Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
H e was in trouble.
Viper walked along the sidewalk to their hotel, Izzy a step behind him.
Hell, she was trouble.
Watching her dance, he’d felt things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Feelings that weren’t particularly welcome. Possessiveness, lust, jealousy. He'd wanted to beat that drunk guy to a pulp for grabbing her like that. For holding her beautiful body against his uncouth, sweaty one. For gripping her butt like it was his property.
Idiot.
Except he couldn’t do that, obviously. Not on duty. Not now that he had a reason for getting up in the morning. Blade had given him a purpose, a shot at a real job, one he actually wanted. He was going to do his best to keep this job, no matter what.
Bar fights and drinking away the boredom were a thing of the past.
They got to the hotel, walked through the lobby and up the elevator in silence. He sensed her silently fuming beside him. She was mad at him. He got it.
She was used to living her own life, on her own terms. Having a PPO was a new experience for her. Lots of the principals he'd guarded had been the same at first, but they got used to it. And in South American, where he’d spent the last few months before he’d been shot, protection was a serious business. Foreign diplomats, engineers, and executives were kidnapped all the time. Sometimes not even for ransom, but to make a point. Their deaths were a macabre message to the American conglomerates.
Stay out of our country. You don't belong here.
But in the end, money talked, and the corporations kept sending personnel, which meant there was always work for the likes of him.
A packed beach bar in San Diego was a different type of war zone—one he wasn't familiar with. But the rules were the same. Protect the principal at all costs. From whatever threat presented itself, be it a rooftop sniper or a drunk man on a dance floor. One thing he was not going to do was apologize for doing his job. She'd just have to deal with it until the threat on her life was neutralized. This was her new reality.
He unlocked the door using the keycard, then took a quick look around. “It’s clear.”
Izzy stomped in behind him.
“Will Emily be okay?” he asked, aware they’d left her on the dancefloor at the mercy of those men.
“Yeah, she’ll be fine. Emily is remarkably resourceful,” she said, walking past him to her room. “She’ll find her way back to the hotel. Don’t worry about her." He got the feeling this was the way their nights ended more often than not.
"I'm sorry if I ruined your evening," he said bluntly.
She turned around, her arms crossed in front of her like she was hugging herself. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
There was a heavy pause where they just looked at each other. Eventually, he gave a tight nod. “Good night, Miss Beaumont.”
“Goodnight, Viper.”
He waited until he heard the lock in her door turn, before he sat down on the bed.
Viper had fought and survived in places of unimaginable chaos, but the swimsuit fashion shoot nearly undid him. Twelve demanding models, all requiring makeup, hair, styling, and ego flattering. Eleven different locations on the beach, behind rocks, in the water, beyond the crashing breakers, and on the sandy beach. Ten crew members carrying everything from giant white umbrella screens and lighting to heavy-duty camera stands and props. It was like a bad freaking Christmas song.
And Izzy was everywhere at once.
He watched her flit from prepping the models and guiding the stylist, to talking to the photographer and advising the art director. Emily was there too in an enormous pair of tortoiseshell sunglasses, armed with a clipboard, her phone glued to her ear. He wondered what time she'd gotten back last night.
He had to give Izzy credit, she knew exactly what she wanted. The models had to pose in a natural way, doing things normal women did. Running, swimming, jumping, playing bat and ball, frolicking through the waves. There were even a few male models for complementary shots. Walking along the beach holding hands, kissing in the water, throwing a frisbee to each other.
It was very well organized. Izzy wanted the photographer to capture real-life moments and from what Viper could see, he did what he was told, only pausing to yell, "Show me your cleavage, darling!" or "I know it's sunny, but open your eyes!" or "Too much glow. Can we take it down a notch?"
He also took some shots of Izzy. Poses that made Viper's mouth go dry. Izzy kneeling in the shallows, her head back, laughing. Izzy lying on the dry sand, grains caked on her breasts and in her hair. Izzy lounging against a rock, her hips thrust forward evocatively.
Her personal stylist, Clint, had spent the better part of the morning in her suite doing her hair and makeup, and casting unashamedly hot glances in his direction. Izzy had been transformed into an even more beautiful version of herself, if that was possible, with perfect makeup, a shimmering golden glow, and glossy lips that begged to be kissed.
Viper had vetted the advertising company, but it was impossible to check out the individual crew members, many of whom were freelancers, so he'd spent the entire day performing risk assessments, ruling out potential threats, and shadowing her every move.
She kept going, barely stopping for lunch, guiding and supervising her team, and looking more beautiful and glamorous than the models themselves. Her energy was boundless, he didn't know how she did it. The sun was sinking over the sea when she finally called it quits for the day.
Everybody heaved a collective sigh of relief.
"We'll start at first light tomorrow," she called, as the exhausted crew packed up and the models sauntered back to their hotel rooms to rest and recuperate.
"That was a good day, Viper," she said, as he helped her carry cases of swimsuits and accessories up to her room.
"That’s great, ma'am."
"I think we got some really good shots. Max is going to send the proofs to me this evening." Her cheeks were pink from the sun, and she had sand stuck in her eyelashes and on her chest. Her hair was disheveled, held back by a pair of enormous sunglasses, and the slip dress she wore over her bikini had fallen off one golden shoulder. His heart skipped a beat as she smiled up at him.
Fuck, he was smitten.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" she asked.
"I'm not sure if enjoy is the right word," he replied. "It was interesting. I've never been on a fashion shoot before." It was very different from his brand of chaos.
"I could tell." She smiled again and he wondered what she meant. Had he looked that out of place? "It can be frantic, but this crew is very professional. I've used them countless times before. They know how I work."
"At the pace of an Indy 500 race?"
She laughed. "Something like that."
Not once had she mentioned last night, which he was relieved about. They seemed to have reached a tentative truce. He checked the suite and let her in.
"I'm going to take a shower," she said, pausing at the door to her room. "Then I've got some work to do."
"Don't you ever take a break?" The words were out before he could stop himself.
She grinned. "I’m a workaholic, hadn’t you noticed?”
He snorted.
“Anyway, it's follow-up stuff. Usually, I don't mind, I love what I do, but lately, with father's death and the drama around that, I’ve been feeling a little burned out. That's why I wanted a few days here by myself after the shoot." Her shoulders dropped. "But now Robert's coming."
Robert, the man who’s clothes she did not want to rip off. "Is that a bad thing?"
"It is when you want peace and quiet. He'll insist on talking about the company and while that is important, it's not what I need right now."
Viper didn't reply. It wasn't his place to suggest that she tell Robert not to come, to put up some boundaries, even if that’s what he was thinking. Hell, he didn’t want Robert Hampton-Whatshisname anywhere near her.
Her phone rang. "Excuse me."
She answered it as she went through the connecting door into her suite. "Hi, Max. Great job today." Viper left her to it. She hadn't closed the door behind her so he could hear her chatting on the phone while he took off his shirt. Damn, that felt good.
After locking the suite door from the inside, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He also needed to get rid of the sand and sweat that had accumulated during the day.
He was about to strip off his jeans, when he glanced at the open interleading door. Izzy was still talking on the phone, unaware she’d left it open. Not wanting to risk a repeat of yesterday’s interruption, he grabbed a fresh set of clothes and took them into the bathroom with him. A moment later he was standing under the cool water, letting it wash away the remnants of the day. Bliss.
Then he heard her voice.
Shit, it sounded like she was in the bathroom.
"Viper? Sorry to interrupt, but Emily's here to go through the schedule for tomorrow. I'm going to let her in, okay?"
"No," he called. "Give me a second."
Bad timing.
He climbed out of the shower, leaving it running, and wrapped a towel around his waist. "Never open the door yourself," he told her, reaching for his gun that was lying on his jeans on the toilet seat. "Don't even look through the peephole. I've seen people get their faces blown off doing that."
"Jesus," she whispered, backing out of the bathroom.
He followed. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. It's just a precaution."
Striding across to the door, he stood to one side and called out. “Who is it?”
“It’s Emily. Viper, let me in.”
He opened the door, but not before checking she was alone.
"You took your time," Emily ducked underneath his arm. She looked remarkably well considering her late night and the full day on the beach. Her gaze raked over his glistening body, lingering on his tattoo, then flickered to Izzy whose hair was also damp and combed back off her face. "Did I interrupt something?"
"Don't be silly," Izzy scoffed. "Viper insists on opening the door to everyone, even when he’s in the shower. Come in." They disappeared into her suite.
"Were you in the shower with him?" Emily hissed, before the door closed.
Izzy’s voice. "Don’t be ridiculous."
"Why the fuck not?"
With a sigh, Viper got back into the shower.