Necessary Risk (Bodyguard) (39 page)

“No thanks.” She’d turned away and moved to slip back into the booth when he tapped her on her shoulder. She spun, ready to tell him to fuck off, but froze at the look on his face, his eyes blazing, his lips curled into a thin sneer.

When he spoke, his voice was quiet and determined. “But I want to. You have to let me.”

Anger melted her fear, and she scoffed out an impatient laugh. “I don’t have to let you do sh—” But the rest of her words died as he grabbed her, curling a surprisingly strong hand around her arm, and her heart leaped into her throat. There had been a time when she hadn’t gone anywhere without security, but those days—that fame—were long behind her.

“Get off me,” she growled through clenched teeth, jerking away from him. His fingers dug in harder, and she raised her knee, ready to hit him in his tiny balls.

“What’s going on here?” At the sound of the deep voice, the creep released her.

“Nothing.” The creep stuffed his phone back into his pocket and stalked away through the bar, disappearing quickly into the crowd. Taylor let out the breath she’d been holding, her shoulders slumping slightly. Her skin itched, a physical remnant of the anxiety.

“Are you OK?” The man’s voice was deliciously warm and rumbly, washing over her and chasing away the chill the creep had left behind.

“Yeah, I…thanks.” Taking another deep breath, she ran her hands through her hair and turned to face her rescuer. For the second time in as many minutes, her heart was in her throat, but for an entirely different reason.

Taken individually, the man’s features were all so pretty. The intensely green eyes with the long lashes. The perfectly formed nose. The high, sculpted cheekbones. The lush, tempting mouth. The thick, short, light-brown hair. And yet together, all prettiness disappeared, coalescing into the most handsome male face she’d ever seen. Her eyes scraped down his body, and she took in the way his black Led Zeppelin T-shirt was stretched tight over strong, broad shoulders and hugged his biceps. His muscular right arm was covered in a sleeve tattoo consisting entirely of intricate, detailed feathers overlapping each other. The T-shirt fell straight down over his flat stomach and narrow waist, leading to strong legs clad in denim.

He looked…sturdy. As if he’d been made to lean on.

She couldn’t remember ever having that initial impression of a guy before. Hot, yes. Sexy, sure. But sturdy? That was a new one.

“I…need another drink.” Taking a deep breath and trying to get her heart to slow down, she grabbed her purse and jacket out of the booth and made her way toward the bar at the back of the room. Her rescuer followed a few feet behind.

“Jack and Coke, please.” She tipped her head at the bartender and could feel the gorgeous guy’s eyes on her, leaving her skin tingling with excitement.

“You sure you’re all right?” He turned sideways to face her, leaning one arm on the bar, and she finally had the chance to drink him in up close. Never had a man looked so good in an old T-shirt and jeans. Never. And never had a man been so immediately appealing. It was the model-worthy face paired with that deep, rumbly voice; the strong, muscular body with the relaxed, confident posture; the alertness in his gaze and his slow, easy smile.

“I’m fine. Really, he should be thanking you. It’s because of you that his balls are still intact.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Trust me, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that you can take care of yourself.”

She arched an eyebrow, twirling a finger around the rim of her fresh Jack and Coke. “So why’d you come over?”

“I was worried about the guy’s balls.” He winked, and she found herself smiling as her heart flickered in her chest.

The man scrubbed a hand over his hair and smiled, flashing a row of straight white teeth, and the skin around his light-emerald eyes crinkled in a way that had her stomach doing a slow turn.

She sat down on the barstool, crossed her legs, and ran her hands through her hair again. “I’m Taylor.”

He nodded and picked up the bottle of beer the bartender had set down in front of him. “I know.” He took a swig of the beer, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. A faint layer of stubble covered his jaw, and she found herself wondering what that stubble would feel like beneath her fingertips or against her neck, rasping over her skin. “I’m Colt. So, uh…you come here often?” He smiled again as he leaned in a bit closer.

Her heart gave a little kick against her ribs, and she laughed. “I used to, but tonight’s kind of put me off. Thanks again for stepping in.” She signaled to the bartender and pointed at Colt’s beer. “You can go ahead and put that on my tab.”

He smiled at her again, a cocky half grin that was doing funny things to her stomach. “You trying to get me drunk?”

She shook her head, returning the smile. “Just trying to say thank you.”

“Well, in that case, you’re welcome.” He leaned in even closer. Jesus, he smelled good. Like warm leather and something else both mouth-watering and masculine. Whatever cologne he was wearing could’ve been marketed as a panty-dropping aphrodisiac for the effect it was having on her. She bit her lip and looked down into her drink.

“Hey, I was just teasing with the ‘you come here often’ thing. If you want me to screw off, I get it.”

It was her turn to lean in, and she smiled sweetly, looking up at him through her lashes. He was hot, kind, and funny. The last thing she wanted him to do was screw off. No, her mind was quickly veering to another kind of screwing. “Nah. You vanquished a creepy nerd for me. Have a seat.”

He touched his thumb to his lips as his eyes traveled up and down her body, and a slow smile turned up the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling once again. “Sure.”

He sat down on the barstool next to her, pulling in close, his broad body angled toward her, but instead of crowded, she felt sheltered. Her eyes slammed into his, and heat flared through her.

Oh, holy hell, but this man was trouble.

“So you didn’t know that guy?” The way his low voice rumbled over the words sent a warm shiver down her spine and curled her toes.

She shook her head. “No. Just a fan, I guess.”

“Lucky you.”

She chuckled down into her drink and then met his eyes again.

Lucky her, indeed.

*  *  *

Sweet son of a bitch, but this couldn’t be real. No way. This had to be a dream. Because there was no way that Taylor fucking Ross would be flirting with him in a bar in real life. Nope. He’d probably fallen asleep on the couch and was going to wake up alone and hard as concrete, and this would all turn out to have been a dream.

But no. The reality was, he’d just spent the past hour flirting like crazy with Taylor Ross, rock goddess. Making her laugh. Making her blush. Making her forget about the asswipe who’d grabbed her.

Fighting the urge to pinch himself, Colt took a long pull on his beer, his eyes once more roving over Taylor’s long, lean body. She was so tall, almost as tall as him, and as he was six-two, that didn’t happen very often. His eyes kept sliding down to her long, slim legs, wrapped in black denim. For now. Soon they’d be wrapped around him, if he got his way. And when it came to women, Colt almost always got his way.

Damn, but he needed this. Needed the release. Needed the temporary oblivion of hot sex with a gorgeous woman. He didn’t want to think. Not tonight. Hell, not most nights.

Huey Lewis began thumping through the bar’s speakers, and Taylor made a face, scrunching her cute little nose. “I thought this was a rock bar.”

“Hey, don’t rag on Huey Lewis. He had some great hits.” Colt smiled and bopped his head with cheesy, put-on enthusiasm in time to the music. She touched her fingers to her mouth and stifled a laugh before her eyes found his, and suddenly her hand was on his chest. Hopefully she couldn’t feel his heart pounding harder than a damn kick drum.

“I would’ve thought with this”—her fingers traced over the Led Zeppelin logo on his T-shirt—“and this”—the fingers of her opposite hand trailed up his right forearm, over his tattoo—“you’d have better taste than Huey Lewis.”

He tried to think of something sexy, something flirty to say back, but his eyes were glued to her mouth, and goose bumps were trailing up his arm where she touched him. He cleared his throat and flashed her a smile.

She bit her lip and looked up at him, amusement flashing in her huge blue eyes. “Did you know that Huey Lewis and the News were originally called Huey Lewis and the American Express? They had to change it when the credit card company threatened to sue them.”

“Now who’s hip to be square?” He shot her a teasing smile.

She flung her head back and laughed, a throaty, husky sound that sent blood flowing straight to his already heavy cock.

“Touché,” she said, taking another sip of her drink.

God, he couldn’t take his eyes off her. The bar could’ve been on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed. He wanted to fist his hands in all that blond hair and pull her close, taste her mouth, feel her skin against his and lose himself in her. But just for tonight.

It was all he could offer. All he had any right to want.

He watched her as she took another sip of her drink, trying to memorize the exact way her hair was falling over her shoulders, the precise shade of blue in her wide, bright eyes. The sound of her laugh. A heavy sadness tempered his excitement, resting like a weight across his shoulders. For the first time in a long time, he wished he could offer more.

“So why feathers?” Her fingers still trailed over his arm, sending little sparks of lust shooting through him.

Fuck. Nope. Not talking about that. Not with her, not tonight. He’d come here not to think about all that shit. He’d come here to find a woman, or get drunk, or start a fight. All three worked in varying ways to keep him on an even keel. Colt knew that as long as he kept the demons fed, he wouldn’t have to feel anything he didn’t want to feel.

And there was a lot he didn’t want to feel.

“You like it?” he asked, dodging the question. If she noticed, she didn’t seem to mind.

“Mmm. I do.” Her voice was beautiful, rich and sultry with a slight rasp to it, and he couldn’t wait to find out what she’d sound like moaning out his name. He wanted it so badly that he was already imagining the feel of her fingers digging into his shoulders, her heels pressed into his ass as he sank himself deep inside her.

He forced himself to take a breath and a swallow of beer.

“You have any?” he asked, relieved she hadn’t pressed him about the meaning behind his own ink.

She slipped out of her leather jacket, rolled up the sleeve of her denim shirt, and flipped her arm over. A swirled line of black stars decorated the inside of her right wrist. “And,” she said, and swept her hair up, showing him the Egyptian ankh on the back of her neck, just below her hairline. “I have a couple of others.” She let her hair drop back around her shoulders, the blond waves fanning out around her.

His eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah? Where?”

She leaned toward him and took one of his hands in hers. He watched, transfixed, as she laid his hand on her rib cage. Instinctively his fingers flexed into her, and her eyes fluttered closed for a second. “Here.” She was warm and soft through the fabric of her shirt as he caressed his hand up her side, still not quite able to believe that this wasn’t a fantasy.

“Where else?” His eyes held hers. She slipped off the stool, erasing all distance between them, and slid his hand from her ribs up and around to her shoulder blade.

“Here.” Her warm breath tickled his ear, and he clenched his jaw against the need to bury his face in her neck, right here at the bar. “What about you? Any others?”

He leaned back slightly and took one of her hands in his, placing it over his heart. “Here.”

Her long fingers curled into the cotton of his shirt, and heat crackled in the air around them. His stomach bottomed out, and if he was reading her right—and he would’ve bet a bottle of fifty-year-old scotch he was—she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

Time to test the waters.

He slid a hand up to her face and grazed his lips against hers, a tease of a kiss. She held stone-still, her eyes fixed on his mouth, her lips slightly parted. All the noise around him seemed to drop away, and in that moment, Taylor was all that existed for him. Well, her and the erection doing its damndest to bust free of his jeans.

He closed his mouth over hers and felt the vibration of her sigh against his lips. He fought back a groan when she slid her tongue against his and heat exploded over his skin as he tasted her, drinking in the soft warmth of her mouth.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so aroused from just a kiss. His chest tightened, and as he deepened the kiss, he pressed down the cold, hard knot of fear eating at him. Already he knew sticking to his one-night rule would suck, big-time. She felt so good, so perfect, so fucking
right
kissing him, her fingernails scraping lightly down his back.

He shouldn’t want this. He shouldn’t
do
this. Taylor was going to be too much for him, and he knew she’d probably leave a new scar instead of helping him forget the existing ones. He knew, and he wanted it anyway. As if he had a choice.