The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) (7 page)

She held her forehead in her hands. “Jesus, Adam. Don’t you ever back down?”

“Not when it’s important. And you’re important.” The startling glimmer of affection in his green eyes rendered her speechless. But only for a second.

“Thank you. Still, I need to insist on a different bodyguard. Someone who doesn’t have anything at stake. You’re too close to me.”

As he took a sip of his coffee, his eyes crinkled over the rim of the coffee mug. He swallowed. “Aww, aren’t you sweet.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m not trying to be sweet. I’m telling you I don’t want you involved in my past.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” He shrugged. “Ready to hit the road?”

“You aren’t going to let me leave, are you?”

“Alone? No.”

“Why?” she pleaded, wishing for some way to convince him he was better off not knowing the secrets she kept hidden from the world. The scary people she might face, and have to run from, if she encountered anyone from her old life.

He sighed and leaned his hip against her kitchen counter. “Marissa, I’ve spent the better part of two years crammed in an office, stuck behind a desk. I need this as much as you need me. Okay?”

She glanced down at her hands. “No, not okay. But I guess I can’t talk you out of it.”

“Nope.” His smile beamed in his tanned face. “I do need to ask, does this have something to do with your Grandpa Tate?”

“Sort of.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He scratched his unshaven jaw. “Then we’ll need to swing by my place, pick up my Harley.”

“Oh, that seems like too much trouble,” she began.

“Doesn’t he—or, didn’t he—own a biker bar?”

“Yes…”

“Then if we want to blend in, we need a bike. Is there a flaw in my logic?”

She crossed her arms. “No.”

“Okay then.” He rinsed out his mug, placed it on the top rack of her dishwasher, and headed for the front door. “Pit-stop at my place. I’ve traveled with the Harley in my truck bed before. Won’t take more than thirty minutes to rig it up and secure, then we’ll be on our way.”

“Adam.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” He tossed her a devilish grin. “When I get you there and back in one piece, we’ll talk about ways you can thank me.”

“I paid the company already,” she said.

“And you’ll find the charges reversed on your credit card.”

“What? No, that’s—”

“It’s my decision. You don’t owe me anything. I’m glad to help you out, okay?”

“Okay,” she murmured, climbing into the cab of his truck, wondering how she could ever reimburse him for taking her into the gates of her own personal hell, hoping they both didn’t get burned.

In the first thirty minutes of their trip, worry drilled down her every nerve like drywall screws into two-by-fours. Thanks to Grandpa Tate, she’d learned plenty about construction. He’d refurbished his home—their home—for six years.

Life is always a work in progress, Maria,
he would say.

Or
had
said.

Loss penetrated her soul. Tears spilled down her cheeks for the thousandth time. She forced herself to focus on her return to Rogerstown. Would anyone recognize her? If they did, how would she convincingly deflect their suspicion?

Wait…hadn’t Adam worked as a bounty hunter in his former life? No doubt the job required some level of stealth and deceit. Maybe he
was
the best person to hire as her bodyguard for her purpose.

“Do you mind if we talk?” she asked.

“Sure.” He took a sip of his Coke, rested it in the console and snapped off the radio. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t want to go into details, okay?” she insisted with force behind her words.

“Okay.”

By his frown she recognized his agreement meant he accepted her proposition, even if he didn’t like it. “Good. So…I need a cover story when I arrive.”

“For why you’re back in Arizona?”

She nodded.

He flexed his grip on the steering wheel. “Sugar, I need something to go on. Like why you don’t want people to know you there.”

As she walked a thin line with her words, she said, “I’m in Rogerstown for any reason except Bill Tate’s death.” Her throat tightened, warning her not to say anything more, but he was right, she needed to give him more to go on. “There was…an incident. At the bar, ten years ago. I became caught up in a gang confrontation. Though they destroyed or hid most of the evidence, the police and court system took my word over the gang’s. If any of the gang members discover my presence in town, if they still hold a grudge, they wouldn’t think twice about retaliation.”

Crooking his arm onto the driver’s side window pad, he tapped two fingers against the glass in contemplation. “What about me?”

She threw him a sidelong glance. “What about you?”

“Say
I’m
there for Bill Tate’s death.”

She brightened. “I like it. You’re a cousin—from Vegas.”

“It works.” His lips drew to the side in contemplation. “Do I need a fake name, too?”

She froze in the passenger seat. “What do you mean,
too?
”

After a short pause, he offered a shrug that reflected curiosity, not knowledge. “If you don’t want to exist, I’m assuming I should have a fake persona.”

“Yes.”
He couldn’t know the truth. No one could suspect a thing. “Perfect. You’re Adam Tate, a distant cousin.”

“I’m there paying respects for the family.

“Nice.” She ventured a smile. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be. Did this kind of shit—sorry, stuff—for a living for fifteen years.”

She leaned toward him. “We’re not teacher and student through this, Adam. I don’t care if you swear in front of me.”

“I do.”

The respect in his tone surprised her. “Thank you, but your caution isn’t necessary.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re a client. I need you to know I take this seriously.”

A small part of her registered disappointment.
Misplaced, of course. He hadn’t taken the job because he felt something more, or special, toward her. Like any good team leader, he’d decided he was the best man for the position, that’s all. Then again, why would a CEO, head of his department, accept one small obligation? Leaving his important post for two days and compromising his free time over the weekend?

The thought of his sacrifice on her behalf shouldn’t please her, or lift her spirits, but it did. Though she couldn’t pinpoint why at the moment.

“Good thing I planned ahead,” he said.

She blinked. “You did? How?”

“Brought a couple fake IDs I had on hand. Used them all the time in my former occupation.”

“Impressive.”

“Meh.
Old habit.”

He reached for his dashboard and adjusted the air-conditioning up to a warmer notch. She caught his gaze flicking in the direction where her seatbelt crossed her chest.

When she looked down, she squirmed. Her nipples had beaded against her white v-neck top.
Oh.

Embarrassed, she crossed her arms. Yet awareness sent a flicker of heat through her abdomen. So he
did
see her as a woman, not just his tutor. A small smile rose to her lips. Maybe he
did
find her attractive, after she’d assured herself he didn’t. She tried not to read anything into his observation.

Attention from this man was the last thing she should want, she thought, berating herself. Adam lived the same dangerous, full-throttle lifestyle as the gang member she’d testified against. A fast-and-loose way of living she’d gladly left behind.

Still, the aloof, careless, slightly dark edge about him awakened deep yearnings inside her. Yearnings she didn’t dare act on—especially with him. No matter how much his big-muscled, badass persona appealed to her baser urges.

Ten years ago, the day her life no longer belonged to her—the day she turned into a tracking number in a government database—she’d understood the term “guarded” in the purest sense. Lovers became a luxury, one she chose with utmost care and caution. Though, damn it, she’d given up so much. She missed intimacy. The kind of intense chemistry she experienced whenever Adam drew near.

Stop. Just stop it,
she told herself.

Climbing into bed with Adam was the worst of bad ideas.

“We should be lovers,” he said out of nowhere.

She choked on a swallow. “Wh-what?”

“You’re coming into town with me, while
I
pay respects to Tate. It’s all about a convincing cover, right?”

“Yes.” She gulped. “Of course. Yes.”

“Then you’re my girlfriend.” A sly grin tucked into his cheek. “Unless acting as my girlfriend is a problem.”

“Problem?” she squeaked. “No. Uh-uhn. As far as cover stories, that makes the most sense.”

Without warning, he pressed the break and headed into the exit lane of a rest stop. “So if I kiss you in front of people, it won’t be a problem.”

Forcing casualness, she spread her hands like hey
, why not?
Then she caught a slight trembling in her fingers. She slapped her palms onto her thighs, moisture seeping into her jeans. “Why would it be? A problem, I mean. For me.”

“Just asking.” He parked his truck and stepped out.

A bathroom break might do her frayed nerves a world of good. Fresh air, too, as she noticed the hot tingling in her cheeks.

As he strutted toward the rest stop, lit with fluorescent spotlights, she caught up to his stride. She didn’t dare uncross her arms, as she approached the glass door and he opened it for her. The thin bra she’d left the house in, comfortable for travel purposes, hardly concealed proof of her attraction to him or how turned-on she was by their discussion.

Aiming for the restroom, she suddenly felt a tug on the back of her shirt.

“Marissa.”

“Yes—”

The word stuck in her throat when he caught her around the waist. He lowered his head on an angle.

The instant his mouth captured hers, she went still. Her hands flexed around air. All attention focused on the place where they joined.

Stunned, she put up no defense as his tongue pierced the seam of her lips and swept into her mouth. Sharp pulses thrummed through her body. He tasted like Coca-cola syrup and the answer to her lonely, restless nights.

She ached all over. For him.

His tongue explored her again, slow and seductive, before his lips closed on hers, followed by two tender presses.

Then he gazed down at her through half-lowered lids. Attraction expanded his pupils, and amusement crinkled the corners of his eyes. “We’ll work on the ‘lover’ angle. You were a little stiff. Surprised. But I’m confident I can soften you up. When it comes to PDA,” he added, as if he assumed she understood what he’d meant the first time.

But she didn’t understand anything. He released her, and she nearly stumbled.

He winked. “Meet you back here in the lobby.”

Unsure whether to be angry or grateful, she moved in a daze to the women’s restroom. She performed the necessary task, but when she exited the stall and looked at herself in the mirror, she groaned in disappointment. Her cheeks flamed pink, eyes over-bright, lips puffy.

God, she was a terrible actress. Signs of lust were painted all over her face. Maybe this effect was Adam’s point to her.

To pull off a ruse, she needed to act like his girlfriend. Like his lover.

As if he kissed her like he just had, so perfect and steamy in front of strangers, every day.
Nothing new.
Nothing earth-shattering.

Too bad her body reacted like a virgin, whose crush kissed her for the first time.

Holy hell.
Too intense.

And sad, she thought, her shoulders and her self-esteem drooping. Adam couldn’t fathom how long she’d waited for male attention since her last kiss, longer ago than she cared to recount.

A man like him carried a little black book in his Smartphone a mile long. Booty-call central. He probably couldn’t keep them all straight.

A dismal frown crossed her face.
How nice for him.

She was so used to suppressing excitement around gorgeous men—even ones uninterested in her—she’d learned to detach her emotions for the sake of her cover. Always.

With Adam she wasn’t sure detachment came as a possibility.
Damn him.

Regardless, she needed to take their play-acting in stride. Like a normal girl, who hadn’t gone without sex for…too long.

Consuming slow, deep breaths, she willed her body to submit to the greater goal.

Saturday, she’d sneak into her grandfather’s estate sale. Using Adam for cover, as he’d agreed to pose as her grandfather’s young cousin, she’d recoup her precious family possessions before the town auctioned off her childhood home out from under her. Before they trashed cherished memories collecting dust in forgotten corners. She had no say, no way to stand up for what she believed her grandfather would’ve wanted. The estate sale offered her only chance to be near again to the man who’d given up so much to give her the best. God, she missed and loved him.

She’d agree to anything to claim her own legacy.

Though she regretted admitting it, she’d hired Adam as a means to an end. If that path required hiding her attraction to him behind tepid displays of affection for others’ approval, fine. She’d worry about her inner disappointment later. Long after she and Adam concluded their tutoring sessions, he passed his GED, and they returned to their separate lives.

Anything Adam offered her was temporary. His protection or his passion.

As long as she reined in her private desires, and she kept her eye on the prize, best case scenario they’d slip in and out of town without anyone of importance noticing them. That’s all she’d wanted from the start.

*

Damn it was annoying to piss with a hard-on. He’d taken a stall instead of a urinal. No random dude needed to see what he packed when a girl turned him on beyond belief.

Jerking off at a rest stop seemed pathetic. Though the thought crossed his mind. He shuddered. Not his bag. He finished with effort, tucking himself into his fly, zipping up. He forced his brain to focus on idiotic shit, like puppies and rainbows. And
not
remember how badly he wanted to toss Marissa over his shoulder, bend her over in the back of his truck, and make her scream his name.

Damn it, he’d meant the kiss to set
her
off kilter. Not him.

She means something to you—a lot,
his conscience insisted.

But he’d learned long ago business had no room for conscience—or pleasure. Not that he ran his company like a Fortune 500 asshole. He left room for space, for negotiation. Do the job. Make the customer happy. Leave your personal shit at the door.

Adam had picked up plenty of pointers along the way from his cousins Trey and Cade. Two men he admired, who prided themselves on how the public perceived them, and acted accordingly. He happily let the public focus on them, not him, while he continued his carefree, useless life beyond corporate walls.

But how careless could he be? How many times had one of his bodyguards called him in the middle of the night asking him what to do? He wasn’t a man on his own time anymore. People needed him. Sure, bounty hunter life meant excitement and recklessness. An old life, an old existence. Did he really miss zero boundaries? No one who cared whether he came home?