Chapter 4
Kaidon
The salty wind whips my hair around my horns as I stand as a look-out over Valencia and her friends.
I probably should have put my locks in a man-bun, but that didn’t strike me as professional.
But, now, I am a wind-whipped hot mess. The one saving grace is that I seem to be a source of amusement for my client, in a way that makes me feel warm in my boxers.
There’s something about the way this woman looks at me that has got me reeling this past week.
My watch buzzes, so I make my loop around the deck, then catch Valencia’s eye and gesture to her that I am going to check below. The boat ride isn’t terribly long, but there’s absolutely no way that I will allow a single gleaming white hair on this goddess’s head to be touched.
Pulling into the island’s harbor, the tipsy group of women are a ball of giggles and nonstop talking. I follow close behind, but try not to encroach too much at the same time.
“Let’s go to the rental first to drop our crap off, but then I really need to eat,” Ever, one friend, says.
“We need a place with good seating for Valencia’s protector,” Monya teasingly says, eyeing me above her sunglasses.
“Leave the poor man alone,” Valencia says, giving me an apologetic grin. But I don’t mind.
I like being called Valencia’s protector.
The house they are renting is right across from the beach and has four bedrooms. When Valencia was trying to convince me that I shouldn’t come because she felt bad it would take up my entire weekend, she tried to win the argument by mentioning the house only has human-sized beds.
But she didn’t know I would not sleep inside, anyway.
As the women go unpack in their rooms, I set up my minotaur-sized hammock on the front porch. The crashing waves will be amazing to listen to tonight, but I hope they don’t dampen my senses for any funny business.
“Wow, that’s one big hammock,” Blythe, the birthday girl, says as the four of them pile out of the house.
Skipping down the steps, Monya says not-too-quiet, “I wonder what else is big that he has.”
“Monya!” Gasps Valencia, smacking her friend in the arm while her three friends cackle.
Grateful for my perfected poker face, because of my job, I follow a few paces behind and pretend I didn’t hear a thing.
Instead, I survey the sidewalk and streets as we walk to the seafood restaurant the ladies chose for dinner.
From time to time, I sneak a look at Valencia’s round ass, perfectly wrapped in a package of white jean shorts.
Her tan, thick thighs slightly jiggle with each step and I can’t help but wonder what else I could personally make jiggle.
Pull it together, Romeo. There’s no way I can steal time for a release during this weekend, so knock that shit out.
The next morning, after breakfast, Blythe announces she wants to ride tandem bikes. Minotaur horns and bicycling are not a thing. A Motorcycle can handle our size and heavy top-weight, but definitely not a puny bike. Valencia seems to sense this, turning to me with a concerned look.
“It’s okay if you want to hang back.” She says, which I immediately shoot down with a headshake.
“Bikes aren't my thing, but I bet the rental shop has mopeds. I can manage that.”
Twenty minutes later, I am the star of many tourists' vacation photos as we travel down the bike path along the beach. These folks don’t even care if I notice them gawking at me and taking pictures. But I have a job to do, so I focus on the gorgeous Latina I am protecting.
And crushing on. Hard. Should probably stop doing that.
Sunday morning, the lively group decides they can only handle so much with the hangovers they are nursing from the wild partying the night before, so we head to a museum before catching the ferry back to the Cape.
The place is crowded, but my height allows me to keep an eye on Valencia even when we are separated by throngs of people.
As the women look at a whale bone exhibit, suspicious tingles streak down the back of my neck. Looking around, I try to find what has my instincts on edge. It certainly feels like someone is watching.
Watching Valencia, that is.
Following the women into a room full of paintings, I walk up to my client and lightly touch her bare arm. Immediately, my entire body feels like electricity is coursing through it, but in a warm, meant-to-be way. Valencia looks up at me, her tan cheeks reddened, with a confused expression.
“What’s up?”
“Something doesn’t feel right, so please be vigilant, okay?”
“Seriously? There’s no way he’s here. How would he even know?”
“Either way, you hired me for a reason and I go by my gut feeling. And my gut feeling is that something is wrong right now. Please be careful.”
Valencia’s dark eyes glitter as she smiles up at me, taking my hand with her own.
“I hired you because I followed my gut instincts, so yes, okay. I’ll be extra vigilant.”
As my client turns back to her friends, I look down at the hand she was just holding, expecting to see an electrical storm surrounding it. But it looks like it always does. However, one thing is for sure.
I don’t feel like I always do, especially with a client.