Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
I put it on her head without a second of hesitation. She flinches, and if flinches could be good, this one sure qualifies. It comes with a hitch in her breath. A parting of her lips.
I inhale, try to center myself and focus on the job—obscuring her. I grab the shades too. “This could be your new disguise.” I move her ever so slightly to the right so her back is to the tour group. The look on her face says she understands, and that she wants to be blocked from view. Just to be sure, I take my time adjusting the hat and the shades.
My hands are on her face, cupping her cheeks the way I did at the bar the night I kissed her—like I’d go mad if I didn’t taste her lips. That was how I felt then. Now, on the street, early in the morning, that madness returns.
It winds through me, an insistent buzz. A thrum of desire. The deep and potent need to kiss those pretty pink lips, to hold her face, to devour her kisses.
Then, to strip her down to nothing and…control her.
Like I think she wants.
I swallow my rough desires, stealing a glance at the group. They’re dispersing.
“Do I look like me?” she asks.
What? Oh, right. The disguise. “It’s harder to tell,” I rasp out.
But I bet it’s not hard to tell where my mind went. I bet it’s written in my eyes.
That’s what I ought to be looking out for—this lust. The more I want her, the harder it’ll be to do my job without distraction.
Yet, I’m still here, adjusting the cap, touching her hair, wondering if she’d like it if I ran my fingers through it, then curled a fist around and tugged. The image sends a jolt of heat through me. Like a warning.
“We should go,” I say.
She stares at me like I’m an oddity.
“Well, we should.”
She points to the hat and the glasses. “Did you want me to get these?”
Oh. Shit. Right. “Yes. Good idea.”
I’ve got to get my focus back. I take her into the store and buy them, vowing to fight off all distractions for the rest of the day.
This is going to be the hardest job of my life.
17
A LAVENDER EYE MASK, PLEASE
BANKS
After we return, she retreats to the house to get ready for the day. I take the opportunity to check in with Dean back in Los Angeles as I walk around the perimeter of the property, chatting with my longtime friend on the phone.
He’s the kind of friend who’d bail you out of jail no problem and ask questions later. Fortunately, he’s never had to do that for me. Like me, he’s also laser-focused on growing this business.
“The crew arrives tomorrow—Saturday,” I say, recapping the plans for the upcoming shoot starting this weekend. “Vega the director, the rest of the cast, and so on. We have our best-practices briefing scheduled then. And everything’s a go for securing the location for the first shots on Sunday afternoon, which is a pretty basic, no principal cast, just beauty shots.”
“Great. And we’ve got Wanda Rodriguez on Haven,” he says.
“It was a lucky break she was available,” I say of the former CIA field agent, who’s been protecting several high-profile clients since leaving the agency.
“I’d like to think it was my magic touch at convincing her,” he says.
He’s never been short on confidence. “Yeah. It was you, Dean.”
“I know,” he deadpans, then shifts to a more serious tone. “But it’s a damn good thing. Tabitha was happy to hear we could get a woman on the job.”
The logistics producer made it clear that since the film is helmed by a female director, written by a woman, and produced by a woman-owned company, it’d sure be nice to see some women in the security team too.
Done.
We have backup coming in as well, so I’ll have some other close protection officers covering Haven and Ripley from time to time, since Wanda and I can’t do twenty-four-seven security. After Dean and I cover the prep work, as well as the assignments for our team on site, then cover the projects he’s handling in Los Angeles for corporate clients, he clears his throat and says, “How’s it going so far? You seemed a little…before you left.”
I bristle as I walk past the white fence hemming in row after row of purple flowers with that soft, powdery, woodsy scent that’s supposed to be calming. “A little what?”
“A little tense every time the job came up,” he says, getting straight to the point now.
How the fuck could he tell? I thought I was playing it cool. I roll my shoulders like I can shrug it off. Maybe I need a lavender eye mask. “Just because it’s a big job.”
“That’s what I meant,” he says. Oh. So he thought I was stressed about the importance of the job. Not that I might fuck it up beyond all recognition thanks to this unchecked attraction.