Chapter Two
Myles
The last person I expect at my door is Paris.
But there she is, cheeks flushed from the cold, blue eyes shining, silver-blonde hair loose around her shoulders like she rolled straight out of some dream and into my hallway.
“Good morning, neighbor!” she chirps, her face brightening up with a big smile.
Damn. How is she so…bright? So pure. So fucking beautiful.
I grip the edge of the door, my knuckles tight. My first instinct is to pull her inside and never let her leave. My second is to slam the door and keep her safe from me.
“What do you need?” I ask gruffly, keeping my voice flat.
She shakes her head quickly. “Oh, nothing—well, I mean, yes. I’m sorry to bother you.” She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, her smile turning nervous. “But I—I really need your help.”
Every part of me locks up at her words.
Help. From me.
If she only knew.
I step back. “Come in.”
She slips past me, small and soft in a space that’s all sharp edges. My apartment isn’t much. Bare walls, a couch, weights stacked in the corner.
“Want anything?” I ask, and she immediately shakes her head.
“No, thanks. I—I just really need your help.”
“What’s this about?”
“I think I’m being stalked,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper. “For a few days now. Someone keeps leaving roses on my doorstep. And last night…I woke up, and I swear someone was in my room. The police don’t care. They think I’m overreacting.”
I stare at her blankly, but inside, the words burn like fire…because I’m the culprit—the shadow following her every step. I’m the reason she can’t sleep.
And I’d do it all again. To keep her safe.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask.
She squares her shoulders, raising her chin to look me straight in the eyes. I can tell she’s practiced this in her head at least a hundred times. “Could you…maybe be my bodyguard? Just until after Thanksgiving,” she adds quickly, like that would help her case.
She takes my shocked silence as a refusal and keeps talking, trying to convince me to do a job I already do, day and night.
“I’m traveling home to Asheville, and I’m worried my stalker might follow me, that I’ll be in danger on the road, or even bring the danger home to my parents.
I don’t want them to worry. They already think I’m reckless, living in the city alone. ”
She hesitates, then blurts, “Captain says you work security. I’ll pay you. I don’t know what you charge, but…I can pay a grand for a whole week.”
I almost snort at her offer. I earn three times that for a days’ work, but for her, I’d do this for free. Hell, I’ve already been doing it for free. But she’s looking at me like she needs this to be a deal, not a favor.
“Fine,” I say, looking directly into her eyes. “I’ll do it.”
Her face lights up with relief, and I have to look away before I do something stupid. Like pull her into my arms and tell her she doesn’t need to pay me a damn cent because she’s already mine.
Outwardly, I seem disinterested, but inwardly, I’m thrilled. This is my chance to be close to Paris without hiding. To protect her out in the open, where no one can question it.
“When do we leave for Asheville?” I ask.
She bites her lip, her cheeks turning a beautiful shade of red. “Uh…in about thirty minutes.”
Of course. She made this decision on a whim, completely unaware of what she’s just signed herself up for.
“Alright,” I grunt. “Thirty minutes.”
She nods, relief still written all over her face. “Okay. I’ll give you time to pack. I’ll wait outside in the car.”
“See you in a few.”
She flashes me one more smile before slipping out. I shut the door behind her, standing still for a moment to process the overwhelming rush of emotions coursing through me. For the first time in years, I feel alive.
I start to grab my stuff. My duffel bag is already half-packed because I never stopped living like I might get called out at any moment.
Clothes. A couple knives. My Glock. Extra ammo.
Travel kit. Done. In ten minutes, I’m all packed and ready to go.
I sling the bag over my shoulder, lock up and head out.
I meet her outside, perched on the hood of a beat-up old truck that looks one step away from the junkyard. She’s scrolling her phone, legs crossed at the ankles, one boot dangling.
Her clothes are nothing special, a baggy hoodie and loose jeans, but they still manage to cling in all the right places.
Her curves show anyway, subtle but there, and it kills me how she has no idea what she does to me just by sitting there.
With the hood pushed back, her silvery hair spills everywhere, catching the weak daylight. She’s badass and delicate all at once.
She looks up when she hears me, and her face lights like she’s been waiting for me.
“I’ll drive,” I say, keeping my voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
Her lips twitch like she wants to tease me, but she just nods. “Okay.” She slides off the hood, handing me the keys without a fight.
Good girl.
I toss my bag in the back and climb into the driver’s seat. She settles beside me, flashing me a smile as she fixes her seat belt. The truck smells like her—sweet, warm…too good for me.
I grip the wheel and start the truck. It groans as we hit the open road. She shifts in her seat, tucks one leg under the other, and starts fiddling with the radio until static fills the cab. She plays around with the buttons, but nothing seems to work.
After a while, she gives up with a sigh. “What did I expect? She never liked me,” she scoffs, glancing at me.
“Who?” I ask, slightly thrown off.
“The truck.” She smiles and returns her gaze to the road.
“She used to belong to Tonia. My sister. She drove it everywhere. For her, it always worked like a charm. Me? I get behind the wheel and suddenly it’s stubborn.
” She smiles faintly, but there’s a shadow behind it. “Guess it knows who its favorite was.”
“What happened?” I ask despite myself.
“She…she died a few years ago,” Paris says quietly, watching the blur of trees outside her window.
I glance at her, quick, then back to the road. “Sorry.”
She shakes her head, pulling her sleeves over her hands.
“Thanks. It’s been a few years now. She struggled a lot with depression.
It was…hard, watching her go through it and not being able to fix it.
” She lets out a soft exhale. “That’s why I chose to study psychology, you know?
I don’t ever want to feel helpless like I did with Tonia.
I want to help people like her. People who feel stuck.
Invisible. I want them to feel like someone sees them. ”
I glance at her, just long enough to catch the way her eyes shine with determination. Then it hits me—this must be why she works so hard, making deliveries at night while juggling school and other petty part-time jobs. All of that just so she can help others…
The realization hits me harder than it should. She isn’t just light, she’s fire. Gentle enough to warm, strong enough to burn.
She shifts, glancing at me like she’s afraid she overshared. “Sorry. That was probably way too heavy for a road trip.”
“No,” I say. A little too quickly. “It wasn’t.” I clear my throat lightly.
She studies me for a second and her lips spread into a soft smile. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“I should probably stop talking then,” she says, her blush deepening slightly.
“You don’t have to,” I say quietly. I enjoy listening to her talk, but I don’t tell her that.
She’s looking at me, eyebrows lifted like she didn’t expect me to be so agreeable. Then she smiles bigger and leans back against her seat. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. I tend to ramble when I’m nervous.”
I glance at her, unable to help a smile. “Do I make you nervous?”
She lets out a mock gasp, then laughs. “I didn’t mean to admit that out loud.”
I laugh too, shaking my head, and then I turn to find her looking at me with an unreadable expression. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“It’s just…” She trails off, shaking her head with an amused smile. “You don’t look like the kind of man who laughs often.”
“I’m not,” I deadpan. “But you’re funny.”
“Sometimes, I am,” she says, her gorgeous blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
Damn. She’s got a sense of humor too?
I return my attention to the road ahead, and there’s a long stretch of awkward silence between us.
I don’t like it. I want to hear her voice. Her laughter.
“Anyone I should look out for in your hometown?” I ask, glancing at her again.
She shrugs. “I don’t think so. Asheville is pretty safe—well, except maybe Danny Meyers.
He used to have a big crush on me back in eighth grade.
He’d follow me everywhere and leave me notes and stuff.
It got bothersome at one point, and I had to tell him off, but thinking about it now… it was kinda cute.”
“I see.” My grip tightens on the wheel and I suddenly feel like punching this Danny guy in the face.
“You know…my parents still bring him up sometimes. His family were neighbors of ours, and my mom is convinced we’re destined to get married.”
My jaw tightens. “I don’t care if he’s an old friend. If he acts funny, I’ll—”
“Relax,” Paris says with a little laugh. “Danny’s harmless. He can be…weird, but he’s just Danny. I’m sure he’ll be no trouble.”
My hands squeeze the wheel until the leather creaks. I keep my eyes on the road, voice even. “I’ll decide that.”
“He’s not in town anyways,” she says with a shrug. “Last I heard, he was on a cruise halfway across the world with the money he got after his parents passed.”
I nod once, the knot in my chest loosening slowly. The guy might as well be dead, but I don’t give a damn. She’s mine and I don’t like her talking fondly about some other man.
She bites her lip. “I was thinking…about what to tell my parents.”
“About what?”
“Well, about you. I can’t exactly tell them I need a bodyguard if I don’t want them to worry. I think it’d be best if I just say you’re my boyfriend.” She says the last sentence all in a rush, like she thinks if she says it faster I’ll be more likely to agree.
I try to stop the grin that wants to spread across my face. “You want to tell your parents I’m your boyfriend?” Fake or not, she can’t know about the wave of possessiveness I feel at the thought of claiming that title.
She nods, still trying to convince me. “And it’ll get my mom off my case about trying to set me up with someone too. Two birds, one stone.”
“Someone like that creep Danny, you mean.” My voice betrays a little of the rage I feel when I think of him.
She laughs and shakes her head, then leans in slightly to smooth out the wrinkles on my forehead with her thumb. “At ease, soldier,” she whispers softly. “Danny won’t be a problem.”
I didn’t even know I was frowning hard until she did that. I smile at her, a genuine one, and tell her, “Okay, I’ll be your boyfriend.”
She smiles back, grateful, her face just a few inches from mine. I let my gaze drift to her lips, then back to her twinkling eyes.
It’s taking every ounce of my self-control not to pull over by the roadside and kiss her senseless.