6. Callum
CALLUM
There are rules you follow. Rules you bend. And ironclad rules you never break.
This ought to be one of them.
Do. Not. Touch.
Hell, it’s the golden rule of my job.
Don’t get too close. Don’t compromise your client. And definitely don’t fall in love.
My father taught me the value of rules. Instilled them in me from his years in the military.
Protect, serve, obey.
That’s what I’ve done, first for my country, now for my business. A business I’m damn proud of. A business that counts many employees—men and women whose jobs I’m responsible for.
Whose bills I help pay by being a professional.
Ivy is my job.
She’s not my pleasure. She’s not my woman. This can’t be personal. I need to remember that.
Except looking out for Ivy has always felt personal from day one. From the second I heard the story of her stalker, all I could think was Not on my watch. No way would I let a stalker through. Never.
It was personal, the need to protect her.
And it was personal as soon as I laid eyes on her. It wasn’t simply instant attraction with Ivy. It was that and more—an instant instinct. A need to keep her safe.
That’s what I’ve done every damn night for the last year.
And every damn night for the last year, I’ve gotten to know this gorgeous, brilliant, bighearted woman who cares for the people in her life—all of them.
Every night I want her more. Every single night I care more deeply for her.
She’s become more than a job.
Trouble is, she is the job, and sooner or later, my desire for her is going to get in the way.
Maybe I need to get her out of my system so I can go back to her being part of my routine instead of a fascination.
Perhaps the do not touch rule needs to be bent so I can go back to only doing what I’ve been hired to do—keep her safe.
The doors of the elevator slide shut with a soft ding .
We’re ensconced in the cool quiet of the car whisking us up, and we’re silent, but the air is laced with unsaid questions. I clench my jaw, my emotions warring with my judgment. My need fights with my professionalism.
Somewhere between the seventh and eighth floors, the scent of her perfume wafts past my nose.
Jasmine.
It undoes me every time.
Every single time.
I close my eyes, try to bite back this desire, but the desire is too strong. Only Stone could rattle it loose in thirty minutes with that fast mouth of his, with those words. No wonder you’re hot for her.
But I can’t blame him. He’s not the one who kissed her. He’s not the one who hauled her close and took her mouth. That’s on me.
My desire for her has a heartbeat, a life force. It’s a palpable, living thing.
The only way to deal with it is to face it.
I stare at our reflection in the mirrored doors, her eyes meeting mine in the brushed metal. In that reflection I see not just bodyguard and client, but man and woman, separate from the job.
That’s how I have to see us right now, and as I do, desire wins. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” I rasp out.
A gust of air seems to pass her lips.
“How much?” she asks, in a voice that sounds like honey and whiskey. I want to swallow all the sweetness, feel all the heat.
“So much I can’t breathe right now.”
In a whisper that’s seductive and sensual, like a dirty invitation, she says, “So breathe me in.”
She shifts, turning on her heel. When she moves, I do too.
In less than a second, I back her up against the elevator wall, cup her cheeks, and look into her gorgeous blue eyes.
I can stop this madness right now.
I can resist her and return to the way we were.
But what was that ? Friends, confidantes, business associates? We’re already more than client and bodyguard.
We are blurred lines and danger.
And this— contact —is how I get clarity.
One touch. One taste. One night.
There is a line.
There is absolutely a line.
And I’m crossing it. I’m vaulting over it.
I could rationalize it. I could say I’m lost in the moment. I could pretend what I’m about to do is a mistake.
But there is nothing about Ivy Carmichael in my arms that feels wrong. Everything about touching her feels like an inevitability.
With my hands clasped to her face, I seal my lips to hers, kissing her passionately, pouring every last ounce of desire that has swelled and built between us over the last year into a punishing, bruising kiss.
The kind that I’ve always suspected she wants.
Her moans and gasps tell me she does as I draw her bottom lip past mine, nibbling.
I thread my hands into her lush blonde hair, waterfalls of silk through my fingers, taking more of her kiss, tasting her lips, my tongue plunging into her delicious mouth.
She tastes like gin and longing. And she responds like music.
Moans and murmurs fall from her lips, imprinting on the air, singing through my body, as the elevator brings us nearer to her floor.
I try to get closer to her. Impossibly closer. I push my pelvis against her, letting her feel what she’s done to me. She groans out a fevered yes as my erection presses against her.
As the elevator slows, we break the kiss, and every thought, every wish I’ve kept locked tight wriggles its way out. I slide a thumb along her cheekbone. “Every night I want you. Every night I go home and I take you to bed.”
“You do?” Her eyes widen, glimmering with a heated desire.
“When I leave you, I go home and I fuck you,” I tell her, this elevator now a confessional booth. It’s my priest and I’m the sinner, letting all my transgressions fly free.
“You fuck me in my home too,” she whispers, the air between us crackling like an electric storm.
The elevator stops, the doors open, and this night is going in one direction only.
Still, the gentleman in me hasn’t totally left the building. As the doors open, I gesture to the hall. “Your place?”
I ask the question because it’s important to ask. It’s important to keep getting her yeses.
Even though I know that’s what’s coming from her lips as she nods, crossing the threshold into the hall where she stops, grabs my tie, and wraps the silk around her hand in a fist. “Every night you have me, Callum.”
I groan from deep inside my soul. A carnal, wild sound that rips from my chest. “How? How do I take you?”
She grips tighter, the pressure squeezing around the back of my neck. “I spend my days crafting beauty, but in my nights, I want it filthy. Dirty. I want it every dirty way.”
That word. It’s like a lightning rod, illuminating the night.
Setting me to flames.
My body is nothing but a brush fire, burning down the forest, flames eating everything in its path.
I want it all with her.
There are no sexier words under the sun, the moon, or the goddamn stars than every dirty way .
I grab her, banding an arm around her waist, yanking her lush, trim figure against mine. My fingers skim over her hips, playing with the soft fabric of the dress that clings to her. It’s professional but still ridiculously sexy, because she can’t be anything but.
“I will fuck you any way you want,” I whisper in her ear. “Hard, slow, dirty. Rough, soft. Loud, quiet. All I want is to make you come over and over, however the hell you want, Ivy. That’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
She breathes out hard, and I swear I see something flicker behind her eyes.
A question.
A possibility.
Her own wild fantasies.
Will she tell me more of them?
I have a feeling I know what some of them are. When you spend eight hours a night with someone, you get a sense of that person.
I saw the way she looked at that trio earlier, but now isn’t the time to bring that up. Now is the time to bring up the other things I’ve noticed.
“But I think I know what you want most,” I say in a rough voice, full of dirty intent. I’ve seen her browser history, noticed it when she’s asked me to look something up online before a meeting while she was finessing her makeup.
This woman doesn’t want vanilla sex.
She doesn’t want me to toss her on the bed and climb over her.
“Tell me what I want,” she says in a needy whisper. Like no one has ever asked her that before. Like all she’s ever wanted is a lover to ask her.
“You want it hard. You want it to hurt. And then you want me to come on your beautiful skin.”
She shudders, like I’ve hit the jackpot.
The internet knows everything.
“Would you? Please,” she asks, trembling.
It’s the please that unravels me. “You bet I will.” I scoop her into my arms, my legs eating up the carpet as I stride to her door and set her down.
Even though I’m technically off-duty now, before we got in the elevator, I texted the guy who works the overnight shift. I told him I’d cover another couple of hours. He won’t show up till I’m inside.
She unlocks the door, and the second we’re in her home I have her up against the wall. Her hands fly to my face, and she clasps my stubbled jaw. She meets my gaze. “I want your mouth first,” she says in a whisper.
I toss my suit jacket on a chair. “You’ll get everything you want, beautiful.” I reach behind her and undo the zipper on her dress, letting it fall down to her waist. She trembles as I slide it off her body.
My throat goes dry. I savor the sight of her bare skin. Her soft belly. Her curves. She wears pink lace, matching bra and panties. So seductively innocent.
“Tell me how you picture it,” I say as she steps out of her dress.
“Sometimes it hurts,” she says, her eyes wide, perhaps with nerves.
I run my fingers down her belly. “The way I fuck you?”
She gives a nod, her lips parted, breathing hard. “It hurts, but it hurts so good.”
“You like it when I grab you, then? When I manhandle you as I’m fucking you?”
She nods, her eyes glimmering with desire. My blood heats as I ask her more questions, dying to know all her fantasies. “When I bite you?”
A gasp of breath. Another yes .
“And when I take you so hard you can feel me for days?”
“Yes, God, yes.”
I’m vibrating with lust as I reach my hands behind her back, unhooking her bra.
Groaning, I drink in the sight of her gorgeous globes, my hands reaching, grabbing, squeezing.
“You want me to go down on you like that, Ivy? So you don’t have to think?
” I ask, reminding her what she said at the bar. Reminding me of what she needs.
“Yes. I don’t want to work. I want to be taken.”
I pull back, arching a brow, then slide my hands to her hips. “You should never have to work in bed. Let me do all the work. It’s my goddamn job to take care of you. And I can make you feel everything you need. How does that sound?”
“Perfect.”
I glance around, picking a spot. In a flash, I know where to go.
She wants me to decide. She’ll want to be put in her place in the seat where she makes decisions all day long.
I lift her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to her office.
“I’m going to eat your sweet pussy on your desk. Spread you out right here, beautiful. Right where you make your calls, where you tell people what to do, where you negotiate. I’m going to devour you, and all you have to do is feel.”
She lets out a carnal yes as she shudders all over, a full-body tremble that’s so gorgeous.
I set her ass on the desk. “Lean back on your hands.”
She moves her palms behind her, the position making her tits even more luscious.
Beautiful blonde Ivy on her oak desk in nothing but pink lace.
Lace I’m going to rip off.
I unbutton the cuffs of my shirt, roll them up, then drag a hand down her stomach, past her navel, to the fabric of her panties. I grip the material, twist it, and rip it off.
“Oh God,” she gasps.
I toss the shreds to the floor and gaze at her perfect pink pussy.
She might look innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about Ivy Carmichael behind closed doors.
And I’m about to discover just how dirty she is.