Page 13 of Israel

Chapter 6

Israel watched the metaphorical dust left by his retreating allies, and then turned back to Ashley Silver, who had grabbed a sequined western-style shirt from the clothes rack and was buttoning it on.

Holy shit, she was really The One.

Bad attitude, dirty sexy talk, curves for days, and diva to the max. All of it.

His soulmate. His fated love. The woman he was going to treasure forever. He could feel it in every beat of his heart, in the fiery burn in the middle of his chest every time he looked at her.

He wanted to drag her down on the couch and find out every single thing about her.

He wanted to hear her entire life story and tell her his. Then he wanted to tell her all his hopes and dreams, and make all of hers come true.

He wanted to tear off that fancy necklace and bury his face in her freckle-sprinkled cleavage. Hell, his wolf wanted him to bend her over the dressing table right fucking now, grab her rounded ass and drive his dick into her until she was coming and screaming his name.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it.

“Okay, first off, I was opposed to his bodyguard thing from day one,” she said, her haughty nose in the air. “Mr. Stalker Smellynotes is probably still at home in his momma’s basement playing videogames, which means I’m in no danger whatsoever. The last thing I need is an over-muscled trigger-happy wolf watching my every move and trying to play hero whenever I drop my handheld appliances. But Harrison insisted and I’m stuck with you, so I’m going to explain to you how it’s going to be.”

Say what?He waited, speechless, while she ticked points off on her fingers.

“One. I lay out the schedule. I have a crap-ton of things I have to do during the day—I don’t just lie around in my sequins and eat bonbons. I’ve got rehearsals, sound checks, conference calls, songwriting sessions, reviewing new songs for my next album…”

He listened to the growing list. Holy shit, didn’t this woman ever rest? It sounded exhausting. Looking closer, he could see faint dark circles under her eyes, beneath her makeup. Maybe she didn’t rest. And maybe this stalker had her more stressed than she was willing to admit.

“…so if you can’t keep up with me, then tough titties, because you don’t dictate where we go or what we do. You deal with what I’m doing. That’s your job.”

She raised another finger. “Two. If I tell you to make yourself useful, you do it. If I want coffee, you get it for me. If I need my guitar or my water bottle or a fucking tissue to wipe my nose, you make sure I have it. And...”

Oh hell no. He was nobody’s gofer and no woman’s lapdog, and if she thought she was going to cut off his balls and turn him into a fucking slave to order around, she had a shitload to learn about Israel Jonas.

“And three, you don’t touch me unless I say, or unless you’re shoving me out of the way of a bullet or a speeding car bent on my destruction,” she went on. “If you’re good, I might decide to give Mr. Happy a ride, but you in no way have any right to assume that will happen.”

What the fuck? She might lower herself to fuck him if he sat panting at her feet long enough? He could feel his temper starting to burn.

“Which brings me to four,” she said. “From time to time it’s possible that I may go on a date. Or bring one back to my hotel room. I expect you to stay out of the way—”

He was done with this shit. She was either delusional, or messing with him just to see how much he’d let her get away with. And if he let Ms. Ashley Silver get the upper hand now, his life was going to be a living hell forever.

He pushed his temper down and took a deep breath.

“Stay out of the way,” he repeated, his tone deceptively mild. “No problem. When you have a ‘date,’ I’ll just stand outside the door fondling my weapon while the stalker strangles you with a lilac-scented scarf as you’re performing fellaaatiooo.” He drew out the word exactly the way she had earlier.

She stopped with her mouth open.

Hah. Two could play the deflect-them-with-dirty-talk game.

“Anyone you bring back to your hotel room could be the stalker,” he pointed out, taking advantage of her momentary silence. “Therefore, obviously, there will be no dates. So now that you’ve expressed your views, this is how it’s really going to go.”

He started ticking points off on his fingers, just like she had.

“One. I’m willing to accommodate your schedule and accompany you wherever you need to go, provided that, in my professional judgement, the security risk is minimal.”

He didn’t give her a chance to jump in and argue.

“Two,” he said. “No fetching. I’m neither a personal assistant nor a pet dog—and I can’t protect you if I’m dashing around running pointless errands. Not my job, and sure as fuck not happening.”

She pulled in a breath to speak, and he held up a hand.