I nod, trying not to look disappointed that protection is all he offers, not comfort. I slip into my room, close the door, and rest my forehead against the wood. I listen for his footsteps retreating, slow and heavy, before I let myself breathe out everything I’ve been holding in.
Sliding into bed, I look up at the city light painting colorful designs on the ceiling. Sleep is definitely not going to come easy tonight, not with him so close yet so far. My mind doesn’t stop, replaying everything I didn’t say, and things I’ll never say. I wonder what Hudson dreams of, if he’s ever let himself want something he can’t have. I wonder if he sees me at all, or am I just another job.
I wish I had the guts to ask him if he wanted to hang out, not as my bodyguard but as someone who might understand what it feels like to be lonely in a room full of people. Maybe I’ll muster enough courage before the week’s up.
So I settle for lying in the dark, listening to the city below, hoping tomorrow will be easier.
3
HUDSON
Sleep’s a fucking joke.I’m flat on my back, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to the hum of the hotel AC and the distant sirens coming from the street below.Some bodyguard you are, Hudson. You’re supposed to be rested, sharp, and vigilant.
But it’s Ivory’s face I can’t shake, the look she gave me when I basically told her to leave me the hell alone during dinner. I didn’t use those exact words, but it landed just as hard, hurting her feelings.
Good,I tried to tell myself. It keeps things simple because I need boundaries. She’s not a friend; she’s a job. Christ, she’s what, barely nineteen? Still practically a kid. So goddamn small, always nervous, always bracing herself, ready for someone to snap at her. I remember how she flinched when her old man so much as looked her way, telling myself it’s none of my business, it’s my problem.
But who am I kidding? She already is.
When she looks at me, it isn’t fear. Not exactly. More like…hope. Which is worse.
I let out a low groan, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, scrubbing a calloused hand down my face. I need to hit a gym somewhere, blow off some of this unwanted tension. But there’sno way in hell I’m leaving her alone. So I settle for investigating instead.
I flip open my laptop and start hunting. Socials, news articles, the deep corners of the internet. Ashford’s name is everywhere, associated with old money, new money, dirty money; money that still stinks no matter how many times you run it through the wash. I find paper shell companies, fraud accusations, and a couple of federal investigations that never resulted in anything. All of it pretty much Mafia-adjacent. Ivory barely exists in all this noise. There are only a few private accounts, some charity event photos of her wearing dresses worth more than my year’s rent, then a whole lot of nothing. No friends. No parties. No exes crawling out of the woodwork. Just a handful of likes from cousins and some old lady.
Probably her grandmother.
Fuck. No wonder she tried so hard to make small talk tonight. She’s lonely as hell.
I swipe through her photos. Every shot has that same practiced half-smile, positioned just off-center, carefully arranged as an accessory. There's nothing spontaneous; no candid laughter, no genuine moments. Someone else is pulling the strings on how the world sees her, and I’ve got a pretty good idea who’s responsible.
My fists clench involuntarily.
I close the laptop, and stare at my reflection on the black screen.What the fuck am I doing here? Babysitting a sad, pretty girl while her family runs the city like it’s their personal casino?
I should keep my head down, do the job, get paid, and leave when it’s over. But I can’t shake that look she gave me. The one that said she’d take any scrap of kindness and hold it close.
I slam the laptop closed, needing to move. There’s too much energy buzzing under my skin, and nowhere to put it. Normally,I'd find a gym open all night and work this tension out of my system on an old leather bag. But there’s no way in hell I’m leaving Ivory here alone and unprotected.
I stand and stretch, bending a certain way until my back pops. Deciding to see if there’s anything to eat in the kitchen.
The suite’s dark, except for the faint glow of the under-cabinet lighting. I move quietly. Old habit. Always assume someone’s waiting to jump you in the dark.
I round the corner and freeze.
Ivory is at the table, one knee hugged up tight, and one bare leg poking out from under some oversized T-shirt that hangs on her tiny frame. She hasn’t seen me yet, she’s too busy staring into her bowl, lips parted, the tip of her tongue flicking over the spoon.
Fuck me.
My eyes drag over her; long black hair spilling down her back, skin pale and soft, the slope of her thigh exposed and begging for my hands. She looks so fucking innocent, and she has no idea what she’s doing to me.
I shouldn’t be thinking like this. She’s too young. But all I can see is the little gap where her thighs part and the way she cradles the bowl to her chest. That baggy shirt has slipped down just enough that I get a perfect view of her tits. They are smaller than what I typically prefer, but perfect. I can’t help but notice how her perky nipples strain hard against the thin fabric.
She has no idea what she looks like right now, sitting there all sweet and vulnerable, but my cock sure as hell does, wanting so badly to toss her over my shoulder and ruin her in ways she’s never dreamed.
No. No.
I’m supposed to be her bodyguard. My job is to keep her safe, not stand here in the dark like some perv, getting hard at the sight of her looking so damn hot. Every dirty thought runningthrough my mind right now is aimed straight at her, and she has no fucking clue how bad I want her, knowing how wrong it is.
