“What the hell is wrong with you?” Hudson growls, his voice booming. “She told you to stop. Are you deaf or have a death wish?”
The designer rolls her eyes. “It’s fashion, my dear. She needs to learn to…”
Hudson cuts her off, taking a step forward, but making sure I’m tucked close. “She doesn’t need to do shit except breathe.” His voice is now a lethal growl. “Next time you ignore her, you’ll have to answer to me.”
The designer goes pale, words stumbling out in a rush. “I…of course, I…I didn’t realize…I mean, I was just…”
“Yeah,” Hudson snaps, jaw clenched hard, “you werejusttoo busy measuring whatever you called it, to even notice someone’s about to fucking pass out.”
Everyone in the room freezes, Hudson still keeping me close, steady and strong. My whole body trembles, heart slamming against my ribs.
He looks down at me, his voice now gentle. “Are you okay?”
Clutching his shirt and letting his warmth anchor me, I try to process what just happened and how safe I feel with him.
I nod even though I’m not sure I am. I’ve never been held like this before. Never been protected. Not by anyone.
He holds me a little longer, until my breathing slows. I feel every inch of him; his rough hands, the heat of his chest, the way he holds me up until he’s sure I’m steady. And for a second, I don’t care that I’m half-naked in a room full of strangers.
He finally turns, “Everyone out. Now. Give her some fucking space.”
The designer and her assistant scatter, the door clicking shut behind them in a panicked blur of apologies.
Now it’s just us. His focus comes back to me. His fingers tremble, as he helps tug the dress up over my chest, half wrapping me back in silk and sequins.
“You good?”
I nod again, tears threatening, not trusting myself to speak. He waits another heartbeat to be certain I’m steady before letting go, taking a step back.
“I’ll be right outside,” he says, voice gravelly and low. “You take as long as you need.”
And then he’s gone, the door shutting quietly behind him, leaving me with nothing but the ghost of his warmth and the echo of safety that’s still wrapped around me.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t feel invisible. I feel seen. I feel wanted. And even though I know I shouldn’t, I want him to touch me again.
No one has ever cared about me like this. Not once in my whole life.
5
HUDSON
I settleinto the too-soft salon chair, elbows on my knees, forcing myself to look like I give a shit about the expensive decor, whatever this bullshit music is coming through the speakers, or the gossip magazine I’m pretending to be engrossed in. But my eyes are just skimming over words I couldn’t repeat if someone put a gun to my head. All I can see is Ivory. My thoughts are consumed with how she felt pressed up against me, her pale skin flushed, long hair falling in a black river down her back, and the press of her tits to my chest. My hands remember every inch. The quiver in her muscles, the way her breath hitched. I never expected any of this to happen, never meant to want her this badly. But I do. And now it’s stuck in me, embedded deep, like a splinter I can’t dig out.
She’s so fucking soft. So breakable, delicate, innocent. My girl. My perfect, untouched, innocent girl. And God, does that make me the worst kind of bastard for wanting her like this.
I shift, trying to adjust so no one notices how fucking hard I am. Doesn’t help. My rock-solid cock throbs against the zipper in my jeans, and if I so much as move, anyone looking closely will see exactly what’s going on in my head. But I don’t care. Letthem look. Let them wonder what’s got the bodyguard all twisted up in a place like this.
The only thing on my mind is her.
She’s sitting across the room, feet in a bubbling tub, that white hotel robe hiked up just enough to tease a glimpse of thigh. Her toes wiggle every so often, and she looks so damned cute. She doesn’t belong here; Ivory belongs anywhere but in a world this cold. She keeps sneaking glances in my direction, and each time I catch her, she looks away quickly, biting her lip, cheeks turning pink. She’s embarrassed I’m watching her, but she doesn’t move to cover herself. I don’t think she realizes what she’s doing to me right now.
She should be embarrassed. But for all the wrong reasons. She should be able to trust me, trust the man hired to keep her safe. But I’m a goddamn mess, thinking about nothing but what it would feel like to peel that robe off her, to see her bare and open and trembling underneath my hands.
I want her.
I want the taste of her mouth, the shape of her hips, the way her legs would feel locked around my waist. I want to teach her things, dark and dirty things, until she’s ruined for anyone else who’d dare look her way.
The image of her flashes behind my eyes: nipples pebbling tight as the cold hits her, the soft weight of her tits against me, how my mouth actually watered wanting to take one in my mouth, to suck and tease her until she whimpered my name. I want to find out exactly how sensitive she is and how easy she’d be to break apart for me. The way she gasped, that wide-eyed look, like she’d never been touched before.
