J. Lynn - Tempting the Bodyguard

“I’d assume she was looking to hire us. Actually, you,” he replied, and the sound of fingers tapping along a keyboard echoed in the background. “She asked for you directly.”

Strange. Most people who came looking for his services didn’t ask for him. He owned and ran CCG Security, and on very rare cases, he took the jobs instead of letting his team handle them. Very rare. “What’s her name?”

“She didn’t leave one.”

“And you didn’t ask?” His brows lowered.

Murray snorted. “Of course I did, but she didn’t give it to me. And before you ask, she was out the door and down the street before I could get my gimpy ass out of the chair and follow her to get her tags.”

About three weeks ago, Murray had taken a nasty gunshot to the leg during a security detail in Chicago and was now on desk duty for at least another three weeks. Shit happened. Chandler had a matching bullet wound on his arm and his thigh from an incident a few years back.

Shaking her lace-covered ass at him, Paula purred softly.

All right. That managed to get his attention. His jeans tightened by the slightest measure, but still. He got this hard when he saw a 1969 Dodge Charger in mint condition.

Shit.

Maybe he needed to see his doctor about low testosterone or something.

“What did she look like?” he asked, sliding forward on the chair as he sent Paula an apologetic look.

Murray sighed. “Mean.”

“Mean?”

“Mean as in cup your balls, she’s a scary lady.”

A strange feeling crawled up the back of his neck. “What did she look like, Murray? A bit more descriptive, if you have the time.”

“She had dark hair—dark brown with matching dark eyes. Wore glasses,” he went on, and Chandler’s hand tightened around the slim phone. “Wearing a black pantsuit and black heels. I could tell you that she looked plain, but also like the kind of woman—”

“Did she leave a number or anything?” he interrupted, that strange sensation now crawling over his skull. Muscles clenched in his stomach.

“Nope. She bounced like a ball when I said you weren’t here.”

His mouth opened, but there were no words. The image that came to mind was Miss Gore. Sounded like her, but that made no sense. There was no reason why she would seek him out. Not like she didn’t know where his brother Chad, her former client, lived.

It couldn’t be her.

“Call me immediately if she comes back,” he said.

Murray laughed. “That’s what I’ve been doing. Try answering the phone next time.”

There wasn’t much Chandler could say to that. He hung up, sliding the phone back into his pocket. His mind was still on the conversation, on the bizarre possibility…

“Are you okay?” Paula asked, startling him.

He blinked and nodded.

“Then come join me. I’m getting lonely over here.”

Without thinking about it, he stood and slowly made his way over to the chaise longue. When he looked down at Paula, it wasn’t her he saw. The picture that formed in his mind? Well, he’d like to say it came out of nowhere, but it hadn’t. He’d seen it a time or two since that annoying publicist showed up at his door, looking for Chad.

Kneeling on the longue was Miss Gore. Dressed in that damn black pantsuit. Except her hair was down, falling around her face in dark waves. The glasses were on. He liked the glasses.

And now Chandler was hard as that fucking brick wall he’d been thinking about earlier.

Good news? His dick worked.

Bad news? Shit. There was a lot of bad in this.

Paula’s gaze dipped below his belt, and her eyes lit up. “That for me?”

Uh. No.

He opened his mouth, but the door swung open unexpectedly and his chin jerked up, eyes narrowing. No one in this club would barge into any of these rooms unless they were invited. There were rules, for chrissakes, and…

Holy shit .

In the dim red glow of the small overhead light, a slight form appeared like an apparition, straight out of the shadows and out of his fantasies.

Miss Gore stood just inside the room, clenching a folder to her chest like some kind of shield. Behind her glasses, her eyes moved from him to Paula and back again. A pink blush bled into her cheeks, and screw him, he got harder .

Her expression remained cool, though, as she cleared her throat. “We need to talk.”

Anyone who had ever met Alana Gore and was around her for ten minutes would agree that she was determined and impatient. Those two things made for a nasty combination.

And could lead to really awkward situations.

When she’d gone to the offices of CCG Security and was told that Chandler wasn’t there, her next stop had been his house. Of course, there’d been no answer there, either, and while Leather and Lace had been a shot in the dark, it had been one she’d been willing to take. While she’d poked around in Chad Gamble’s personal activities several months ago, she’d discovered this “exclusive club” in the Foggy Bottom district. The middle brother was known to frequent the club every once in a while, but Chandler was a regular, from what she’d discovered.

Leather and Lace was nothing more than a sex club fronting as a regular nightclub, and as much as Alana wanted to be disgusted by the whole thing, she couldn’t help the slight wiggle of curiosity whenever she thought about the place and what went on inside the rooms on the second floor. Were there really people hooking up and engaging in all kinds of sexual play inside?

Well, now she knew for sure.

Her gaze crawled between Chandler and the barely dressed woman on her hands and knees. Alana doubted she was searching for a missing contact lens dressed in a corset and little else. Unless her clothing had fallen off in the process.

Alana’s stare lingered on the woman’s chest, and she suddenly felt like she was rocking a training bra. Christ on a crutch, were those things real? Her gaze finally drifted up to the woman’s face and something about the pretty features was familiar… Holy fuck balls, wasn’t she a district attorney?

Oh my.

Chandler cleared his throat, drawing her attention back to him. “We need to talk? Right now?”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. Her brief encounters with the elder Gamble brother hadn’t served her memory well. Good God, this man…

His dark brown hair was loose, brushing broad shoulders that seemed bigger now that she was seeing him in person. His cheekbones were well defined and high, setting off a strong jawline and wide, expressive lips. While the other two Gamble brothers were lean, Chandler was taller and built like a heavyweight boxer.

Her gaze traveled down his throat, over the gap in his shirt at his neck, and then down his arms. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, exposing powerful forearms and large hands.

“Miss Gore?” Amusement colored Chandler’s voice.

Heat flooded her cheeks. Dear God, was she flustered ? She was never flustered. An obnoxious giggle was building in her throat. Shit. Giggling? That ticked her off. Latching onto the irritation, she regained the use of her brain. “I know I’m interrupting…important business, but this can’t wait.”

“Is that so?” Chandler shifted his weight, and it was only then that she realized he was standing behind the woman. Was he about to…?

Oh Lord in heaven, she couldn’t finish that thought. “Yes. I need to talk to you in private.”

Chandler said nothing.

She looked at the woman who had at least sat up, demurely crossing her legs, and then back at Chandler. Did she have to point out they weren’t alone? By the expectant look on his face, she was going to go with a yes. “We’re not alone.”