Page 7 of Billionaire Bodyguard Summer

. . .

Armin

“Let me walk you out,”I say, to hide my disappointment. I can never resist her, but she doesn’t have that same problem with me.

She adjusts the dress I want to tear off her. “We can’t be seen leaving this marina together.”

She’s right. There’s a camera at the front gate, and we have to assume Harvey’s got his claws so far into this town already that he’s got access to whatever it witnesses.

“There’s another way, unmonitored. A secret exit onto the beach. On the far side of the docks.”

She’s got a doubtful glare in her eyes, and she’s right. She knows the song and dance I do to be by her side. I used to be more of a brass tacks man, less of a bullshitter, back when I was the sheriff for East Greenwich. The billion dollar Powerball hit didn’t change me much.

But Mia did.

I avoid her gaze. Sometimes ignoring works still, just like in grade school. I pull on my rumpled dress shirt and button it up loose, and by the time I turn to usher her up and off the boat, she’s resigned herself.

I like to think it’s my charm, and not the real possibility she’d be murdered by a stray hitman on her way back home.

I lead her up and off the boat, down the rickety wooden ladder leaned up against the far side of the last of the finger piers, and then we’re under the dock and onto the private beach.

“When I rented this boat, the owner told me these used to all be public beaches.”

“Not anymore?”

“One or two on the other side of the bay, but not much land left. Sounded like they attracted a few too many Harveys running in and out of town, and eventually one of these criminal-developers bought it all up, I suppose.”

We emerge from under the dock, out into the moonlight. The beach is empty.

We walk a few paces and then she stops behind me. “What do you want, Armin?”

It’s a loaded question. I want her, and she knows it. But she hates it when I say it out loud.

I close the distance between us, and I extend my arm, palm up. I wait for her to roll her eyes, slap me away, run in the opposite direction.

But she puts her hand in mine without a word, and we carry on up the beach. She’s always a surprise.

And then, of course, I want more.

“I heard you were planning to testify.”

Silence. She doesn’t have to tell me anything, sure. It’s none of my business, even if I am her bodyguard.

“Maybe,” she says. The look on her face is unreadable, and then I’m lost in her eyes, anyway.

I struggle to keep my head in the game, and I lose. Fuck. I used to think of myself as a man of resolve. That was way before I met her.

I lead her over to the low rock ledge and sit her down. I can’t help myself. She won’t confide in me, sure, but she’ll allow this.

Or at least, Ihopeshe will.

“I miss you when you’re gone,” I say. I search her face, desperate to find any scrap of yearning in her eyes.

“No you don’t,” she spits back. Her eyes are anywhere but on me.

I stand in front of her, competing with the ocean, of all things, my cock hard and strained against my pants. I rest my hands on her thighs, and I knock over a little pile of stacked rocks with my elbow: somebody’s sculptural legacy on this ledge, destroyed.

My resolve collapses, and I’m afraid this is it, this is the rejection, and I’ll be pushed away from her and out of her life in one quick shove. But she runs a finger down the side of my face, and then she hikes that cute little sundress up around her hips. My heart’s flooded with relief and pounding with adrenaline, all in one breath.