Chapter 7 #2
Voodoo peeled her hand off without ceremony and set it gently back on the tablecloth. His jaw ticked in irritation. “Never gonna happen,” he stated bluntly.
“Savannah, darling, you didn’t tell me your bodyguard was such a snack. I’d sure like a taste of that.”
Savannah sat straighter but didn’t speak. She just sipped her wine and looked somewhere over Kandy’s shoulder, as if willing her away.
Voodoo didn’t move.
She leaned in, brushing his arm with her tits, which were on the verge of spilling out of her dress. He subtly moved it out of her range. “You go by Voodoo, right? Has a naughty ring to it, don’t you think? I am interested in discovering other naughty traits you may possess.”
Savannah stiffened but said nothing, her glass suddenly very interesting.
“Kandy,” Voodoo muttered. “Our dinner is about to be served and you weren’t invited.”
From Savannah came a quiet snort, barely audible above the conversations from the other diners.
His fleeting look caught her lips pursed in an almost comical attempt to stifle laughter, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
That expression filled him with a sense of elation.
The way she acted when Kandy first came over to their table, all cowed and quiet, wasn’t something he liked to see.
“Please. Like I need an invite,” Kandy replied, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “Besides, you’re the only guy here with a pulse and a jawline.”
She trailed her finger along his arm, and he resisted the urge to shrug her off. Across the table, Savannah’s expression flattened, and he saw the flicker in her eyes. Not jealousy . . . more like resignation.
“I saw you two all cozy and thought, ‘Why not bring a little spark to this funeral?’” She shot Savannah a pointed look. “Besides, Voodoo, you looked bored.”
Savannah’s smile was practiced, unreadable. But Voodoo knew her tells—the twitch of her fingers on her napkin, the dip of her shoulders like she was bracing.
Before Voodoo could shut Kandy down any harder, a voice like oil on glass joined the fray.
“Didn’t expect this table to be so popular,” Henry Patrick drawled, sliding in beside Savannah without invitation. “Hope I’m not crashing anything too personal.”
“You are,” Voodoo said bluntly.
Henry ignored him, eyes on Savannah like he was reading sheet music only he could see. “You look tired, darlin’. Hope they’re not working you too hard already.”
She shifted away subtly, like the air around him had gotten colder. “I’m fine.”
Voodoo didn’t buy it. The way she clutched her napkin too tightly, how her posture shrank a fraction was telling.
Something about Henry put her on edge, and Voodoo felt his hackles rise in response.
He knew the difference between flirty and invasive, between charm and control.
And what Henry was doing? That was a game of possession.
Kandy, oblivious or just indifferent, traced a painted nail along Sawyer’s sleeve. “So, Voodoo . . . is there a Mrs. Voodoo? Or are you just guarding hearts and taking names?”
Savannah let out a quiet breath, just loud enough to catch. He glanced at her, but her expression was hidden behind her wine glass.
Sawyer gently shifted his chair, removing Kandy’s access to his arm. “My job’s to protect. That’s it.”
Henry laughed under his breath. “Right. Just a job.” He leaned a little too close to Savannah, his voice dropping. “And here I thought I’d be the one protecting you from all this chaos.”
Kandy, meanwhile, had leaned back into Voodoo like a stage-five clinger. “You know, Voodoo, if you get bored while you’re stuck protecting Savannah, I could always use a strong pair of hands.”
He looked at her then, full on, and the temperature dropped.
“I don’t protect people for fun,” he said. “I do it because someone’s life depends on it.”
Kandy huffed, clearly irritated at being dismissed, but Savannah? She finally looked at him—really looked—and in her eyes was something like gratitude.
Or maybe it was relief.
Either way, things became abundantly clear as he sat surrounded by false smiles and dangerous undercurrents.
He didn’t trust Henry.
He didn’t like Kandy.
And whatever this tour was shaping up to be, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be simple.
But Savannah was his to protect.
Dinner dragged on. Kandy flirted like it was her job. Henry made pointed comments that felt just a shade too familiar. And through it all, Savannah sat with her quiet strength, holding herself together like she always had.
Sawyer knew how to read a battlefield. This one just had chandeliers and fine wine instead of smoke and bullets. But it was no less dangerous.
Throughout the evening, Savannah smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She shifted subtly in her seat, pulling back just slightly. Voodoo noticed and he didn’t like it.
And he liked even less the way Henry kept leaning in, kept finding reasons to touch her arm, her shoulder, as if boundaries were optional.
Kandy leaned closer, her breath warm near his ear. “Isn’t it adorable how he thinks he’s charming? I mean, I’ve performed with the man. No rhythm and all ego.”
Voodoo didn’t laugh. His eyes stayed locked on Savannah, her discomfort written in the tension of her shoulders, the forced curve of her lips.
Something wasn’t right.
And if Henry touched her one more time, Voodoo wasn’t sure he could stay seated. Savi was still the girl he’d sworn to protect all those years ago. Time and distance hadn’t changed that.
Kandy huffed, clearly annoyed her spotlight had dimmed. “You’re so tense tonight. I could help you loosen up.”
Voodoo pointedly ignored her, stubbornly refusing to relax or show any sign of loosening up.
Not when Savannah’s fingers fidgeted under the table.
Not when Henry kept stealing glances like she was something to possess.
And not when a creeping instinct deep in his gut whispered that this job wasn’t just about guarding a woman on a tour.
It was about guarding the girl he’d sworn to protect a lifetime ago.
And the wolves were already circling.