Chapter Twelve
Bella’s eyes widened. Shock, then panic chased across her face.
Danny planted his feet, ready to shoot down any argument she threw his way.
Someone threatened her. Tried to make her afraid. And they’d succeeded.
Whoever they were, it was the closest they’d ever get to her again.
“That’s ridiculous,” she sputtered. “You can’t move in with me just because somebody left a flyer on my car.”
The distance between them disappeared in a few strides.
He caged Bella between his body and the kitchen counter. “Someone who knows where you work. The make, model, and license plate of your car. Who specifically targeted you to leave their message. Whether you like it or not, you’re—at the very least—leverage. Your father wants me to keep you safe.”
I want you safe.
Her chin tipped up, eyes narrowing. Defiance darkened the gold to amber. “I’m not going into hiding or letting you and my father put me on a shelf like some fragile porcelain doll. I won’t live like that—I’ve spent my whole life being afraid.”
“Yeah? Well now’s a helluva time to decide to stop.”
Color drained from her face.
“Shit.” That had come out harsher than he intended.
This woman pushed every button he had.
He stepped back, chest tightening. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did.” Bitterness laced her tone. “I’m not that introverted, socially inept girl you remember from high school anymore.”
“Bella—”
“For as long as you’ve known me, you’ve been protecting me, just like my parents.”
That stung—not because it wasn’t true, but because he didn’t like being lumped in with the people who’d smothered her in the name of protection.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep you safe.”
“There is when you strip away my control and make my decisions for me,” she shouted. She bit her lip, gaze dropping to the floor. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
Dammit.
His hands itched to pull her close. But the rigid way she held herself told him that was the last thing she wanted right now.
He took a deep breath. Let it out. “You’re allowed to be angry.”
Didn’t mean he enjoyed being the reason.
His attention drifted until it caught on the book still sitting on the table beside the couch. Rival agents. A common enemy. Sex hot enough to fog the windows. From what he’d read, the heroine in the book didn’t need saving. She kicked, punched, and shot her way out of danger.
Bella had plenty of courage. What she lacked was training.
According to the information her parents provided, she’d taken one or two self-defense classes before she went to college. Nothing since. No firearms training. Against a man his size, she’d need the skills to create an opening and exploit it without hesitation.
They should have empowered her to defend herself, especially since she’d refused to live with a security detail monitoring her every move.
“I’ll make you a deal.”
Suspicious eyes peered up at him. “What kind of deal?”
“You let me use your spare bedroom. I’ll teach you situational awareness. Self-defense. Then as soon as your father’s event is over and you’re out of the spotlight, you prove to him you don’t need a bodyguard.”
She cocked her head. Her stare assessed him. “You’re bribing me?”
A shrug. More to shake off the feeling that she could see into his soul than anything else. “I’m offering instruction in exchange for letting me do my job.”
The glare she gave him could cut glass. “Your job as head of security for the gala?”
He leaned in. Closer this time. Until only inches separated them and the scent of honeyed jasmine filled his nose. “My job as your head of security.”
She skirted around him then. His gaze followed, monitoring the sway of her hips as she paced the living room.
“Fine.”
His shoulders loosened—
“However…”
—and jacked tight again.
She stopped. Patted Trip’s head. “We need to set some ground rules.”
Fair enough. “I agree.”
He could be reasonable. Generous even.
“Rule number one.” Her attention fixed on something over his right shoulder.
“I think, given our history, it would be appropriate to set some boundaries.” A flush crept up her neck.
“Professional boundaries. If you’re going to stay here, there shouldn’t be anything between us that’s… ” The color deepened. “…too personal.”
Keeping his expression neutral took work as she stumbled through shutting down any possibility of sharing a bed before this assignment was over.
But if she changes her mind… the devil on his shoulder whispered. The past was just that. Anything they did now would be very much the present.
Just the two of them.
No family.
No teenage expectations.
No strings.
He gave a mental shrug. So sue him—he still remembered what it felt like to touch her.
Calloused hands on smooth, warm skin. Wide black pupils rimmed in amber that threatened to pull him into the undertow.
The sounds she made as she clung to him—sand beneath them, water lapping at their feet like some damned movie in black and white.
She had more curves now. His fingers flexed at the memory of pulling her close in the backyard, damp from Trip’s bath.
Well, hell. This trip down memory lane was going to end with a hard-on if he didn’t yank his focus back to the subject at hand.
Which was boundaries.
Prudent.
Necessary.
Didn’t mean, however, that he wouldn’t poke at the control Bella wore like armor. She needed to loosen up a bit before life passed her by.
They didn’t call him Chaos for nothing.
He smothered a grin and deployed his best wounded look. “Does that mean we can’t have dinner conversations and get to know each other? No sitting on the couch, watching TV? No—”
Her eyes narrowed. Again. “You know what I mean.” He’d swear she was two seconds away from stomping a dainty foot and throwing out her finger like a dagger, ready to skewer him in the face.
Danny pressed his lips together to contain the laughter.
Bella was damn cute all riled up.
“On my honor, I will not do anything you don’t explicitly ask me to do.”
That only earned him attitude.
Arms crossed, hip jutting out, she tilted her head with a glare. “Why can’t you just say you won’t try to get me to have sex with you, like a normal person?”
Normal? Not in his DNA.
“Because if I make that promise, I’d have to keep it, and if you change your mind…” His stare held hers. “I don’t want the moral dilemma of whether I should break it to keep my hands—and every other part of me—off you.”
Her eyes flared.
Danny’s entire body went rigid.
Rapid, shallow breaths.
Dilated pupils
Had he offended her? He took a closer look.
Nope. Not offended.
Sweet Bella was turned on.
That scene in her book—the one that made his eyes roll back in his head—flashed in his mind.
The devil on his shoulder whispered in his ear. He batted the asshole away.
He’d broken her heart once.
He wouldn’t do it again.
“Look, Bella, I can keep you safe—that part I’m good at.” He dragged a hand through his hair and let it fall. “I default to wise-ass when I’m uncomfortable.”
A rough exhale. “Let me say this, then we never have to bring it up again. I’m sorry I made you think the night we spent together didn’t mean anything to me. And I’m sorry I left and never reached out—I thought keeping my distance was the right thing to do.”
The beat of silence that followed his confession tightened around his throat like a noose. “I was wrong.”
Her gaze dropped. When it lifted, her expression was unreadable. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “But I think it’s best if rule number one still stands.”
Turning away, she headed for the stairs. “The sheets in the guest room are clean. I’ll get you some towels.”
He nodded, although the weight on his chest didn’t ease.
Trip nudged his hand, then flopped onto his back, demanding attention. Danny crouched to scratch his belly.
“Hey buddy. Looks like we’re housemates for a while.”
“Come on, Trip.” Isabella called to her traitorous dog, busy making a big furry fool of himself over Danny.
From the linen closet, she took clean towels and placed them in the guest bathroom.
An idiot—that’s what she was.
No. A masochist.
So much for trying to regain control of her life. She folded like a deck of cards the minute Danny said he was staying.
The truth was, she felt safe with him in the house.
Physically.
Safe because he saw her, not just the threat.
Emotionally? She was walking a tightrope.
The whole “no sex” thing? A necessary boundary so she wouldn’t get her heart broken again.
Who was she kidding?
His apology had rocked her. Despite what she’d told him, she hadn’t gotten past their night together. Not really. She’d waited. Desperate for a call. A text. Anything.
Nothing had come.
Her father’s decision to move the family to North Carolina had been a blessing. An entire country between her and the boy she’d wanted badly enough to give him everything on a cold, sandy beach the night of her best friend’s funeral.
But his apology hadn’t closed the door on their past like she’d hoped. Instead, it had left a pathway to the present where she was very aware of Danny the man.
Former Navy SEAL.
Shaggy blond hair.
Rock-hard body.
Blue eyes—when they weren’t locked on her—constantly tracking. Assessing.
Were the innuendos he threw out just his way of masking his discomfort around her, as he’d implied?
Or was she correctly interpreting the lazy, sexual way his gaze roved, heating her blood and igniting every place it touched with fire?
What if he wanted her now? This version of her, not the seventeen-year-old he’d left behind.
What if she broke her own rule? Invited him into her bed?
Would he take her up on it?
He’d as much as told her he would.
Sensing his presence behind her, she turned.
He hovered in the bathroom doorway, looking like a sun-kissed god.
She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and whipped out the basket of toiletries she kept for guests. It hit the counter with a rattle. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”
Boundaries. Even thinking about crossing them made her an idiot. If she gave in, she’d break all over again. Because she couldn’t separate sex from emotional intimacy.
As soon as the gala wrapped, he’d be gone.
The idea bothered her more than it should.
Off chasing the next adventure. Risking his life for someone else.
Another woman?
He stepped aside just enough to let her pass. The scent of warm sun and ocean breezes teased her senses. His eyes tracked her, and she’d give anything to know what was going on in his head.
“I’ve got some work to do, so goodnight.”
Before she did something foolish, like throw herself at him. Press her lips to his mouth. Run her hands over his firm chest and shoulders.
Derail her life.
Stake a claim she couldn’t possibly keep.
“Night, Bella,” he murmured, low and sexy. “I’ll lock up and set the alarm.”
“Thanks. Come on, Trip.” She grabbed the dog’s collar and guided him down the hall before Danny’s charm claimed him, too.
Her bedroom was the one place she let her control give way to whimsy.
Where the rest of her home had pale, gray walls and a clean silhouette, she’d painted her bedroom blush pink.
Her bed was a four-poster, her duvet and pillows a botanical design of vividly colored florals.
Fairy lights were strewn across the white headboard.
Her favorite piece of furniture was her dresser, which she’d found online.
Each drawer was painted a different color with floral stenciling.
Sheer white curtains accented her windows.
She changed into pink satin shorts and a camisole top, then checked her phone.
Talia still hadn’t called.
With a frustrated sigh, she climbed into bed with her laptop, propped her back up with pillows, and opened the lid.
Too many unopened emails crowded her inbox. She read a few but couldn’t concentrate and ended up logging out. Throwing her sweatshirt over her PJs, she cracked open her door and peered down the hall.
The guest bedroom door was closed.
Isabella tiptoed down the stairs to the first floor and got a glass of water, then swiped the romance novel she was reading from the living room and made it back to her room without running into Danny.
She withdrew her vibrator from the nightstand drawer and settled beneath the covers, the book open to her favorite spicy scene.
Sage sat at the long dining table, dressed in a low-cut emerald gown, jewels dripping from her ears and neck as she played the part of the rich American socialite.
Her host—and target—Viktor Morozov sat to her right.
The wealthy shipping magnate turned underground arms dealer openly enjoyed the cleavage she had on display as he made polite dinner conversation.
Conversation she was struggling to keep up with, thanks to the handsome bastard seated across from her, Xavier Stone.
Spy. Her rival. The bane of her existence.
His hand was in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, finger on the dial of a remote that controlled the clitoral stimulator nestled inside her panties.
A lost bet, and here she was, trying to prove she had more control than to let the arrogant, sexy jerk get her off in public.
The vibrations increased.
She breathed through the tension coiling below her stomach and took a shaky sip of her wine, shooting a discreet glare at Xavier over the rim of her Baccarat crystal glass.
His lips quirked in response as he answered a question their host had directed his way.
Isabella’s breaths shortened as she continued to read, the vibrator sliding beneath her pajama shorts to press against her clit until her own body spasmed. She clamped her lips together to keep her moans from carrying down the hall and alerting Danny.
Why couldn’t she have what Sage had—the courage to give up control and win the love of a dangerous man?
Her gaze went to her closed door, seeing beyond it, down the hall to the guest bedroom. Control was the only thing that had ever kept her safe. And as much as she might crave the passion and adventure she read about in books, she wasn’t like those characters.
The book slid from her fingers, slapping shut before she could set the bookmark at the correct page. Her attention drifted back to the door. For one reckless second, she imagined herself leaving the safety of her bedroom, walking down the hall and knocking on Danny’s door.
When he opened it and saw her in her camisole and shorts, would his eyes turn dark?
Would he pull her into the room and make love to her?
Her pulse tap-danced at the base of her throat. Grabbing the glass of water, she gulped it down, ignoring the dribbles down her chin that fell to her camisole.
Wanting Danny didn’t make her weak—but acting on it would.
Her boundaries weren’t punishment.
They were protection.
Placing the empty glass on her nightstand, she reached for the bedside lamp and clicked it off.
She made her own choices.
Never again would she be collateral damage.