Booty Call (Forbidden Bodyguards Book 2) (2 page)

Let him think I’m a haughty bitch. I don’t care.

“Miss Reid,” he starts, and I drop my gaze, staring past him as I twirl the panties on the tip of my finger.

“I’m not a child. You can call me Alison, or Ms. Reid. Or nothing at all. That would be my preference.” I swing past him and hold out the lace and ribbon scrap of nothing to the sales girl. “I’ll take these with a matching 32C bra, please.”

I shake my head when she asks if I’ll need to try anything on.

While the thought of making Scott sit outside a change room would usually make me achy and wet, right now I’m not in the mood to play the tease. Not when it’s not going to get me anywhere.

I’m not a child. I told him that. I told my parents the same thing when I moved into my own apartment.

One of these days, I’m going to start believing it for myself.

And until then, I’ll fake it.

I’ve been doing that my entire life. I’m a pro.

After I pay for my purchases, I head for the door. Scott stands back, letting me move past him, but even though he hasn’t said anything, I still feel unsettled. Like maybe I haven’t had the last word.

He doesn’t get to do that to me.

I am
not
a child. I won’t be handled.

I stop and meet his gaze head-on. “Call the restaurant and change our reservation. Cole can join us. And you can, too.”

“I’m fine at the bar…Ms. Reid.” His jaw clenches, but that’s the only reaction.

“I understand that.” I lift my bag and wave it in the air. “But since my future brother-in-law won’t let me wear this for anyone else, tonight I’m wearing these for you. Whether you like it or not.”

—two—
 

Scott

After that dangerous-as-hell taunt, I give Alison a wide berth as we leave the store. She’s pissed at me and it’s my job not to react. If she needs an emotional punching bag, I guess I can be that for her—to a point.

But right now, she’s just giving me the ice-queen routine as she sweeps into the chaos of New York City. Ideally, I’d want to walk in front of her, watching for threats, but I’m not her bodyguard so I don’t get to lay down that law of protection.

Unfortunately, walking behind her comes with its own set of problems.

Like the fact that the jeans she’s wearing should be illegal, along with the panties she waved in my face. Snug as fuck, the denim cups her ass as if taunting me.
See this, old man? You’d go to jail for touching this. But we get to stroke her all day long.

She’s not actually jail-bait. Thank Christ for that.

But she’s off-limits all the same—and not just because I work for her sister’s fiancé. Alison Dashford Reid is gorgeous, smart, and fifteen years younger than me.
 

Well, fourteen now.

Happy Birthday, Miss Reid. Welcome to your twenties. My dick thickens at the memory of how she pouted about her birthday dinner. I’d love to spank the brat right out of her. Another reason she’s off-limits, because it wouldn’t end with spanking. I’d punish her until her ass is rosy-red and she’s panting all the good-girl apologies she learned at boarding school, begging me to stop.

I wouldn’t stop.

I’d haul her onto her knees and sink into her, taunting her with how wet she is for me. I’d lean over her, pressing my hips into her sore bottom—make her remember who is in charge—and whisper the Mayfair Rules of Order in her ear as my cock strokes her to her first orgasm.
 

No Drama, No Sharing, No Exceptions.
 

I’ve learned the hard way that sex and love are fucking complicated. I play within the rules now for a reason. It’s smarter. It’s safer. And while I’m not normally a jealous man, when I think of Alison with someone else, my chest tightens. So yeah, if we were to hook up, I’d need us to be exclusive.
 

But still no strings.

Never said I wasn’t an asshole.

Once you’ve been tied down, though, you get wary.
 

Which isn’t Alison’s problem. None of my fucked-up issues are her problem, which is why I keep as much distance as possible.

Right now, that’s about eighteen inches between my cock and her ass, because she’s stopped suddenly. I skid to a halt right behind her.

Too damn close for comfort. Her hair smells like jasmine and vanilla, and when she twists to the side, pulling her phone out of her purse, her skin looks dewy soft.

Too. Damn. Close.

She glances at the screen, then rolls her eyes and starts walking again, totally unaware of the fact that I’m gagging for another scent of her golden-brown waves. “Hailey’s phone is fixed,” she throws over her shoulder at me. “They’re heading back to the hotel.”

We’re staying at The Grand, in a suite. I have a sinking feeling Cole’s already arranged for another suite for him and Hailey.

The last thing Alison and I need is to be alone in a hotel suite together.

Fuck me.

I’m not an idiot. I see how she looks at me.

It can’t happen.

That image of her, naked and on all fours for me, flashes through my head again.

And I’m back to swinging the shopping bags in front of my body. I don’t know why my dick ever bothers going down. Might as well just stay hard all the time—it’s an inevitable state around her.

She ducks her head as we approach the hotel. I don’t see any paparazzi around, and they haven’t bothered the girls yet this trip, but it’s a reflex she’s honed over the last two years.

Her family has done a fucking number on her head, that’s for sure. I almost feel sorry for her, before I remember that she’s one of the richest twenty-year-olds in the country and if she wanted to stay out of the limelight, she could.

There’s something about Alison that’s attracted to the fire. She’s the youngest of four, and on paper, most definitely a good girl.

Straight-A student. Not a party girl.

Not a wild child hippie like her sister, who’s a rebel in her own way. I grin to myself as we cross the lobby. I like Hailey a lot. She pisses me off when she ditches me, but she doesn’t do that much anymore. We’ve come to an understanding.

Her baby sister, on the other hand?

No, there’s no hope for Alison and me to ever come to an understanding. Not unless she is naked and turned over my knee.

As if she can sense my spanking fantasy, she turns and looks at me. “What?” she asks, her sculpted brown eyebrows tugging close to each other.

“Nothing.” I wait to smirk until she’s moved past me onto the elevator. Too late, I catch her watching my reflection in the mirror.

She stares at me in the glass for a minute, then smiles, and the feline power there makes my balls pull tight. “Right. Nothing.”

— —
 

Four hours later, I’m sitting at the bar in a trendy New York restaurant, watching Alison taste the first pour of a bottle of wine. She rolls it around in her mouth, then gives the sommelier a smile so full of grace it fucking hurts, and he gives a slight bow before filling the rest of her glass and that of her sister.

Not only is she drinking underage, but it’s probably a two-hundred dollar bottle of wine and everyone here will bow and scrape to pour it for her.

She’s the epitome of a spoiled little rich girl who gets everything she wants. Well, most of the time. I denied her my forced attendance at her birthday dinner. It was an asshole move, but necessary for self-preservation. Cole had begged off of dinner, which gave me an excuse to sit across the restaurant instead of right next to her. “Enjoy your dinner with your sister,” I’d said, and Hailey had given me a knowing look as she’d pushed Alison toward their table.

We aren’t fucking subtle, that’s for sure. Ten months we’ve been circling each other, Ms. Reid and I.

Ten months I’ve been jerking off to the barely-legal fantasy of her on her knees, me teaching her how to suck my cock just the way I like it.

Ten months I’ve been punishing myself for being such a fucking pervert. Doesn’t stop me from doing it again the next night. Or morning. That first moment of consciousness when I imagine her sliding down my body, licking my abs as she makes her way to my cock…

I groan and rub my jaw.

“Tough day?”

I glance up.

The bartender—pretty, young,
interested
—is smiling at me. She’s got straight black hair and bright blue eyes. This is a classy place, so she’s covered from the neck down, but it’s all tight black fabric, and she knows how to stand to show off what she’s got.

It’s meant to be tempting.

I’m not dead, so it works, but just for a second. “I’ll take another of these.” I point at my ginger ale. “I’m working.”

“Sure thing.” She straightens up, her smile shifting from seductive to helpful. “Let me know if you need anything.”

First thing I learned when I came back from London was that “I’m working” was universal code for “I’m a cop.” Which I’m not, but since it’s a made-up, imaginary code invented by bartenders to make sense of a guy like me not drinking in a place like this, I use it to my advantage.

In England, everyone assumed I was either a wealthy American businessman or a spy. That was convenient, because both were true.

And then neither was true, and my life fell apart.

But I pulled myself out of the gutter and now I’m here—watching Alison Dashford Reid cross her legs in that too-short dress for the waiter. I’d say I’m being punished, but other than wanting to bodily move that guy out of the way and enjoy the flash of her thighs for myself, I can’t honestly call this penance.

She’s why I’ve stuck with The Horus Group for nearly a year.

And she’s why I’m going to have to walk away after this weekend.

—three—
 

Alison

Dinner is fantastic. I feel like a million bucks and I have my sister’s undivided attention.

So why do I care that Scott’s being all chatty with the bartender?

I don’t care.

Liar
.

Okay, I do care. I don’t understand why he won’t touch me. I don’t understand why I can’t get over that. I’ve obviously turned him into some kind of romantic hero in my head. My psychology prof would have a field day with this mess.

It would get even worse if I told her about my mother.

“What are you thinking about?” Hailey frowns at me.

“Nothing.” Definitely not the fact that our mother probably has an inappropriate relationship with our grandfather, and I’ve known that long enough that it’s scarred me emotionally, and so far I haven’t been able to bring myself to have sex with anyone. Nuh-uh. Not that.

“You’re thinking about Scott.”

Sort of. “Maybe.”

“Last year, I was so worried he was going to take advantage of you, but now I think it’s him that I need to worry about.”

I stick my tongue out at her. “Your big, bad bodyguard can’t protect himself?”

She laughs. “You’re stubborn. I fear for anyone who gets on the wrong side of you.”

“I’m the nicest.”

“No, you’re the smartest. I’m the nicest.”

“That’s true.”

“Which makes Taylor the what?”

I scowl at Hailey. “Shush. Not on my birthday.”

“Sorry.”

“She sent me a text. Poolside on a rooftop somewhere. Santa Monica weather certainly beats New York this time of year. I might go visit her for Spring Break.”

Hailey’s eyes go super-wide. “No.”

“It’ll be fine.”

Our older sister is a bit…reckless. She’s a party girl, and has never met a scandal she hasn’t wanted to get sticky in. This time last year, she was blowing the Vice President of the United States. And filming it, maybe.

She’s never admitted that she was responsible for the home movie that was leaked of the two of them. But Taylor loves a good splash.

I can see Hailey’s concern. The problem is, she’s way underestimating my ability to say no.

I’m not either of my sisters.

I’m not Taylor. I’m not a party girl, dangerously reckless in search of her next high.

But I’m also not Hailey, hungry for normalcy.

Secretly, I’m a mix of the two of them. I want that reckless release, I just want it in private and with the right man.

“It won’t be fine…” Hailey starts to lecture. I take a big swallow of wine, bigger than is polite. She gives me a look. She usually doesn’t let me drink out in public, but it’s my birthday. I give her a little smile, and her look softens. “Anyway, I’d rather you didn’t go anywhere on your break week, because…reasons.”

“Of the wedding bell variety?”

She tips her head to the side. “Maybe.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Just like that?”

I nod. I want to go out to L.A. and see Taylor, but it can wait. I know I’m going to be the only family member at Hailey and Cole’s wedding. She hasn’t been on speaking terms with our father since he maybe killed a call girl.

Cole had covered it up. That’s what brought him into Hailey’s life, and for six months, she’d hated him for it. Fair enough, right? But there was more to Cole, and The Horus Group, than just crisis management and security expertise.

The fact that Hailey had been kidnapped after Cole fell in love with her is probably proof of that.

I shudder as I think about how close I came to losing my best friend and the only other sane member of my family. “Just like that. I’d do anything for you, Hailey.”

“Same, sweet pea.”

“Even let me date Scott?”

She laughs. “No, not that.”

I glance at the bar. He’s stopped talking to the bartender.

Good.

“Just as well. I don’t want to date him anyway.” She gives me an incredulous look and I stick my tongue out at her. “I don’t. I just want him to…”

“God, that’s even worse.”

“Why?”

She gapes at me for a moment, then closes her mouth and shrugs. “You’re right. It’s not. Do I need to give you a safe sex lecture?”

“No.”

“Do I need to give you a safe heart lecture?”

God, no. “That’s a definite no. I’m not romanticizing anything, Hail. I just want…It’s time, you know?”

She winces. “Stay a kid forever.”

“Can’t. That’s not how it works.”

“Then be safe. Because a man like Scott—” She cuts herself off and takes a long, fortifying gulp of wine.
Like Cole
. “He can overwhelm you if you aren’t careful.”