Seduced by the Bodyguard (Forbidden Confessions Book 5)

by Shayla Black

Holy shit.

  Jerking my gaze back to the street, I resolve to give her what privacy I can. I’m sure she has weirdos and jackoffs say skeevy things to her all the time. If she didn’t, she would never need to hire a guy like me.

  From my peripheral vision, I see her lower her dress to her waist and catch her lipstick in her hand. She’s wearing some sort of nude-colored stickers over her nipples that adhere to the upper swells and lift her obviously full rack. But I’m not staring. Really, I’m not. But…they’re right there. I blow out a breath as she shimmies from the dress to reveal she’s wearing one of the tiniest, most transparent thongs I’ve ever seen. A single glance—damn, I did not mean to look—and I can tell she’s a natural blonde.

  Seconds later, she whisks my shirt over her head, covering everything. It swallows her small frame and hangs all the way to the middle of her thighs. It conceals way more than the dress she had on.

  “Are you attached to this?” I fist the red fabric.

  She shakes her head. “I think it’s horrible.”

  “Good.”

  Grateful for the nearby dumpster, I toss it, glad when the bright, glittery ball of sequins clears the rim and disappears into the heap.

  “What about my shoes?”

  “Can you run in bare feet?”

  She steps out of one stiletto. The instant her foot touches the hot asphalt, she hisses and jerks away. “No.”

  “Understood. Let’s do something about your hair.” Because pale curls hanging nearly to her pretty, swaying ass will definitely draw attention.

  She had mine the moment I set eyes on her.

  “How?”

  I rummage in my pocket. I’ve got a rubber band I used to hold together a couple of boxes of ammo I loaded into their magazines on my way here. “This work?”

  “Yes. Can you hold this?” She hands me her lipstick.

  As I pocket it, she grabs her hair and shoves it without much care into a messy bun, then twists the rubber band around it until the pale mass stays. It’s not optimal, and I wish like hell she had a hat and athletic shoes, but this will have to do. At least she’ll be a less obvious target now.

  And we’ve been in the alley too long. We’re sitting ducks.

  I jerk my head to the side. “Up for running? We have to get across the street.”

  She nods. “Let’s go.”

  I take her hand again and slink to the edge of the building. Pandemonium still rules the streets. With the mad dash of people and all the barricades closing off the parade route, I imagine local law enforcement is having a difficult time getting into the area. Instead, police are pouring in on foot, but we can’t afford to be swept up in the crowd. It’s not safe for Sophie since I have no idea who’s behind this attempt on her life. And we may end up separated. It’s my job to get her to safety, and I intend to do it.

  Since I haven’t heard any new shots, I suspect the shooter has closed up shop and is doing his best to blend in with the crowd. We need to do the same, so I lead Sophie out onto the sidewalk. Then we jog across the street. If she was anyone but a well-known star, I’d pull her into the drugstore—one of the few businesses open during the holiday—and wait for the area to be cleared. But her face is liable to cause a commotion, which is the last thing we need. And just because I don’t see anyone on our asses now doesn’t mean we’re in the clear. The shooter could be blending in to hunt her down.

  At the back of the drugstore’s parking lot, I see a horse-drawn buggy with a traditional canopy. The entire thing is decorated in red, white, and blue streamers for the parade. A teenage boy hovers beside it nervously, watching everything around him. His eyes go wide with fear when I approach, gun in hand.

  “I’m not here to hurt you. Fifty bucks to let me borrow your ride.” I drag a bill from my pocket.

  The kid swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing sharply. “I-I can’t. It’s my grandpa’s. I promised I’d bring it back.”

  “A hundred bucks for ten minutes. I won’t take it far.” We have to get out of the vicinity. It’s about a mile to my truck. Once we’re there, we can get anywhere.

  The teenager opens his mouth to reply, then his stare falls on Sophie. And his eyes go wide with recognition. “Oh, my god! You’re—”

  “Keep it quiet,” I hiss.

  “Please.” Sophie grabs his hands. “I need to get out of here safely.”

  “I’ll take you,” he insists in a rush, head bobbing.

  My first instinct is to refuse. I don’t want to risk this kid with so much life in front of him, but if he won’t lend me his buggy and I don’t have another way out of this place, I have to compromise.

  “You’re sure?” I ask. “It could be dangerous.”

  “I-I’m not afraid.”

  Clearly, he is and doesn’t want to seem scared in front of Sophie.

  “You don’t have to play hero, kid.”

  He scowls at me. “My name is Dustin, and I just turned eighteen.”

  So he’s touchy about being an adult. Got it.

  I hold up my hands. “Sorry. Your call.”

  Maybe this kid’s stubbornness is a good thing. If the shooter sees him, he has no reason to connect Dustin with us.

  Sophie squeezes his fingers. “You don’t have to get involved.”

  “Were the shots for you?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “I’ve got an idea.” The guy bends down and flips up a lid to a compartment tucked beneath, then produces a blanket. He hands it to me. “You can cover up with this.”

  It’s a hundred fucking degrees out here, but it’s another way to hide. “Good thinking.” I give Dustin the intersection where my truck is parked. “Get us as close as you can.” I turn to Sophie. “Up you go.”

  She nods, and I help her into the buggy. When she’s settled on the black leather seat, I hop in beside her, spread the blanket over us, and urge her to hunker down. I pull the blanket over our heads as the teenager hops onto the driver’s seat and gives the reins a flick.

  The horse takes off, and the buggy clambers down the street, maneuvering between terrorized dads, stricken mothers, and crying kids still running for their lives. I hear the terror in their rapid footfalls.

  “I got this,” Dustin assures. “Sit back.”

  There’s nothing else we can do.

  I turn to Sophie. She’s still breathing hard. It’s hot and humid as fuck under this scrap of wool. Our faces are inches apart. Her lips are softly parted. Her breath is sweet. Her stare is direct.

  “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  “Do you?” I counter. “Have you received any death threats?”

  “Not recently. Nothing credible, anyway.”

  But the fact she’s received them at all is unnerving. Why would anyone want to hurt Sophie?

  “Can you think of a reason anyone would have anything against you?”

  “Except angry moms who chastise me for not singing wholesome music anymore or stalkers berating me for swinging my hips and singing about sex because they’re convinced I belong to them, no.”

  What a creepy world she lives in. I can’t imagine people feeling so entitled or delusional that, despite being strangers, they genuinely believe they get to tell an artist how to do their job. But I’m not shocked. There are a lot of unhinged loons who have never learned to accept the word no.

  “But no specific threats recently?”

  “Unless David knows something I don’t, no.”

  She brings up an interesting point, and I’ll get to him later, but for now I just nod. “Did you have another appearance scheduled tonight?”

  “No. I’m on a break until the album drops next month.”

  Good. She’s less likely to be missed, so that gives us more time to get to the bottom of this.

  Then she bites her lip, mouth pressing into a grim line that tells me she’s fighting tears. “I’m afraid.”

  She’s right to be.

  I squeeze her hand. “Ever been shot at?”


  “No.” And the look on her face tells me she wonders why anyone would want her dead.

  “You’ve never been a threat, so this kind of malice makes no sense to you.”

  She nods. “I’ve only tried to make the world a happier place with my songs.”

  At that, she falls apart. It’s not unexpected. She feels betrayed by violence coming from people she tried to entertain. Plus, the adrenaline crash is a bitch.

  Against me, her whole body trembles. I press her closer and wrap an arm around her. I don’t say anything. Empty reassurances are pointless. I can’t promise her I can get her out of this mess in one piece; I can only promise to try my damnedest.

  We stay that way for so long that we begin to sweat together. Neither of us cares. She lays her head on my chest. Her bent knee creeps onto my leg. It seems automatic to take her bare thigh in my grip and pull her closer. The slow motion of the buggy rolls our bodies rhythmically against each other. She probably feels every inch of my reaction to having her so close. I’m harder than I ever fucking remember. Sophie is lost in her own fear, and I’m a heel for even wanting her right now, much less entertaining the thoughts of sex that keep creeping in. But I can’t help it. She’s stunning. Wanting her is agonizing.

  I grit my teeth and suffer in silence.

  Finally, Dustin slows the horse-drawn wagon. “There’s a group of cops ahead. What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay under the blanket,” I murmur to Sophie, then cautiously peek out.

  Just like he said, we’re a hundred feet from the barricades originally set for the parade. They’re not allowing any vehicles in or out. Fuck.

  “Get us as close as you can without attracting attention. I’ll handle the rest.”

  “Okay.”

  Moments later, the cart rolls to a stop. It’s nothing Dustin says or does, but I feel his panic. “They’re staring.”

  And he doesn’t know what to do. Any moment, they’ll approach and tell him he can’t go through the barricade without being interrogated. I can’t claim that either Sophie or I need medical attention. They’ll rustle up an EMT, who will debunk our excuse for leaving the area.

  I have to come up with a Plan B.

  “What’s going on?” Sophie asks from under the blanket.

  “You better now?”

  “Somewhat. Thanks. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. We have a problem. We have to get away from here fast…and I only have one idea how.”

  “What?”

  Maybe it’s because I have sex on the brain, but… “Just play along, okay?”

  Then I flip the blanket down to her waist, haul her up against my chest, and kiss her.

  She stiffens at first, sucking in a shocked little breath. Then she softens and opens to me, one breath, one moment at a time. Because she remembered our situation? Or because she likes it? I can’t mind-fuck myself by answering that question. Right now, I have to focus on getting her to safety.

  But it’s so hard not to press deeper onto the softness of her pillowy red lips. Jesus, they’re like a cushion for my questing mouth. She’s a temptation I can’t resist.

  It’s overkill for the situation, but I nudge her lips apart and sink inside. Then I step even farther over the line and go deep.

  Holy shit.

  Sophie is so sweet. I detect a hint of cherry flavor I can’t help but chase with my tongue. She’s sensual as she conforms her lips to the press of mine. As she opens to me, welcoming me, gripping my shoulders with a breathy moan, I grab her tighter, pull her closer, sink completely into her waiting mouth, desperate to be inside her.

  “There a problem?” I hear a deep, unfamiliar voice ask.

  “Um…” Dustin croaks. “I was just giving a ride to these folks who, ah…”

  “Want some privacy,” I say as I reluctantly twist myself from Sophie’s lush lips and bury her too-familiar face in my shoulder. “Can we get by? Please, man. Please.”

  He sends me a disapproving stare. “Did you see the shooting? Or anyone suspicious?”

  “No. I was, um…involved with my girlfriend.” I cradle Sophie’s head, covering her face.

  “You got any ID?”

  I pretend to pat my pockets, then huff. “Son of a bitch. I left my wallet in my car.”

  “What about your girlfriend? She got her driver’s license?”

  Sophie wisely shakes her head but doesn’t lift it or say a word. Instead, she pretends interest in me, trailing her lips up my neck.

  It’s all I can do to keep my head in the game and not shudder in pleasure. But I feel her touch all the way down my spine.

  “She didn’t bring a purse.” I curl my arms around her again. “Dude, really. I just want to be alone with my girl. You know how it is. C’mon… If I knew anything, I’d tell you.”

  The young cop takes in the fact I have a half-dressed blonde on my lap and sighs as he turns to his fellow officers. “Let ’em through.”

  As the other cops start to move the barricades, I settle my cheek against Sophie’s. “We’re almost out of here.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice shakes.

  At the fear in her reply, the boil cools from my blood. I feel like such an asshole for wishing I could take her to bed.

  You can’t. Suck it up. Do your job. She’s a client.

  Unfortunately, she feels like more than that.

  It seems to take forever, but Dustin clicks at the horse and slaps the reins, finally hauling us from the scene. I keep Sophie curled against me until we’re past the cops and heading toward my truck.

  The kid and I exchange a few more words, and I point toward the lot in question. It’s busy. Other people have managed to escape the parade route on foot and are rushing to their vehicles. There’s no way Dustin can maneuver the cart between all the drivers peeling out and skidding away.

  He pulls onto an adjacent sidewalk instead and turns to face us. “Here you go.”

  “You did great, Dustin. Can’t thank you enough.” I hand him a hundred bucks.

  He pushes it back in my direction. “I don’t want any money, just…” Dustin looks at Sophie like he’s lovestruck. “Could I have your autograph?”

  She smiles. “I owe you more than that. How about something better? Something for now…”

  Sophie smiles and leans in, pressing a butterfly-soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you for everything. Really.”

  “Oh, my god.” He presses his fingers to his face.

  “And I want to give you something for later. If you’ll write down your phone number, I’ll make sure you have the best backstage tickets to my concert the next time I’m in town. Bring a few friends. I’ll send a limo for you, ensure you have one of the best meals of your life, and we’ll sit down to talk when I’m less of a mess so I can tell you how truly grateful I am.”

  “No shit?” Dustin’s eyes bug out.

  “Absolutely.”

  The kid scrambles to find a piece of paper and a pen, then jots his digits and thrusts them her way. “That would be amazing.”

  She palms it. “My pleasure. You’ll hear from me soon, Dustin.”

  “Wow. Amazing.” A loopy grin covers his face. “No one will believe me.”

  I have an idea how to solve that problem. “Sophie, are you attached to your shoes?”

  She scowls. “They’re actually worse than the dress.”

  “Why don’t you let Dustin keep them?” I look his way. “Social media can verify she was wearing these shoes when the performance started. Just…wait a few days, huh? So the danger dies down.”

  Sophie slips off her shoes and hands them to Dustin. He’s barely paying attention to me as he takes them from her. “Yeah. Sure. Oh, my sister is going to flip shit when she sees these.”

  I jump to the sidewalk with a chuckle. Still in the buggy, Sophie frowns. “Um, Rand. The pavement is still too hot for my feet.”

  Does she think I haven’t realized that? “I got you. Come here.”

  Wh
en I hold out my hand, she only hesitates a second before she takes it.

  Sophie trusts me—mostly. I’ve gotten her this far. If I had more time with her, if she was mine, it would be so heady to slowly win her trust. I’d love to nudge her comfort zone, push her boundaries slowly, one seductive inch at a time.

  But she’s not yours and she’s probably not that sort of woman. Get your brains out of your dick.

  While she’s perched at the edge of the buggy, I settle an arm around her waist, then wedge the other under her knees and haul her against my chest.

  She loops her arm around my neck as she squeaks in protest. “You can’t carry me.”

  “News flash: I’m doing it,” I point out. “Thanks again, Dustin.”

  “Thank you!”

  Satisfied we made the cleanest getaway possible, I carry her to my truck, ignoring the curious stares of other drivers passing by.

  When I reach my black Chevy, I slide Sophie down my body. “Stand on my feet.”

  She does. It’s awkward, and I know she’s aware that every inch of her body is pressed against every inch of mine. I sure as hell can’t ignore our closeness. But I don’t linger even though I’d like to. I merely fish for my keys in my pocket and press the fob to unlock the door before sweeping her back into my arms.

  “What are you doing now?” she asks.

  “Open the door.”

  She does, and a blast of unbearable heat rolls from the cab of the truck. I love the sleekness of black vehicles…but they make summer in Texas a real bitch.

  “I promise I’ll get the air going in a minute.” I slide her into the driver’s seat. “Just scoot to the passenger’s side and we’ll be out of here.”

  “Going where?” she asks as she shimmies over, doing her best to pull my big shirt down so she doesn’t expose her thighs and everything in between. Too late. I’ve seen it all—and it’s indelibly burned into my brain. Not because she’s a celebrity. I’m past that BS, and I’ve protected famous folks before. But because Sophie Larsen is beautiful, and all I can think about is kissing her again, getting her underneath me, and letting every bit of her feel every inch of me.

  I clear my throat and start the truck. “I’m figuring that out.”

  We can’t go to my place. Too many people know she was with me before the shit hit the fan, and if the killer is connected to her, that’s the first place they’ll look.