16. Cash
16
CASH
I f it wasn’t already painfully obvious, everyone is now fully aware that I am consumed with her. The videos of me angrily watching her sing with her ex-boyfriend, followed by my clearly overprotective, hands-on security measures, look like they were staged for a romantic comedy.
I’ve tried to stop touching her. I’ve really tried. With very conscious effort, I’ve successfully kept from making physical contact for nine days now, I haven’t spoken her name in eight days, and I haven’t spoken directly to her in ninety-six hours.
Except for the nonstop inner monologue I obsessively run through my head concerning her safety and her every move.
She doesn’t breathe, eat, sleep, or shower without my knowledge. Like right now, for instance, I can tell she just got out of the shower by her subtle, musky sandalwood and vanilla scent. It’s her shampoo, conditioner, and body lotion. I read the labels so I can buy them when I’m back home .
“What is it you’re wanting to know, ma’am?” I respond to the face on the computer screen.
She leans back in her chair, looking from Monroe to me. “Well? You’re a big part of this narrative. We can’t have you becoming a part of her public image and then up and disappearing to Texas. The European leg will be much different. Up to this point, we’ve had a language barrier, mostly keeping the rumors to only visual perceptions. Now that we’re on the English-speaking algorithms, the fans will surely catch something. It could be a video from the Texas incident or some girl you used to date posting on her story about what you were like in high school. At this rate, I’d feel more comfortable making a move to redirect the public eye, unless you’re willing to participate in the frenzy, even just for the duration of the tour.”
My fists tighten. “Participate how?”
Monroe stiffens.
Ah, not her favorite idea.
Katherine shrugs. “The possibilities are endless. We could stage a few intimate moments for the paparazzi to capture. We could spin the story that you’re an American hero, a veteran, and you’ve found yourself falling for someone you were hired to protect, but that you tragically don’t feel like you belong in the world.”
My jaw clenches as she continues, “But really, this could mean a whole lot for you. Your future could be redirected by this. You’d forever be a man who dated a celebrity, which would open countless doors and endless opportunities.”
Monroe turns to face me then, her blue eyes guarded. I can’t read her expression, which means she’s intentionally hiding her thoughts because when we’re alone, she’s easy to read.
“I don’t care about any of that shit.” I say it casually, but my eyes are locked on Monroe’s. Surely, she already knows this.
“Well, if it’s monetary compensation you’re looking for, we could certainly discuss it. I understand you haven’t signed any additional contracts. Think about what you want. We can put a pin in it for now.”
Monroe tips the rest of her wine over her pink lips before turning her attention to the screen. I wish I could pour myself a stiff drink instead of discussing contracts for fake relationships for the world to digest like she’s on a fucking menu.
My phone buzzes with a text. I pull it out to read the screen.
Holden
Have you traded your Stetson in for a fedora yet?
I sigh, realizing how much I miss my family. I tap on the screen to reply.
Cash
Fuck no. How’s the ranch?
Much prettier without your ugly mug around.
I doubt that.
Rosie showed me all the videos of you with Monroe. You fuckin her ?
I roll my eyes, typing a quick response.
She’s my client.
And? Didn’t answer my question.
I don’t sleep with clients.
But you’re staying?
I sigh, rubbing my hand over my face. I don’t know what to say, so I pocket the phone. Katherine’s voice grabs my attention.
“Well, now that Monroe and Zade are officially done, we need to strategize, people. If the Texas bodyguard boyfriend isn’t our angle, what is it? Let’s all think about it before we meet up again in a few days. Good night!”
Ember states that she needs to go talk to Fidel about some changes to the European schedule. Brooks offers to walk her, which results in a flushed nod from Ember. It’s clear as shit that he’s into her and she wholeheartedly feels the same. If I wasn’t so focused on Monroe’s every move, I’d be more curious about how far they’re going to take it.
With the click of the door shutting, we’re alone.
Keep your distance. Be professional.
Monroe picks up the TV remote, turning on the device and logging in to her Prime Video account. She navigates to an action thriller with a Special Forces military team and dark humor.
She looks up at me. “Would you mind handing me that bottle of wine?”
I look to where she points, seeing the opened rosé on the counter near me. I grab it, walking over toward her, but instead of placing it in her outstretched hand, I reach for her glass and fill it. When I hand it back to her, our fingers brush slightly, sending little electric bolts through my skin.
“Help yourself,” she says.
I wish it were that simple.
“I don’t drink on the job.”
“One glass, please. So I’m not drinking alone. I won’t tell a soul.” She smiles softly, patting the space beside her on the sofa that Ember occupied before.
Even makeup-free, she’s mesmerizing. She’s wearing a pale pink sweatsuit. Her legs curled up under her on the sofa, a matching fuzzy blanket draped over her legs. My resolve to remain in the background, silently observing her, now feels forced and more awkward than simply sitting down on the sofa to watch a show with her. I’ve seen Brooks do it. He hangs out with her and Ember, and no one thinks anything of it. It’s like they’re friends. She’s friends with a lot of the staff on the tour.
I grab a wineglass from the mini kitchen and fill it a third of the way to the top. I move around the sofa, set the bottle down on the coffee table, and take a seat, leaving over a foot of space between us. The no touching rule needs to stay in effect.
For several minutes, I watch the movie. It’s one of my favorites, but my focus is on her. Every time she shifts positions, I take note.
“Do you want to watch something else?” She looks over at me.
I turn to her. “No. ”
“You’re not laughing at any of the jokes.” She sips her wine, tilting her head.
I’ve either completely lost my ability to read people or she’s trying to flirt with me.
No, I just don’t have the ability to read her like I do everyone else.
“I guess my mind was occupied.”
“Hmm. With what?” She stretches her bare feet out so that they’re almost touching my legs.
I shrug. “Safety stuff. Security for the next show.”
“Is that all you think about?”
“No. Well, yeah, mostly. It’s my job.”
I also think about you. Obsessively.
She swirls her wine in the balloon glass, nibbling her damn lip. My gaze follows the movement like a magnet to metal. I drink half the wine in one gulp.
“I’m scared to ask this, but I feel like it’s a conversation that we need to have sooner or later. Are you … planning on staying?”
Her eyes are wide, the first show of vulnerability I’ve seen from her in weeks.
“Do you want me to stay?” I don’t know where the fuck that came from. “I mean, we haven’t seen any activity from the previous threat.” I lean back, trying to look relaxed.
She nods. “I want you to stay. He could come back at any moment. I know you’ve been working overtime, so if you need to scale back, take some days off … maybe you should, to avoid burnout.”
“Maybe you should too.”
One sip of wine, and my tongue is already loose .
She sighs, resting her head on the sofa, eyes dropping to her lap. “I know my limits. This is what I signed up for.”
But no one here is worried about you pushing yourself past your limits.
“What do you think about Katherine’s suggestion?”
I down the rest of my wine and refill my glass.
“That excited about it, huh?” She laughs.
I turn to face her again, holding back the smile pulling at my lips. The real Monroe has finally joined us, guard halfway down.
“I’m not one for crowds or being in the spotlight.”
“Nooo, you’re lying. You secretly wanna be an influencer, don’t you? One of those guys who makes thirst traps and has a comment section full of lonely moms.” She gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “Are you one of the ones who does it already but wears a mask? Oh, the cowboy hat with abs definitely gets views.”
I gape at her, bringing on a fit of adorable laughter as she nearly doubles over.
“You should see the look on your face!”
“You’re not funny.” I can’t hold back the smile now, shaking my head at her.
“Then, why are you smiling? You never smile.”
“I’ve never heard you tell a joke until now.”
“Well, get ready. The jokes are coming on thick now. Wait, wait, I got one. Why does a chicken coop only have two doors?”
Her smile is radiant, eyes sparkling. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this happy, and damn if it doesn’t make me want to kiss her .
“Um, I don’t know. Why?”
Her smile is contagious. My lips curve up as I lean back against the couch.
“Because if it had four, it would be a chicken sedan!” She covers her mouth, trying to hold back her laughter while watching my reaction. She sets her wine down to avoid spilling it.
A laugh comes rolling out of me. I lean forward, shaking my head as I look over at her. “That’s a good one. I’m impressed. Had no idea you were a comedian.”
She taps her foot against my thigh, winking at me. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet.”
I put my glass on the table, reaching for her foot. My hand wraps all the way around her ankle. “Oh, yeah? Like how ticklish you are? I don’t know that yet.”
Something has come over me. Her laughter has put a crack in the wall I carefully built between us.
Her eyes grow bigger. “No! Please don’t. I’ll tell you right now, I’m so not ticklish.”
A wicked grin spreads across my face. “Yeah? I’m gonna need to test it out. Sorry.” I lightly tickle the bottom of her foot—from the middle up to her cute little toes.
She collapses on the couch, pulling against me as hard as she can and yelping with laughter. She’s a little stronger than she looks, but she’s no match for me. I don’t give in at all, mercilessly tickling her foot until she starts kicking my arm and shoulder with the other foot.
“That doesn’t even hurt. You’ll have to do better if you want me to stop.”
She groans through her laughter, reaching her foot up closer to my face and nearly kicking me in the jaw. I stop tickling her and wrap my hand around the other ankle, pushing them both down on the couch so that I can use my knee to press against her thighs, pinning her to the sofa. I grab both her arms, using one hand to easily pin them up over her head on the armrest.
“Oh no, you’re in trouble now, Blue.”
She’s panting, her chest rising and falling as she tries to wiggle free from underneath my iron hold. “I’m—I was lying. It was just my feet. The rest of me has … nerve damage.”
I trail my fingers down her side. “Is that so? You’re not at all ticklish here?”
I pinch her side gently, and she bucks to the side with a gasp.
“Nope. Not there.”
“And what about here?” I move up to her underarm, tickling her through the sweatshirt.
She starts laughing again, trying to escape me, but unable to do anything besides wiggle and jerk against me. Her potent scent of sandalwood and vanilla fills my nostrils, making my head swim. One of her legs slips free from under my knee during my brief distraction, and she wraps it around my leg and pulls me off her other one. She wraps both of them around my waist and pulls herself up.
Oh fuck. Now we’ve gone too far. What the fuck? What. The. Fuck.
We’re both grunting and panting now, writhing against each other and trying to gain the upper hand. I desperately try to get her legs off of me, but she’s locked her ankles around my hips. I stop with the underarms and move back down to her abdomen to hopefully make her loosen her grip around me so that she can’t feel the hard-on that’s slowly growing in my jeans. I’m desperate to make her stop without her realizing why I need her to let go of my hips.
“I’m not giving up!” she screeches.
My fingers are digging into her waist as I try to weaken her, sweat beginning to gather on my lower back. Her shirt rides up then, causing my hands to make contact with her bare skin. I freeze, my fingers stopping to grip her waist firmly, my thumb brushing around the impossibly soft skin of her stomach. My head swims. I’m now fully hard, my dick painfully pressed against my zipper. I wouldn’t be surprised if pre-cum was seeping out of it.
Her laughter fades as realization sets in that this playful interaction has taken a nosedive into the gutter—a dirty one. Her ocean eyes scan my face with clear lust, no doubt seeing the way I’m looking at her, like my thoughts are imagining us doing this without our clothes on. I can’t hide it. I want this woman writhing underneath me in a much different way than our professional relationship would allow.
I release her wrists, attempting to push myself up off her and regain the ability to think clearly, desperately stacking bricks back up over the crumbled remains of the wall between us.
Technically, nothing happened. I was trying to be relaxed, to be friends. I’m a professional. I’ve never fucked up like this before.
As soon as she’s free, she wraps both her hands around my neck, pulling me back down to her. My dog tags slip from underneath my shirt and dangle between us, brushing the top of her breasts. Our panting breaths mingle for a few agonizing seconds as I search her gaze, finding pure need and desire. I’m frozen in place, unable to bridge the professional gap between us, but also incapable of regaining self-control and putting distance between us. In the next moment, she pulls me down the last remaining inches.
Her lips capture mine in a kiss, eyes wide open the whole time.
I freeze for all of three agonizing moments before my control snaps. My body slams hers down to the sofa. I use one hand to brace myself above her, the other curling around her delicate neck. My fingers thread through the base of her hairline, gripping it tightly.
“That was a mistake,” I breathe into her mouth before I nip at her bottom lip with my teeth.
She whimpers against me, her legs pulling me closer to her. My hard-on is between her legs now, my desire for her as obvious as it can get. My lips press against hers, and as I dive my tongue into her mouth, I taste the sweet rosé on hers.
“I need to taste more of you.” I devour her mouth, lips crushing her, teeth biting, hands exploring.
Her fingernails are scratching my neck, desperately pulling me closer to her. Someone could walk in at any moment—Fidel, Ember, Brooks, Danny, her stupid ex. None of them would approve. I’d have to leave the tour.
The thought makes me wild. I want to feel her orgasm around my fingers, on my tongue, then my dick. I reach for the waistband of her sweats, sliding my hand inside before cupping her ass and squeezing. She moans into my mouth, her fingers combing through my hair as her hips buck into me.
“Is this what you want, Princess?”
She nods, gasping as my finger slides into the entrance of her pussy from underneath. She’s dripping wet for me, so ready. I brush my lips against her ear. She sucks on my neck, using her teeth to scrape against the skin. My eyes roll back as my entire body tenses up with the effort to hold myself back.
“Use your words, baby girl.”
“I want—” Her voice is breathless, like she can’t focus on speaking with me on top of her like this, my finger an inch inside of her.
A sound at the door makes us both freeze.