Booty Call (Forbidden Bodyguards Book 2) (6 page)

A: Muffins?

C: You can bring me muffins any time ;)

A: Ew.

C: Sorry. 9:30? McAllister Lounge?

A: Sure. I gotta be done at eleven, have a family thing.

C: Can’t make a joke here about how it pains me to be quick?

A: You could if it would be funny. So… no.

C: I love you

A: I know

C: And a Star Wars reference. You’re the perfect woman.

A: I’m really, really not. ;)

On the other half of the screen, the townhouse door opens, and Scott comes out.

A: Gotta go wash my hair. See you tomorrow.

I close out of both apps and make myself actually read my Poli Sci 407 paper. It’s good, but it could be better. I get lost here and there in pretty words, a trait I’ve inherited from both of my parents. Ever since someone in the writing lab pointed it out in first year, I’ve made it my mission to scrub all of that out of my assignments. It’s one thing for an argument to shine on its merits. It’s another to dress it up to look good, and I hate that with every fiber—

“Alison?”

I jerk my head up, shoving my computer a little as Scott surprises me. Didn’t he get in his car?

Nope. He’s standing right in front of me, and he kind of takes my breath away. Kind of? Ha, more like completely. He wears a suit unlike anyone else. And I’m surrounded by suits all the time. But he’s
dynamic
, one minute looking like David Gandy on a GQ photo shoot, the next like the Incredible Hulk, ready to burst out of his clothes and take on the world.

But if he’s really a monster, he keeps it under control.

There’s no twenty-foot green rage machine here. Just a six-foot-plus man, but with a capital M.
 

Scott Mayfair is a Man, and I’m sitting here like a mute idiot, in sweatpants and a hoodie. I’m not even wearing a bra.

And while my brain is stuttering, failing to compute all of that holy unfairness, his obviously has no problem.

He gives me a concerned look. “What are you doing out so late?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m obviously a college student, not a fucking child.

Clearly our last fight didn’t make a strong enough impression, and
that
has me more pissed than anyone else. “I don't think that's any of your business," I say, and even though I meant it to be bitchy, the ice in my voice surprises me.
 

“You don't?" He gives me a look that I can't decipher. Part judgment, maybe part derision. I don’t know. I don’t like it.

“No, I don’t. Last I checked, you don’t work for The Horus Group anymore. And even if you did, I’m not one of their clients.”

“You think my concern for you is professional?” His eyes glitter as he leans over. His right hand rests on the back of my chair. His thumb rubs against my shoulder and I can feel it through my sweatshirt. He puts his left hand on the table. He’s right in my face now, and the look isn’t mysterious anymore. He’s mad.

At me.

For studying at eleven thirty at night.

What a fucking asshole.

So I laugh, because I was raised by assholes. Intimidation doesn't work on me. “What do you think you are you doing?"

“Clearing something up."

"And just what is that?"

“My concern for you is incredibly personal. My concern about you being out in the middle of the night is about how you get home, who you go home with, and what you do when you get there. The only answers I like to those questions are
safely
,
nobody
, and
nothing
.”

“You don’t want me to…” I blink up at him. He’s close enough I can see the five o’clock shadow on his jaw and the corded muscles in his neck. “I’m not on a hot date here. Obviously.”

“Why can’t you study at home?”

“There are distractions at home. And why don’t you sit down like a normal person while we have this conversation? Do you need to hulk over me like an oversized bulldog?”

He smirks and straightens up, adjusting his jacket—and his belt, which makes me wonder if anything else needs adjusting, too, but he sits down before I have a chance to check for an erection. He gives me an amused look as he settles into the chair. He’s big and broad, taking up way too much space. One of his knees bumps the table from underneath. The other is dangerously close to rubbing against my leg.

“Here’s the thing.” I tap my finger against my lower lip as I give him a thoughtful look. It’s all very deliberate, of course. After New York, I need to regain the upper hand.

With Scott, I’m perpetually off-balance. That just won’t do.

“The thing?” He grins and leans in. He’s playing with me, too. He knows how good he smells. The bastard.

“You were a jerk to me in New York.”

He nods. “I was.”

I watch his gaze drop to my mouth, which makes me think of kissing him. Does he know his mouth is tugged tight like that? Under tension, because he wants to lean in and kiss me, too?

Eyes up, Ali. “And now you’re being all flirty.”

He jerks his gaze up to meet mine. I gasp, just a little, a squeak of a noise, because yeah, he knows. Pure want burns in his eyes. I know the feeling. “I’m not,” he growls.

“You
so
are. And you’re a jerk to pretend otherwise.”

“At least I’m consistent.”

“Why?”

He shrugs.
 

Well, enough of this conversation, then. “Okay. I’m heading home.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“Nope, I’m fine.”
 

I shove my computer into my bag and stand up, making my way to the counter.

He follows, close enough to make the skin at the back of my neck prickle. I like it.

“You guys are closing up at midnight, yeah?” I ask the girl at the counter. She nods. “Can I take the rest of the muffins off your hands?”

“Sure. I’ll give them to you half-off.”

“Thanks!” I say brightly. I ignore Scott while she bags them up, then I stow them in my bag on top of the computer and my notebook.

Then I head for the door. I don’t get more than five feet down the sidewalk before his hand wraps around my jacket sleeve.

“Enough, Ali,” he growls.

I blink at the bark. “Excuse me?”

“Come with me.” He’s pissed, and I should be—I don’t know, scared or something—but I’m not, because his hand grabs mine.
His fingers wrap around mine
. Scott’s pulling me toward his car, and I’m probably grinning like an idiot.

“Are you going to punish me for being bad?”

“Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“More than you could ever imagine.”

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I have your full attention. Of course I’m enjoying this.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Anything you want.”

He jerks open the back door and gestures for my bag. I slide between him and the SUV and put it down on the back seat, then press against him.

“Stop that.”

“Make me.”

He laughs. “I’m more than you can handle.”

“So you keep saying,” I whisper.

His voice is low, but he doesn’t stumble at all. It should scare me, how confident he is about sex. It doesn’t. I can feel myself getting slick and he hasn’t even said anything dirty yet. “You don’t want me to turn you into my fuck toy.”

Boom. Well, that was dirty. I try and fail not to blush. It might be true that I don’t have any experience with being anyone’s fuck toy, but while maybe I don’t “Netflix and chill”, I
watch
Netflix. I know that’s not the only option.

Fuck him and his rules.

But mostly, just fuck him.

Preferably on my own terms.

“I’ve been thinking about that,” I say, leaning in close enough that our noses almost bump. When you can feel someone hovering just above your skin and it makes you twitchy…I grin as Scott clenches his jaw.
Yes
. I’ve got him.

His legs bump against mine. His gaze burns on my skin.
 

“Don’t you want to know what I’ve been thinking?”

“I’m not sure I do.”

“Why not?”

“Honestly? I’m afraid if…when you tell me what it is, it’s going to be something that I can live with.”

I laugh. “Probably.”

“Don’t tell me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

The echo of what Hailey had said a month earlier is too on-point. I snort. “Maybe I’ll hurt you.”

“Maybe.” But his voice promises that he’s been here, done this before, and he’s pretty confident that he’s an asshole.

That’s fine. No reason I can’t have a fling with an asshole. My heart is off-limits, and not just to Scott Mayfair.

“You don’t work for my sister’s fiancé anymore. And I’m not asking for a one-night stand anymore. Just a casual, no-strings attached continued flirtation. A secret flirtation, of course. And no…fucking. Not yet. Not until you’re ready.” I wink. It sounds perfect, and so does the helpless little grunt he makes in response.
 

I tap my fingers against his hard, broad chest. “What other rules did you have?”

“I honestly can’t remember.”

I grin. “Take me home, Scott. And the next time I’m out studying late, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

“That’s your plan?”

“Do you want me to walk home alone? In the dark and cold?”

He groans. “Damn it.”

I grin again. “One way or another, mister, you’re going to end up on my speed dial.”

—eight—
 

Scott

A few days later, I’m sitting in the lobby of the Maryland offices of Mayfair Enterprises, a sprawling campus of buildings filled with computer engineers and marketing staff. Unlike the New York headquarters, this place doesn’t give me the heebie-jeebies, but I’m not sure why I’m here.

Jeff’s favour was completely off the books, but he’d sent me a cryptic text message asking me to meet him here. The automatic doors slide open and in walks my brother.

Not Jeff.

Will Mayfair. Little brother. Fighter pilot.

I jump to my feet. “What are you doing here?”

He slowly pushes his aviator sunglasses onto his head and gives me a cocky smile. “I could ask you the same question.”
 

“Jeff asked me to show. Shouldn’t you be sunning yourself under a palm tree?” Will’s the youngest of the three of us, and he’s supposed to be out in California flying planes for the Air Force.
 

“Same deal. He asked me if I could make it out to D.C., and it just so happened there was a military transport I could hop on.”

“He didn’t send the jet?”

“He offered.”

And Will wouldn’t have wanted to owe Jeff—or our mother—anything. I get it. “You here long?”

He shook his head. “A few hours.”

“Damn. Good to see you anyway.” We exchange a bro hug and stay standing. “How’s work?”

He grins broadly. “Fantastic. I’m deploying again soon.”

I feel that familiar whirl of anxiety in my gut, jealousy and worry spinning together until the tangle is hard to see as two separate strands. I’ll always miss the adrenaline rush of deployment. Nothing I’ve done since leaving the SEAL teams has even come close.

But he’s my baby brother, so I also don’t want him flying sorties over Iraq and Syria.

Of course, someone has to, and Will’s one of the best.

I got yanked out of the service before I was ready. Doesn’t mean I should deprive my brother of the same privilege to serve his country. I clap him on the shoulder. “Be safe.”

“Always am.”

Our moment is interrupted by a discreet cough from a familiar blonde in a dark suit. I don’t miss Will checking out Alicia, and neither does she.

“Gentleman, if you’ll follow me.” She introduces herself to Will, and explains to me that Jeff had her fly to the area for a few days. We head through an open-concept computer lab to a room with blacked out windows. She presses a button on the table, which initiates a video call, and then excuses herself.

Will watches her go. It’s a good view, but I don’t have an appetite for cool and aloof these days.

When I took Ali home the other night, I gave her my number—in case she found herself out late again, I told her. Good excuse, anyway.

She used it the next morning to text me a selfie of her leaving for class and it made me smile for an hour. Wavy golden brown hair spilling out of a hoodie, a teasing wink…that’s what does it for me now.

I just need to find a way to reconcile that with feeling like she’s still off-limits.

But that would have to wait until after our mysterious summons, because the video call was flickering to life.

When the picture crystallized, though, it wasn’t a call, exactly. It was a secure observation feed of a boardroom. It took a minute, and Will recognized it before me—fair enough, since I’d only been in it once before.

“That’s the Mayfair boardroom in New York,” he muttered beside me.

And it looked like the board meeting was about to begin. I didn’t recognize everyone around the table, but could infer they were the board members. Our mother, chairwoman of the company, sat at the far end. Which meant that our video feed was coming from somewhere right in front of Jeff, probably.

What the hell was our brother up to?

The meeting started out totally boring. If we weren’t scanning the video feed, looking for any tiny clue as to why we were quietly linked in to this meeting, what we were supposed to see, I’d probably have nodded off.

Previous minutes accepted.

Order of business approved.

Sales reports acknowledged and infrastructure spending debated.

Snore, snore, snore.

“The next item on the agenda is the matter of taking Mayfair Enterprises public…” Jeff said, the disembodied voice behind the secret camera.

What?

Our father’s will was set up in such a way that while Will and I both inherited shares of Mayfair Enterprises, we don’t get to vote with them unless we’re full-time employees of the company. By proxy, our mother controls them. Which I’ve never cared about before, but what would happen if the company went public?

At the far end of the boardroom, Mother didn’t look pleased. She also didn’t say anything.