Jennifer Armentrout - Tempting the Bodyguard

Chandler shifted his hips, and she sucked in a sharp breath. She felt him against her belly, long and hard. Heat simmered low in her stomach and then dropped lower, like it had inside the room. Except they hadn’t been touching then, and while he really wasn’t doing anything now, her body was reacting to his in a way that shocked her.

This was so not the appropriate time for this. Even though she doubted anyone would come after her now that Chandler was here—and if anyone did, he most definitely had a death wish—but still. There were more important things to be focusing on.

But instinct was telling her that if she tipped her head back farther, Chandler would gladly accept the unspoken invitation. It wouldn’t matter that they barely knew each other. He’d already stated quite clearly what he wanted from her, much to her disbelief. He would kiss her, and she already knew that she’d be kissed in a way she’d never experienced before.

Her heart tripped up over the thought of his lips moving against hers. One kiss and she’d be putty in his no-doubt-skilled hands. Alana wasn’t easy, but with this man, she’d probably throw herself onto her own back.

His hands dropped from her wrists, landing on her hips, and as he leaned in, his nose grazed her cheek, snapping her out of her stupor. What in God’s name was she doing?

Placing her hands against his chest—an incredibly hard chest—she pushed. “Back off, buddy.”

He stepped away and opened his mouth, but then seemed to rethink what he was about to say. He finally checked out her car, frowning when he saw her open door. As he moved forward, she gulped in air and ignored the smidgen of disappointment.

“What in the hell?” he said, facing her car fully. Gripping the door, he bent at the waist. “Looks like you lost a windshield.”

She rolled her eyes. “No shit.”

He cast a look over his shoulders that would’ve sent men running in the opposite direction. Alana made a face. “The sarcasm isn’t necessary,” he said before turning back to her car. “Man, they did a number on this baby. Looks like someone was trying to get himself a free ride.”

She snorted. “You must be the muscle of your company and not the brains.”

Again, he shot her another dark look, which she ignored.

“Ten minutes ago I told you that I was receiving threatening letters. Do you really think those two things aren’t connected? Wait. Don’t bother answering, because you could give two shits about that.”

He stared at her, his eyes nearly black in the darkness. “Miss Gore…” His voice was a low warning.

“Because the only thing you were concerned with back in that—that club, was getting laid.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat that sounded like a growl. “That wasn’t the only thing I was concerned about.”

“Whatever.” She coughed out what probably sounded like a half-crazed laugh.

Kneeling down, she swooped up her keys and started picking up the letters that had slipped out of the file. “Why are you out here anyway? Did you want to check out my ass this time around?”

He sighed. “Actually, I was following you.”

Her brows rose as she stood. Then she saw that he was holding the brick in his large hands. She forced her gaze to his face. “Why were you following me?”

“To check out your ass.”

Alana entertained a brief fantasy of kicking him between the legs. “Okay. You know what, I obviously have a few phone calls to make, and I’m probably going to need that brick, since it’s evidence and— Hey! What are you doing?”

“You can call the cops, but all they’re going to do is file a vandalism report. Nothing more. And that’s not going to do very much for you.” Ignoring her as she reached for the brick again, he pulled off the rubber band, snapping the elastic, and a piece flung somewhere into the great beyond. Tossing the brick aside, he unfolded the piece of paper. Under the flickering street lamp, she could see the stationary, and knots of unease blossomed in her stomach.

No way—absolutely no way.

“Bitch,” Chandler said, glancing up. His lips formed a thin, tight line. “Lovely.”

Alana took a step back and then slumped against the SUV. “Shit.”

He was suddenly beside her, his hand on her shoulder. “Alana?”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the piece of paper he held in his other hand. There had been a tiny part of her that had hoped it was a random coincidence, but now she knew it wasn’t. She hadn’t noticed when it had been wrapped around the brick, but in the faint light and unfolded, she recognized the one-sided design—the black and white lines that crawled up the sides of the ivory sheet and the tiny flowers in each corner.

Fingers appeared under her chin, guiding her head up with surprising gentleness. “Are you okay?”

Not really. Her heart was beating way too fast again. Dizziness swept through her as her eyes locked with Chandler’s. A fine sheen of sweat dotted her forehead. There was a good chance she was going to be sick.

“Alana?” Real concern colored his tone as he slid his hand to the side of her neck, as if he was about to check her pulse. “Come on, baby, say something.”

“The paper the note is written on—that paper is mine,” she said. “It’s from my home.”

“Back in California?” he asked, his thumb doing its magic again, but this time on her neck.

“No—my apartment. Here in the city.”

Chandler was officially worried.

Alana hadn’t spoken a word since he’d gotten the directions to her apartment out of her. Considering how mouthy and absolutely frustrating she usually was, silence from her had to be a bad thing.

He glanced at her as he came to a stoplight, the red from the light glaring across her profile. She was staring out the window, worrying her bottom lip. Her arms were folded, keeping the file tight against her chest like a shield.

She hadn’t protested when he called Murray to get a tow truck out here. And she also hadn’t questioned why he hadn’t contacted the police.

He knew they’d probably treat her the same way he had when she’d asked for his help. Well, with the exception of the “wanting to fuck” comment. Sure, they’d go to her place and check it over—at some point tonight. The city was teeming with crime¸ and vandalism and a possible break-in wouldn’t be high on their list of concerns.

God, he felt like a giant ass for outright dismissing her.

He wasn’t convinced that her life was in danger—letters and a vandalized car didn’t equal deadly intent—but something was definitely going on. What exactly and how far this was going to go, he wasn’t sure yet. The note was folded in his pocket, practically burning a hole in it. He wanted to look at it again, see if there was anything else except the one word. His initial assumption could still be spot-on. Nothing too serious—maybe a pissed-off ex-boyfriend or client, and not something to hire a bodyguard over. But if her apartment really had been broken into, then that was a different story.

There was a part of Chandler, he recognized, that just wanted this all to be a bunch of nothing. The thought of someone seriously wanting to hurt the woman sitting quietly next to him twisted his gut in ways he didn’t want to consider. It was much better for his peace of mind to figure this was the prank of some disgruntled ex-client than something far more dangerous.

Chandler pulled his truck into the parking garage attached to the high-rise apartments. His immediate observation of the building noted several security hazards. It was a good district, not known for a lot of serious crime, but there was no doorman that he saw, which meant anyone could come and go as they pleased. There didn’t appear to be any security cameras at the garage entrance or inside, at least none that was obvious and would deter potential perpetrators. The lighting sucked in the garage, making it easy for anyone to be hiding. He didn’t like any of it.

As he parked the truck and killed the engine, he looked over at her. “You doing okay?” The question made him strangely uncomfortable.

She finally met his gaze and nodded curtly. “I’m fine.”

That was debatable.

Clearing her throat, she reached for the door handle. “Thank you for taking me home, but I can call the police and let them handle it from here on out.”

“I came all this way, so I’m going to check out your apartment.”

She was out of his truck with surprising quickness, slamming the door.

He cursed under his breath and climbed out, finding her standing near his side, hand extended.

“I’m going to need the note, please.” Her voice was clipped, professional, and cool.

His eyes narrowed. Instead of handing it over, he walked around her and headed toward the elevator entrance. “I’m checking out your apartment and then we’re going to talk. And I’m serious. I’m not arguing with you.”

There was a moment when he thought she was going to stand there and he was going to have to go back and drag her to her apartment.

“Damn it, you’re annoying.” She huffed, catching up to him. “Pain in my ass.”

His lips twitched as he fought the smile. “I would love to be in your—”

“Don’t even finish that statement,” she snapped.

He chuckled, happy to see a little color returning to her cheeks. “What floor?”

“Sixteen.” She was quiet as they stepped into the elevator. “Are you taking me seriously now?”

Chandler didn’t immediately respond, and she made a sound that reminded him of a disgruntled animal—a small, helpless animal. When they reached her floor, she told him her number. “Stay by the elevator until I give you the okay,” he said.