‘Did she get vetted?’ Stern eyes bore into mine.
‘Yes.’ Truthfully, I have no idea but she’s worked for me for four years and I’ve never had an issue. ‘Is this really necessary?’ My hands sweep across the open drawers. I dread to think what he might find in there amongst the old takeaway menus and silver cocktail shakers.
‘It’s absolutely necessary. I’m here to protect you, Victoria. I’ll lay down my life for you if I have to. But I’d prefer not to. Please, let me do my job.’
I nod. Something about him laying his life down for me strikes a chord buried deep within. An echoing reminder of the car crash I suffered as a kid. The doctors managed to save me, but not my parents.
I’ve always secretly wondered what would have happened if the paramedic had pulled them out first. Would they have survived instead of me? My sisters assure me both my mother's and father’s injuries were fatal. It wouldn’t have mattered. Yet I can’t help but wonder sometimes.
The last thing I remember about that night is my mother screaming, ‘She’s in the back.’
She put my life before hers.
The last thing I want is for anyone else to lay down their life for me.
Archie heads into the living room. I follow him, trying to shake off the melancholy clouding me. A huge, custom-made cream leather couch facing the ivory marble fireplace punctuates the centre of the room. Flames lick the burning logs, dancing to an inaudible rhythm.
‘I thought I was the one supposed to be shadowing you?’ Archie stokes the fire with a metal poker before turning to me with a pointed look.
He proceeds to check every square inch of the property; doors, windows, wardrobes, and even the attic.
I make myself scarce and not because I’m scared of some wayward shooter coming to hunt me down.
No.
What scares me is the sheer force of longing surging through every bone in me. Fizzing and crackling beneath my skin.
Archie Mason is still as devastatingly attractive as he’s always been. More so, in fact. It’s just a pity it seems he can barely tolerate me.
Fuck the cold shower.
I need a hand-held shower with a very large, powerful head.
Though I doubt even that will alleviate the aching lust pulsing waywardly between my legs right now.
4
ARCHIE
Victoria’s house is nowhere near secure enough for the sister of one of the most famous women in the world, let alone one who’s involved in a high-profile shooting.
It’s in need of a massive upgrade. The locks require changing. The alarm system needs to be updated. There should be motion sensors on every door and window, linked to an app which is accessible remotely.
Victoria should be wearing a tracker at all times, in case we somehow get separated.
She descends the second flight of stairs from the top floor, interrupting my inventory. ‘You’ll take the entire ground floor,’ she says in a breezy tone, as if it’s a given.
Thankfully, she’s put some clothes on, even if those clothes are skin-tight jeans that sculpt her shapely thighs, and a pink cashmere sweater that does little to mask those beautiful breasts lurking beneath. The only saving grace is she appears to be wearing a bra now.
My dick twitches and my brain scrambles to summon images of the least sexy women I can think of.
Margaret Thatcher.
Teresa May.
I’m sure some people have a female politician kink, just not me. Not to say I don’t appreciate women in power, on the contrary. I just know women with the ability to wield any power over my dick are not the same age as my granny.
‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen.’ I force a smile, which probably looks as sarcastic as it feels.
