, that was—” I start, unsure of how to describe something so simple, yet so completely life-changing. Because that is what this kiss was: it was an electric spark that hinted at the possibility of a love reunited. It was hope.

  “I know,” he finishes and I can see he is just as affected as I am. He disentangles his arms from my waist and takes my hand in his, interlocking our fingers.

  He whistles for Shakira, who comes barreling back to us. Turning back, we walk in silence toward the house, each step closer filling me with anticipation. I know I want to be with him again, to feel him on top of me and inside of me. But it scares me. Sure, I’ve had sex—and even remember some of the men who have shared my bed—but I knew it wouldn’t just be sex with Roman. It would be something far more intimate. And that is what scares me more than anything. Because if Roman sees all the broken pieces I’ve worked so hard to hide away, will he still want me? Or will he run?

  Only once we step into the threshold do we break apart. I look to Roman and see the same anticipation and curiosity in his eyes.

  “Can you sleep with me tonight?” I ask, not bothering to censor my thoughts with Roman anymore. If I want this to work, I can’t keep hiding away.

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea," Roman cautions.

  I force down my smile as I see how conflicted he looks: his heart battling with his body. I know he wants this as much as I do and yet, I also know there’s a part of him that is as scared as I am.

  I shake my head. “Just sleep,” I assure him.

  He looks down at me and I swear I can see the wheels turning in his head. Every part of me knows this is a critical moment. If he lets me in, shares his bed with me, I know he is able to trust me and we have a chance. If he doesn’t? I know it doesn’t mean it’s over, but it does mean there’s a long road ahead of us. I want so badly to be wrapped in his arms tonight.

  And when he nods, I can't help but feel a little victorious. Because it means that Roman Brantley is beginning to trust me again and maybe, just maybe, he can learn to forgive me.

  20

  Roman

  I feel a ray of sunlight hit my face, and I blink my eyes a few times. I wipe the sleep away as memories of last night, of that kiss, come back. That kiss almost undid me. How is it that she can ruin me so easily?

  I look to my side to find Daphni nestled in the crook of my arm, fast asleep. My other girl has fallen asleep on the edge of the bed, her chest rising and falling, the bed vibrating slightly with each of her snores.

  My eyes come back to Daphni. She looks so peaceful, so beautiful asleep in my arms. She fits perfectly here and it feels so right. She feels like home.

  She also terrifies me. She has no idea of the power she holds over me. She brings back memories I had pushed away. In my arms, she taunts me with the temptation of a future I’m not sure she even wants.

  I need to get out and clear my head. I carefully pull my arm away. She stirs a bit, but doesn’t wake. I throw on a pair of shorts and jog downstairs. Shakira decides to sleep in, so I throw on my tennis shoes and head out for a run.

  I try in vain to outrun my thoughts of Daphni, try to escape the memory of all those months I spent torturing myself after she’d left me. There had been seemingly endless nights when I would lay awake in the barracks, on that hard mattress, replaying every single conversation, trying to pinpoint the exact moment she had decided she no longer loved me. I never was able to figure that out, to understand why she had so callously tossed me aside. Eventually, I had learned to move on and with time, Daphni began to fade away. I made new memories to replace the old ones. But no woman could ever wholly replace her. And that was the cruelest part of it all: Daphni Monroe had ruined me for all other women.

  I had only been twenty when I first met Daphni. My dad had been hired to watch over her, and he had shared the stories of her crazy mother, who would make her perform concerts back to back, drag her to clubs, where she would get plastered while her daughter had to take care of her. He loved Daphni, saw her like a daughter, and he would sneak her back to the house whenever he could. It was during one of those times that I met Daphni. She had been such a contradiction: forced to grow up so quickly, and yet still so young and naive.

  My mom had made lasagna that night, and then announced we would be watching Titanic for the fiftieth time. We had settled into the living room: Dad in his recliner, Mom and Daphni on one couch, and me on the other couch. Dad fell asleep twenty minutes in, and mom huddled with her bowl of popcorn, had been fixated on the screen as she recited whole scenes she had memorized. That night, we had developed a secret language of quiet snickers and long, stolen glances when my mom would sob, or my father would let out a loud snore.

  When the movie ended, I quickly offered to drive Daphni back home. We talked the whole ride back, and I almost let her leave without getting her number. When she walked up to the door, with her key in the lock, I had run out and asked for it. She smiled, gave me her number, and from there, we were lost in each other. We texted every day, stupid jokes that turned into “I need to see you” and “I miss you” then eventually “I love you.”

  I had been her first. The memory of our first night together making love is one that has been, for better or worse, burned into my memory. It had been here at the beach house. It was the week after her eighteenth birthday. Daphni's mom had made her spend her birthday in Canada, doing different club appearances every night. Only after a week was she able to sneak away. I had taken her here, after having made the three-hour drive down the day before so I could have the whole place decorated with balloons and streamers.

  I'll never forget watching her first walk into the house, her emerald eyes wide as she saw all the balloons I had spent hours blowing up. She had turned to me and kissed me, whispered that she loved me. We had already confessed our love months before, but each time those words spilled from her lips, it felt like the first time.

  She had led me up the stairs, past the cake waiting in the kitchen. She had sat on the edge of the bed, her body humming with nervous energy. I had knelt down in front of her, leveling my face with hers.

  "We don't have to—" I had started before she had pressed her finger to my lips, silencing me. With her eyes locked on mine, she had lifted her arms and peeled off her shirt. At the sight of her naked body, I had felt my heart stop. She was so beautiful. And she was giving me this gift, something that would seal us together.

  We had made love for the first time in the same bed we had slept in last night. That night was the soundtrack for most of my sleepless nights. In the privacy of the night and solitude, I would replay it over and over. I would remember the feel of her soft skin, the way her back would arch into me as I teased at her hard nipple with my mouth, the slickness of her entrance, primed and ready for me. I would replay the quiet gasp she made as I first thrust inside her, marking her as mine forever. The feeling of her clenching down against me, her legs wrapped around my waist, have been seared into my memory forever.

  When we had walked in the room and she saw the bed, I
was sure that she had remembered. I could see the breath hitch in her throat as her hand skimmed the mattress, as if she could summon the memories from touch. But there was already too much between us, so I kept silent. Had I opened my mouth, I don't know if I would have been able to keep the words from spilling out.

  I still love you.

  I pull off to the side of the road, dropping my hands to my knees and sucking in air. I know I still love her.

  I never stopped loving her.

  21

  Daphni

  For the second day, I wake up in bed with a 150-pound dog as my companion. While, in truth, I have probably woken up to far less attractive bedmates in my past, none have snored or drooled as much as Shakira. She's a classy lady.

  I make my way downstairs and catch Roman inhaling a glass of water. His head is tilted back, and I find myself fascinated with the Adam's apple bobbing in his neck as he drains the glass. His shirt is off, tucked into the waistband of his shorts. He’s covered in a thin layer of sweat, and I physically restrain myself from jumping him right then and there.

  “Morning,” I say, forcing myself to look at anything but his gorgeous, Adonis-like, half-naked body.

  "Morning," he mumbles back. Immediately I can see he's in a dark mood.

  I hop onto the counter, dangling my feet over the ledge. “I thought maybe we could walk into town today. Check out the local scenery?”

  His only response is a curt nod, and I’m unsure how to take his new mood, so I don't say anything. I awkwardly swing my feet over the edge of the counter, suddenly very aware of the palpable tension in this small kitchen.

  “I’ll be ready in twenty,” he says abruptly, before dropping his glass into the sink and sulking out of the kitchen.

  “Uh, okay,” I reply to the empty room.

  I follow upstairs and head back into my bedroom. I can hear his shower running, and I jump into the shower in my room before changing into a pair of those godforsaken jorts with a plain white T-shirt. I pile my pink hair into a bun at the top of my head and cover it with a black baseball cap. I hang a pair of dark glasses on the collar of my shirt and throw on a pair of sandals. When I head downstairs, Roman is already dressed, biting into an apple.