Whenever he looked at the stage, the kids beamed as they strutted down the catwalk. He caught himself smiling as well when Beck or Murray took their turns. They nailed the swagger Vanessa had drilled into them, and with their shoulders thrown back and heads high, they looked more confident than he’d ever seen them.
When the show was over, the applause was deafening.The models lined up along the stage as Vanessa walked out to take a final bow, and the crowd rose to their feet. Cameras flashed. With all the movement, he’d lost his clear line of sight.
“I need more guys on the floor,” he demanded, pressing the earpiece closer to hear over the noise. He pushed through the crowd toward the stage. His heart hammered in his chest. Why did every fucking person suddenly look like a threat?
Everything was loud and flashing. People spilled from their seats, clogging the aisles. The chaos moved both too fast and in painfully slow motion.
One of the giants from the Trailblazers obstructed his view of Vanessa, and Jordan almost knocked him to the ground. When he caught sight of her again, she was hugging the girls with tears slipping freely down her cheeks.
He wanted her off that damn stage and safely back in her apartment, but hell, he also would never steal this moment from her.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the guards filter through the side doors, positioning themselves at the exits.
The kids on stage surrounded Vanessa in a group hug, so she was almost invisible.
He got to the base of the stage and scanned the crowd. A small group hovered close to the stage with their phones out. A couple of people who were media, judging by the lanyards around their necks, and the professional cameras in their hands, stood at the end of the stage taking photos.
Most people moved toward the exits, heading to the cocktail bars in the foyer.
Those who lingered were media reps, family, or friends. He caught Luciano’s eye. A single lift of the man’s eyebrowsasked if Jordan had everything under control. Jordan nodded, reassuring him that he did.
He did. He knew he did. He’d spent a cool six figures of Joel’s funds on security for the night. She was safe.
So why, even as he nodded his reassurance to her father again, did he feel a gnawing uncertainty in his gut?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Pride filled Vanessa as she climbed the back staircase from the bar to the apartments, with Jordan behind her. “That was the most exhilarating night of my life,” she exclaimed. “The girls killed it. And did you see Murray and Beck? They totally found their swagger. I wouldn’t be surprised if Murray got a call from an agent.” Her adrenaline was fading, and her feet were killing her.
Her strappy designer stilettos were nothing more than a leather sole with a gold-colored strap across the toes and one that snaked around her ankle partway up her calf, but they’d been the perfect pairing for her dress, so no regrets. Still, after five hours of wearing them, she had to grab the handrail to ease the pressure.
When she teetered dangerously, strong, warm hands grasped her waist, holding her steady.
“Easy, princess,” Jordan said as he let her go and they continued up the steps. “Those shoes,” he muttered under his breath, “are fucking death traps.”
“I’ll have you know—” She whirled on the third-last stepto the top, and he crashed into her, chest bumping against hers as he stopped.
One of his arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her again before they both tumbled down the stairs. At this level, they were almost the same height.
The proximity stole her breath. It had been like this since the show ended and she’d stepped from the stage. Jordan hadn’t left her side.
Now, alone in the stairwell, the air around them became thick and heady with a pulsing energy that left her lightheaded.
Her unsteadiness, she told herself, was the only reason her hand came to his shoulder. How did he smell so good this late in the day? And why was it making her feel like she’d had two glasses of prosecco on an empty stomach? “I’ll have you know,” she repeated, “that these are Stuart Weitzmans.”
When their eyes locked, a dangerous glint flickered across his darkening orbs. Dear God, was she panting? She was sure that if his gaze dropped to her chest, he would see her heart trying to beat its way out of her body.
Never taking his sight off her, he replied, “I don’t know who that is, but if he’s causing you pain, I hate him.”
Close your mouth, dammit. You look like a cat in heat. Her racing heart and overheated skin were remnants of adrenaline from the most exciting night of her life. Her shortness of breath and the drunk sensation fogging her brain were a mix of her crashing adrenaline and pent-up exhaustion after weeks of hard work. It had nothing to do with the way her bodyguard was gripping her waist.
Licking her dry lips, her next words left her mouth before she even formulated them in her brain. “Do you want to come to my apartment for a drink to celebrate?”
The suggestion was so clear, the tick in his jaw even recognized it. She swallowed dust and held her breath.
After everything that had happened in the last few weeks, she understood their relationship had changed. He’d gone from perpetually annoyed, reluctant babysitter to perpetually annoyed, fiercely protective bodyguard. Still, in moments like these, where his expression was a glittering swirl of frustration, impatience, and heated interest, she wasn’t sure if she was witnessing a reflection of her own unraveling need or misreading his carefully guarded emotions altogether.
“I don’t drink.” In the quiet stairwell, his grumbled words were loud and clear.
