Rock Hard Bodyguard: A Hollywood Bodyguard Romance Page 7

  Mr. Jameson is looking at me with a funny look on his face, the corners of his mouth starting to tug upward into a hint of a smile, but his eyes-- those gorgeous blue eyes-- look so serious. So contemplative. Like he’s reassessing everything he thought about me to begin with.

  “What?” I ask, cocking my head to one side.

  He shakes his head, that smile warming his handsome features. He swipes a hand over his scruffy jawline. “Nothing. You’re just… different. From what I expected.”

  “In a good way or a bad way?” I ask, and immediately regret the question. I know how it makes me sound. Eager. Insecure. Self-centered.

  He laughs softly, backing up to lean against the wall with his muscular arms crossed over that broad, powerful chest. “Neither. Hmm. A good way, I guess.”

  “Oh,” I answer lamely, quickly looking down at the hardwood floor. What’s the matter with me all of a sudden? Why am I blushing and averting my eyes like some flustered school girl? I’m a grown-ass woman in a very serious situation, and here I am acting like a teenager.

  Get a grip, Molly Parker, I tell myself. I need to change the subject. This tiny, silent room is beginning to feel a little cramped, even though we are at opposite ends of the room.

  “You’re not exactly what I expected, either,” I tell him, breaking the quiet.

  He looks up at me, eyes blazing. My heart pounds.

  “How so?” he asks, his voice low and gruff.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never had a bodyguard before, but I mean, I’ve watched a lot of movies. And you-- you’re not what I thought you’d be. That’s all,” I conclude, shrugging. God, I wish I hadn’t said anything. I thought it was an innocent enough comment, but he looks as though I’ve touched on a raw nerve somehow.

  “Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, you know,” he replies simply. I can tell he’s trying to regain his former demeanor, that cocky attitude he had before. But it’s slipped away.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Jameson. I know you probably don’t want to be stuck here with me over Christmas,” I blurt out suddenly. “I’m sure you have a family or-- a wife or someone you would much rather be with right now. And I just wanted to say I’m sorry. And thank you. For looking after me. I know it’s not ideal.”

  “Wes.”

  “What?” I ask, frowning.

  He fixes me with that intense stare. It’s like he can see directly into the core of my being, the corners of my soul where nobody dares to look. “My name is Wes. You can just call me that.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case, you can call me Molly,” I reply, smiling.

  “Molly Parker. You know, your face is right outside my office window,” he remarks suddenly. “Big-ass billboard for some shampoo or whatever.”

  I can feel my cheeks burning. “Oh god. That’s super embarrassing.”

  “Nah. It’s your job. Just like this is my job. We all do what we have to do to get by. And sometimes, people look at you and think they can know who and what you are with just that one quick glance. Like your job, your image-- that’s all you are. I guess for some people, maybe that’s true. But I don’t think it is for you,” he says slowly.

  Something about the way he’s looking at me makes me tremble.

  “So, what do you think, then? About me,” I inquire softly.

  “Well, at first, I would have judged you by that billboard. By those designer jeans. By your famous last name. But that’s not enough. That’s not really you, is it?”

  I shake my head. “I hope not.”

  “No. You’re more than I expected. You’re tough. You fight. You have no problem getting your hands dirty. You’re smarter than you look. You’re feisty. And you’re strong. And I think you listen a lot more than you speak. You notice things,” Wes says. “I can see it, those cogs turning in your mind. I can feel you analyzing, constantly. Trying to figure shit out.”

  “Wow,” I murmur, looking down at the floor.

  “What is it?” he asks, walking over to me slowly.

  I look up back up at him as he stops in front of me. A smile creeps to my lips. “Nothing. It’s just-- that may be the best review I’ve ever gotten.”

  Wes sits next to me on the bed. I can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. It makes my heart race. Makes my stomach feel all wobbly in the very best way.

  Oh yes. Wes Jameson is danger, all right. And you’d think I’d already have reached my limit with danger, but…

  Suddenly he stands up, like the heat between us has finally burned him. He holds out a hand to me. I look at it confusedly at first. “Come on. We have a whole night to kill, and I know you’re not sleepy. Show me your moves.”

  “What? Dancing?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at him. He chuckles.

  “No, sweetheart. Fighting. Boxing. I wanna know how you learned to handle yourself in a fight the way you did up on the roof. Maybe you can even teach me something,” he adds, a sliver of that familiar arrogance slipping through as he grins.

  After a moment of hesitation, I take his hand and stand up. I kick off my heels so that I’m barefoot. He leaps back and puts up his fists, nodding for me to come at him. I can’t help but laugh, a genuine smile crossing my face as I square up. “Alright, Rocky, let’s see how you fare against me,” I egg him on.

  “Ladies first,” Wes remarks, smirking.

  I pull a fake-out, like I’m rearing back for a right hook, but instead I duck down and pounce at his stomach, hooking one of my legs around his and nearly bringing him to the ground. He laughs and stumbles for a moment before regaining his balance. I dart backward out of the way as he lunges for me, then swivel around and leap at his back. I catch him with an arm around his throat, careful not to actually choke him at all. He reaches back to grab me, but I’ve got my legs tight around his waist. So he swings forward, throwing me off. Luckily, I saw this coming, and I land with a little bounce on my bare feet before turning back. With a fire flashing in his eyes, he comes running at me, and to my disappointment, I’m so entranced by his stare that my reflexes are just ever-so-slightly slowed down. My mind going blank, I simply back up, sliding into the wall as Wes bolts forward and pins me there, his arms on either side of me against the wall. He’s less than an inch away, the two of us panting, eyes locked together.

  I can feel that blaze between us, pulsing like a third heartbeat.

  My eyes flick down, dangerously, to linger on his lips.

  Slowly, he moves closer, and I don’t dare to stop him. I can’t. I don’t want him to stop.

  He kisses me, sending spirals of sparks down through my core, electrifying every nerve in my body. He presses up against me so I can feel every rippling muscle in his form. His cock is hard against my stomach, his hands coming down to cup my face as his tongue pushes inside my mouth. I moan into the kiss, melting under his touch. He hoists me up, my legs wrapping tightly around his waist as he rocks against me. I tangle my fingers in his scruffy hair, never wanting to break away from this moment. God, it’s been years since I felt like this. My career has consumed every bit of free time, closed my heart and body off to even the idea of dating, of sex.

  And now… this gorgeous, powerful man is holding me in his arms, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before. I want him. So badly. No, I need him.

  He breaks away and looks at me, his eyes deep blue and questioning.

  This is a bad idea. This is a terrible idea. The worst idea of all time.

  Or is it? What the hell else are we going to do locked up here in this tiny room while my life spins apart into shambles outside? I don’t want to think about that. I don’t want to think at all. And I have a feeling Wes knows just how to make me forget my troubles, at least for a little while. His lips brush against mine faintly, asking a silent question.

  Should we?

  8

  Wes

  I’ve done terrible things in my life. I’ve threatened people, I’ve stolen money, and I’ve done the bidding of the mafia.

  This is still the wor
st mistake I’ve ever made. And it feels sweeter than all the rest combined.

  I press a kiss into her again.

  The warmth of her lips on mine awakens something in me I never thought I was able to feel, much less feel for someone like Molly Parker--for this spoiled actress of all people--she’s a client, for god’s sake.

  It was a mistake I knew I was going to make from the moment she wrapped those endlessly long legs around my waist, and I felt her thighs squeezing me, her hips pushing up into me, those eyes drinking me in...it was all over.

  The kiss is fierce. The adrenaline of the fight is still red-hot in our blood, pulsing through my veins. It beats in my heart, and I can feel hers beating against me as I pull her in, hold her tight, and feel her chest rub up against mine. She’s famous for her lips, and now, I can see why.

  But nobody else has touched them like this, felt them pressing against mine, feeling my rough, scruffy face on her skin, skin that’s been pampered this woman’s entire life.

  Every part of her is infuriating. She’s everything I’ve been bitter about my entire life. And now, I can’t keep my hands off her.

  I feel her tongue venture out and touch mine, meeting it at our teeth before mine enters her mouth, where she welcomes me. As I move my jaw, my teeth toy with her lips, pulling away ever so slightly before coming back in again.

  Her nails dig into my back, and she pushes her hips into me harder. She starts thrusting ever so slightly, almost unconsciously, her body moving out of pure need. It’s undignified. It’s animalistic. And I’m feeding every moment of it, fanning those flames hotter.

  I grind my hips against hers, feeling my manhood growing harder and thicker. It’s pressed up against her lower lips, and there’s so much warmth between us that I want the fabric separating us to just burn away with the friction. With every thrust, my cock gets harder, and the bigger it swells, the more excited I can feel my little client getting in my grasp. Her fingers fumble as they try to keep hold of me. I feel her draw in a sharp breath.

  This poor woman has no idea what she’s getting herself into.

  It doesn’t matter if she’s an untouched virgin or if she thinks she has some experience. I can tell by the way she moves nervously through her lust that she is in no way ready for what I have to give her.

  Finally our kiss breaks, and we look at each other, breathing heavily, both our eyes laden with need. I raise my hand and cup her head in it, gently sliding my fingers in her soft hair, holding her head, watching her blushing face.

  There’s only one question on my lips.

  “Do you want this?”

  I expect her to be hesitant, to think about her career and what this could mean in the middle of a scandal, even to fire me on the spot and regret everything about the last twenty-four hours.

  Instead, she nods without a second thought, those amber eyes holding me spellbound. “I want you in me, Wes.”

  I don’t need a second invitation.

  My mouth goes to her neck, kissing up and down the sensitive skin of this woman worth millions of dollars. With my hips pinning her to the wall, I bring my arms to her chest and grope her breasts. My huge hands cover them entirely, feeling them through her shirt, and with every second, I get hungrier for more.

  One of my hands slides around to her back, my tough hands gliding along that unbelievably expensive fabric while my teeth graze her neck. I get a hold of her ass and pinch her, making her jerk up into me with a gasp.

  Her ass is impeccably firm. It’s unlike any I’ve ever felt before.

  The next moment, I realize her hands are exploring me, too, and I let her warm hands take in as much as they want. They start at my waist, just above where her thighs are holding onto me, not doing so much as twitching despite the incredible effort it must take for her to hold on like this for so long.

  I’m rock-hard down there, like the rest of my body. Her fingertips run up and down my abs, occasionally curling in and scratching me, wanting to dig in even harder. I push myself further in to invite her to do just that.

  In response, she slips her fingers under my shirt and starts to feel my bare skin. I’m jealous, wanting to bring my mouth to her bare breasts, but I’m patient. My chest swells and falls with each breath while I feast on her neck, and she manages to nearly work her hands to my bare chest, feeling my hair, there, taking a handful of it and silently begging me for more.

  Before I know it, even with her legs off the ground, she’s managed to get my shirt halfway off, and I grin into her neck before I move my hands to her wrists and pin her against the wall, touching my forehead to hers.

  “You’re getting greedy, you little brat.”

  “I always get what I want,” she teases back, and I feel my cock pulse against her. She bites her lip through a smile. She enjoys getting this kind of stir out of me.

  And damn her, there’s nothing I can do to deny her.

  She scoots herself up the wall as I release her arms, and she rests them on my shoulders for a moment before I rip my shirt off and toss it to the floor.

  Her hands help hold her up behind my thick, rippling neck. Her lidded eyes look me up and down, from the point where are crotches are kissing together to the wall of my solid abs to my broad, hairy chest, glistening from the heat between us as it breathes slowly.

  The look on her face makes me want her all the more. She looks hungry, but her caution just says that she wants to savor it.

  “I’ve done scenes like this before,” she breathes, her voice low and smooth as silk, “just between actors, but it’s all faked. His hands are usually cold, and they’ve got this sleeve-thing for his dick so I can’t feel it if he gets excited.”

  “I don’t think I have to tell you how much they need it,” I growl back at her, and she giggles, turning her head away, but I take her by the chin and bring her face close to mine, running my thumb along the line of her jaw.

  Without breaking eye contact, I move a hand to her tanktop and feel the fabric between a thumb and forefinger.

  “I want this off.”

  “Then why don’t you try to take it?” she challenges me.

  I’m going to like this girl.

  I pull us back from the wall and spin around to the bed, tossing her down on it like a ragdoll, watching her bounce on her back with a wicked laugh coming from her lips that drives me wild for her. I kick off my shoes and approach her, looming over her looking as savage as she does beautiful.

  She writhes on simple sheets, looking up to me with anticipation, her cheeks going redder than ever. Her eyes look me up and down, getting her first look at my whole body standing over her. She lets her gaze rest on the outline of the thick shaft bulging through my jeans.

  As she squirms, I grab her thighs and pull her closer to me, working my hands up to the waist of her pants and sliding my fingers around to the front. Along the way, I feel the soft fabric of her underwear beneath it.

  “You must be wearing more than I make in a month,” I say.

  “One way to find out,” she breathes.

  I unbutton her pants and pull them down to reveal the most intricate lace panties I’ve ever seen. They look like a work of art--top of the line, designer underwear. She wasn’t even dressing for lingerie. Is this really her everyday wardrobe?

  She twists her body to help get herself out of the pants, and without missing a beat, I go for the top next. I spend less time with it. I pull the fabric off and toss it aside, leaving her with nothing but underwear and me in nothing but my jeans.

  I crawl on top of her, and the sight of her below me, watching my every movement with lustful anticipation, makes me want to thrust myself into her right now. But I’m going to take my time with her.

  It isn’t everyday you get a Hollywood starlet wrapped around your cock.

  I descend on her and draw her into a kiss, feeling her soft moan up into me while my hands slip behind her back and unhook her bra. It comes off effortlessly for me, and I don’t break our kiss while I slid
e it from her arms.

  When the kiss finally ends, I look down at her and see her naked form, and the animal within me wants to ravage her.

  I always hated the way actresses like her look up on the screen or advertisements. The camera does such unnatural things to the human body that it’s hard to see the people behind all the glamour.

  But when I look down at Molly, I realize the camera is doing a disservice to her. The real woman is far more beautiful than the best camera work could make her look.

  My hands take her bare breasts and stroke them gently, fingers tracing along their sides while my thumbs feel her nipples.

  The simple motion makes her gasp, and she arches her back up into me, pouting lips open and breathing desperately.

  I start moving my thumbs in a circle around her stiff nipples, toying with them like I have all the time in the world to use her body any way I want. But I can’t keep my hunger in check for too long.

  My grip on her breasts gets more greedy. As I feel her up, she reaches up with both hands, one going to my face to feel my hair and my beard, the other going to my cock, her thumb stroking up and down its length and making it twitch under her hand.

  Feeling her soft touch on my face is not something I’m used to. It would be soothing, if I weren’t a few seconds away from diving into her. Every move her body makes warms my body and gives me a thrill that I must work out on her.

  “I want to see it,” she says, her eyes looking down at my cock, then flitting back up to me. “I want to touch it.”

  “We’re making a big mistake, Miss Parker,” my husky voice whispers to her.

  “Then let’s make it before we come to our senses,” she begs me, her eyes dancing with fire.

  I stand up and unbutton my pants, and from the moment I start to slide them down, her eyes are on me, her body propped up on her elbows. I’m used to her eyes always looking a little mysterious, lidded, watching carefully. When the base of my shaft is exposed, all of that melts away, and her eyes go so wide I can see their whites.

  “Oh my god,” she says, the almost theatrical lust giving way to genuine surprise at the sight of my cock.