Her Prologue
HER PROLOGUE
I feel his eyes on me—I’ve felt them ever since he darkened the doorway of my office. And my God, the intensity in those deep brown irises does things to my body that it shouldn’t.
I’m minutes away from hiring this man, but I can’t help thinking how delicious it would be to lean across my desk, grab the collar of his shirt, and draw his lips to mine instead.
Chemistry sizzles in the air between us—it tastes like champagne on the tip of my tongue, little bubbles of excitement that will leave me giddy.
But I’m not about to throw away a chance at working with one of the most promising up-and-coming security firms in Vegas simply because of a pair of bedroom eyes.
Because those eyes don’t merely make me want to strip naked before him—they make me feel safe. And when he says he won’t let anything happen to me again, I know he means it.
I trust that he’ll deliver.
“You came with excellent recommendations,” I say, tapping the paperwork on my desk. “For a new firm, you’ve worked with some pretty big names.”
“I have contacts in the music industry. We’ve been lucky enough to provide services when needed,” he says humbly, downplaying a résumé that includes Grammy Award winners and hip new indie acts.
“And while my team will keep doing contract work like that, the appeal of a job like yours, where the hours are regular, holds undoubtable allure.”
I’m a little chagrined that I undressed him in my head when he’s likely taken. Of course—he wants stability for his personal life. His family. “You want to know you’ll be home by seven for dinner with your wife.”
A small smile plays on his lips. “No wife.”
No wife.
Interesting.
But not relevant to the position.
I continue on. “I’m looking for a long-term hire. I don’t want to have to go through the interview process every few months. We have a big renovation coming up with lots of exciting changes planned, and I need someone I can rely on.”
“You can count on me,” he says. “And long hours aren’t a problem. I’ll make it work.”
We talk a little more, outlining the details of the job, the hours, the specific requirements. He’s easy to talk to— too easy—and at the end of the fast-passing hour, I know without a doubt. Callum is the perfect person to lead my security team.
“Well, your résumé is certainly impressive. And I’m confident you’ll do all that’s needed to keep me safe.” I stand and hold my hand out across the desk. “I think we’ll make a good team.”
He pushes back from his chair and takes my hand again, his big, warm palm enveloping mine. “We will.”
When he leaves my office a few minutes later, that feeling of safety remains—like he’s going to protect me whenever I need him.
Sure, we might have some kind of crazy chemistry, but I’m certain it will go away once I see him every day and the novelty wears off. This kind of lust is a short-term thing—something that I’ll feel one time only.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
And on day one, it isn’t that hard. He follows me as I walk from an afternoon meeting with an architect to cocktail hour with my book club. While I might occasionally appreciate the intensity of his eyes, it doesn’t disrupt my day.
A few weeks on, and he’s a regular fixture as I stroll out of my suite late at night.
A fixture I look forward to. I like talking to him.
I enjoy our conversations. I adore his company.
I ask him about his day, and the weather, and how his business is going.
He makes me laugh and inspires new ideas for the hotel, but it’s barely been a month, and I’m sure those butterflies I feel for him will stop soon.
Surely, they must.
As the weeks turn into months, our professional relationship thrives. I’ve never felt so safe, as well-protected as I do every time he’s near. Those initial fireworks of lust might still light my body, but I can handle them.
Truly, I can.
Fine, some occasions are harder than others.
Like when I catch him all hot and sweaty in the gym, the strong lines of his arms bulging as he wipes a towel over his face.
And when his leg brushes against mine as we share takeout after a long shift, and I feel his touch not only against my thigh, but all through my body.
And like I do every time I see him for the first moment each day, when pleasure blooms in my belly like a flower unfurling toward the sun.
Twelve months later I’m still laser focused on my job, but I can’t deny it anymore—Callum is on my mind and in my heart.
Lust peppers my blood every time he’s near, and I frequently imagine what would happen if just once, when he walked me to my suite at the end of a long night, he followed me inside instead.
Looks like my one-time lust has become a long-term problem.
And I have absolutely no idea how to solve it.