And I hate myself for the fib that makes it possible.
It started as a harmless white lie. Marcus would never hire a straight man to guard his girlfriend. Not someone who’d be around her constantly. Not when he’s as possessive as he is paranoid. So, I lied.
And now, a year later, I’m in too deep. Because the truth is, I’d die for her. I’d kill for her. Hell, I’d burn this whole place to the ground if she asked me to. She’s not my job anymore. She’s my reason.
I wrap an arm around her and rest my chin on top of her head. On the TV, some trashy reality show blares about cheating scandals and fake friendships. Aro’s watching it like there’sgonna be a quiz later. Her vanilla shampoo fills my nose, and I shift slightly so she doesn’t notice the growing problem in my pants.
That’d be a hard one to explain.
She lets out a little sigh, the kind that sounds like contentment. And for a second, I let myself pretend this is our life. No Marcus. No secrets. Just me and her, watching garbage TV in peace. But reality always comes crashing back in. Marcus owns this place and he ownsher, or at least, he thinks he does.
I glance down at Aro, curled up like she trusts me with her life. Maybe she does. But if she ever found out the truth about me, about how I feel, I’d lose her.
Still, I can’t stop wondering what keeps her here. She’s too smart, too capable, too goddamn beautiful to be trapped in this world. She could have a real career. A real life. Hell, she could have anyone she wanted.
So, why Marcus? The answer always comes back the same: protection. She’s not here for money. She’s not stupid enough to confuse diamonds for love. No, Aro is here for safety. For cover. That much, I’m sure of. But what is she running from? And how much longer can she keep it hidden?
The show ends, and Aro sits up, stretching like a cat.
“I’m bored.”
“What do you want to do, Baby?”
The pink flush that rises in her cheeks makes it worth the risk. Oh yeah. She definitely thinks I’m hot. I’ve caught the looks. Do I mess with her a bit because of it? Hell yes. Teasing her is a small indulgence I can’t resist.
“Marcus would throw a fit if he heard you call me that,” she mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it.
So let him. I notice she doesn’t ask me to stop. She just doesn’t want to start a fight with him. Noted.
“Ice cream!” she announces, clapping her hands. “Give me twenty.”
She scampers off toward the bedroom, already switching gears. While I’ve perfected the disinterested, obedient bodyguard act, she puts on a different kind of armor: makeup, designer clothes, heels that could double as weapons. Everyone plays a part here.
Exactly twenty minutes later, she emerges like a goddess on a warpath. Her dark hair is down and glossy, her makeup accentuates her already gorgeous features. Off-the-shoulder top, painted-on jeans, stilettos high enough to stab a man right in the ego.
I silently count to ten and think about baseball, taxes, my grandmother… anything to keep the blood from rushing south.
“Ready?” she asks, grabbing her purse.
“Lead the way,Baby.” I wink.
She blushes again and hurries toward the elevator. She has no idea I live for this—the slow burn, the wait, the chase. I’m a patient man. And when I finally have her? It’ll be worth every second of restraint.
∞∞∞
Watching Aro eat ice cream should be illegal.
She ordered mint chocolate chip, and the way her tongue curls around the cone… yeah, I’m dying. Meanwhile, I suck on my vanilla milkshake like it’s a lifeline and try not to picture things I shouldn’t.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
What’s wrong?You’re using your tongue like it owes you money, and I can’t decide if I want to marry you or commit a felony.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just thinking.”
She nods like she understands and goes back to that damn cone. Jesus. I’m jealous of frozen dairy. Time to get a grip.
We finish our treats without me slapping the cone out of her hands, which honestly feels like a win. On the walk back, I catch her fidgeting. She keeps glancing at me like she wants to say something but isn’t sure how.
