It’s all I can do not to stare at her. Ten years and all she has done is get more fucking beautiful. I saw her on TV a few times, but it doesn’t even do her justice. The part that amazes me most is how the innocence still clings to her. She could tell me she’s still a virgin, and if I hadn’t been the one to take that from her personally, I would still believe her.

Her thin black dress rides so far up her thighs I think I could lean forward and catch a glimpse of her panties. Jesus Christ. Her legs look so smooth and soft that I can’t help imagining how great they would feel wrapped around me.

If the angry scowl on her face is any indication, I’m going to keep imagining, because she doesn’t look willing to let me anywhere near her yet. But fuck. What am I thinking? She’s a client. I don’t fuck around with clients. I never have, and I’ve worked for some clients who were practically begging to be fucked. Maybe it’s for the best that she seems to hate my guts. It will make it easier to keep my hands off her. At least a little bit easier.

We arrive at her stepfather's building. It’s a towering skyscraper. At least forty stories. We park in the underground garage and I get out of the car first, scanning the lot and pulling my jacket over the Glock holstered at my side. If someone wanted to hurt Makayla, I wouldn’t blame them for trying to do it here. There’s only one way out of the parking garage by car and two more by foot if you took the elevator or the stairs. As few as three people could lock down the entire area and keep us from slipping away.

“What are you scowling at?” asks Makayla as she steps out the car.

“This place is perfect for an ambush.”

She smirks, lowering her chin in an attempt to deepen her voice as she mimics me. “Perfect for an ambush.”

She laughs at her impersonation, but I don’t return her smile. “If I’m going to keep you safe, I need you to take this seriously.”

“Don’t I look serious?” she asks before adjusting her bag on her shoulder and walking past me. I’m forced to follow behind her, keeping my eyes on alert, scanning the garage for any sign of danger. I’m perfectly alert until I realize how perfect her wide hips and ass look from behind. She taps the elevator button and waits, crossing her arms.

“We should take the stairs,” I say. “It’s safer.”

Her eyes dart to the stairwell and she gives a tight shake of her head. “No. We’ll take the elevator.”

I can tell there’s more going on than just stubbornness, but I let it go, for now.

Two people file out of the elevator, leaving us to ride up alone together. I step between her and the doors once she punches in her stepfather's floor. I’m always watchful over my clients, but being around Makayla after so long has me hyper-aware. Maybe she’s not mine like she used to be, but she’s mine to protect. It’s enough to have my fingers itching for my gun.

I knew I missed her, but I didn’t realize I would still want her this badly. Fuck. I’ve practically had a hard-on since I first saw her on the set just thinking about the things I would do to her behind closed doors. Hell, even thinking about the things I would do to her out in the open has me hard.

The door dings before we reach our floor and a Spanish woman with fuck-me eyes and tall heels clicks her way in. She does a double take when she sees me. “Jesse?” she asks incredulously.

I give her another look and then it hits me. Shit. I met her at Maverick’s a few months back. I can’t remember much else, though. I’ve tried to fill the void for so long now, sometimes with alcohol, sometimes with forgettable one-night stands, but it’s all a blur to me. Just more regret to throw on the pile.

“You must have me confused for someone else,” I say, hoping to avoid a scene.

“No,” says Makayla, turning her full attention on the woman and planting her hands on her hips. “He’s exactly who you think. Jesse Slade. He can be a little forgetful. Why don’t you remind him what he did to you?”

I can tell by the look in the woman’s eyes she thinks she’s about to out me to my girlfriend. “He fucked me and then kicked me out of his place the next morning without so much as an apology.” She steps toward me, jabbing me in the chest with a finger. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

Makayla gives me a look that hurts more than I’d like to admit, like she’s seeing me for what I’ve become and she doesn’t like it. I want to run my hands through my hair and go find some space, but I’m working, so I square up and watch the doors. Let her be pissed, let all of them be pissed. I just need to stay focused on the job at hand and get this done. It’s no use in explaining. What am I going to say? Ever since I left you in high school, no woman has felt right. No one can fill the void you left. Fucking right. I’d look insane, so I keep my mouth shut.

I ignore the tense silence that follows until the door opens and we leave the still fuming woman behind. Makayla seems to be walking even faster now, striving to get more distance between herself and me.

“Was I supposed to stay celibate after I left?” I ask when we enter the main building. With more emotion in my voice than I like, but there’s nothing to be done about it now.

“You were supposed to do whatever the hell you wanted, like you always did. And don’t flatter yourself by thinking I care who you slept with. I couldn’t care less. You can sleep with whoever you want for all I care.”

“Right,” I say dryly. “That’s why you look ready to put your fist through a wall.”

She rounds on me, cheeks flushed. “Fine. You want some truth? It just makes me sick to see how far you’ve fallen. I thought you were better than that.” She turns again, whipping her blonde hair behind her as she storms through the polished marble hallways lined with expensive paintings.

I clench my teeth together, hating how much her words sting. I want to tell her the truth, about everything, about why I really left, about the lies I told her to make sure she could forget me and move on. All of it. But I know right now it’d fall on deaf ears. Besides, I have a job to do. No matter how I might feel, that shit is all secondary. I need to protect Makayla at all costs, and if my past is going to get in the way, I need to try to get fucking control, and fast.

She walks past a secretary who obviously recognizes her and scrambles to call ahead to her boss before we reach his office. We move through a hallway crowded with doors until we reach a door at the end of the hall, set apart from the rest. Makayla raises a hand to knock and pauses when voices come from within.

“...insurance policy will handle that,” says a man’s deep voice.

“You had better hope, Mr. Walsh. If this scheme of yours falls through, then you won’t be far behind it.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll call you when it’s time.”

I don’t like the tone of the man’s voice at all. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but there’s a touch of malice in his voice that makes me think he’s not talking about car insurance.

The door swings open and a man in an expensive suit pauses when he sees us waiting outside, but only for a moment. He straightens his tie and shoves past, the click of his shoes on the marble fades away as he leaves the way we came.

The office is large and obviously meant to be impressive. Everything seems over-sized from the rug to the desk to the paintings on the wall and even the ridiculous view. Everything except the man behind the desk, whose small size is amplified by the enormity of his surroundings.

“Makayla, who’s this?” He asks. I recognize the voice. He’s the one who was just saying he would get someone money. Money for what though? And what insurance policy was he talking about?

“My bodyguard” she says. She turns to me next, giving a sarcastically grand wave of her hand toward the small man behind the desk. “Bodyguard, let me introduce Hubert Walsh, my stepfather.”

I try not to let my irritation show. I’m personal fucking protection. Not some low-rent bodyguard.

There’s a man standing in the corner of his office wearing a suit that’s a little too big. He’s so burly that he’s probably more for show than for effectiveness, but he’s clearly security--no, a bodyguard. What is a businessman doing with a bodyguard? Most businessmen would obviously have security for the building, but only someone with a lot of enemies would feel the need to have a bodyguard stationed in his office.

There’s a look on Hubert’s face as he sizes me up that I can’t place. I can tell he’s impressed with me, but it almost seems as though he’s irritated. “A bodyguard? He looks expensive. What happened to my frugal little flower?” He smiles adoringly at her, smoothing over some of the accusation in his question.

Makayla straightens self-consciously. “He was actually very cheap. Practically free.”

I shift in annoyance. Like fuck I am. But I know she’s just trying to get under my skin, so I keep silent.

Hubert purses his lips. “Sweetie, why didn’t you just ask? You could have had your pick of any of my men.”

“If your men are all like him, I don’t blame her,” I say.

Hubert’s face is deadly calm as he slides his eyes to rest on me. He makes a show of sizing me up and then huffs dismissively before looking back to Makayla. “Does he always speak without permission like that?”

My fingers itch for his fucking throat. It would be so easy. Hell, I could just flip his massive desk and let gravity do the work of crushing his skull. The bodyguard probably wouldn’t even be fast enough to draw his gun in time to stop me.

I’m not usually like this on the job. I put protection first and my own pride second. I just can’t stand seeing this fucker push Makayla, even if it’s just a little. The way he chided her for not using one of his men reeked of a controlling personality, like she’s obligated to run her decisions through him. Fuck that. She’s a grown woman and shouldn’t have to answer to a prick like him.

“What was it you called me here to talk about again?” asks Makayla, clearly attempting to diffuse the tension. “And where’s Maria?”

“Julia,” he corrects with an easy smile.

Makayla makes an innocent face and shrugs.

Hubert sighs, templing his fingers in front of his mouth. “I just got through talking with my good friend, Police Chief Watts.” He pauses to see if we’re impressed by the name he dropped. We’re not.

“And Chief Watts told me there is reason to believe these stalkers are more organized than the media would indicate. He thinks they are backed by a wealthy individual, and that their numbers are growing every day.” Hubert clears his throat. “My first thought was keeping you safe. So I made arrangements to have personal protection provided for you. I want you to cooperate with them, even if you did hire this… thug. You can keep him, but make sure he doesn’t get in the way of the real professionals.”

My jaw flexes and I’m a breath away from putting this soft businessman on his back and breaking his bodyguard’s nose. My voice is tense when I turn to Makayla, speaking low. “No way,” I say. “I work alone. They will get in the--”

“I’ll cooperate with them,” she says to Hubert. “The more the merrier. Right, Jesse?” she asks.