The Alpha Bodyguards Books #1-3

Chapter Three

O h my G od, my head .

It was pounding like I was on a construction site and someone was relentlessly hammering on my skull. I couldn’t remember a worse headache.

Why the fuck did I drink so much last night?

And why the hell did I leave all the damn lights on?

I raised my arm to put my hand over my face, but halfway through the motion something caught. A metal clanking sound rattled the silence, and a split second later pain bit into my wrist.

What the…?

I opened one eye.

Oh my God .

I was fucking handcuffed?

Belated panic set in, and I opened both eyes, picking my head up.

White sheets, fluffy pillows, thick white comforter, and a wall of glass looking out over sparkling turquoise waters.

My head fell back and I inhaled.

Okay. I wasn’t in jail. That was good. One less thing for my asshole agent to be pissed about. Although…. No, don’t even think it. Jail would be bad, even if it did destroy my career and get me off this fucking merry-go-round. Beds in jail wouldn’t be this soft. I rolled my head and inhaled again. Or smell this good.

Because damn , it smelled really good.

But not hotel good .

No bleach, no disinfectant, no sterile this-is-supposed-to-be-clean-but-they-are-still-used-sheets distinctive smell. I knew that smell. I’d lived that smell for more years than I could count. After back-to-back movies for the past decade, I was intimate with hotel sheet smell.

This wasn’t that.

This was…

Oh no.

No, no, no .

My heart suddenly in my throat, I slowly rolled the other way.

Holy.

Fucking.

SHIT .

He was huge.

A giant beast of a man with unbelievably huge muscles was asleep next to me. And holy fuck, he was hot. Scary as hell looking, but oh-my-God hot .

And apparently naked.

With the sheet only up to his waist, he had chiseled abs, a screen-worthy jawline, and strong cheekbones. He wasn’t just naked and hot, he was every bad decision I’d never made but wished I had gorgeous.

Stupidly, I mentally ran through every A-lister I knew, but I already knew this guy wasn’t Hollywood. He was too… masculine. And his dark brown, almost black hair was practically shaved in a neat buzz that screamed military, not movies.

His chest expanded with a long inhale, but he didn’t open his eyes. “You’re staring.”

Oh, my God .

Sleep rough and deep, his voice was more vibration than baritone, and it went straight between my legs.

I wanted to taste him.

Actually, I wanted to crawl on top of him and ride every ounce of sexual energy he was giving off while drowning in his scent and listening to his voice forever .

And I didn’t have sex. Like ever.

Okay, that wasn’t exactly true. But ages sixteen to eighteen didn’t count. I was young and stupid then and I’d spread my legs for a slimy prick of a costar who’d fucked every groupie he could get his hands on behind my back. But since then? I’d been smart. I’d kept my legs closed. Unless… last night….

Oh God.

Panicked, I looked down.

Naked as the day I was born.

Damn it, damn it, damn it . I was going to be really pissed if I’d screwed him and didn’t remember a single minute of it. But more, I was going to be seriously pissed at myself. Jeez, why the hell couldn’t I remember a damn thing from last night?

“Relax, sweetheart.” Mistaking my silence, he gave me his sexy-as-hell voice again. “I didn’t fuck you.”

My nipples hardened to the point of pain when he said fuck . “But you managed to handcuff me.” I should be seriously pissed about that. Infuriated, actually. But all that was happening was a growing ache and pool of moisture between my legs that not only said I hadn’t been well used last night, but screamed I needed to get my hormones under control and tell my libido to fuck off.

“I needed some sleep.” He opened one gorgeously green-and-brown eye and looked at me. “Didn’t want you running across South Beach naked.” He paused. “Again.”

Again? Naked? Fuck. FUCK. I mean… shit, I worked out every day and went vegan two years ago to stave off any resemblance to a natural woman my body might be inclined to adopt. I didn’t have anything to be ashamed about walking around naked, unless this was the Renaissance. Then I’d look like a starving pauper, but it wasn’t fifteen hundred, or whenever the Renaissance was. It was Hollywood and it was cutthroat. Unless you looked like a twelve-year-old boy, had no tits, could sing better than Whitney, and were willing to take ridiculous roles no female with a brain would ever touch, then you didn’t work in Hollywood .

So, I shamelessly worked and took that multimillion-dollar paycheck. And apparently ran naked across South Beach.

Shit.

Shit .

“Did my ass look good?” That’s the first thing my publicist would ask me.

The sexy-as-hell tank of man lying next to me opened both eyes and his head as his eyebrows shot to his forehead. “That’s what you’re worried about? Your ass?”

“Yep.” Nope. Well, maybe if he was looking.

He laid his head back down and closed his eyes. “It’s a great fucking ass. Needs some meat on it, but still fuckable.”

“Gee.” Dick. “Thanks.” I changed my mind. He wasn’t sexy as hell. He was crude.

“Not that I need to tell you how your ass looks.” He reached to the nightstand on his side without opening his eyes. Like Superman, his hand landed unerringly on a cell phone. He picked it up, tossed it, and it landed in the exact middle of my chest. “You’re little show’s on every news channel from here to Dubai. Check out your ass for yourself. Passcode’s one-one-nine.”

I stared at the phone on my chest and stupidly wondered what his contacts list would look like. I envisioned a lot of female names. Ones like Candi, Brandi, and Mandi. He looked like he went for the fake-breasted, exotic dancer type. Or any girl he could use and toss aside an hour later. Shoot, ten minutes later for all I knew. Unable to restrain myself, I peeked at him again. Okay, maybe more than ten minutes. But I wasn’t going to think about that.

Sighing, I tossed his phone on his mountain of a chest. “Where’s my cell?”

“Fuck if I know.” His eyes still closed, he put his phone back on the nightstand. “Probably with all of your shit at your hotel suite.”

I tugged on my still handcuffed wrist. “And why am I not back at my hotel suite? ”

He did the open-one-eye thing again. “You don’t remember fuck-all from last night, do you?”

I had to admit, it was kind of nice having someone talk normally to me. No Miss MacKenzie this, no ma’am that. And he wasn’t shy. At all. He didn’t stumble over words or say stupid tongue-tied shit. Which made me wonder… “Do you spend a lot of time around actors?”

He smirked and closed his eye again.

I took in the length of him and wondered how big his dick was. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“It was a stupid question.”

It suddenly occurred to me that maybe he wasn’t tongue tied because I wasn’t his preferred gender of choice. “Okay, how’s this question? Do you like to fuck men or women?” Hell. “Or both?”

Slow, like a turning tide, his mammoth chest rolled to face me as he moved an even bigger arm, bulging muscles and all, under his head. His heated gaze met mine, then it slowly dragged down my face to my lips and drank me in before sliding even lower to my chest and devouring me.

I felt like I’d just been savored, used, and spit out, all without a single touch.

“I fuck women,” he rumbled. “Hard.”

Ohhh God . Wet city. My mouth ran away from me. “Yes, but do you do it well?”

“If I fucked you, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

I let out a snort I was sure was not attractive by any means, but it was a nervous tic I’d never been able to fully break. “Cocky much?”

The side of his mouth tipped up. “Cock being the operative word.”

A single half smile and my entire body tightened with need. I wanted to hate how fucking sexy he was, or at the very least be alarmed by a stranger in my bed, but the sad fucking truth was that my life was nothing except strangers. Actors, agents, publicists, fans, security, costars, I didn’t know any of them and none of them knew the real me.

At least this stranger wasn’t pretending to be nice, or faking professionalism only to gawk. Instead he was being almost normal. Cocky as hell, but still, normal enough to make me forget my empty stomach and hunger pains long enough to remember how long it’d been since I’d had sex.

Not that I wanted to let on for one second that I was thinking about him or his muscles.

Putting the years of acting classes to good use, I managed to keep my expression this side of disinterested and firmly in the bored camp. “Operative word, huh?”

He didn’t hesitate. “My dick’s big, and I know how to use it.”

Hungover, deranged, out of my mind—I didn’t know what my excuse was, but the words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “How big?”

“You’ll never know.”

I opened my mouth to say something sarcastic as hell, but he sank the blow even lower with a smirk.

“Unless you remember last night.”

I shifted my legs and desperately tried to remember even a single detail about him from last night, but all I had was vague impressions of strong arms and sand and shitty feelings of being trapped, which was a constant for me anyway. Besides, this beast of a man had just said we didn’t fuck, and my pussy felt as empty as it always did, so I was betting on no sex, but that didn’t mean I, or we, didn’t do something else.

The thought alone had me salivating.

And now I wanted to remember this beast of a man from last night more than anything. Except everything after the club was a fog, and now that I was thinking about it, that was seriously fucking fucked-up.

Colton Bradley Payne fucked-up.

Colton I-have-more-drugs-than-a-pharmacy-and-I-always-forget-my-lines Payne.

That motherfucker.

“I don’t remember last night,” I ground out, putting two and two together. Colton drugged me. I knew he did .

The sexy hazel-eyed beast of a man leveled me with a look. “Then you’re not gonna know how big my dick is.”

It was instant. All my Colton anger transferred into Mr. Muscle anger. “First of all,” I snapped, attempting to hold up one finger, but only managing to get my wrist lynched by the damn handcuff again. “You said we didn’t fuck. Second of all, uncuff me. And third of all, do it fucking quick because I need to find Colton Bradley Payne.”

He stared at me a moment, and his expression didn’t change, but he looked at me like he couldn’t believe I’d just said fuck. Which I got, a lot. I was Hollywood’s brightest child star before I was Hollywood’s darling, and anyone who didn’t actually know me was always surprised to realize I wasn’t the cherubic thirteen-year-old with virtue anymore.

Indignant, I glanced pointedly at my restraint. “Are you going to uncuff me?”

“Depends.”

Ass. “On?”

“Is the spoiled Hollywood actress asking, or the chick from Kansas?”

So he’d read my fake bio. So fucking what? “It makes a difference?” I was stupid enough to bite.

He eyed me. “Girls from Kansas don’t usually streak across South Beach.”

I had no idea what people from Kansas did. “I’m one and the same,” I lied. “Uncuff me.”

He ignored me as his eyes narrowed. “Why do you need to find your prick costar?”

I yanked on the cuff twice for dramatic effect. “Because that motherfucker drugged me last night and I’m going to kick his scrawny, capped-teeth ass, right after I kick yours for fucking around with me.”

The tank of man stared at me as the lines between his eyes deepened.“We didn’t fuck.”

I was riled up enough to ask the stupidest of all stupid questions “Why not?”

Throwing back the sheet, he rolled and got out of the bed. Six and a half feet of muscled gladiator stood to his full height in nothing but formfitting black boxers that did little to hide the massive, massive cock he was sporting.

My breath hitched, and I forgot about Colton Bradley Payne, running naked on a beach, and being hungry. I even forgot about being handcuffed. All my blood rushed south, my pussy clenched in needful pain, and I became the one thing I despised most in the world.

Needy.

A throbbing, aching, mindless need so intense, my world reduced to a series of single-action screenshots.

He bent.

I heard a zipper.

My mouth watered.

He straightened.

I pulsed between my legs.

He strode to my side of the bed.

His intense stare landed on me.

I sucked in a breath and fought to come back to reality, but it was impossible. My heart threatened to explode as he took my hand, held it in his huge palm, and used a key to unlock the handcuff.

Then he did the last thing in the world I ever would’ve expected a man like him to do.

He gently massaged my wrist.

Every stroke of his fingers sent electric shock waves up my arm, then down my body, going straight to my neglected pussy. Four years of self-induced celibacy suddenly felt like a lifetime, and I was thinking I wanted to know what he could do with that giant cock when his deep voice broke the magical silence of my fantasies.

“We didn’t fuck, because I don’t fuck my clients.” He dropped my hand and walked out of the bedroom.