Chapter 7
Stella
The city of Summerlin blurred past the tinted windows of Tate’s SUV as he drove toward my apartment, clearly knowing my address without even asking.
I pressed my shoulder into the leather seat and stared out at nothing, hyper-aware of every sound in the confined space—the hum of the engine, the soft rush of the climate control, the low music filtering through the speakers.
Of all the bodyguards who could have walked into our house today, it had to be him.
I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around it.
One moment I’d been bracing myself for some stuffy, middle-aged ex-cop with a paunch and a condescending attitude, and then Tate had turned around, and the floor had dropped out from under me.
Those intense eyes. That strong jaw. Those hands that had brought me so much pleasure. I still fantasized about how those long fingers felt wrapped around my throat as he drove that hard, pierced cock deep inside me—
Stop it.
I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs tightly. The man who’d rocked my world sexually was now my bodyguard. This was a disaster. An absolute, unmitigated disaster.
The exhaustion of the entire morning hit me then, settling into my bones like lead. The conversation with my mother replayed in my head on an endless loop—her condescending tone, her dismissive smile, the way she’d reduced my entire career to something that was insignificant as she always did.
I was so damn tired. Tired of fighting for legitimacy with my parents. Tired of being handled. Tired of being told what was best for me.
And now I had a full-time bodyguard. One who happened to be the only man who had ever made me feel completely undone.
Never mind that I had clients, obligations, and a life that existed outside of my parents’ suffocating orbit.
A workroom with half-finished pieces draped over dress forms. Orders scheduled for fittings.
A reputation I’d built stitch by stitch without their help.
None of that seemed to matter to them. To my parents, I was still something fragile to be managed. And now Tate was part of that management plan, through no fault of his own.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. The one man who had made me feel powerful in my surrender was now assigned to monitor my movements. The man who had given me space to choose what I wanted and desired was suddenly the embodiment of my lack of choice.
Oliver flickered through my thoughts then.
My safe, strategic shield. My decoy. The arrangement that kept my mother off my back and saved me from awkward dates with men I had no interest in.
Oliver was many things, but he was decidedly not interested in women.
Our relationship was a convenient arrangement that kept both our families from meddling in our love lives.
I’d seen the way Tate’s expression had shuttered when my mother said the word boyfriend, something cold flickering behind his eyes before he’d locked it down.
Part of me had wanted to explain, to tell him the truth—but what would be the point?
Outing Oliver wasn’t my secret to share.
And besides, it wasn’t like it mattered.
Tate was nothing more than my bodyguard. My jailer, wrapped in a more attractive package than my self-control could comfortably handle.
“We need to talk.”
His deep voice cut through the silence, and I glanced his way, taking in his gorgeous profile. The slope of his nose, those sensual lips, the way strands of his roguishly long hair fell across his forehead.
“Do we?” I replied, keeping my tone impersonal. “I think the situation is fairly self-explanatory. You’re here to do a job. I’m here because my parents gave me no choice. We don’t need to make it more complicated than that.”
I heard him exhale—a controlled sound, like he was choosing his words carefully. “It’s already complicated. Look, I’m not going to pretend that night didn’t happen, but I’m also not going to let it interfere with the job I was hired to do, which is to protect you. That’s all this is.”
That’s all this is. The words landed like a slap, and I flinched before I could stop myself. I turned my face further toward the window, hoping he hadn’t noticed, even as something sharp twisted in my chest because that night had been everything to me.
For one glorious, reckless evening, I hadn’t been Stella Hayward—dutiful daughter, family disappointment, the good girl who always colored inside the lines.
I’d been someone else entirely. Someone free who could walk into a place like The Players Club and let a stranger’s hands explore her body without apology or shame.
And Tate... God, Tate had made me feel things I didn’t know I was capable of feeling. The dark, focused way he’d looked at me, the possessive way he’d touched me—commanding and tender all at once. The way my body had responded to his voice, his hands, his complete and utter dominance.
I’d never felt so sexually alive. So present in my own skin. So wanted and desired. And now he was sitting two feet away from me, dismissing that night like it was nothing. A minor complication in our arrangement to be managed.
But he was right, wasn’t he? Because the alternative—acknowledging what that night had actually been, what it meant, what it had revealed about the desires I’d spent years suppressing—wasn’t something either of us could afford right now.
Not with my parents hovering and some unknown threat hanging over my head because of my father.
Not with Oliver’s name sitting between us like a barrier neither of us could see past.
“That works for me,” I said, my voice sounding steadier than I felt.
A beat of silence passed between us before Tate spoke again.
“I need you to understand something, Stella. The threat against you is real. This isn’t your father overreacting.
This isn’t paranoia. Someone is watching you and getting close enough to take pictures, and until we identify who and why, you are in genuine danger. ”
The words sent a chill down my spine, despite my best efforts to remain unaffected. I’d seen those photos. Images of me going about my daily life, completely oblivious to the fact that someone had been right there, watching. The violation of it still made my skin crawl.
“I understand that,” I said quietly. “I’m not stupid.
I know this is serious. But I also know my parents, and I know that they will use this situation to pull me back into their orbit and control every aspect of my life if I let them.
So while I appreciate that you’re here to keep me safe, I need you to understand that safe doesn’t mean smothering me.
I will cooperate. I will be smart. But I will not be a prisoner in my own childhood home. ”
He glanced over at me then, and something shifted in his expression. The hardness softened, just slightly, and I caught a flicker of what looked almost like sympathy. Like understanding.
He’d met my parents. He’d undoubtedly seen my father’s imperious attitude. He’d witnessed my mother’s subtle condescension in the way she talked to me. Maybe he understood better than I had expected.
“Fair enough,” he said after a moment. “Then here’s what I propose.
You don’t go anywhere without telling me first. You don’t deviate from a planned route without checking in.
And if we need to go out somewhere and I say we leave, we leave.
No arguments, no negotiations. In exchange, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you can live your life as normally as possible.
I’m not here to smother you. I’m here to make sure nobody hurts you. ”
I’d been bracing for a fight. I’d expected demands and ultimatums—the same power plays my father employed, wrapped in the guise of protection. Instead, Tate was offering something that looked almost like... respect. A partnership, rather than a dictatorship.
The surprise must have shown on my face, because the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close.
“Okay,” I said after a moment, releasing a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “I can work with that.”
“Good.”
The tension in the car between us settled into something less charged, but only slightly.
Because even as we established the terms of this new arrangement, I couldn’t stop myself from being acutely aware of him—the breadth of his shoulders stretching the confines of his white dress shirt, his strong hands gripping the steering wheel, the faint scent of his cologne that I remembered from that night, when I’d pressed my face into his neck and breathed him in.
“Did you know?” The question escaped before I could think better of it. “When you took the assignment, did you know it was me?”
He didn’t look at me, but I saw his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. “Not until I opened the file.”
I was quiet for a moment, processing that.
Imagining him sitting in an office somewhere, flipping open a folder and seeing my face staring back at him and wondering what he’d felt in that moment.
Surprise? Dread? The same complicated knot of emotions that had seized my chest when he’d turned around in the kitchen and introduced himself like he hadn’t fucked me senseless a week and a half ago.
“You should have told your boss,” I said carefully. “Recused yourself. Or whatever the security equivalent of that is.”
“You’re right.” His voice was flat, giving nothing away. “I should have.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
The word hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning. I waited, watching his profile, searching for some crack in that controlled facade.
“Why?” I finally asked.
He glanced at me again, and for a moment the professional demeanor slipped. I saw something in his eyes that made my breath catch. Something personal and intimate that had nothing to do with security protocols or professional obligations.
“Because I’m the best person for the job,” he said.