J. Lynn - Tempting the Bodyguard

“And you weren’t in here first.” A small grin appeared on those lips. Just one side tipping up. “It would be rude of me to ask my friend to leave, and I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

Alana’s spine stiffened. Something about his tone told her that he was messing with her for his amusement. “I seriously doubt she’s your friend.”

“And what do you think she is to me, Miss Gore?” When she opened her mouth, his blue eyes sharpened. “And think carefully before you make a statement.”

She bristled. “I’m not crude, Mr. Gamble.”

“Really? That’s not what I’ve heard.”

A different kind of heat invaded her veins, and her fingers bit into the folder. The soft crinkle of paper reminded her why she was here, which was not to get into a verbal pissing match with Chandler. Taking a deep breath, she leveled her voice. “I need your help.”

Chandler’s chin tipped down, but his expression remained the same: remote and impassive. Not an ounce of emotion. Something about him, the intensity that he bled into the air around him, told her that this man would be a violent storm if he ever lost control.

Silence stretched out between them, broken by the soft, impatient sigh of the dark-skinned woman sitting on the chaise longue. It struck Alana then, in a way it hadn’t before, what she was doing. Coming to Chandler for help had seemed logical while she’d been in her apartment, as she knew he would be discreet in his services, but busting up in a sex club looking for him?

Ah, probably not the wisest of decisions. Not to mention supremely awkward, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that now. The letter had rattled her. I’ll be seeing you tonight . Finding Chandler couldn’t wait, but now?

Holding her head high, she stepped back. “Perhaps another time will be better. When you’re not about to engage in hopefully protected sex.” She smiled tightly. “Good evening, Mr. Gamble and…uh, Miss… That’s a really nice corset.”

The woman smiled. “Thank you.”

Alana made it to the door, feeling an odd burn in her skin. Humiliation? It had been a long, long time since she’d felt that way, and she didn’t much care for it now, either.

“Miss Gore.” Chandler’s deep voice stopped her.

She turned halfway. “What?”

He glanced at the woman. “I’m sorry, honey, but maybe we can pick this up again later?”

“I understand.” The woman stood, and at once, Alana felt like she belonged in the Lollipop Guild. The woman strode past her, smiling. “ Work is work.”

Was that a dig? Alana couldn’t be sure, but then the door shut quietly behind her, and she was alone in the room with the guy she admittedly had fantasized about a time or two or twenty. In a room that he had most likely been about to have wild, lustful, animal-like, noise-making sex in. At that thought, an image of her on that chaise longue with Chandler behind her, his hands gripping her hips, filled her head. Warmth sparked in her belly and much, much lower.

She really needed to get control of herself.

Clearing her throat, she met his stare and flushed at the almost knowing gleam in his blue eyes. “You didn’t have to make her leave. We could’ve—”

“I think it was obvious that she needed to leave,” he cut in, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “So what is it that you need help with, Miss Gore?”

“But I was interrupting.”

He arched an eyebrow. “And I’m sure you knew that before you burst through that door, right?”

“Well, yes, but—” Actually, no. She hadn’t thought of anything except getting to Chandler. She refused to examine why the thought of reaching him had been the only thing that had calmed her pulse since receiving the letter.

“But you now have my full, undivided attention.” Chandler took one step forward, and sweet Jesus, he was right in front of her. It had to be those long legs that seemed to eat up the distance in one stride. “And that is a very, very rare occurrence.”

Swallowing again, she felt her gaze nervously flit over his shoulder. What the…? Were those handcuffs hanging against the wall? She was totally out of her element and off her game. Who could blame her? She was in a room used for all kinds of kinky sexual acts.

“I need your help,” she said, relieved to hear her voice was somewhat steady.

He unfolded his arms, and as he did, the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt brushed her hands, causing her body to jerk. That one-sided smile spread. “I think we’ve already established that, Miss Gore.”

Irritation pricked at her skin, mostly at herself for becoming so frazzled. “I have a problem.” When his brows shot up, she wanted to smack her face with the file folder. Had she lost brain cells somewhere between entering this room and right now? Fuck. “I’ve been receiving threatening letters.”

Chandler didn’t respond, so she shoved the file folder toward him, which wasn’t very far, since he was in her personal space and then some. He didn’t take it, and her irritation grew into frustration. “They’re all in here—twenty of them.”

“Okay.” He drew out the word as his gaze dipped. But not to her hands. To her chest.

Alana didn’t know what to think or say at that point. She was a logical woman. A minute ago, he had had a woman in here who had two baby butts for boobs and she was barely a B cup. Not to mention there was no way in holy hell he could see her goods. She was wearing a white blouse buttoned straight up to her chin and a suit jacket. Unless he had x-ray vision, he was just being an ass.

Struggling to get a grip on her quickly rising anger, she snapped the file folder against his chest. “Do you want to look at them? Or do you want to continue staring at my breasts like a pig?”

That ghost of a smile spread into a full smirk. “I think I’ll keep staring at your breasts like a pig.”

“Well, that’s lovely.”

“They sure are,” he replied.

Alana took one deep, even breath. “Mr. Gamble, I’m here—”

“Because you need my help,” he interrupted. “I got that.”

“And I’m trying to show you what I’ve been receiving.” She smacked the folder off his chest once again. “So can we— ”

His hand shot out, as fast as a cobra striking, startling her. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, gently but firmly. Lowering his head, he brought his lips to within an inch of hers. So close she could taste the minty scent of his breath. “While I like to be smacked in the chest with random objects from time to time, you keep it up, I’m going to think that’s an invitation for me to return the favor.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“On a different part of the body,” he added, winking. “And with my hand.”

She gasped and her skin burned, but not from embarrassment. Oh no. The mere thought of his hand on her ass almost had her forgetting why she came here. Almost. She jerked her arm free, knowing he simply allowed her to do so. “That was extremely unprofessional.”

Chandler laughed deeply, sending a shiver down her spine, and spread his arms wide. “What about any of this would be considered professional?”

He had a good point, but still. She took a step back, which grated on her nerves. “Mr. Gamble, I am trying to—”

“Say it.”

Having no idea where he was going with that statement, she shook her head. “Say what?”

“My name.”

Her brows knitted as she stared up at him. “I do believe I’ve been saying your name. Perhaps all that muscle and hair are impairing your hearing.”

He chuckled again as he stalked forward, reclaiming the distance between them. “That wasn’t very nice, Alana .”

At the sound of her name rolling off his tongue, the muscles in her stomach tightened. “What? Do you want me to say your first name?”