Chapter 6
SIX
MACK
I stare at the latest update from Cass on my phone: Derek Voss spotted lurking near the showcase venue earlier today, but slipped the tail.
Lila's still MIA on socials. The net's tightening, but not fast enough.
Tomorrow's the big show, and Indigo's fittings wrapped without incident—small mercy.
She's in the bathroom now, "freshening up" after her massage, while I pace the living area like a caged wolf.
The almost-kiss earlier lingers, my hands on her silky fucking skin.
Too close. Distractions like that could get us both killed.
She emerges in yoga pants and a crop top, all curves and confidence, hair still damp. "Staring at your phone won't catch the stalker, Mack. What's the plan? Another night of room service and glaring? Or do you want to finish your massage?"
I pocket the device, not taking the bait. "Optics. We need to sell the fake couple angle harder. Tabloids are buzzing… 'Indigo's Mystery Man.' Dinner out. Public spot. Let the paps see us cozy."
Her eyes light up. "A date? With you? Be still my heart."
"Fake date," I correct, but my pulse kicks up. "Draws out the stalker if they're watching. Plus, kills the rumors."
She saunters closer, poking my chest. "Admit it, you just want an excuse to hold my hand."
I catch her wrist, gentle but firm. Heat sparks. "Keep pushing, princess."
She smirks, pulling free. "Fine. I'll play along. But I pick the place—Amour Bistro. Heart-shaped everything. Fitting for Cupid City."
I grunt my approval. It's central, easy to secure. I call King Wilder for backup. He’s Heartline Security and I trust him.
Thirty minutes later, we're in the SUV, her in a slinky red dress that hugs like sin, me in dark jeans and a button-down to blend.
Her perfume fills the space, vanilla teasing my senses.
At Amour, the valet eyes us, but I tip heavy and scan the street. Paparazzi’s already clustering across the road, flashes ready. I offer my arm—optics—and she takes it, leaning in with a staged giggle. "Smile, grump. We're in love."
"Convincing," I mutter, but her warmth seeps through my sleeve. Inside, the place is a Valentine nightmare: candlelight, rose petals, couples murmuring. Hostess seats us at a window table—visible, per my request. King texts: Perimeter clear.
We order—steak for me, salad for her. Wine arrives, red like her dress. She sips, eyes on me over the rim. "So, fake boyfriend, tell me about the military. Bet you were all heroics and high-seas drama."
I tense. Not my favorite topic. "Joined at 18. Deployments, ops. Left after a few years. End of story."
She tilts her head. "Come on. What made you enlist? Family tradition? Or just love of danger?"
I swirl my glass, staring at the swirl. "Dad was military—presumed dead when I was 15. Nash, my oldest brother, pushed us all toward service. Structure. Purpose." I don't mention the void it filled, the rage at losing him. "Your turn. How'd a girl like you end up strutting for cameras?"
She laughs, light but with an edge. "Mom's doing.
She was a pageant queen in her day—Miss Small Town USA or something.
Put me and my little sister, Viola, in kiddie contests from age five.
Glitz, gowns, the works. Viola hated it—dropped out at 12, went the rebel route.
Tattoos, rock bands. But me? I stuck with it.
Won a few crowns, got scouted at 16. Boom. Modeling contracts."
"Regrets?" I ask, genuinely curious. Her world's all gloss, but I see the cracks.
She shrugs. "Sometimes. Mom pushed hard—diets, rehearsals. But it paid off. Independence, travel. Viola's jealous now, but we're tight." Her eyes soften. "What about your brothers? All military?"
"Varied. Nash intel, Crewe strategy, Sin's a loose cannon, Banks tech whiz, Jace and Colt muscle." I keep it vague. "Planning a reunion soon—family business."
" Mysterious." She leans in, elbow resting on the table. "Bet you're the protector type. Always were."
Before I can respond, flashes erupt outside. Paparazzi—three of them—pressing against the glass, shouting her name. "Indigo! Who's the hunk? New flame? Come outside before we come in there and ruin you."
I stand instantly, body between her and the window.
I’d wanted our picture taken for optics, but not like this.
"Stay put." Adrenaline surges. One snapper edges closer, lens aimed.
I signal the manager, who calls security, but I'm already moving.
Out the door in seconds, King flanking from the shadows.
"Back off," I growl, voice low thunder. The lead pap edges forward. "Just a pic, man—"
I step into his space, not touching but dominating. "She's eating. You get your shots from afar. Cross the line, and it's assault."
He blanches, and retreats. Flashes continue, but at a safe distance. I scan for threats—anyone lingering too long? No Derek, no suspicious faces. Back inside, Indigo's watching, lips curved.
"My hero," she teases as I sit. "Very protective."
"Job," I say, but her gaze holds heat. Dinner resumes and we keep the banter light. In fact, I find myself enjoying myself. She’s… real.
She steals a bite of my steak, and I roll my eyes but let her. Under the table, her foot brushes my calf.
"Playing footsie? Bold for fake."
"Who says fake?" she whispers.
We talk more—her favorite shoots (Paris rooftops), my least favorite op (desert heat, no details). Laughter slips in, and I realize she's not just a diva. She's sharp and resilient.
I pay the bill and we exit arm-in-arm. The paps swarm again, but I shield her, hand on her back, guiding her to the SUV. "Indigo! Kiss for the cameras?"
I make a snap second decision and lean in, pulling her into my arms. I kiss her. The moment our lips touch a fire ignites.
I keep kissing her, my body coming to life in an instant. Fuck me. She tastes so good, and I can hear the snap, snap, snap of all the cameras going crazy.
She breaks the kiss first and I immediately miss her touch. “Good enough show?” she whispers for only me to hear.
“It was sufficient.”
She glares at me like I’ve just said the wrong thing. On the ride back to the hotel she doesn’t speak, and I can tell she’s upset. Does she think I meant her kiss was sufficient? Because it was anything but that.
At the hotel the paparazzi crowds her a bit too close. “Handle this,” she snaps at me, and we’re back to being enemies in an instant.
I watch Indigo saunter into the hotel suite like she owns the damn world, her hips swaying in that tight little red dress that clings to every curve like it's painted on.
She's been giving me shit since we left the restaurant—snapping orders, rolling her eyes at my security protocols, calling me a "muscle-bound Neanderthal" under her breath.
Fine. I've been her bodyguard for a few days now, and every second has been a battle of wills.
But tonight? Tonight, something snapped.
That kiss. Her breath against my skin.
She’s pissed about the paparazzi. “You’re useless, Mack,” she hisses, tossing her purse onto the couch and she kicks off her heels.
Her long legs stretch out as she flops down, crossing them in a way that hikes her dress up her thighs.
God, those thighs. I've been staring at them too long, imagining them wrapped around me, but I shove it down. Or try to.
"Watch your mouth, princess," I growl, locking the door behind us.
The room's dim, just the city lights filtering through the curtains.
She's a supermodel, all flawless skin and sharp cheekbones, but right now, her eyes are fire, locked on mine with that haughty glare that makes my blood boil—and my cock twitch.
She stands up, getting right in my face, her perfume hitting me like a drug. "Or what? You'll manhandle me? Try it, big guy. I dare you."
That's it. The dam breaks. I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head against the wall in one swift move.
She gasps, but doesn't pull away—her chest heaves, those perfect tits straining against the fabric.
"You think I won't?" I murmur, my voice low and rough.
"You've been teasing me for days, strutting around in those skimpy outfits, bending over just enough to give me a view.
You want this, don't you? Want me to fuck the attitude right out of you. "
Her eyes widen, but there's heat there, not fear. She licks her lips, and fuck, that's my undoing. "You're delusional," she whispers, but her body's arching into mine, her hips grinding against my thigh.
I press closer, letting her feel how hard I am already, my cock throbbing against her belly.
"Delusional? Baby, I've seen the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching.
Like you want to climb me like a tree and ride me until you scream.
" I lean in, my mouth brushing her ear. "Admit it, Indigo.
You hate how much you want my dick inside you, stretching that tight little pussy until you're begging for more. "
She moans, low and needy, her head falling back against the wall. I release one wrist to slide my hand down her body, cupping her breast through the dress, thumbing her nipple until it's hard as a diamond. "Mack..." she breathes, and it's not anger anymore… it's surrender.
"That's right, say my name like that." I yank the zipper of her dress down, peeling it off her shoulders.
No bra. Jesus, her tits are perfect, pink nipples begging for my mouth.
I dip my head, sucking one hard, swirling my tongue while I pinch the other.
She bucks against me, her free hand clawing at my shirt.
"God, you're so fucking wet for me already, aren't you?
" I slide my hand between her legs, under her panties, finding her slick and ready.
My fingers tease her clit, circling slow, then faster.
"Look at you, dripping like a slut for your bodyguard.
All that hate was just foreplay, huh? You need this cock to shut you up. "
She whimpers, grinding against my hand. "Shut up and fuck me, then."
I chuckle darkly, shoving her panties aside and thrusting two fingers inside her. She's tight, hot, clenching around me like a vice. "Oh, I'll fuck you, princess. But first, you're gonna come on my fingers. Show me how much you need it."
I pump them in and out, curling to hit that spot that makes her gasp. Her nails dig into my shoulders, her body trembling. "Mack... oh fuck... yes..."
"That's it, come for me. Soak my hand like the dirty girl you are." She shatters, crying out, her pussy pulsing around my fingers. I don't let up, drawing it out until she's shaking.
Before she can catch her breath, I spin her around, bending her over the couch arm.
I drop my pants, freeing my cock—thick and aching for her.
"Spread those legs," I command, and she does, arching her back like she's posing for me.
I rub the head against her entrance, teasing.
"Beg for it, Indigo. Tell me you want this bodyguard dick ruining you. "
"Please... Mack, fuck me. I need it so bad."
I slam into her in one thrust, burying myself deep. She screams, the sound muffled by the cushions, but I don't stop. I grip her hips, pounding hard and fast, the slap of skin echoing. "Fuck, you're tight. This pussy was made for me, wasn't it? Gripping me like you never want me to leave."
"Yes... oh god, yes..." She's pushing back, meeting every thrust, her ass jiggling with the force.
I reach around, rubbing her clit again. "Come again, baby. Milk my cock. I want to feel you squeeze every drop out of me."
She explodes, her walls fluttering, and it's too much. I groan, thrusting deep as I come, filling her up, marking her as mine.
We collapse together, breathing ragged. Enemies? Not anymore. Now, she's all mine.