Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Darhg
The suite door clicks shut behind the senator and I’m left alone with Rona Quinn. I can feel her gaze on my back, and I take a second to compose myself before turning to her. It still doesn’t soften the blow of her delicate, beautiful face when I turn around.
She’s small and curvy in all the right places, the tops of her lush breasts exposed by the tight corsage of her dress and her porcelain skin on full display.
Her strawberry-blond hair is in disarray around her round features, and her makeup bled under her eyes, giving her a sad and vulnerable appearance that raises my hackles.
I don’t know who hurt her, but I want to rip them apart with my bare hands.
Shit. I’m too protective of her. This is dangerous for all the wrong reasons.
Reasons the innocent girl in front of me can never suspect. Reasons that, for an ogre, go without explanation. We’re famous for our appetite, after all. But she’s human, and I should do well to remember that. Still, I have a job to do, and I’m going to do it.
“I didn’t do it. The girl in that video isn’t me.”
Rona crosses her arms, pushing the delicious swell of her full breasts to prominence. It takes an annoying amount of concentration not to look at them, but I manage.
Barely.
“It doesn’t matter to me whether you did it or not. My job is to take you home and keep you away from the press, and it’s what I’ll do.”
“Well, it matters to me.” She swallows hard, her throat moving as she lifts her tiny pointed chin. “I’m not some attention-seeking spoiled brat.”
The words are rougher than I intended, and I see the way her lips press together.
Shit. I’m being an ass.
“Listen, I’ve been in this business long enough to know not to judge people. One way or another, I’ll keep you away from the vultures so you and your mother can sort this out, okay?”
This time, I control my tone better. It works, because her mouth relaxes and she gives me a little nod. It’s not much, but at least she doesn’t look like she’s about to burst into tears.
Because that, I can’t handle.
“One more thing.” I extend a steady, open hand toward her. "Phone."
She scoffs, her mouth opening and her eyes wide.
“I’m not handing you my phone like a child.” Rona bristles, her pale-blue eyes flashing with defiance.
I give her my best level gaze. I've perfected this look over years of dealing with principals who think they know better than their security detail. It doesn’t hurt that I’m an ogre and humans find me naturally intimidating.
At least, most humans. For some reason, this tiny woman doesn’t seem the cowering type.
Which is too bad, because that bratty attitude has me all bothered. After a moment, she rolls her eyes and places the phone in my palm with a huff of frustration.
I power it down immediately, disabling the location services before sliding it into my inner jacket pocket. "I'll hand it back when it's safe."
"When will that be?" Rona tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me.
"When I say so." I manage to keep my tone sandpaper-dry despite the growing tightness in my guts. And in my pants. But that’s something I don’t even want to think about.
She opens her mouth like she wants to argue, but I'm already moving toward the door. Because I won’t be able to hide my arousal much longer if she keeps being a brat.
"I need you to stay put while I'm gone. Open the door to no one but me."
She rolls her eyes and gives me a mock salute that somehow manages to be both sassy and incredibly sexy.
"Sir, yes, sir."
I narrow my eyes at her but don't reply. The last thing I need is to encourage whatever game she thinks she's playing. A dangerous, dangerous game that might end with her bent over my knees and her round bottom red from a well-deserved spanking.
Shit. I shouldn’t think about her ass. I shouldn’t think about spanking her, either.
Okay. Time to leave.
The service hallway feels like a relief after the tension of that room. Fluorescent lights hum overhead as I jog toward the garage, my footsteps echoing off concrete walls. I need to grab supplies from the SUV, but more than that, I need a minute to get my head straight.
Because Rona Quinn is going to be a problem.
Not the kind of problem I'm trained to handle.
External threats, hostile actors, security breaches, those I can manage.
But the problem of being alone with a woman I've been carefully not thinking about for the past year?
That's uncharted territory. That’s dangerous waters full of dark, forbidden things, just lurking under the surface.
I've noticed her, of course. Hard not to when she lights up every room she enters with that warm laugh and those expressive eyes. I’ve noticed everything about her.
I’ve noticed the way she looks at the ground, like she has no idea how truly attractive she is.
I’ve noticed the way she gets this little crease between her eyebrows when she's concentrating on something important.
I've noticed all of it, and I've spent considerable energy making sure no one else notices me noticing.
She's off-limits. She’s the senator's daughter. She’s also young, not even out of college.
To top it all, she’s from a completely different world than mine.
She’s soft and spoiled and utterly out of my league.
I'm her mother's employee, nothing more.
The fact that my pulse kicks up whenever she's in the room is irrelevant.
But now? Now I'm going to be her sole protection detail, possibly for weeks. In close quarters. Just the two of us.
Professional. I'm a professional. I can handle this.
I reach the SUV and grab a clean hoodie from my emergency kit: navy blue, without any visible marks or details. It’s in my size, which means it'll swallow her whole. Which is exactly the point. I need to make Rona Quinn disappear until her mother resolves whatever has made her so upset.
When I return to the suite, Rona is pacing by the windows like a caged animal.
Her hair is now loose, silky golden curls cascading down almost to her elbows.
I flex my fingers, mesmerized by them for just a little too long.
When I tear my gaze from her hair, I see she's worrying her bottom lip with those small white teeth in a way that makes me wonder if they’re as soft as they look.
If they would look as good as I think wrapped around my cock.
Stop. It.
I hold out the hoodie toward her, setting my gaze resolutely on the window.
"Put this on."
She makes a face like I've handed her a dead fish. "Seriously?"
"It'll hide you if we encounter anyone outside this room."
She takes it with obvious reluctance, sliding it over her head. The sleeves completely swallow her hands, and the hem falls just below her knees. She looks ridiculous and perfect, surrounded by my scent, and I have to clench my jaw against the surge of territorial satisfaction that thought brings.
Dangerous thinking. I’m usually much more in control of my instincts.
"Happy?" she asks, tugging at the oversized fabric.
"It'll do."
I lead her through the back corridors, keeping her on my left next to the wall and using my body to hide her from view as much as possible.
The route I've chosen avoids the main areas entirely. I’ve mapped this hotel weeks before the event, so I know the service hallways, freight elevators, and maintenance passages that most people don't even know exist.
"Where exactly are we going?" she asks as we navigate another stark corridor.
"Your apartment, like your mother said."
"And then?"
"Then we figure it out."
She's quiet for the rest of the walk, and I can practically hear her mind racing. Good. She's starting to understand who’s in charge here.
We arrive at the underground garage and jog to my black SUV with its tinted windows and anonymous exterior. I open the rear door and step back.
"Get in," I say, my gaze scanning the wide space. I don’t like this. There are too many spots someone could lurk and watch her. Wait for her. Threaten her.
“I'm not my mother.” Her eyebrows shoot up. “I can sit next to you, thank you very much.”
I don't answer, just level that same immovable stare at her.
Finally, she climbs into the back seat with an exaggerated sigh.
"Sir, yes, sir."
There's something about the way she says this, a little edge of wicked humor that promises a world of trouble. I decide to ignore it just like I ignore the stir in my guts that rises as she steps in front of me and I get a whiff of her perfume.
I’m grateful for the additional second I take to get in the driver’s seat.
Once we're moving, she leans forward between the seats.
"Are you always this bossy?"
Her perfume gets up my nose, messing with my brain. It’s clean and light and floral and makes my knuckles clench the steering wheel so hard they blanch.
"Always," I grunt. “Now back to your seat and buckle up.”
"Sir, yes, sir," she says again, and when I glance in the rearview mirror, she's wearing a small smile that makes a knot form in my throat. I bring my gaze back to the road and ignore her, concentrating on the task at hand.
I loop around the block twice, checking mirrors and watching for tails. Nothing. For now, at least, we’re in the clear.
Rona's apartment building is a converted Victorian in the university district. It’s charming, upscale without pretension, just the kind of place where a senator's daughter can live when they want to pretend they're just a regular college student.
I park in the small lot behind the building and guide her toward the back entrance, my hand on her arm to steady her as the oversized hoodie threatens to trip her up.
"Stairs," I say, steering her away from the elevator.
"Sir, yes, sir."
I set the pace, adapting my long strides to her shorter legs.
"Left at the landing. Stop. Eyes down."
She echoes lightly, "Left. Stop. Eyes up. Sir, yes, sir."
I narrow my eyes at her, but she just grins back, her face almost completely swallowed by the hood.
I'm struck by how resilient she is. Most people would be falling apart after what she's been through today.
But here she is, making jokes and pushing back against my authority like this is all some kind of adventure.
It's admirable. It's also going to drive me insane.
On the third floor, we encounter a neighbor in the hallway, an elderly human woman with a small, yappy dog that immediately starts barking at our presence.
Rona instinctively crouches down to pet the animal, her voice taking on that warm, friendly tone women like to use with dogs that could double as fashion accessories.
"Hey there, sweetie. Aren't you adorable—"
I stop her mid-sentence, my hand closing around her upper arm to pull her away.
"Hey!" she protests, but I'm already half dragging her down the hall toward her apartment.
"Not happening," I say firmly. “Out of view, remember?”
The neighbor calls after Rona, curiosity obvious in her voice, but I don't slow down. The last thing we need is a nosy neighbor spreading rumors about Rona and alerting the press.
At her apartment door, I halt her with an open palm while I conduct a security sweep. Living room clear. Kitchen clear. Bathroom clear. Bedroom clear. Only then do I wave her inside.
As soon as the apartment door clicks behind her, she kicks off her heels with a relieved moan that does absolutely nothing good for my sanity.
“I hate wearing high heels,” she whines, sitting down on a kitchen chair and massaging her small, dainty feet.
I try not to stare at those feet. At those shapely calves and at the way her dress rides up her thighs.
"Would you mind giving me some socks?" she asks, nodding toward her bedroom. "Top drawer of the dresser."
I leave, all too happy to get away for a second, and retrieve a pair of thick cotton socks and set them on the sofa arm rather than hand them over directly. Physical contact is not advisable right now.
She turns on the TV while pulling on the socks and immediately gasps as a news channel throws up a screenshot from the video.
"Shit," she whispers, her face going pale.
I quickly take the remote from her and turn the TV off.
"Ignore it," I say firmly. "No point listening to something you can't change."
She gives me a shaky smile, but nods in agreement, then turns to the landline and tries calling her mother. Twice, she gets her voicemail. My own phone rings, and I frown as I see the caller’s identity. Not Senator Quinn, but Caroline Sparks.
"It’s out in the news," the pixie says without preamble. "Are you secure?"
“We’re in her apartment,” I answer with an even voice, although my mind is running at a thousand miles a minute. “No press sighting and no one followed us from the hotel. I think we’re clear for now.”
"Good. Keep it that way."
The call ends, and I'm left watching Rona stare at the black TV screen like it might explode. She looks young suddenly, vulnerable in a way that makes every protective instinct I possess roar to life.
"I'm going to change," she says quietly, heading toward her bedroom.
I watch the door close behind her and immediately move to the front windows to check the street. What I see makes my blood run cold.
Two camera crews stand on the sidewalk. A gray van is pulling up, and stepping out of that van, looking like a shark who's smelled blood in the water, is Gribble Nix from The Sizzle.
Fuck.
The building intercom buzzes three times in quick succession.
Rona emerges from her bedroom in jeans and an oversized t-shirt that somehow make her look even more attractive than the designer dress. Her face has lost its earlier sass. Now she just looks worried and scared, those pale-blue eyes wide as she takes in my expression.
"What's wrong?"
I close the curtains with a decisive motion and hand her the hoodie back. Her hands are trembling as she takes it.
"Five minutes," I tell her, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Pack a bag. We're leaving."
She nods, and for once there's no sassy comeback, no mock salute. Just quiet acceptance that makes my chest tight.
"Sir, yes, sir," she says softly.
As she disappears back into her bedroom, I make my decision.
I don’t know who is after that girl or why, but I know one thing: she can’t stay here.
She needs to get away until things quiet down.
The public’s attention isn’t usually long-lasting and the reporters will bore of trying to find her soon enough.
In the meantime, Rona Quinn needs to disappear.
And there's only one place I know where I can keep her safe and out of view. Somewhere no one will come looking for her.
The irony isn't lost on me. The danger of it, too.
I’m taking Rona home to Saltford Bay.
To my lair.