Rock the Bodyguard (2 page)

Cash was joined on stage by a dozen
shirtless men who mimicked her provocative movements motion for motion until
the show more closely resembled a soft-core orgy than a concert. At that point,
Miles decided to do another sweep whilst the show thudded on in a cacophony of
cavorting nubile bodies.

Three very long hours later it was
over. Cash was safely in her room backstage, reversing the process that had
turned her into a sultry sexpot. Miles watched from the doorway as her stage
persona was swept away with thick strokes of a sponge. Soon a new girl emerged
from under the shell of the performer, a girl with dark circles under her eyes
and a droop to her eyelids.

“Oh hello Miles,” she said,
spotting his reflection in the mirror, “did you enjoy the show?”

“You're very talented,” he replied
diplomatically.

“That's a no,” Cash laughed. “Music
too loud? Bass lines too aggressive?”

“It was more a lyrical issue,”
Miles said. “Quite suggestive, aren't they?”

Cash dropped the sponge and gave
him a dirty look. Not dirty in the way her lyrics had been dirty, but a look as
if he was something that had crawled out from under a nearby rock. “I didn't
take you for a misogynist.”

Miles felt his brows go up.
Misogyny was not something he was often accused of, and he quite failed to see
how mentioning that repetitive thinly veiled references to sexual activity
weren't precisely appropriate material for a nice young lady counted as
misogyny. But it was not his job to argue with the client.

“I apologize,” he said. “I'm
probably too old to understand the nuances of your genre.”

Cash's expression darkened further.
She was quite cute when she was angry. “And now you're patronizing me.”

The discussion was not going well.
It was time to beat a retreat before hostilities escalated. “I'm sorry,” he
said. “I need to do another sweep before we leave.” He pushed away from the
door and turned to leave.

Behind him, her voice rang out in a
slightly panicked pitch. “Don't you walk away from me.”

When Miles turned back he could see
tears in Cash's eyes. He didn't know what had happened to the calm, composed
young woman he'd first met in her hotel room, but post-performance she was
clearly very agitated and on the verge of an outburst.

“What's wrong, Miss Raine?”

“Nothing!” She took a deep sniff
that turned into a sob.

*
* * * *

Cash didn't know what was wrong.
She knew she was very tired and very upset. And she knew that the big, tall man
with the seriously chiseled face was looking at her with a mixture of concern
and something she couldn't place.

“Miss Raine,” he said, his deep
voice making her feel even more fragile. “I think you should put some clothes
on. I'll take you home. You need to go to bed.”

“I can't,” she sniffed. “There's an
after party.”

“You're crying tired,” he said,
folding his arms over his chest. “You're in no condition for a party.”

“What's going on?” Promoter Reggie
Rhinestone came in, definite pep in his step. Reggie was fifty years old, but
nobody had mustered up the courage to tell him that. As a result he dressed and
acted like a man half his age. “Come on baby girl,” he said. “What you crying
for?”

“Miss Raine is tired after her
performance,” Miles explained.

“Oh sure!” Reggie winked and drew a
small case out of his pocket. “I've got something to wake you up.”

“If that's what I think it is,”
Miles said before Reggie could get the case open, “then I suggest you get it
out of here immediately.” He turned a hard gaze on Cash. “And I hope to high
heaven you are not in the habit of indulging in such things.”

“I'm not,” she said, “but I could
if I wanted to.”

Miles said nothing, but his jaw
tightened. Cash sensed she was getting close to a line she didn't want to be
close to. Reggie had already slipped the case back into his pocket. He
obviously had no desire to tangle with Miles either. He cringed visibly when
the big bodyguard put a hand on his shoulder.

“Let's leave Miss Raine to get
dressed, shall we?” Miles gave Cash a look that made her tingle. “I'll be out
here when you're ready.”

The door closed and Cash was left
alone, looking at her tearful, pouting face in the mirror. She felt a little
like she was being ordered home to bed. It had been a very long time since
anybody had told her what to do. Her family had never been big on a sense of
order, and as she'd been performing in clubs since she was fifteen, late nights
had become par for the course. Being packed off home at two in the morning, it
was a little like being sent to bed without dinner.

She found herself smiling, a little
secret smile that welled up completely unbidden. Miles Rock was an attractive
man, no doubt about that. He was a little older, but Cash was quite used to
attention from older men. Men more than twice Miles' age thought nothing of
hitting on her from time to time.

Cash toyed with a sponge and
watched herself in the mirror. Miles would probably not approve of the thoughts
she was having, just like he didn't approve of those stupid lyrics the label
had her sing. He was so old fashioned, so charming, so... different.

Quietly thrilled at the idea of
going home with the handsome bodyguard, Cash shed her robe and began to get
dressed. When she emerged from her dressing room she looked nothing like her
star self. All her make up was gone, save a little mascara and gloss to keep
herself presentable. Her natural hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. She'd
swapped skintight booty shorts for sweatpants and a hooded top.

“Okay,” she said with a small,
slightly apologetic smile, “take me home.”

“Right this way, Miss Raine,” Miles
said, ushering her through the venue's back passages. He didn't mention her
earlier outburst, nor did he seem upset by it.

“The fans are going to be
disappointed,” she murmured as they walked.

He cast a look at her, his thick
brow slashing across tan skin. God, he was gorgeous. “You just danced for them
for three straight hours, I think they'll understand if you get some sleep.”

“I usually sign autographs.”

“You can sign some tomorrow. You're
all worn out tonight.” Miles pushed through the exit and used his body to block
Cash from the scattered gawkers who were milling about. The car was waiting and
they made an easy exit.

“I'm sorry I was rude to you,” Cash
said as they pulled away. “I was just so wired from the show.”

“Quite alright,” Miles said, polite
as ever.

She sat back and put her feet up on
the limo seat, watching him curiously. “Is it?”

His eyes slid over to her and he
looked at her long and hard before replying. “What is it you're asking me, Miss
Raine?”

Cash felt a little thrill of
excitement. Something told her that she was toying with a tiger. Miles wasn't
anything like most of the people in the entertainment business; he wasn't all
hyped up and trying to get into her pants. He was refined and restrained and he
actually said what was on his mind rather than blowing smoke up her ass like
everyone else did.

“Nothing, I guess,” she smiled to
herself and restrained a giggle. She really was tired. With the motion of the
car, and the feeling of security Miles gave her, she was soon dozing off.

It felt like only a minute later
that he was shaking her awake. “Miss Raine... Miss Raine, we're home.”

Cash's eyes fluttered open and she
looked into Miles' face. “Damn,” she said. “You look tired, you should get some
rest.”

He almost smiled as he moved back
out of her personal space. “I'll sleep when you're asleep.”

She stretched. “Why?”

“Because I can't do much for you if
I'm asleep and you're running around town.”

Cash couldn't help the grin that
rose to her face. So he was trying to get her to bed, probably because he
wanted to go to bed himself. And there would be nothing to stop her sneaking
out later. The idea of sneaking out of her own hotel room gave her another little
frisson of excitement.

“Well,” she said, sliding toward
the car door. “I suppose you have to go off duty sometime.”

“Miss Raine.”

His deep voice made her turn her
head back to him. “Yeah?”

He fixed her with one of those
looks that was hard to tear her eyes away from. “I take my job very seriously,
Miss Raine. I know there are security companies who will pick you up and drop
you off and call it a day, but that isn't the role I'm playing here. Do you
understand?”

She cocked her head, trying to work
out if he was angry. He didn't seem angry, just stern and serious. Something in
his gaze made her squirm on the seat. She felt warm and prickly for a reason
she couldn't quite place. Guilt. That was it, he was making her feel guilty for
even having considered sneaking out – but how had he known? Was he some kind of
mind reader?

“And if I do want some time on my
own? What if I have a date? Will you be lurking in the closet?” She'd meant to
sound teasing, but she sounded a little petulant, a little churlish.

“Not the closet. I prefer the crawl
space,” Miles deadpanned.

She laughed and the tension was
broken. Still, for a reason she couldn't quite explain, she felt a nervous
tingle as she slipped out of the limo and into the quiet of the night. The
hotel had a secure entrance for personages of her stature so there were no
screaming fans when she disembarked. Miles exited the limo behind her and for a
moment she felt him as just a presence in the night, tall, strong, comforting.

“Are you ready to retire for the evening,
Miss Raine?”

“Retire for the evening,” she
repeated his words. “You mean go to bed?” She turned and looked up at him with
a playful smile on her face. “It's been a long time since anyone sent me to
bed.”

“I'm not sending you to bed...
yet,” he said, giving her another one of those stern looks. He seemed to have
an infinite supply of them.

She gave him an arch look as she
replied. “Does that imply you will? Without dinner? Or with a spanking?”

He looked down at her and spoke
quite matter of factly. “Miss Raine, though you are undeniably in need of a
spanking, for the moment I think it best if you take yourself to bed before it
becomes a necessity this evening.”

The flirtatious grin froze on her
face. “W... what?”

“I said I think you should go to
bed.”

“Before that...”

She thought he might back down from
what he'd said, but he repeated it without hesitation and with elaboration.
“You're in great need of a good spanking, Miss Raine.”

“But...” her face contorted, “I'm
practically perfect! I don't have any DUI's, the paparazzi don't take pictures
of me without my panties on...”

“That's a very low bar you're
setting yourself, Miss Raine,” he interrupted. “But just because you're not in
the last few inches of a downward spiral, it doesn't mean you couldn't do with
a spanking. Discipline isn't always about punishment.”

Cash didn't fully understand what
Miles meant, but she knew it was making her stomach churn and quiver.

“Maybe I should go to bed,” she
said, lowering her eyes. She was confused and a little sad that Miles didn't
seem to approve of her. She already liked him very much, but he was all stern
looks and now this little uninvited lecture. She lowered her eyes, realizing
she probably wasn't his type. Men like Miles Rock liked nice girls, girls who
knitted and baked and knew their place, not girls like her, who went out on
stage and danced dirty for all the world to see. Feeling embarrassed, and more
than a little dejected, Cash turned and moped toward the hotel.

Cash and Miles spoke little on
their way up to the suite. As the doors closed, Cash leaned against the wall.
It made no sense, she'd just been in front of thousands of people who loved
her, loved her music, screamed with approval at her every move and now one man,
one man she barely knew, raised his brow at her and said she needed discipline
and she was in the depths of despair. The ride seemed to drag on forever and
she felt as if she could hardly breathe in the small space, the space that
seemed to be entirely made up of him.

Seemingly unaffected by the tension
Cash was feeling between them, Miles stepped off the elevator when it reached
its destination, escorted her into the extensive suite, did a sweep of her
bedroom and then nodded.

“Good night, Miss Raine. I'll be in
the far room if you need me.”

“I'll keep that in mind, if I need
someone to tell me how terrible I am,” she said, brushing past him.

“Hey.” His large palm pressed
against the door as she tried to close it. He gave her a look that was hard to
fathom, somewhere between a frown and an expression of intense boredom. “I
didn't say you were terrible.”

“You said my lyrics were suggestive
and that I need discipline.”

He met her frustrated gaze
unblinkingly. “They are, and you do.”

“Well I'll tell you something, Mr.
Rock,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height, which was a good foot
and a half shorter than his. “I am very disciplined. I work very hard and my
fans love what I do. If you don't approve, you can take your opinions and shove
them up your...” she didn't finish the sentence, she didn't need to, he knew
what she meant.

Miles' lips thinned. “You've
misunderstood me, Miss Raine.”

“I don't care,” she said. “I don't
want to hear what you think of me or my lyrics.”

“You're tired, Miss Raine, get some
sleep.”

“Don't tell me what to do!” She
heard her voice rising to a pitch as her annoyance grew out of all proportion.

“You're very tired,” he said, his
voice softening, “and you're going to say and do things you'll regret if you
keep talking. Now go to bed, sweetheart.”

Cash drew in her breath in a high-pitched
squeak. Why wasn't he getting angry? Why wasn't he yelling back? Why was he
calling her sweetheart? She let the breath out, deflating with it.

“Fine,” she said. “I'm going to get
some sleep.”

“Good night, Miss Raine,” Miles
said, moving his hand so she could close the door. She pressed it shut and
leaned back against it, wiping away tears that sprang to her eyes completely
unbidden. She didn't know why she was crying. Miles was probably right; she was
probably just tired.

*
* * * *

Sweat dripped from every pore of
Cash's body as she leaped and twirled in time with the music. It was five in
the morning and it was still dark outside but she'd been dancing for half an
hour already. She'd slept a little, but woken with a song in her head. It had
taken a few minutes to transcribe the lyrics that had come to her in her sleep
and then she'd just had to dance. It wasn't just that she wanted to practice,
it was a physical need to express herself through movement, to shake off some
of the stress.

Fortunately, the suite that the
label was putting her up in contained a small dance studio complete with a
custom made sprung floor. The back wall was mirrored and the front was tempered
glass. The combined effect of the materials was to make her feel as if she were
dancing alone in a gargantuan space. In the middle of it, her body moved with a
rhythm all of its own, responding to the music in a way she didn't even try to
consciously control.

There was freedom in the dance;
there was possibility in it. It was her dancing that had originally catapulted
her to fame and it was her dancing that reminded her why she withstood all the
pressures that came with that fame. The crowds were awe-inspiring, the money
was nice, but when all was said and done, it was the dance that propelled her,
that soothed her. They could take it all away. They could take the fame and the
crowds and the money away and she would still have the dance.

For the longest time, she didn't
notice the figure watching her. When she did spot the tall, broad shouldered
man giving her a look she could only describe as being one of disbelief, she
waved him away and continued on. There was no room for anyone else in the
dance; this was her time, her time free from judgment and onlookers. There was
no time to answer to anyone else, to stop and explain. The dance was its own
explanation.

When she was all danced out some
time later she found Miles sitting on the balcony with a cup of coffee and the
morning newspaper. It was still early and the halo of sleepy somnolence
remained in the liquid rays of early morning light. The beach beyond the hotel
was quiet, populated with one or two hopeful surfers and runners, but otherwise
still, save for the crashing of the waves.

She paused inside the suite for a
moment, just taking him in. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and black
slacks. He looked strong and stoic, sitting so still he could have been a
statue but for the light breeze ruffling his dark hair. Somehow, in spite of
being dressed in a thoroughly generic and understated manner, Miles was
managing to look out of place, even in a town where strong, handsome men were a
dime a dozen. She gazed at his profile, wondering if it was something about his
face. His brow was strong, but not overly pronounced, his cheekbones were solid
and his jaw was square and hard. He'd have made a good lead in an action movie,
though he probably would be far too dignified to go through all the nonsense
associated with being an actor. No, Miles was a man rooted strongly in reality,
she could tell that already. He wasn't impressed by all the glitz and glamor of
Los Angeles – and as far as she could tell, that included her too.

“Hey,” she said, sipping at some
cucumber water as she stepped out onto the balcony.

Miles looked up from his newspaper.
“Hello Miss Raine.” Somehow he managed to sound stern, even though he was
engaging in pleasantries. He didn't return her smile and she wondered if he was
mad at her.

“Did I wake you?”

He pushed his sleeve back and
looked at the watch on his wrist. “Three hours sleep. You have a grueling
schedule, Miss Raine.”

She shrugged. “I like to dance.”

He gave her a keen look that seemed
to go right through her. “Trouble sleeping?”

“I'll sleep when I'm dead,” she
laughed, avoiding the question. Yes, she had trouble sleeping. The European
tour was set to start in less than a week and she was about to go overseas for
the first time in her life. Butterflies began massing in her stomach whenever
she thought about it.

Accepting her flippant response,
Miles nodded and returned his gaze to his newspaper. Almost immediately, Cash
went from feeling interrogated to ignored. She sat down in the chair opposite
and stared at him, willing him to pay attention to her again. Eventually he folded
his newspaper down and looked over it. “Can I help you, Miss Raine?”

“You're up early too.”

“I heard a noise,” Miles explained.
“It turned out to be a one woman dance party.”

Cash grinned. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Miss Raine,
it would appear to be a hazard of the job.” He was still talking in that taut,
reserved tone, the one that left her wondering what he was actually thinking.
Cash was used to more effusive entertainment types, which made Miles even more
of a curiosity.

“Are you always this polite?”

“I try to be,” Miles said, putting
his newspaper down entirely and finally endowing her with his full attention.
“It's a professional courtesy.”

“Is it also professional courtesy
to tell people they deserve...” she trailed off. She'd started off strong, with
no idea that she'd be thoroughly unable to finish the sentence with his dark
eyes trained on her. The word 'spanking' just died on her lips before she could
say it. “Is it professional to talk to me like you did last night?”

He caught her meaning immediately.
“It wasn't so much last night as a few hours ago,” he replied. “But that was
more personal than professional.”

“A personal courtesy?”

His lip twitched. “Something like
that.”

“You're the weirdest man I've ever
met,” she declared.

Miles smiled to himself as he
folded his newspaper into a tidy rectangle. “I'm not surprised to hear that.”

Cash grinned as she took the
opening he'd left her. “Because you know you're weird?”

A curt shake of his head dashed her
hopes for a point scored. “Because you're not old enough to have met many
people outside this fishbowl yet.”

Cash felt heat suffuse her cheeks.
Not old enough to have met many people? How... She spluttered inwardly, quite
offended at the way he was brushing her off. “Don't patronize me,” she said,
“I'm old enough to have known plenty of men.”

Miles glanced at her, then drained
his coffee. “My apologies, Miss Raine.”

It wasn't a real apology. He was
treating her like a silly kid, someone who had to be managed, but not someone
to be respected. Cash narrowed her eyes as she poured herself some coffee. She
was mad, and insulted. Just because she wasn't fifty years old, he thought he
could talk to her like some naive brat.

“Can I help you with anything else,
Miss Raine?” Miles asked the question as he stood up, his tall frame sending a
shadow over the breakfast table.

“No.” Cash showed him she could be
just as curt as he.

“Well, let me give you a little
advice, personal, not professional...”

“Yeah?” She glared up at him, not
hiding her annoyance in the slightest.

He looked at her coffee cup. “I
suggest you refrain from drinking that and go back to bed. You have a big day
ahead of you.”

“I know what I have,” Cash said,
pounding the coffee back in one quick swig. She put the cup down on the table
and fixed him with a withering look. “You're new here. I'm not. This is how I
live. There's not a lot of time for sleeping. So I suggest you learn to keep
up.”

Miles gave her one of those deadpan
looks as he replied. “I don't think I'll have too much trouble keeping up with
you, Miss Raine.”

She met his hard gaze with one of
her own, but she couldn't help herself. A playful smirk crept across her face.
“Don't be so sure, Mr. Rock.”

The conversation could have gone
anywhere, but they were interrupted by the slamming of the main suite door and
a cheerfully trilled, “Hey baby!”

Cash bounded up from the table. She
was pleased to see Raoul, a tall, super skinny man who always wore copious
amounts of eye liner and who just happened to be one of the top choreographers
in Los Angeles. Cash ran across the suite and wrapped him in a hug.

“Hey!”

She was glad to be in the company
of someone she knew, glad to have a reason to escape Miles' increasingly
intense look.

As usual, Raoul's outfit was
flamboyant. That morning he'd decided to put on a pair of yellow and black
striped tights and top it off with a loose fitting hot pink vest. His
fingernails were painted with a color Cash was sure would be called “frosting”
or something of that nature and his hair was swept back and up into a bright
blue fauxhawk.

Raoul might have dressed like he
was about to run away and join Circ du Soleil, but he was damn good at what he
did and she knew she was lucky to have his personal attentions. On top of his
skill and flair, he also happened to be a really nice guy. Cash smiled as he
wrapped his long tan limbs around her and pressed his full lips to her cheek in
an exuberant greeting. “Who is that hunk of burning love over there?” He
murmured the question in her ear, a conspiratorial whisper from one lover of
men to another.

“That's Miles, he's the new
security guy.”

“Oh he's cute,” Raoul said, his
exotic dark eyes gleaming with approval as he straightened and gave Miles a coy
finger wave over Cash's shoulder. “In a stick up his butt sort of way,” he added.
“Let me guess, ex-military?”

Cash's eyes widened in surprise.
“How did you know?”

“I have an eye for these things,
baby girl,” Raoul said. “It's in the way he moves, they all move the same. And
they all... mmmm... never mind.” He let the lascivious sound trail off. “All I
can say is, you better watch yourself around him. Those types have a way of
getting under your skin – and I guarantee you he's into some kinky shit,” Raoul
added, twirling long fingers in the air, “those ex-military types all are.”

Cash grinned. “He has mentioned
spanking...”

“Mm hmm,” Raoul nodded, his head
bobbing up and down with exaggerated flair. “Girl, you better be careful. Now,
we have some work to do.”

“Yes we do,” Cash agreed quickly.
Raoul could switch between girlfriend and drill sergeant in a second. His
flamboyant personality didn't stop him from being a grueling taskmaster when he
wanted to be, and she knew better than to raise any objection as he put his
large hands on her shoulders and steered her toward the studio.