Page 7 of Carte

I looked up at Tim, who bugged his eyes at me in clear sign that he too found this man’s behavior weird.

I took a tiny step closer, but when Carter’s eyes fell on my foot, I stopped like I slammed into a wall. Swallowing, I offered a tiny, trembling smile. “Hey, I’m Harley.”

At the sound of my scratchy voice after having sung for the last three hours voice, his eyes cut to mine. That got a reaction out of him. A knowing smirk played on his mouth.

I gave him his second win. I knew it made me childish. I knew it was the wrong thing to do. But seeing that smirk and knowing I just gave complete control of my life to a stranger, I turned around and stormed out of the dressing room.

Chapter Two

Carter

I stood there for a minute, looking at the spot she just left. The slam of the door still vibrated in my body, and I couldn’t help it.

I smiled.

Fuck me, she was magnificent. Underneath the makeup, and all polished, ready for the stage look, she had this raw, fierce, almost overpowering kind of beauty. The kind that kept you on your toes and stole your last breath at a single glimpse. Sure, it was on her face, but it mostly lived in her eyes. Just one look at her grey-blue eyes, and I knew I was going to have my hands full. There was no way Harley Thorne was going to hand me the reins, stay back, and let me make her safe.

I’d stood in the shadows of the stage during her concert almost like I was the stalker, and not her bodyguard. I watched as she moved across that stage, noticed how fluid her movements were, how easy she smiled and laughed, how her eyes almost twinkled as she looked on at her audience. I became mesmerized every time she swung her long, brown hair over her shoulder and out of her face. I soaked up her husky laugh.

She was on the shorter side, but her muscles were toned. It was obvious she worked out. And with the amount of jumping, running and dancing around the stage that she did, it was clear she worked out hard.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Tim’s voice snapped me back to present, his face twisted. I was positive he was trying to be intimidating, but all he managed was to look constipated. “Shouldn’t you go after her? You clocked in the moment she came into this dressing room.”

“She’s safe here.” I scrubbed a hand over my head. “She’s covered in this building.”

Even as I said that I went in search of the little spitfire that was my new client. I didn’t have to look far.

She was standing just outside the door, her back against the wall, her head tipped back, and her eyes closed. I watched as her chest rose and fell rapidly.

“Why are you here?” she gritted out, turning her head and looking at me.

I could see the turmoil swimming in them, turning them more grey than blue.

I slowly took a step closer, and mirrored her position on the wall. “To keep you safe.”

It was a bullshit answer; she deserved to know the real situation, but I also didn’t want to freak her out too much. Until I had at least some of the answers, I was keeping silent.

She tilted her head down, her eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not sure I like you.”

It was if the words were just for her, not intended for me to hear them. But, I did.

“I’m not here to be liked. I’m here to keep you breathing.”

Her eyes flashed, and she pushed from the wall, turned, and came toe to toe with me. She was short, and I tilted my head down to look at her.

She watched me closely, thoughts racing behind her gaze that she locked firmly on mine, but she kept her silence. She caught the meaning of my words, but couldn’t put her finger down on what the threat was. As I watched the scenarios rushing through her head with each new thought darkening her gaze, her skin went from flushed to pale, I realized this wasn’t her first dangerous situation.

Suddenly, Harley stilled completely, her lips parted and she blinked up at me. I slowly lifted my hand, to do what I wasn't sure, but she sensed my movement and took a step back. It was a clear indication of not wanting the contact, so I dropped my hand back down.

She flicked her gaze to both sides before she shook her head, her brown hair getting in her eyes. She pushed it back with one hand, squared her shoulders and sneered at me, “I don’t need a guard dog.”

I tracked our surroundings with my gaze slowly, and knew she was doing the same. There were at least a hundred or so people milling around. Not all of them were vetted by the label who was responsible for this tour. There were press, groupies, and fans. It was clear no measurements of safety were taken beyond the bare minimum.

My gaze went back to her face and to the eyes that still held a storm in them. Even with the small amount of time I spent in her presence, I knew those eyes had the power to pull me in and hold me captive for eternity.

“Did you hear me?” She scowled. “I said, I don’t need a guard dog.”

“You will,” I answered simply.