Chapter 14
Callum
Standing shirtless in Lucy’s tiny kitchen beneath an ancient, buzzing overhead light was not how I expected my evening to end.
As soon as she noticed the slash that son of a bitch cut into my side during our struggle, she flipped out and started rummaging around her house for first aid supplies.
“What’s the big deal?” I groan as she rushes past me and returns a few moments later with a small red case tucked under one arm and an unreadable expression. “And don’t pretend like you give a damn.” I echo her sentiment from a few minutes ago just to get a reaction.
Nothing.
The silent treatment jars me. I’d rather have her screaming and clawing at me than floating around like a ghost.
In the week since the two of us began this new living arrangement, I’ve managed to get a good read on her mannerisms. A bodyguard pays attention to the person he’s protecting, but this goes beyond that. I watch her. All the time. And that isn’t remotely normal.
Right about now, I should be on the receiving end of a “bite me” or “fuck stick” jab. Lucy curses when she’s pissed. She lashes out with sarcasm. This is the first time she’s ever reacted with silence, and I don’t like it.
What nonsense is spinning through that stubborn skull of hers? Is she still upset about my earlier comment at the club?
I’m about three seconds from blowing a gasket just to break the quiet when she finally speaks.
“You’re right.” She slams the case on the kitchen counter, keeping her eyes low and trained on the injured part of my body like she can’t bear to meet my eyes. “I don’t give a damn. But I hate the smell of blood, and you reek of it.”
“So I’ll shower.”
“Yep.” She rips the kit open and pulls out disinfectant wipes and a slew of differently sized bandages. “Right after I take care of that.”
She pulls a kitchen table chair up next to me and seats herself so she’s eye level with my wound. Then she starts disinfecting the cut, which hurts like a bitch. She winces every time I do, and after a few moments of burning the hell out of me, she starts muttering.
A hiss snakes out of my mouth. Fuck, that stings. The alcohol sends a searing pain through my torn flesh.
“I’m sorry you got hurt.” An uncharacteristic softness laces her voice. “And I’m sorry it was because of me.”
Despite her earlier sass, it’s obvious that my injury upsets her.
Maybe she even feels guilty.
“It’s all part of the job.”
“Yeah, yeah. Your job.”
I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. But on the bright side, at least she’s already in a foul mood. It’ll lessen the blow when I drop the hammer in a minute.
I can’t help but study her. We’re rarely this close. Her eyes, dark in the yellow kitchen light, appear warmer than they did beneath the hotel’s spotlight. Her disheveled hair appears less camera-ready but more touchable.
I clench my hands against my thighs to keep myself from reaching out and sifting a strand between my fingers.
After disinfecting my wound, she plasters it with as many bandages as she can. Not sure how I’m supposed to shower around all those, but I’ll worry about that later.
“You’re all done.”
I nod. “And so are you.”
She pauses, glancing up from the half-closed first aid kit. “Excuse me?”
“You should withdraw from the competition, Lucy.” I can practically see her temper start to boil like a kettle on the stove seconds away from hissing. “I can’t protect you with all those people and variables at play.”
“Then it sounds like you’re not cut out for the job of being my bodyguard.” She snaps the case shut. “Feel free to hand in your resignation. I’m sure Nika and Darren can find someone else.”
She tries to leave the kitchen, but I grab her left bicep and tug hard, whipping her back around to face me.
With our height difference, Lucy’s gaze lands square on my bare chest. Emotions flicker across her pretty face.
Surprise. Desire. Anger.
Each one intrigues me. And also terrifies me.
I retreat a step, trying to defuse the sexual tension crackling in the air like static.
“I’m being serious.”
Her brow furrows. “So am I.”
“Those men tonight were prepared. Focused.” I fold my arms and try to ignore the pain in my side, as well as the way Lucy’s eyes skate across my forearms and triceps. “They were clearly after you. They didn’t grab just anybody from the party. They wanted you.”
Lucy tenses, refusing to meet my gaze. Something dark passes over her expression. “We don’t know that for sure.” She sounds worn out. “I need a shower. You can go after me.” She flees, slamming the bathroom door before I can press her further.
In a few minutes, the squeal of pipes and running water echo through the walls, and I finally release the breath I’ve been holding.
What a day.
I lumber over to her couch and plop down, resting my head against the cushions. What I should be thinking about is how to keep one snarky, back-talking model in line. Instead, all my energy channels into not picturing her nude beneath the shower spray.
Naked and wet. With a single door between us.
My mind ricochets between images of her slick body and that shit show of an after-party.
When I burst into that corridor and found Lucy’s attacker holding her at knifepoint, I saw fucking red.
The memory stokes the smoldering flames of anger in my chest. Fury more powerful than any I remember experiencing surged through me in an instant.
I was enraged. She was so stupid. Running away from me like that.
Following some random guy into a dark hall alone. What is she, eleven?
But more than anything, I’m pissed at myself.
If I hadn’t acted like such an asshole, she probably wouldn’t have rushed off. Then again, I only behaved that way because of her earlier stunt during her audition.
She’s a hell of a wild card, I’ll give her that. A hissing little wildcat.
I rub the spot over my nose. This isn’t working.
Constantly fighting with her won’t win me any points, and if she never trusts me, she’ll never share information about the wallet in her possession.
The one Shane is still awaiting an update on.
And I’m no closer to finding it than I was when I first started this job.
A shriek launches me to my feet. “Callum!”
The fear in her voice propels me to the bathroom.
Is an intruder in there with her? Another kidnapper?
Did she fall and hit her head?
Cut herself shaving?
“Lucy!” I pound on the door. “What’s wrong?”
As I reach for the knob, the door flies inward, and Lucy’s warm, wet body smacks into me. I wrap my arms around her back to steady her. Her breasts, covered only by a skimpy towel, press into my chest. A tidal wave of jasmine wafts straight into my face.
Relief floods my system, easing the chokehold on my throat. She’s okay. Unharmed. But sweet Joseph, Mary, and Jesus, I’ll need to recite a thousand Hail Mary’s for the way my body’s reacting.
“In there.” She shudders in my arms. “Get it out!”
I peer around her, performing a quick scan of her small bathroom. “What is it? I don’t see anything.”
Her hands find my waist, and she holds on for dear life. “A spider. In the shower. I hate spiders.”
I’m torn between laughing and yelling.
A spider. She screamed bloody murder and scared the shit out of me because of a spider. And now she wants me to get rid of it.
Lucy’s damp, bare skin captures my attention, and I swallow. Maybe I should thank the poor bastard instead.
“It’s okay.” I rub soothing circles on her tense shoulders. “I’ll take care of it.”
She doesn’t move.
I swipe a drop of water from the side of her cheek. “Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“If you want me to kill the spider, you have to let go.”
“Oh. Right.” Exhaling a breath, she scurries from the bathroom.
The view as she hurries to her room is off the charts. That towel barely covers her ass.
A thousand Hail Mary’s won’t be nearly enough to atone for my dirty thoughts.
Christ, there’s only so much torture one man can take.
I stare at the purple-and-green shower curtain and wait for my lust to subside.
It’s not just hot and dirty hate sex on the line. Every time I let myself get too close to her, I’m putting my professional reputation in jeopardy.
Memories flash behind my eyes. Faces of innocent people who should be alive today but aren’t because of my carelessness.
Shame eats me up, dousing all remaining lust.
I don’t want Lucy Marlow to become another face among those victims.
Lucy’s safety and me surviving this assignment with my sanity intact are my only concerns.
As soon as Lucy retreats to her room, I catch the wolf spider I find in the corner of her shower and hasten over to the balcony to free it. Once the lil guy skitters away, I call Shane Gallagher.
He answers on the fifth ring. “Well?”
I stare out at the city lights. “Calling with a brief update.”
“Save your breath. My nephew already informed me that Roguilin’s men tried to kidnap Lucy.”
Fucking wonderful. News travels fast.
“We apprehended two men at the nightclub.”
“Yes, I know.” A pause. It sounds like he’s blowing on the microphone, which can only mean he’s smoking. “My son’s been questioning them for the better part of an hour.”
The Irish Kings don’t waste any time.
Before I can share more news that Shane already knows, he pins me with the truth. “If that wallet isn’t found, the girl is as good as dead, Callum.”
“I know. I will. I—”
The call ends. Apparently, Shane Gallagher is done talking.
I blow out a breath and lean against the railing. There’s barely any room to stand out here with all these fucking plants.
What I almost said to Shane was that if Roguilin wanted to off Lucy, she’d be dead already. I’m not enjoying the pressure from the king of the Kings. But even more, it’s itching my brain to no end that I can’t visualize the big picture yet.
My phone shrills thirty seconds later. It’s Darren.
He wants me to recap the entire day, start to finish.
Painstakingly, I do, trying to leave out the more colorful details, like Lucy decorating the kitchen floor with eggs and boiling water and scratching me like an alley cat, Lucy using me as a sex doll, Lucy arguing with me in the club…
But even without all those damning details, Darren’s first question at the end of my censored retelling is, “Are you sure you can handle this case?”
The phone creaks under my tense palm. “This is nothing more than glorified babysitting of a spoiled girl.”
Several beats of silence tick by. “You’re wrong about her, you know.”
Startled, I blink at my phone. “What?”
“Lucy’s a good girl. She’s not whatever you think she is. You should try to cut her some slack. She’s had a rough year. Some might say a rough life.”
That sounds like an excuse if I’ve ever heard one. “Yeah, well, maybe she should’ve thought of that before getting involved with a man like Viktor Roguilin.”
Something hisses behind me. I freeze before slowly pivoting, already dreading what I’ll find.
Lucy hovers in the doorway.
Her pained expression lingers a moment before hardening into the mask I now recognize as her emotional armor. After hesitating another heartbeat, she spins around and stalks away.
For a split second, something stabs my chest—regret, maybe—but I smother the emotion.
A man like me can’t afford regret.
And that’s exactly what will happen if I get emotionally entangled with a budding star.