Chapter Four
CAMILLE
Running from this wedding is only prolonging the inevitable.
I twist the diamond ring around my finger, feeling foolish and more afraid than I want to admit. Aiden and my father will be looking for me, and for the same reasons. They want this marriage to go through no matter how I feel.
I press my temple against the cold window of the truck door and draw a shaky breath. My bodyguard is quiet beside me. I study his reflection in the glass as cars pass, using their brief beams of light to take in his dark hair and the scruff on his jaw.
When we stopped at the shopping center and he kneeled down to check my wounds, the light inside the truck gave me my first good look at his face.
His eyes are the color of cognac in firelight—brown and gold with an intensity that makes my breath hitch.
Like he’d personally hunt down the person trying to hurt me with no hesitation.
I scan his face, his strong shoulders, and his hands where they grip the steering wheel.
There are faint lines in his tanned skin, more pronounced when he stroked a finger over my foot and frowned at the injuries.
His touch was gentle but there is strength in those hands.
In every part of his body. He looks built of solid muscle.
Bronco is so different from the men in my world. He wears a black cowboy hat like it’s part of his body, and his jeans mold to his strong thighs like they know the shape. There’s a gruff, unrefined edge to him. The kind of man who wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near me.
Exactly the man I need.
But so at odds with the bodyguards my father usually hires. Men more comfortable in suits with earpieces who blend into the background at fancy parties.
Bronco stands out. How did he get assigned to me?
My chest locks with another thought. Did he get assigned to me? Was he telling the truth or is this something else?
Sitting up straighter, I face him. “You’re not the kind of bodyguard my father usually hires.”
He looks at me, then back at the road. “Let me guess. Suit, dark shades... could audition for a Men in Black sequel?” At my nod, he says, “You’re doubting my story. Smart girl.”
He removes his phone from his pocket, thumb sliding across the screen, and my father’s voice fills the cabin. “Mr. Calhoun... This... this is Floyd Whitaker. Camille is gone. She... she might have run, but I don’t think so...”
Bronco stops the message and puts the phone away. “Grayson Calhoun owns Lone Star Security.”
I release a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I vaguely remember my father mentioning Mr. Calhoun. It confirms what I already felt—that I can trust Bronco.
He probably doesn’t realize it, but my father’s message reveals something else. They don’t know whether I left on my own or whether Aiden took me... and it didn’t matter.
“I can’t tell you why your father picked Lone Star, Princess.
What I can tell you is that he contacted us just before Christmas.
There were preliminary negotiations with my boss, a couple other operatives did some initial work on your family and fiancé, and a month-long contract was decided.
I was supposed to start Monday, with the objective of keeping you safe until your marriage.
” He rubs a hand over his flannel shirt and one side of his mouth tips up in a smile.
“Not sure I’d have looked much different.
But when your father called this morning to say you’d disappeared, I didn’t stop to clean up. ”
“I’m glad.” If he’d been even five minutes later, I’d have been dragged back to the church. To Aiden. A shudder goes through me, and I sink further into his jacket. The scent of leather and musk steadies me in a way I can’t explain.
I feel safer with him than I have in the four months that Aiden has been my fiancé.
I hope he doesn’t take me back.
We drive for another ten minutes before Bronco slows the truck and turns down a long dirt drive. It’s darker than I’ve ever seen out here, with only the stars and moon to illuminate the world. The road curves, and a house comes into view.
He parks beside a low stone house with a wide porch and thick wooden beams. It looks old but solid. Lived in. Not fancy like the estates I’m used to, but sturdy. Like him.
Bronco’s already moving, circling the truck and scanning the shadows before opening my door. Cold air rushes in again, and I flinch.
“Easy,” he murmurs, strong hands unbuckling my seatbelt and scooping me into his arms like it’s nothing.
The dark opens up around us, and I can’t help my small gasp.
The sky is endless here, scattered with stars so bright it looks unreal.
Like a billion diamonds were scattered overhead to shine for eternity.
In Midland, the lights swallow the night whole.
Here, the darkness feels expansive and.. . alive.
“It’s breathtaking,” I whisper, because a normal tone seems too loud for the reverence I’m feeling.
A rumble comes from his chest before he says, “Quite breathtaking.”
The rough edge to his words draws me from the beauty above. He’s staring down at me instead of the stars, and there’s a weight to his gaze that makes my belly flutter with awareness.
I’ve never felt anything like it before.
Bronco looks away and carries me inside, shutting the door firmly behind us. He sets me down on the leather couch, then moves to the alarm panel to disarm it.
It gives me a minute to take in the wood floors and heavy beams on the ceiling. The stone fireplace and comfortable furniture. Not a glittering chandelier or oil painting in sight. “I love it.”
He cocks an eyebrow at me, then scans the room. “It’s probably not what you’re used to, but it’s clean, and secure. I have perimeter alarms, sensors on every door and window, and cameras at all the access points.”
Bronco rattles off the security details, and it helps, knowing there are measures in place. But the simple furnishings, the smell of wood and leather and him... it’s so far removed from my life that I feel a million miles away, and that alone makes me feel safe and protected.
He studies me. “Let’s get you clean and warmed up. I’ll run you a bath, and then I’ll take a look at those feet.”
I poke my toes out from under the blanket and grimace at the dirt and grime. “A bath sounds good. Do you have something else I could wear?” I don’t want to be in this dress a second longer.
Bronco seems to understand. “Yeah, princess. I’ll find you something.”
“Princess?” Does he see me as a spoiled heiress as so many others do?
He looks away. “That dress... you look regal.”
Oh. I glance down at where his jacket swallows me. I wonder how much he noticed before he rescued me.
If he saw me or just a damsel in distress.
Does it matter, Camille? He’s only here to protect you.
It does, though I can’t say why.
Bronco leans down. “Gonna take you to the bathroom and get the water started, okay?”
“Okay.”
He scoops me up again and takes me through the kitchen which looks like it’s been updated recently, and down a short hall.
There’s a room on either side, and a bathroom at the end.
The glass shower has simple white tile and black fixtures, and there’s a separate tub beside it.
Like the kitchen, the décor is not as old as the house suggests.
“People I bought the house from renovated it several years back,” he says, setting me down on the lid of the toilet. “I guess the woman liked to take baths, so she insisted on a separate tub. Hasn’t been used since I moved in.”
“Not the soaking bath type?” I ask, teasing him a little. I can’t picture him trying to fold his big frame into the tub.
Those cognac eyes sparkle down at me. “Not yet.”
Does that mean he would? An image flashes to mind, of Bronco in the tub with me, his large body wrapped around mine as I rest against his chest.
A shiver rolls through me, and my belly makes that flutter again.
He starts the water, checks the temperature, then disappears out the door. When he returns, he lays a stack of clothes on the counter and hands me a fluffy gray towel and washcloth. It matches the gray hand towel hanging by the sink.
He follows my gaze, then rubs the back of his neck. “My mom says you aren’t an adult if you don’t have matching towels.”
I almost smile at that. “My mother says you aren’t an adult until you’ve thrown your first dinner party.”
“Jesus. Glad I didn’t grow up in your house.” He catches himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“I wish I’d grown up in yours. Matching towels sound easier.” I stroke the fluffy towel, not meeting his eyes.
“Cheaper, anyway.” He shifts, then moves to the door. “I added some shorts, uh... if you want to wash what you have.” A flush stains his cheeks above his beard, and he clears his throat. “There’s shampoo and soap in there. I’ll be nearby if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Bronco.” I mean it with all my heart. He’s shown me more care than I’ve had in months. Maybe years.
He gives me one last lingering look, then closes the door behind him.
I remove his jacket, fold it and the blanket and set them on the counter, then remove the wedding dress and garters, dropping them on the floor.
The sheer thong goes next. I briefly consider washing it, but I’d rather go without.
Aiden picked it out for me, and I don’t want anything of his touching my body.
I ease into the tub, hissing when the warm water hits the cuts on my feet, then let my muscles slowly unwind. But as much as I try, I can’t fully relax. Like my body doesn’t quite believe I’m out of danger. It’s because Aiden is out there somewhere, and he won’t let me go.
He proved that when he had those two men take me from my own bed this morning instead of waiting for our scheduled wedding. It’s the fervor in his eyes when he looks at me. He’s obsessed.
I scrub my skin and hair, then gently wash my ravaged feet. I regret not keeping the heels even though they would have slowed me down.
Once I’m clean, I dry off and reach for the clothes Bronco brought.
He left a flannel shirt in a light blue plaid, and beneath, a pair of black boxer briefs.
I slide the shirt over my head, surprised at its softness, then put on the boxers.
If I don’t, he’ll have prime viewing when he kneels to tend to my feet.
My cheeks are hot when I open the bathroom door and find Bronco leaning against the wall on the other side. His eyes slide over the flannel shirt to my legs and back up. When they meet mine, there’s something a little wild behind them.
He slowly straightens. “You’re even prettier without all the makeup,” he rumbles.
I tuck a strand of damp hair behind my ear. “Thank you.”
He rubs the back of his neck again, then reaches for me, scooping me back into his arms. “Got the first aid kit in the living room.”
“I can walk.” But my arms go around his neck.
“Not while your pretty little feet are tender.”
He takes me back to the couch, then lowers to the ground and reaches for my left foot.
There’s a white plastic box open on the coffee table beside him, with ointment and bandages set out.
Bronco checks my foot again. “One cut is deeper than I’d like, but the others should heal fast.” He bandages them up, then switches to my other foot. “You must have run pretty far.”
“Maybe.” I just ran blindly, too afraid to think.
His eyes flicker up to mine. “What happened this morning? Did you run or did someone grab you?”
There’s only curiosity in his voice, not judgment.
I relax a fraction more. “Aiden sent those two men for me. I’m not sure how, but they broke in at dawn.
They grabbed me while I was sleeping, and I was so shocked and disoriented, they were able to bind and gag me before I could scream.
” I rub my arms, feeling a sudden chill.
“Aiden. Isn’t that your fiancé?”
“Yes. Aiden Frost.”
His brow furrows. “Why the hell would he kidnap you out of your own damn bed? Weren’t you getting married next month?”
“He said my father couldn’t be trusted to keep his word.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. They worked out this engagement months ago. I think my father owed him something.”
Bronco’s head snaps up. “Owed him... your marriage was payment for something?”
I look away, feeling so dirty when he says it like that. “Maybe I’m wrong.”
“Look at me, Camille.” When I finally do, he asks, “Did you want this marriage?”
“It’s my duty to the family.” Those words have been drilled into me almost as soon as I learned to talk.
“Doesn’t answer my question.”
“No.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted that to anyone but my sister.
He curses, then cups my cheek in one large palm. “What happens next is your choice, Camille.”
My choice? I’ve never had that. It’s too much to hope for. “Promise?” The question slips out, small and shaky.
“Anyone who wants you will have to go through me,” he growls. “And that won’t end well for them.”