Chapter 4
FOUR
MACK
I slip into the bathroom for a quick splash of water on my face, then fire up my secure laptop on the coffee table.
Heartline's database is already pulling prelims on the delivery logs.
But I need the boss's eyes on this. Cassian Rhodes—Cass to those who've earned it—runs Heartline like a SEAL op: tight, efficient, no bullshit.
He assigned me this gig personally, knowing my timeline with my brothers. I dial his secure line.
He picks up on the second ring. "Hawthorne. Early bird or bad news?"
"Both," I grunt, keeping my voice low. Indigo's out cold. "The bouquet was rigged—confetti with shrapnel edges. Non-lethal, but pointed. Hotel logs show it came from a local florist, anonymous order paid in crypto. Untraceable at first glance."
Cass swears under his breath. "Figures. Cupid City's a circus this time of year—Valentine chaos covers a multitude of sins. Any prints or residue?"
"Team's running it now. But my gut says it's tied to her ex or a rival. She mentioned firing her agent, bad breakup with a guy who leaked photos. And the showcase? Big money. Someone might want her out."
"Smart money on the ex," Cass muses. I hear keys clacking— he's pulling files. "Name's Derek Voss. Photographer, mid-level fame chaser. Restraining order filed six months ago after the leak. He's in town—spotted at a pre-show party last night. Coincidence?"
"Not in my world." I jot notes. "What about rivals? She's rebooting her brand—anyone losing gigs because of it?"
"Checking... Yeah, a model named Lila Shane, but she's been vocal on socials about 'has-beens stealing spots.' Posted a shady tweet yesterday: 'Some flowers wilt faster than others.' Subtle."
I snort. "Real original. Send me addresses. I'll look into these."
"Negative, Mack. You're glued to the principal. I'll dispatch a team for legwork. Your job's keeping her breathing—and out of headlines. How's she holding?"
"Stubborn. Mouthy. Breaking rules like it's a sport." I glance at her still asleep in the bed. I move toward the large floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the city.
Cass chuckles. "Sounds like your type. Watch your six—and your heart. Cupid City lives up to the name."
"Not happening," I growl. "Seven days, then I'm out. Nash's lead on Dad—"
"I know. Go get 'em after. For now, protect the asset."
We hang up, and I dive into the files he forwards. Voss's mugshot stares back—smarmy grin, the kind that begs for a fist. Lila's profile: pretty, petty posts. Leads, but nothing concrete. I need more.
A rustle from the bed. Indigo wakes, hair tousled, silk pajamas clinging in ways that make my jaw tighten. She's rubbing sleep from her eyes, but spots me and straightens, mask slipping into place. "Up already? Don't bodyguards sleep?"
"Only when the client's not a magnet for mayhem." I close the laptop. "Coffee?"
She pads over, barefoot and unapologetic, snagging my mug from the table. Takes a sip. "Yours now. Perks of being guarded."
Annoyance flares, but damn, the way her lips curve around the rim... Focus, Hawthorne. "That's mine."
"Sharing is caring." She perches on the arm of the couch, too close. Her leg brushes mine. "Who were you talking to? Secret bodyguard club?"
"My boss. Cassian Rhodes. Updating on your situation."
Her eyes narrow, but she plays it cool. "And? Am I safe, or should I start writing my will?"
"Safe as long as you listen." I stand, needing space. Her scent—vanilla and citrus—lingers. "Ex-boyfriend's in town. Derek Voss. Did he ever mention it?"
She stiffens, mask cracking for a split second. Fear? Then it's gone. "That slime? No. Haven’t spoken in months. Since he leaked those photos that nearly ruined my career. But he's all bark. He leaked those photos to hurt me, not... this."
"People escalate." I move to the window, scanning the street below. Dawn traffic starting. "And Lila Shane—model rival. Know her?"
"Everyone knows Lila. Jealous bitch. But stalking? Please." She sets the mug down, and saunters to the kitchenette. "Want eggs and toast? Or are carbs against protocol?"
"I'm good." But I watch her—graceful, defiant. She's annoying me on purpose, poking to reclaim control. Fine. Two can play at this game.
She cracks some eggs, humming off-key. Deliberate? "So, Mr. Protocol, what's the plan? Lock me in here all day? Miss my spa appointment?"
"Spa's out. Too exposed."
She spins, whisk in hand. "Excuse me? I need that facial. My brand demands glowy skin."
"Brand can wait. Safety first."
"Oh, come on." She steps closer, eyes sparking. "You're paranoid. One fake bomb, and suddenly I'm Rapunzel?"
"It's not fake if it draws blood." I close the gap, towering over her. Damn, she smells good. "You want to glow? Do it here. Hotel sends up a masseuse that’s vetted."
She pokes my chest with her pink-tipped finger. "Vetted? You're sucking the fun out of everything. I came to Cupid City for hearts and lingerie, not a prison warden."
Heat builds—not just anger. Her proximity, the fire in her eyes... It's electric. "Fun? This is your life, princess. Not a photoshoot."
"Don't call me princess." She glares up, our breaths mingling. "I'm Indigo. And I don't need a shadow cramping my style."
"You need me more than you know." My voice drops. It’s rough, a little too rough. "That bouquet? Next could be real."
She swallows, but doesn't back down. "Fine. But if I'm stuck, you're entertaining me. Tell me more about your brothers. Seven Hawthornes? Sounds chaotic."
Diversion tactic. Annoying, but clever. "Nash is the oldest—holds the family intel. Crewe's the strategist. Sin's the wild card. Banks handles tech. Jace and Colt are the muscle twins."
"And you?" She tilts her head, lips quirking. "The grump?"
"The one who gets shit done." I snag the whisk from her, our fingers brushing. "Now eat. We review threats after."
She rolls her eyes but complies, scrambling eggs with flair. We eat in tense silence—her on the couch, me standing. Then she starts again. "So, fake boyfriend duties. We doing breakfast in bed pics for optics?"
"No."
"Why not? Scared of a little role-play?" She winks, crossing her legs. She’s breathtaking.
My blood heats. "Not scared. Professional."
"Boring." She stands, brushing past me to the bathroom. Her hips sway, and I can’t turn away. "I'm showering. Join if you want—protocol says stick close."
I know she’s joking, but damn if the temptation doesn’t punch the shit outta me. "I'll wait outside."
"Coward."
I grit my teeth, posting up by the door. The water runs, and my mind wanders—her under the spray, skin slick.
No. Job first.
A little while later, she emerges in a robe, hair wet, smelling like coconuts. "Your turn. I'll behave."
Doubt it. I shower quick, cold to kill the fire. Back out, she's on my laptop.
"Snooping?" I snap, towel around my waist.
She spins, eyes widening. Her eyes drink me in—chest, abs, ink from my military days. Heat in her gaze. "Research. Derek's file? He's uglier than I remember."
"Off limits." I grab the laptop, but she's up, blocking me.
"Share, Mack. I'm the target."
"You're the pain in my ass." I lean in, trapping her against the desk. My heart pounds, sending blood straight to my cock. It hardens, and I breathe in deep. "Move."
"Make me." She tries for defiance, but her breath catches. Her pupils dilate.
Tension snaps. I grip her arms—gentle but firm—pulling her close. "You push too far, Indigo."
"Maybe I like the pushback." Her voice is husky, and her lips part.
Fuck this. I kiss her. Hard. Claiming. She melts, her hands on my chest, nails digging. Passion explodes. She tastes like coffee and fire, moaning into my mouth.
I break it, my breathing ragged. "Fuck. That wasn't—"
"Protocol?" She smirks, flushed. "Screw protocol."
My phone buzzes, breaking the moment in half. It’s Cass. "Update: Voss alibi shaky. Team en route."
I step back, cursing. "We can't."
She straightens her robe. "Can't what? Admit you want this?"
"I do." Honesty slips. "But job first."
"Fine. But this isn't over." She saunters away, leaving me hard and conflicted.
Day two heats up. The stalker hunt progresses, and Cass's team tails Voss. Indigo annoys me relentlessly: blasting music, "accidentally" spilling coffee on my shirt, demanding couple selfies.
"Smile, grump!" She snaps a pic, pressing close.
I growl, but pull her in. "You're impossible."
"You're irresistible."
By noon, there’s a fresh lead: Lila's linked to the florist. We stakeout from the SUV—me on binoculars, her "helping" by leaning in way too close.
"See anything?" Her breath on my neck.
"Distraction." But I don't move her.
We wait for hours, but see nothing. We finally head back to the Gilded Hart Hotel, and there’s a note under the door. Roses are red, your guard is blue. Soon he'll be gone, and it'll be me and you.
I secure it, and call Cass. "Poet's getting bold."
"Evac?" he asks.
"No. Trap."
Indigo reads it, pales but she masks it quickly. "Romantic."
"Not funny." I pull her close. "You're safe."
"With you? Yeah." Her admission is soft, rocking my nervous system out of whack.
What is she fucking doing to me?
We spar verbally all night—her mocking my rules, me countering with growls. Underneath it all, desire builds.
As she drifts to sleep on the bed (me on the couch again), she whispers, "Thanks, Mack."
Progress. But stalker's closing in. Tomorrow? Showdown.