Cora Carmack: Seeking Her

From now on, I would watch her when I could.

Find her when I’d lost her.

Protect her when she needed me.

That was it. Nothing else.

TEMPTATION. IF THIS mission had a code name, that would be it.

Not just Kelsey, though the girl was temptation at it’s finest, but everything about it. It was hard to stay focused on work when “the office” was a bar.

I’d pretty much decided that she was a spoiled rich girl, and that made her easier to resist. But having daddy’s credit card meant she had no shortage of outfits designed just to bring men to their knees.

She was wearing one now—­ a short white lacy skirt that made her tan skin seem to glow in the light of the bar. Her shirt hung off one shoulder in a way that was supposed to look like an accidental peek of skin, but definitely wasn’t. And there was just something about the plateau of her shoulder that made you want to lay your lips against it for a taste.

That wasn’t the only thing beckoning for a taste, though.

I watched her lick her lips before tipping back some dark concoction in a shot glass that tonight’s guy had bought for her.

I clenched my fists harder, wincing at the stinging cuts my short nails made into my palm, and focused my eyes elsewhere. I wasn’t here to have a good time. I busied myself scanning the bar for potential hazards.

The only potential danger I saw was a drunk guy weaving through the tables. And he was mostly in danger of knocking over any drink within a ten-­foot radius.

I redirected my gaze to Kelsey in time to see her finish a shot and then take a lime from between some dude’s lips.

A few seconds later, she grinned wildly, like she was having the best fucking time of her life.

I envied her that.

I’d certainly done my fair share of partying. I could still remember the first party I’d attended in high school. I’d been a freshman, and when I made varsity basketball, the team invited me out with them.

My first shot of tequila had burned like rubbing alcohol, and I ended that night blowing chunks into the pool in the backyard.

Funny how something so terrible could be nostalgic now.

Maybe Kelsey’s dad was strict. The fact that he hired me certainly meant that he was controlling. Maybe she was just sowing her wild oats. And as much as I didn’t want to be here, I couldn’t exactly begrudge her the chance to loosen up.

And damn, was she good at loosening up.

The music was electronic and kind of all over the place. It made it even harder to focus on the task at hand, and I could feel the beginning of a headache pulsing above my eyebrow.

I heard a shrill shriek on the other side of the bar and jumped to attention. My mind ordered my feet to move, and I got a few steps before I really catalogued the situation.

Kelsey wasn’t in trouble.

Not really.

A guy with dark hair and model good-­looks had lifted her up to sit on the bar, and she was laughing as he pushed her to stand up on it.

She shook her head, her smile so wide that it shone in the dim bar. The guy said something, his fingers pressing into her waist. She laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair fanned out behind her, and my fingers itched to freeze time and sketch her in that moment.

Her eyes closed—­she looked transported. Like she lived on some other plane, one brighter and more beautiful than ours. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Eyes all across the bar were pinned on her, no doubt drawn by the same inexplicable essence that made me unable to take my eyes off of her, regardless of what I was supposed to be doing. In that moment, I think everyone envied her.

And if she was magnetic then, she was downright hypnotic when she pulled up her feet, and balanced her hands against her date to stand up on the bar.

A group had formed around her, ­people that she’d spent the night flitting between like the ultimate social butterfly. They laughed and cheered, drawn to her like moths to the flame. And maybe I was too, because before I realized it, I was less than a dozen feet away, leaning against the bar.

She swayed her hips, and the electronic music that had seemed chaotic before made sense when seen through the movement of her body. The music was . . . restless, a description that worked when applied to Kelsey, too.

Despite being the center of this entire bar’s attention, her eyes were flicking around, constantly on the lookout for what was next, waiting for something more. I couldn’t tell if it was boredom that had her always looking ahead or something else.

She bent, giving me (and everyone else) a long look at her legs. When she stood, she’d pulled another girl up on top of the bar with her. Within minutes, the bartender had cranked up the music and the vibe of the entire bar changed.

Where before all the chairs had been filled, now it was the aisles and the open space that were overflowing. ­People were dancing on their own, in pairs, and in groups. But still . . . every few seconds they seemed to cast their eyes up to the girl dancing on the bar, the girl who had single-­handedly turned the night upside down.

I sat down on a stool, watching her, too. It was impossible not to. A few other girls had joined her on the bar, and Kelsey seemed completely oblivious to all the guys who were practically salivating below.

I was far from oblivious.

A song came on, some remixed version of an American hit that I couldn’t stand, and she threw her arms up and declared to no one, “I love this song.”

She sang the words at the top of her lungs, bouncing around in a way that made her look younger, less concerned with being pretty or sexy. I found myself smiling in spite of myself.

The bartender came over, completely nonplussed by the change in atmosphere. He leaned across the bar, and lifted his chin in acknowledgment.

“Я моґу вам помочь?”

I paused, not just because I didn’t speak the language. It was obvious what he was asking, and I hesitated.

I hadn’t meant to come near the bar. That was the promise I made myself as soon as I followed Kelsey into the dimly lit building.

I swallowed, and my throat felt as dry as sandpaper. I was suddenly so thirsty .

“No.” I shook my head vehemently. “No thank you.”

I pushed my stool back and made for my original perch on the far wall. It was safer over there.

But the easiness I’d felt watching her was gone. By the time she quit the bar that night, her arm tucked into the elbow of the good-­looking guy who’d lifted her up onto the bar, I’d worn my palms raw from clenching my fists.

I breathed a heady sigh of relief when I stepped out into the night air.

Mission Temptation was off to a rocky start.

IT WAS EASY that first night to think that Kelsey was just having a good time, enjoying her freedom. On the second night, I chalked it up to celebrating being in a new country.

But on the third day, when she ventured out to a club once again, I felt myself growing weary. She didn’t do much during the day, slept late after her busy night. I couldn’t seem to get myself to follow her lead. So I woke up at a reasonable time, texted her father to let him know where we were and that everything was fine, and tried my best to establish a routine.

She’d venture out for dinner (which was really lunch for her), then she’d repeat the whole adventure at a new venue.

Tonight, my control was wearing thin. We were at some dance club, and I kept losing sight of her on the dance floor. The first few times, I let it slide, searching until I found her again. Then I lost sight of her for nearly fifteen minutes, and knew that my current tactic wasn’t working. I couldn’t do shit to protect her if something happened while I was out on the edges of the dance floor.