Phew!

I already feel tons better, and now I’m just nervous until James gets here.

Once he arrives, a different type of nervousness will probably set in—I’ve never been alone with him in this apartment before.

The whole time I was with Leonard, I never really had the space to process my responses to James.

I mostly hung out with him while Leonard was around and a few times when Leonard suddenly went MIA, but that’s it.

I’d reacted unexpectedly to his voice on the other end of the line a few minutes ago, and now that it’s quiet again, I’m forced to deal with what that means.

I was always hyper-alert around James, paying attention to his body language.

At some point, I realized that I found him attractive, but I wrote it off as being intrigued by his profession.

I tracked the way he navigated the civilian world once he returned to it from parts unimaginable, paying close attention to signs that he was still a normal human being.

I figured I was simply fascinated with him the way we get fascinated with anyone—male or female—living a vastly different life from ours.

I know by now that I’m legit attracted to him—the naughty fantasies I had made that clear—and it’s not just because he was turned into a deadly weapon on behalf of the U.S.; it’s not just shallow.

I’m actually looking forward to gazing into his eyes again, giving him an unexpected laugh.

That’s what I liked to do back in the day—crack his stoic composure; I thought of it as a test of his humanity.

Sure, there are humorless people who’ve never gone to war, but I wanted to see if I could reach past his carefully constructed mask, his professional shield, whatever character he was playing to convince everyone he was still a normal human being.

And every now and then, he showed me—he could soften; he wasn’t a monster.

But now I kind of need him to be.

Got a bodyguard! I text Kiara to refocus my mind.

She sends back a question mark, followed by, That quick?

Before I can answer, my phone is ringing.

“What the…?”

“It’s a guy I used to know. Military. I was just asking if he knew anybody, and he volunteered.”

“Wow. That easy, huh? And what do you mean ‘volunteer?’ Like, for free? Sounds suspect.”

I chuckle to myself.

This is so like us: me—not suspicious enough of things, her—suspicious of everything.

“No, I’m paying him—well, sort of. He’s doing it for much less than he usually would because we kind of go way back.”

“Oh, okay. I definitely need to hear more, but I have to go right now. My friggin’ manager…”

I giggle. “Tell you more soon. Promise.”

I’m still smiling when we disconnect.

My day has significantly improved with just two phone calls—from stalker fears to relief at James’s offer to amusement at watching Kiara navigate her own growing popularity as a singer.

But I quickly realize it’s not enough to keep me distracted from another feeling for long, and my mind is back to the thought of James in another context.

His fit, masculine form will be in my personal space soon, his muscular arms wrapped around me in greeting.

I shake my head and hurry to my computer to get my daily routine going.

First, I upload today’s video to my YouTube channel, and then I check my social media, beginning with Facebook.

I scowl at the first photo that pops up in my feed: my ex grinning with his new girlfriend—a pretty olive-skinned girl with tons of dark hair and sharp, calculating dark eyes.

Apparently, the photo is part of a whole album—Me and my Queen—and it’s loaded with photos of the couple doing various things.

I don’t know how the fuck it ended up in my feed—I blocked my ex long ago, so he shouldn’t be able to see any of my posts, and I sure as hell made it so I can’t see any of his.

Then I realize that someone tagged a whole bunch of people in it, even though none of us are in the picture.

I proceed to delete this mutual ‘friend.’

Did they think they were being funny?

I thought I had rooted out problematic mutuals—I’m no longer a Facebook friend of any of Leonard’s family members or close friends. Besides James, that is.

The main problem is that Leonard and I went to the same college, so we have a lot of legitimate mutual connections.

I scroll through Instagram, then Twitter, my eyes automatically scanning for the telltale sign of a message from J—one sandwiched between symbols, consistent in every single message, which is how he got me to notice it in the first place and how I pick them out every time.

>>>Don’t be such a slut for the world…<<<

No message on Twitter today, but I guess since J sent one directly to my email this time, his mission is complete.

My phone suddenly buzzes, making me jump.

Here, the text bubble says, and my heart pounds harder.

Where the hell did the time go? Or did James fly here?

While I’m still wondering if I should meet him downstairs or wait for him to reach the door, I hear a knock.

“It’s me,” a familiar voice says, and I ignore my flip-flopping stomach, unlock the locks and swing the door wide open for the man behind it.

James’s mouth tilts into a smile when he sees me, and we reach for each other at the same time, our bodies quickly melding into a greeting hug.

It’s warm and delicious and surprisingly comforting, and I quickly realize I’m in even more danger than I thought as my body responds with wetness at my core.

What the heck? A hug and I’m ready for his cock?

What’s gotten into me?

I figure my self-imposed celibacy is messing with me.

I decided to take a break from intimate relations after Leonard and I broke things off, so it’s been a while—apparently, too long. So long, that just the suggestion of nether regions lining up has me ready to go.

I pull away, and it seems he resists for a moment, but we disentangle.

“Come in,” I say, stepping back to give him room.

His blue eyes dart around immediately, raking over the lines and edges of my living space, and then he begins a more thorough search.

When he’s done checking out the place, he returns to me in the living room.

His eyes dart to the door.

“Why didn’t you lock up behind me?”

I feel sort of silly. “I guess I figured since you were here…” I shrug. And then I wonder why he didn’t lock up behind himself—isn’t he my protector?

“It was a test, Angel. Yes, I’m here now, and I’ll be around, looking out for you, but that doesn’t mean you can start leaving doors unlocked and posting your address on the web, letting everyone know when and where you’ll be. The lesson: Don’t ever let your guard down. Play an active role in your own safety.”

“Yes, sir,” I grumble, a little stung by the rebuke.

But he doesn’t have to tell me twice.

Don’t let your guard down.

That’s a lesson I kept learning, first at home when I learned not to get my hopes up when my mom said my dad was coming to meet me, for real this time. My dad, of course, never showed up; I only kind of know what he looks like from some photos.

Then there was my first serious relationship, which taught me to pay attention to signs of discontent. Don’t let emotions trick you into not seeing what’s plainly there—if it walks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a duck.

What I wanted was some fairy tale where the guy I liked was ‘the one’ and we’d get married, etc., but in reality, that dude was nowhere near ready settling down, and my desire for a fantasy overrode the evidence in front of me that he was emotionally withdrawing until he blatantly cheated, something I eventually figured out was a way to remove my claws in him, set himself free.

The most recent hard lesson—my last relationship.

My god, what an ass Leonard turned out to be!

He was so charming and interesting at first, but eventually, it became clear he wanted to control me.

He started telling me who he didn’t want me to talk to, where he didn’t want me to go, and what he didn’t like me doing.

Since this was at the beginning of me launching my current career, I didn’t take kindly to such demands.

He couched them all in concern, told me he didn’t want to see me hurt, that he wanted to protect me.

Once I made it clear that I was going to do what I wanted to do, have whatever friends I wanted, and work seriously on my career, he showed his true colors.

He told me I’d be wasting my time, considering my lack of skills and talent, that I might as well just bet on him—he could take care of me.

But fuck that—I’m not here to be ‘taken care of,’ not like that.

I got a clear image of what that would look like with him—him holding over my head that he’s the major contributor, him reserving the right to do whatever he wanted while preventing me from doing the same. Him controlling me after having successfully cut me off from my remaining family and friends, moving me to a place where I knew no one, stopping my independence in its tracks. Him knocking me up, affirming my only place is barefoot and pregnant and slaving behind a stove when not scrubbing floors and toilets.

It might have been a bit cartoonish in my head, but my gut said that the freedom I so enjoy now would not have been possible with him. At every turn, he’d be aiming to cut me off at the knees, all while smiling and telling me it’s for my own good.

Leonard got super annoying once I ended it, messaging me about how he still loved me, that I was the one for him. How I was the best-looking girlfriend he’d ever had, that we were meant to be together.

I told him to stop contacting me, and eventually, I had to put my foot down hard because he still wouldn’t leave me alone.

That’s when his messages got a bit nastier.

Who did I think I was? He was a good catch. I was easily replaceable.

He stopped after several of his messages went unanswered.

I blocked him everywhere for good measure, erasing him in all possible ways from my life.

“Don’t take any of this personally,” James says gently, nudging me out of my mental drift. “I’m in charge of your safety now, and I’ll need you to listen to me. In some cases, I can only advise you, and it would serve you well to take my advice, but ultimately, I’m just here to look out for you, not control you.”

I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

I’m aware that whatever he advises me is for my benefit, but part of me had bristled at the thought of having to follow instructions and rules like he’s my drill sergeant; I don’t take well to people telling me what to do, even when it’s for my own good.

I’m obviously willing to make exceptions in this case, but I don’t want to feel suffocated—unless, of course, it’s a close call while trapped beneath James’s hard, muscular body after mind-blowing sex…

I shake my head a bit. Mind out of the gutter, Angel.

Although the naughty thoughts pause, my eyes don’t stop roving James’s masculine lines, appreciating the suggestion of a sculpted body beneath his clothing.

I can imagine the rippling muscles, the hard abs…

His concentrated gaze pulls my attention.

I realize he caught me mentally undressing him, and his blue eyes look intense as he stares at me.

Shit, this probably wasn’t the best idea after all.