J. Lynn: Tempting the Bodyguard

And now he was thinking about how she smelled. Fuuuucck.

Letting her go back to wherever she came from was the smartest thing he could do. For that matter, what the hell was she still doing in this city? Her assignment as his brother’s publicist had ended in January and from what he’d gathered from Chad, she lived in California. So why was she still here?

Did it even matter?

Chandler told himself that it didn’t, but—and there always seemed to be a but—what if she was in trouble? And he’d just told her he’d rather fuck her than protect her? He didn’t feel bad about saying that, but Jesus, he hadn’t even looked at those letters.

He bit out a ripe curse. Letters were not serious. The kind of shit he saw and dealt with on a regular basis made threatening letters something a child would do. Not to mention the fact that Alana had to have a list as long as his leg when it came to enemies who wanted to scare her.

Of course, none of this made him any less of a jackass right now.

Dropping his hand, he shook his head. Receiving threatening letters didn’t warrant a personal security detail in any situation. He hadn’t been kidding around when he’d told her they protected people being threatened by very dangerous individuals, but a twinge of guilt still churned in his stomach. He hadn’t taken her seriously, hadn’t even listened to her story.

“Shit,” he said again.

…

The back of Alana’s throat burned as she made her way across the crowded club floor. Even if she wasn’t speed walking, she’d stand out among the patrons of Leather and Lace. Her prim black suit was an eyesore among the shimmery tops, skintight jeans, and pretty dresses.

So plain. So boring.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother her, but tonight, she felt like all her emotions were on the outside, coating her skin instead of being neatly tucked away.

A hand grabbed for her as she rounded a cluster of small tables. She shot a warning look at the offender, a young male with kohl-lined eyes. He simply laughed and threw an arm over the shoulders of a petite redhead.

To Alana, the air in the club was suffocating—hot and heavy with the scent of perfume, cologne, and liquor. She barreled out the front door, gasping in the cool night air as it washed over her flushed skin.

Stupid—she had been so incredibly stupid coming here, thinking that Chandler would actually agree to help her. His crude statement of wanting to have sex with her was most likely nothing more than an attempt to get a rise out of her.

He’d succeeded.

Even though things had worked out splendidly for Chad and Bridget, she had blackmailed them. It was doubtful that any of Chad’s brothers or friends would feel warm and fuzzy when it came to her.

But she’d just been doing her job. That’s what she kept telling herself as she hurried down the sidewalk, passing the graffiti-sprayed exteriors of the old warehouses.

What was she going to do now?

I’ll be seeing you tonight.

Her practical mind clicked over, taking control. She was on her own, something she’d grown accustomed to in her twenty-six years. You could really only count on yourself—trite but true. So she’d need to find out who was responsible for stalking her clear across the country, and she also needed a gun. Then she needed to know how to use one, because she honestly had no idea how to even take off the safety and—

Rounding the street corner, she winced as she realized that two of the overhead streetlamps were now out and the packed parking lot was nothing more than hulking, looming shadows and a cesspool of potential assault and battery.

Great. Getting stabbed and robbed would be the icing on the fucked-up cake and make her night.

Digging the car keys out of her pocket, she threaded them between her fingers and kept her eyes peeled for any suspicious movement. She picked up her pace, focusing on the third line of cars where she’d left hers.

The parking lot nearest to Leather and Lace was like a used luxury-car lot. She passed Audis, Volvos, BMWs, and a whole fleet of foreign vehicles. Alana was willing to bet her relatively flat ass that half the city’s power players were members of the club.

She wanted to be all kinds of judging, but she was the type of person to call a spade a spade. How could she judge them when she had been inside that room with Chandler, picturing herself on the longue?

Unwanted heat unfurled low in her belly, and she swore softly as she cut between a Mercedes and an Infiniti SUV. She would not think about Chandler. She would not give that son of a bitch one more ounce of her—

Alana stopped a few feet before her Lexus, her breath expelling harshly. It was so dark here she couldn’t be sure what she was seeing. Bending at the waist, she blinked once, thinking that her eyes were playing tricks on her, but when her vision centered on the front of her car, she cried out in disbelief.

The windshield had been smashed in.

Jagged edges of glass remained, but the whole center was gone—completely gone. Wicked sharp pieces of glass lay on the dashboard.

Her breaths came out in short pants as she reached down and opened the driver’s door. Glass was everywhere—on the seats, the floorboards. She started to reach in but stopped herself. Lying on the passenger seat was a brick. There appeared to be a paper wrapped around it, secured with a rubber band.

For a moment, Alana was absolutely frozen. She didn’t move. Her breath stilled in her throat. All she could do was stare at that brick, and the only thing that moved was her heart. It thumped heavily in her chest, sending adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Her gaze crawled over the interior and then widened when she saw the ignition. The whole lower part of the steering wheel had been torn open, wires exposed and dangling like little red and blue snakes.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, slowly shaking her head. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

Anger poured into her chest, causing her hand to tighten around the keys until the metal dug into flesh. Someone had done this to her car— her property. No way in hell did she believe this was coincidental. It had to be the asshole behind the letters, and…

Icy fear snapped at the heels of her fury. Her breath came out in a ragged exhale. The person who had done this could still be here, waiting and watching. Oh my God. Her heart jumped in her chest painfully. Backing away from her car door, she scanned the darkness ahead of her.

She swallowed, but the knot of fear made it difficult. She was out here, alone, and if someone wanted—

A heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

Shrieking, she spun around, dropping the folder and throwing out her hand that held the key-shank she’d created.

“Jesus H. Christ, woman!” a deep voice exploded as a hand clamped down on her wrist.

Part of her brain recognized the voice, but the adrenaline and fear had kicked in her fight response and once that had been unleashed, it was taking her brain precious seconds to catch up to how her body was reacting.

She tried to pull her arm free as she raised her knee, aiming for any body part she could do damage on. Hopefully the gonads.

Except she never connected with any flesh.

A second later, her back was against the SUV parked beside her car and a broad, firm body was pressed against hers. Thick, muscled legs made it impossible for her to kick. Both her wrists were captured in a secure hold, pinned near her shoulders in record time. The keys hit the ground somewhere down by her feet.

Good God, she had been incapacitated that quickly.

It would’ve been rather impressive if she wasn’t seconds away from having a full-blown heart attack.