The Alpha Bodyguards Books #4-6

Chapter Two

H is hand landed on my nape, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

“Let’s go.” His deep voice, more quiet than baritone, was one hundred percent commanding as he pushed the glass in front of me away and ushered me off my stool—a stool he’d told me to sit on.

“Go where?” I managed, but not without a shiver.

“To eat.”

“I… um….” Okay, wow . I did not see that coming. “It’s three o’clock in the morning.” I only pointed out the obvious because I couldn’t go out to eat with him. I couldn’t even handle having his hand on me. My whole body felt like pins and needles from a single touch.

“This is Miami,” he clipped.

I knew where we were. I’d lived here most of my life. I wasn’t saying there weren’t places open to eat, there were lots, and they’d be busy after the clubs closed—not that I knew firsthand, but I’d driven home late plenty of times. I saw all the pretty women in their skimpy outfits with their beautiful bodies, and I wasn’t that. I didn’t fit in with that kind of crowd.

But Mr. Bodyguard definitely did.

Well over six feet, full of muscles, and unlike most guys you saw around Miami Beach, he had almost white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes. In fact, he looked so much like another blond-haired man I frequently saw in the local media that I’d had my suspicions about who he might be related to since I’d first met him yesterday. But I hadn’t had a single free moment in the past twenty-four hours to check my hunch with an internet search. Not that it mattered who he was, because I didn’t have a chance with someone like him. Staring up at his perfect jaw and the almost angry expression he’d worn since I’d met him only drove that point home.

I had no business sharing a meal with him. “I can’t go out to eat with you.”

He paused, and his intense stare cut to me. “Can’t or won’t?”

“Does it matter?” I hedged, fighting another shiver as the warmth of his touch spread from my neck to my shoulders. I stupidly wondered what it would feel like if he dropped his hand. The deep V down the back of my dress showed more skin than I normally did, but this party tonight had called for a special dress.

My client’s party was at her palatial estate, and while it wasn’t specifically a black-tie affair like some of the parties I’d organized for other clients, everyone had come dressed to impress. Including the blond bodyguard next to me, who was in a perfectly cut suit that fit his narrow hips and bulging biceps.

I was glad I’d found my dress on the clearance rack last week. It was just edgy and unique enough with an uneven hem and conservative cut in front, but sexy dipping V in back, that I’d bought it immediately. It’d been a little tight, and it’d cut into my funds way more than I was comfortable with, but I thought I’d pulled it off. More than half a dozen people tonight inquired about my services, so I was calling it a win.

Except right now I didn’t feel like a winner with a giant, muscled ex-Marine bodyguard staring down at me like he was dissecting me. And he was an ex-Marine. That had been the only bit of personal information I’d been able to get out of him when he’d relented and answered one of the hundred questions I must’ve thrown at him over the past few hours.

I couldn’t help it.

He made me nervous, and when I got nervous, I rambled.

A lot.

“You need to eat,” he stated. “You missed dinner.”

“I….” I stopped. “How do you know I missed dinner?”

“You were working.”

“So were you.” I liked it far too much that he noticed anything about me, even if it was something small and silly like that I’d been too busy making sure the party went smoothly to help myself to any of the delicious-looking hors d’oeuvres

“I’m fine,” he countered with no intonation in his voice.

“Well, so am I,” I lied. I was starving. “I can stand to miss a few meals.”

He scowled. “No, you can’t.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

His frown deepened. “I wasn’t joking.”

“I know. That’s what’s so funny.” I was sure he didn’t date women like me with full hips and non-athletic bodies.

His scowl turned up another notch, and his hand landed on the back of my neck again, but he dropped the missing meals comment. “Let’s go. I’m driving.”

Reaching for my phone and tablet on the bar, I hated myself for the next words that came out of my mouth. “Thanks for the offer, but its fine, really. I’m good. I’ll grab something at home after I finish cleaning up here. I don’t like to leave a client to deal with a mess after an event. It’s unprofessional. So really, I’m good here. You can leave.” I turned and reached for a few of the bottles of liquor to carry them inside and braced myself for another of his bossy comebacks.

But it didn’t happen.

Nothing happened.

There was only silence.

Like total, utter, I didn’t even hear the water on the intracoastal slapping against the seawall silence.

He’d left.

He had to have.

No one was that quiet.

Exhaling, not sure if I was disappointed or glad, I tucked my phone and tablet against my chest, then grabbed two more bottles. Turning, I almost dropped all five bottles in shock.

Arms crossed, not two feet in front of me, he stood staring. Hard. “Are you involved with someone?”

My heart slammed into my chest, my mouth went dry, and my phone decided to slip from between my breasts.

Before it slammed onto the travertine-tiled lanai, he grabbed it, and the back of his fingers brushed across my stomach. My mouth popped open with an involuntary gasp as heat rushed between my legs.

Holding my phone in one hand, he grasped three of the bottles by their necks in his other hand. “I asked you a question.”

Involved. I swallowed past the sudden dryness in my mouth and squeaked out an answer. “No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

He set the bottles on the bar and grabbed the remaining two from me only to put them down next to the others. “Then why do you object to eating a meal with me?”

“This isn’t a date,” I blurted, suddenly feeling naked without my bottle armor.

He didn’t hesitate with a clipped response. “If I were asking you on a date, you would know it.”

My pride took a hit, and I dropped my gaze. “Of course.” Jeez, how humiliating.

“Grab what you need,” he stated in the same bossy, emotionless tone.

“Okay, wait.” I held a hand up. I’d been on my feet over twelve hours. I hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and I was sure I smelled less than fresh. I didn’t need any more humiliation in my life. I didn’t want to sit across from him at some restaurant and inhale food, or worse, pretend I lived on salad without dressing. I wasn’t going to dinner with him. I wasn’t going anywhere with him, no matter how scarily hot he was. Inhaling, I steeled my resolve. “Mr. Sawyer, as I’m sure you can appreciate, I’m pretty tired. Thanks for the offer, but I am respectfully declining your invita—”

“Sawyer isn’t my last name,” he interrupted.

Caught off guard, for once I didn’t say anything.

He kept staring at me. Then a glimmer of anger flashed across his face. “Savatier,” he clipped, not pronouncing the r . “Sawyer is my first name.”

My jaw dropped.

His name rolling off his tongue with disdain did nothing to camouflage the beauty of the exotic-sounding surname or its significance. Savatier Enterprises. Savatier Holdings. Savatier Center for the Arts.

I closed my mouth and forced myself to swallow.

Savatier Stadium.

I swallowed again.

I was a fool. All night, in my nervousness around him, I’d pathetically name dropped, talking about former clients and the events I’d planned. I’d even stupidly asked if we knew any of the same people because one of the few questions he answered for me was to tell me he was from Miami.

“You’re….” I cleared my throat. “You’re Sullivan Savatier’s son.” The elusive, never photographed, military hero son.

A shadow fell across the sharp angles of his face and his jaw ticked. “Yes.”

He looked just like him. I knew it. I knew it . But I couldn’t believe it. The Savatiers were billionaires from real estate, big real estate, all over south Florida. From high-rises to the new sports complex for the professional football team, they owned any property worth owning. The Savatiers were the closest thing to American royalty.

And Sawyer Savatier had just asked me to dinner.

The Sawyer Savatier.