Necessary Risk (Bodyguard) (5 page)

Antonio rolled his eyes and set his beer bottle down. “Are you gonna make us guess?”

Sean sat back in his seat, his fingers wrapping around the neck of his beer bottle. “It’s no fun if you don’t.” He smiled and brought the bottle to his lips.

“Man or woman?” asked one of his teammates.

“Woman. I met her at 90’s Con.”

They all threw out incorrect guesses, Sean shaking his head at each name. “I’ll give you a hint,” he said, taking another sip of his beer, and he didn’t realize just how tense his shoulders had been until they started to relax. “I bet at least one of you had that famous poster of her wearing a red bikini.”

“Sierra Blake!” Antonio shouted out her name, and the entire team agreed with his guess. The red bikini hint had given it away. Any straight male between the ages of twenty-five and forty knew that poster. It featured an eighteen-year-old Sierra, tanned and smiling, wearing a tiny red bikini and washing a car. It had been a promotional tool for a cheesy prime-time soap,
Sunset Cove
.

“So are you working for her?” a teammate prompted. Sean picked at the label of his beer bottle, the tension returning to his shoulders. No, he wasn’t working for her.

And everything about that felt wrong. Helping her, looking after her today, had felt good. Right. She’d seemed OK when she’d gone back into the convention center, and he really hoped she was. And even more than that, he wished he had a way of finding out whether she was, in fact, OK. She was clearly strong and intelligent—not to mention beautiful—and it wasn’t that he didn’t think she could look after herself.

He just wanted to do it for her.

The same tug in his chest he’d felt that afternoon pulled the air out of his lungs, and Sean finally recognized it for what it was.

Need. The need to protect her and keep her safe. The need to comfort her. The need to be near her again, and to touch her again. These urges swirling through him, they weren’t wishes, or wants, or ideas. They were needs, the way food, water, and air are needs.

Quickly Sean recounted a watered-down version of the story of how he’d met Sierra, simply indicating that she’d had a run-in with some protesters, and was upset. She’d been embarrassed enough; he didn’t want to get into the gritty details of the attack.

He was protecting her, even when she wasn’t around. Even when he’d probably never see her again.

The tug was almost painful.

“What was she like?”

“She was great. Upset about the protesters, but also really nice.” Sean paused, searching for the right word, but there wasn’t one. He wanted to find a word that summed her up, that wrapped her neatly into a little package, but he couldn’t. She’d seemed a lot of things to him. Smart. Warm. Funny. Sexy. Vulnerable. Strong. Fucking adorable.

Beautiful.

“Is she still hot? I can’t remember the last thing I saw her act in.”

Sean rubbed a hand over his mouth, smiling. “Yeah. She’s still hot.” A round of approving noises rose up from his teammates.

“I heard about her getting hit with that diaper at the convention. Poor girl.” Mike, the oldest member of the team, shook his head sadly.

“She handled it really well,” said Sean, a wave of pride washing over him at how strong and together she’d been despite what had happened.

“She single? Married? What’s her deal?” Antonio asked, nudging Sean.

“No idea.” He picked at the label on his beer bottle again as his jaw tightened, the image of Sierra walking back into the convention center with Rory searing through his brain.

“Isn’t she dating that state senator? The one who was on the cover of
Men’s Health
?” asked another teammate.

“Jack Nikolaidis?” Sean sat up a bit straighter, and a drop of condensation from the beer bottle rolled down over his fingers, mirroring the cold trickle working its way down his spine. Through work, Sean had heard whispers that Nikolaidis wasn’t quite what he seemed. Some of the other politicians he worked with had mentioned rumors about corruption, and bribery, and maybe even criminal ties. But they were just rumors, and a lot of people loved Jack. He was attractive, wealthy, well-educated, and charming. Some even thought he might be the next governor of California, if he played his cards right.

“Not anymore. They broke up a few months ago now. The rumor’s that he wanted to settle down, have a family, and she wasn’t interested, so when he got too serious, she dumped him,” said Mike, leaning forward conspiratorially on his elbows. “Didn’t exactly paint her in the best light, but given that he’s a politician, and he’s the one who got dumped by a beautiful woman, I’m sure his people are spinning it.” He was met with several puzzled, surprised looks. “What? My wife has a subscription to
People
.”

Shortly after, the guys began to clear out, and Sean pulled out his wallet and threw down enough to cover the team’s tab. Antonio waited for him, and they walked out to the parking lot.

“Seriously, man. I’m really glad you came out tonight. It was good seeing you.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I came out too. It’s been too long.”

Antonio shot him a pointed look but didn’t say anything, letting his raised eyebrows do all the talking for him.

“Listen, can I ask you a favor?” asked Sean as they slowed, nearing their cars.

“You did just buy me a beer, so shoot.” Antonio leaned against the bumper of his sedan.

“That story I told you about Sierra Blake and the protesters…” He trailed off and shook his head, trying to organize his thoughts. Trying to differentiate the intense need to protect Sierra from the instincts he’d spent the past decade honing. Trying to figure out if thinking about the attack left him unsettled because there was more to it, or because it had involved Sierra.

“Yeah? What about it?”

“I don’t know. But there’s something about it that isn’t sitting right with me. Something’s off.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking, trying to pin down the feeling. But like most gut feelings, it was slippery, and wouldn’t hold still long enough for him to get a good, hard look at it.

Antonio tilted his head, squinting against the parking lot’s lights. “What? You don’t think it was protesters?”

“No, I do. I just…my gut’s telling me that something’s up. Can you poke around a little? See if anything shakes out?”

Antonio pushed off the bumper of his car. “Sure. No problem. She file a police report about the attack?”

“I would assume so. She talked to them after.”

“I’ll pull it. See if I can get you a copy.”

“Appreciate that, man.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll let you know when I’ve got something for you.” He studied Sean for a few seconds with a long, appraising look, one eyebrow raised, his lips pressed into a thin line. He opened his mouth, but then quickly closed it again.

But it didn’t matter. Sean knew exactly what he’d been about to say.

And even if Antonio was right, he didn’t want to hear it.

Chapter 4

S
ierra stepped off the elevators and onto the tenth floor of the office tower at Sunset and Vine. A pair of sleek glass doors stood in front of her, the large
V
from the Virtus logo frosted onto the glass, winging up on either side over the polished metal door handles. She’d thought about calling and making an appointment, but the truth was, she wanted to see Sean again, and she figured this was her best course of action.

Assuming he was even here. If he wasn’t, then she’d call the number on his card. She stepped into the brightly lit office space, morning sunshine streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the far wall, and a single, disconcerting thought ran through her mind.

I might not be able to afford him.

A circular stainless steel reception desk sat just to the left, two women behind it wearing Bluetooth earpieces and typing rapidly as they listened and spoke. Behind them an open-concept area was a hub of activity, people talking, pointing at monitors, drinking coffee, answering ringing phones. The activity was centered around a cluster of glass-and-chrome desks laden with computer equipment, including huge monitors. A little farther back, blue-and-gray couches sat grouped around low-lying black tables. To her right and across from the reception desk there was a small waiting area, furnished with simple gray leather chairs and glass-topped coffee tables stacked neatly with magazines. A huge flat-screen TV was mounted to the far wall, currently tuned to CNN. Behind the reception desk and to the left of the open-concept area sat a bank of offices, enclosed in walls of glass. The walls were each emblazoned with the Virtus Security logo about halfway up, the blue and gray crisp against the spotless glass. The entire space was bright, modern, professional, and sleek.

She’d been about to step up to the reception desk when one of the glass doors toward the back of the bank of offices swung open and Sean strode out, deep in discussion with another, younger man. Sean held a tablet in front of him, pointing at it and clearly explaining something to the employee, who watched Sean with rapt attention, nodding rapidly at everything he was saying. She could see the employee’s lips move, forming the words “Awesome, thank you,” before he took the tablet back and headed for another glassed-in space across the room. The glass of these walls was frosted for privacy, the door marked with “Conference Room” in simple, modern lettering.

She watched as Sean slipped his hands into his pockets and started back to his office, only to be waylaid by another employee who waved him over and pointed at his computer screen. Sean leaned down, one hand braced on the desk, the other pushing through his hair and messing it up a little. In a simple light-gray suit, white shirt, and sage-green tie, he looked incredible. Blood warmed her cheeks as she studied him, watching the easy way he interacted with the other employees, the way the fabric of his suit jacket stretched across the wide expanse of his back. She liked watching him move, talk, work. His confidence and competence were both palpable; it was the way he carried himself, the way everyone around him seemed to defer to him, the way he had solutions to everyone’s problems.

He stood, his hands on his hips, holding his open suit jacket back to reveal a flat stomach, trim waist, and narrow hips. An employee said something that elicited a laugh from Sean, and the sound that reached her was warm and rich. She wanted to wrap herself in that sound, it was so appealing. He turned again to go back to his office, the wool of his suit hugging his ass and showing off rounded muscle.

Holy gorgeous, Batman.

She took another step forward, now at the reception desk, when he stopped and slowly turned, as though he could feel her gaze on him. From across the space, his eyes met hers, and her stomach exploded into butterflies, while at the same time relief flooded her. The knot she’d been carrying between her shoulders since the attack yesterday afternoon loosened, just from being in the same room with him.

She didn’t care what it cost. Even if she had to take out a second mortgage on her house, she’d do it to hire this man to protect her.

His face creased into a smile, and he closed the distance between them in several long, quick strides. The smile faded as he approached, his eyes roaming over her.

“Sierra. Is everything OK?” he asked, his brow furrowed.

She couldn’t suppress her shaky laugh, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. “Not really, no. Can we talk?”

“Absolutely. Let’s go to my office.” He gestured for her to go ahead of him, and with a hand on the small of her back, he led her through the bustling space and to the office she’d seen him emerge from a few minutes ago. The lettering on his door spelled out his name, as well as “Director of Operations and Strategic Planning.” The other offices belonged to the directors of finance and accounting, information technology, and human resources and training. The last office, the biggest, was empty, but she noticed that it belonged to Patrick Owens, whose title was simply “President.”

She pointed at the next office as she followed Sean in, the buzz of the rest of the office dropping away as the glass door fell silently closed behind them. “Are you related? I noticed the same last name.”

He nodded as he sat down on the gray sofa against the far wall, gesturing for her to sit down beside him. “Yeah. Patrick’s my father.”

She lowered herself down onto the sofa, and then reached into her purse for the folder she’d brought with her.

Sean leaned forward, once again frowning in concern. “Did something else happen?” His eyes skated up and down her body, and she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She took a breath, forcing herself to focus.

“Last night I came home to discover that someone had broken into my house. The police think it was probably the same protest group who attacked me at the convention yesterday.”

Sean’s mouth pressed into a firm line, his eyes darkening slightly. But he said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She passed him the folder, and he flipped it open instantly, his eyes scanning rapidly over the copy of the police report she’d brought with her.

“Someone wrote ‘baby killer’ in huge red letters across my dining room wall.” He nodded, indicating that he was listening even as he read. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, and the butterflies she’d been trying so valiantly to rein in escaped, fluttering helplessly through her stomach and chest. Swallowing, she continued. “I set the alarm when I left, and it was disarmed an hour before I got home. The front door was still locked. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, and it’s freaking me out.”