Then something shifts between us as he sinks deeper into the kiss, and I open up to him with a needy whine. My hands slide around his neck, and I pull him harder against me, whimpering as his tongue grazes mine. I realize that I want more. I want his hands on me, touching me in places I never thought could ache as much as they do.
I want him.
A gaggle of children’s laughter breaks into my consciousness at the same time it does his, causing us to break apart. Slowly, the reality of where we are sets in, and I am mortified that I let this man kiss me in such an open place—or at all. No, people are definitely not supposed to kiss their bodyguards.
“Um…we should get up,” I suggest, and Conor nods before straightening up and offering me a hand. I don’t meet his eyes as we dust off the sand, scared that he’ll see how much I want to feel his lips on mine again.
My first kiss…and it just had to be with Conor O’Shea!
***
We share a quiet lunch, and when Conor offers to drive, I don’t fight him on it. Instead, I settle into the passenger seat, knees tucked under me, with my laptop on my lap. I put in my earbuds as I start to go through the day’s footage. I smile as I sort through the pictures I took of the sunset at the campground and some of the footage I took while climbing the dunes.
I try not to think about the man seated next to me or the kiss or just how perfect his lips felt against mine. No, I’m definitely not thinking about that hard body pressed up against mine or the look in his eyes when his mouth found mine again.
We should have stopped.
That kiss… It was my first kiss, and it just had to be with Conor—my temporary bodyguard. My very much older and clearly experienced bodyguard. Sure, he has the most stunning blue eyes I have ever seen, but that doesn’t warrant losing my mind over it.
No. Nope. I’m not thinking about that kiss.
And yet, when I get to the clip Conor filmed for me, I can’t help but think about it. I hear his laughter and can almost feel his smile behind the screen. The lens doesn’t once shift from me—not until I’m flying toward him—when the camera pans away. I can still feel his hands on me, burning every inch of my skin, lighting it with such intense heat and making me feel things I never imagined I ever could.
I bite my lip and angle the laptop screen away from Conor as I replay the video, listening to the sound of his laughter over and over again. When a notification from a private message pops up on the screen, I nearly jump in my seat. I clear my throat and click on the message, expecting to see a text from my sister or one of my cousins but…it’s not.
A knot of unease begins to form in my stomach as I stare at the message sent from a private account. The message is my picture, taken while I stood at the top of the dunes, laughing. I remember this moment clearly. It was right after Conor bumped into those teen girls, and knowing that someone was taking pictures of me without my knowledge makes me uncomfortable.
Is it hypocritical? I’ve spent the majority of the year filming places and people, albeit with their consent, but still…
I can’t shake the feeling that something is off about this. And even more unnerving is the message attached to the image.
Enjoy the view. See you in Chicago.
Maybe it’s from a fan. I didn’t make it a secret that I would be taking a cross-country trip, but I wasn’t too specific about my itinerary. To be fair, I was bound to run into one of the half a million people who follow my account. Still, how the heck did they know I’d be stopping in Chicago next? A lucky guess, perhaps. No, I must have mentioned it during one of my videos and forgotten about it.
It’s ironic that I’ve never run into any of my fans in New York. What are the chances that it would happen in the Midwest?
Alright, stop, Arianna. This is probably nothing!
A hand taps my shoulder, making me jump. When I turn toward Conor, it’s to find him watching me with something akin to concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brows furrowed as he studies me. It takes longer than it should to realize that we’ve stopped.
“Where are we?”
“Our next stop. You wanted to kayak on Lake Michigan,” he says, eyes narrowing on mine. “Are you sure you’re up for it? We don’t have to do this today.”
“No, no, I’m fine,” I say, snapping my laptop closed and turning to the window, intent on putting the message out of my mind. “I…I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”
I start to open the door, but Conor grabs my wrist, forcing my eyes back on his, and just like that, I am reminded of the kiss we shared earlier. I resist the urge to drop my gaze to his mouth, forcing my eyes to stay on his.
“Something’s wrong.”
I consider telling him about that message, but I’m scared he’ll turn a harmless fan into a stalker and get all protective. That’ll ruin the fun, so I opt for a lie. “I just read a negative comment on my last post,” I say, watching the muscles in his face relax. “It’s nothing. I get them all the time.”
“Do you want me to get Fiona to track them down?”
I sputter out a laugh. It’s an open secret that his younger sister, Fiona, is the tech specialist for the O’Shea firm. She handles all the electronic investigations, the kind of digging that sometimes exists in a legal gray area—but no one talks about it. The thought of Conor siccing his smart and scary sister on a fan makes me giggle. Slowly, I feel the tension from the message melt away. “No need for that,” I say, flashing the man a smile. “Let’s go. I’ve always wanted to try kayaking.”
