She’s asking, and that’s progress, so I move back to give her space. She declines my help when I offer to help her convert the van into a camping setup for the night, stating that her viewers need to learn how to do it on their own and not feel pressured to bring someone along for help. I watch her get to work, impressed at how she manages to multitask—filming and setting up camp—so I decide to get busy by setting up my tent next to the van. I bought it at the last minute when Amy told me how small the van was, and I figured Arianna wouldn’t be comfortable sharing her space with a man, even me.
I follow the instructions in the manual before setting up the tent, and when I’m done, I step back to look at it. A stifled laugh from behind me draws my attention to the tent small enough to fit a toddler. Fuck. “I didn’t realize single-person meant single toddler.”
“You should have read the reviews,” Arianna laughs, the sound so infectious that I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. I find myself captivated, drawn in by the sound. Such a rare sound that I want to bottle it up, and I find myself rooted to the ground, just staring at her. And in that moment, I fall for her a little—way more than a bodyguard is ever allowed to feel for a client. It’s dangerous. “That tent isn’t big enough for a teenager, let alone a grown man.”
“I’m sure I can make it work,” I say as I attempt to climb into the tent. My legs catch on something, and I trip, falling on my back and bringing the little tent down with me. Arianna doubles over with laughter, the beautiful sound echoing into the dark.
“Stop laughing. I just need to get it straightened out a bit,” I say, shuffling around and trying to pull my leg from its confines. But that only makes the tent rip, making Arianna laugh even harder.
I curse under my breath as I free myself from the tent. When I’m done, it’s clear the thing is beyond saving.
“I guess you’re the one who’ll need protection on this trip after all. From little tents,” she chuckles, dabbing at the corner of her eyes. “I guess you can sleep in the van. And no, don’t get any weird ideas. You’re sleeping in the front passenger seat.”
I agree with the plan. Hell, I’m just happy she’s not leaving me to lie on the damp grass and fight the night elements. I try not to think of my expensive and cozy bed sitting lonely in my penthouse while I break my back on this trip. I decide that I’ll just buy a better tent at our next stop tomorrow. The seat will have to do for tonight.
We set up chairs facing the tree line and share a quiet dinner. When the mosquitoes turn vicious, we get back into the van. I get comfortable in the seat and figure I might as well read a book for a few hours before trying to sleep. Silence falls over the van as Arianna settles on her bed to work on her computer, editing the videos she just took. We stay that way for two hours, and she’s the first to call it a day.
I try my best to ignore the sounds of my client settling for the night. When I accidentally catch a glimpse of her stripping out of her top in the rear-view mirror, I quickly force myself to look away. I fight a groan when I feel my dick harden, pushing the heel of my hand over it and ordering it to behave.
No, I’m definitely not doing that. It’s crazy, and it’s creepy.
And yet…
I find my eyes straying back to the mirror. She has her back to me, and I know better than to keep looking, but I can’t fucking make myself stop. My heart starts pounding against my ribs when she strips out of the top, revealing the perfect curve and arch of her back that dips to a narrow waist. My cock hardens to full mast, pushing against my sweatpants and begging for relief.
Fuck!
I force my gaze away, cursing myself for a fool. The shuffling behind me sends all kinds of images flooding through my head—images no bodyguard should carry for their client. Goddamnit, I can already tell it’s going to be a long fucking night.
Chapter Three
Arianna
This trip isn’t turning out how I thought it would. A part of me—the part that was convinced that Conor O’Shea is the rudest jerk in a city of jerks—was surprised by how pleasant his company has been.
I still don’t like him. I just…dislike him a little less than I did twenty-four hours ago. And that’s more than I thought would happen less than a day into being around each other. Perhaps seeing him with a bedhead and not his normal smug self has made me see him differently. Christ, there’s just something incredibly hot about Conor in sweatpants and hair mussed from sleep, gorgeous even when he’s not put together.
I find it endearing that he’s not a morning person. Grumbling when I woke him at the crack of dawn so we could leave. He didn’t argue when I offered to drive, but instead, he sat in the passenger seat, dozing off. It was nearly nine, after downing three cups of coffee, before some life started to sink into the man’s eyes.
We’d spent the morning at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, which was the whole reason for stopping in Cleveland. Conor had actually seemed interested, lingering at exhibits longer than I expected. I’d caught him reading every word of the Bruce Springsteen display, and when I teased him about it, he’d just shrugged and said, “The Boss is the Boss.” It was almost…cute.
“Tired?” He finally asks me after several hours of driving in silence. When I glance at him, I note he looks a little morehuman with the caffeine flowing through his veins. “I can drive the rest of the way if you are. Let you catch some sleep.”
“I’m not tired.” Quite the opposite. This is the first time I’ve been away from New York in months, and while I miss my sister, there’s a sweet freedom in waking up to the sound of birds and just driving further and further into the unknown. Here, I can roll down the window and enjoy the crisp, clean air.
When I look out, I don’t just see concrete and glass but an expanse of green, broken only by the occasional splash of vibrant wildflowers. The trees stand like silent sentinels on rolling hills that slope and stretch into the distance. With every mile we cover, I feel myself becoming lighter, freer, and finally at ease. Something I haven’t felt in ages. Not since my uncle tried to kill my sister.
Nope. Not thinking about that. Uncle Gio and his minions are gone, and Tilly is safe. Loved and protected.
“Where are we headed?” Conor breaks through my thoughts.
I turn to see him peering out through the open window.
“Our next stop is the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore in Michigan,” I tell him, giddy at the thought of visiting the park for the first time. “I’ve seen the place online and it looks amazing.”
“Why would anyone want to travel all this way for a beach?” he asks with a yawn, and I watch him grab his book from the dashboard, flipping mindlessly through it. “There’s just sand and…more sand.”
“And water—you forgot that,” I deadpan, earning a snicker that sounds dangerously close to a laugh. “Are you this much of a killjoy to all your clients, or do I just bring it out of you?”
