Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

I begrudgingly gave him my gaze.

“I’m keeping this assignment because, if your brother tries to make a move, I’m gonna be the man to keep you safe. And, if you get freaked out, then get freaked out. I’ll be the man to take care of that too. I’m not sure how taking my girlfriend out to dinner is going to translate on a résumé, but for me, it’ll be worth it. So, yeah, Rhion. This is me checking in for duty. And tonight, when I take you out to dinner, I’ll ask Johnson to tag along, not because I need him there, but because I think you do. We’ll take this transition slow, okay?”

My heart soared as I stated the obvious. “You don’t like Johnson.”

“Not even a little bit, though he’s growing on me since I found out he’s been taking care of you since you were a kid.”

I sucked in a shaky breath and buried my face in his neck. “Thank you.”

“How about you save the gratitude for when I have you naked tonight, and for now, give me some of the real pieces of Rhion Park?”

I smiled and allowed the truth to slip from my lips. “I’m a romance author.”

He rumbled in frustration, “I’m serious, Rhion.”

I leaned back so I could see him. “I am, too. I started writing after the fire.” Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Okay, so maybe some pieces could wait until we’d been together for more than a few days.

He tipped his head to the side and studied my face. “I have no idea if you’re bullshitting me or not.”

“It’s true, I swear. I’ve written fifteen books now.”

He blinked and asked in disbelief, “And you make enough selling them to cover a downtown apartment, personal chefs, and twenty-four-hour protection?”

“Oh God, no. I don’t sell them. I just write them.”

He twisted his lips and drawled, “Aaand, again, I have no idea if you’re serious or not.”

I laughed. “I’ve never published them. Have you ever sat down and read reviews online?”

“I can honestly say I have not.”

“Well, let’s just say they aren’t always pretty. I would have to stay drunk for, like, a month if I ever unleashed my books into the world. Writing is my therapy. It helps me get my thoughts and feelings out. It’s an outlet for my creativity, and I don’t need anyone else judging that. I’d do it for free, but a girl’s got to eat. When I signed over control of the money to Pete, I was already hiding out in my apartment, so a nine-to-five job was out. Not that I really had any special skills to begin with. My degree is in journalism, but I basically went to college to make Dad happy and stay away from Apollo. My first job out of college was recovering from the burns. That’s when I started writing, and I fell in love. There are a few people who read my books, like my best friend, Brianna, and occasionally my stepsister, Katie. But I like it that way. The deadlines give me a schedule so I don’t feel like I’m wasting away in this apartment, and the money is just an incentive. I’ll get a stipend whether I finish them or not, but the way Pete and I set it up, I get an additional bonus each time I finish a book. They keep my heart happy. My mind sharp. And my hands busy. It might sound silly, but it’s my dream job. And I don’t care one bit that no one reads them. I don’t need the approval from others. Those books are for me. No one else.”

He failed to keep a straight face as he said, “So, let me get this straight. You write stories that no one will ever read, and then someone pays you with your own money, which is enough for you to wear twelve-hundred-dollar heels and spend ridiculous amounts of money on a little girl you’ve only known for hours?”

I swayed my head from side to side in consideration. “Pretty much. And you might think it’s insane, and in some ways, it is. But, at this juncture in time, I’d like to remind you that you just admitted to knowing how much my shoes cost, which means either you have a predilection for high heels—a fetish that could potentially bode well for me if this relationship works out—or you actually took the time to look up my shoes on the Internet and see how much they cost. Which, I’ll be very honest, makes you look rather creepy. So I’m not sure you are currently in the position to call anyone insane.”

Jude smiled. And I’m talking a wide, blinding, white smile that made my stomach dip and a soft moan escape my lips.

He leaned me back until my shoulders were against the couch, and then he rolled on top of me, where he kissed me, hard and wet.

“I retract my statement. You’re a lot crazy,” he murmured against my lips.

I was. But, if the way Jude’s cock thickened between us was any indication, he liked it.

He confirmed this when he pushed my shirt up and aimed his mouth to my breast, mumbling, “I gotta say—I like it, Butterfly.”





“Katie, I swear to God, if you do not call me back, I’m flying to your house and kicking the door down. Yes, I know I have a key, seeing as the building is still in my name, but I’ve always wanted to kick a door down. And, as your landlord, I’m going to charge you double to fix it.” I peeked my head out of my bedroom door and saw Jude hovering over the maps sprawled across my dining room table.

I smiled to myself.

It had been a week since that night on Jude’s dining room table, and I could honestly say it had been hands down the best seven days of my life. I hadn’t written a single word in that time, but it had been worth missing every self-imposed deadline for those nights spent in his arms.

After silently closing the door again, I went back to cussing my stepsister out on her voicemail for what had to be the hundredth time. “I can’t believe you told your mother about my books!” I hissed. “She almost busted me out in front of Jude. But you probably already knew about that, considering you gave her my address! What the hell was that about? You fucked up big time. Now, call me back so I can scream at you. Voice messages aren’t nearly as therapeutic as the real thing.” I pressed end and let out a loud growl.

She’d call back eventually, probably right before her birthday. This year, I’d decided to really stick it to her by shopping in the online clearance section. Unfortunately, I knew myself well enough to know I’d get bored with the clearance stuff and click over to the shoes and we’d both end up with a new pair of Manolo Blahniks. I had a serious weakness for shoes.

After flopping onto my bed, I hit Pete’s number on the speed dial. It had been a while since we’d talked, and while I’d filled Sandy in on everything about Jude just the day before, Pete had yet to return my call.

“Peter Higgins’s office,” Sandy answered.

“Hey, it’s Rhion.”

“Oh, hey, baby.”

I grinned. “Any chance Pete’s free?”

“You’ve got good timing. He just walked out of a meeting. Hang on and I’ll put you through.”

“Hey,” I said, catching her before she transferred the call. “Did you have a chance to, um…”