“Come on, Emilie. Again?”

The photographer—a woman this time, thankfully—stops shooting and calls in the seamstress for the third time. Apparently, Emilie’s dress does not fit correctly as the shoulder keeps falling down. Her bare shoulders don’t offend me any, although it’s clearly not the look the Maria Orro Fashion House wants.

Emilie’s not usually this fussy, though. She sailed through the fittings yesterday after we arrived. Well, that’s what she told me anyway. Not like I was in the room with her. I block out the image of her standing around in just her underwear as people make adjustments to wardrobe pieces prepared for another model.

Shutting off such images has become harder and harder for me to do ever since that kiss in her attorney’s elevator. The way her body fit so perfectly against mine. How much she seemed to enjoy it as much as I did. She makes me want to open up and share all of my deepest secrets. Warts and all.

I shake my head. I don’t want her to come to any harm, and that’s exactly what would happen if I allow us to get any more involved. No, I must nip this in the bud. Or cut it off at the bud, as it were.

To redirect my thoughts, I scan the pier we’re shooting on. It’s part of a high falutin’ restaurant here on the northern part of the island. Given the off hour—the restaurant does not open for dinner for another three hours—it’s basically deserted around here. The few workers onsite are ignoring us. I can’t even distract myself with work. Crap.

The women traipse away and Emilie adjusts herself in the red dress. “I am ready,” her French accent drifts across the pier, lodging around my groin. I do a full three-sixty to check everything’s safe, as well as to give my body a moment to calm down.

“Good,” the photographer says and resumes shooting, directing Emilie to walk up and down the pier. She appears to be so carefree, yet I know her. Her eyes aren’t dancing. Her smile is fake. I check my watch—it’s three o’clock. Rose is being surprised with her bridal shower right about now.

The wind catches the bottom of the dress and swirls it up around her legs. Damn. The men in the crew stop moving around with the lights and windscreens and watch Emilie in action. When she moves, it’s like perfect choreography.

“Much better than Jaci would’ve been,” one lanky guy with long hair says to another, shorter one in a beanie.

“Yeah. Even if she’s a bitch to work with.”

My head whips to the two talking, and my legs take me to them without instruction. I barge into their conversation. “What did you just say? She saved your asses by agreeing to come here on a day’s notice, at severe personal expense I might add. I better not hear you even breathing a negative word about her again, got that?”

The shorter guy shrinks at my outburst. His friend steps between us. “No use getting all hostile, dude. Chill. Who are you, anyway? Her boyfriend?”

Automatically, I reply, “I’m her bodyguard.” My mind blanks. A bodyguard would never act like this.

The guy who called her a bitch swipes his beanie off his head and uses it to rub sweat off his forehead. “Some bodyguard,” he grumbles. “Let’s go, Victor.”

The two shuffle toward the action while I retreat. Dude, get yourself under control. If I can’t control my outbursts with strangers, how am I going to control the demons inside me with her?

From afar, I watch Emilie do her thing. She looks so forced. How can I help her get through this, like I promised her I would? Maybe if she virtually joins the shower she’ll feel better? I grab my cell and fire off a text to McKenna—Rose had given me her contact info way back when I was guarding Cole. I hope she can get back to me before the party’s over.

The group walks toward me from the pier, clearly finished with this set of photos. The next scene is at Starfish Point, a beach filled with the multicolored echinoderms a few miles away.

As they approach, the photographer says, “Go inside the restaurant and change into the jumpsuit. Once your hair and make-up are ready, meet me out front and we’ll shuttle over to Starfish Point.”

“D’accord,” Emilie replies.

That one word sounds as if it’s being pulled out of her. I check my phone. C’mon McKenna, get back to me.

Emilie disappears into the room designated for the shoot. In the main dining room, I check out the photos of various spots around the island that line the walls. One photo, in particular, catches my eye and I walk over to get a better look. It’s of the pier Emilie was just on during sunset. Mentally, I superimpose Emilie into it, wearing the thong bikini from Rio. No. I alter my mental picture—now she wears workout attire, with the word “Complete” across her chest.

“It’s beautiful here at sunset.”

I jump as the manager appears at my right. I shake my head—I’m being paid not to be surprised. Get your head out of your ass, Wills.

“I can see that.”

He plucks a card out of his back pocket and scribbles something across the back. “Feel free to stop by while you’re here. This will guarantee you a table.”

I accept his card and put it in my back pocket just as my cell pings with an incoming text. McKenna’s responded with a “try us in the next five minutes.”

Thanking the manager, I leave him and go to the room where Emilie’s getting changed and primped. Should I knock? Will she be decent? I close my eyes at the possibility of seeing her nearly naked and raise my hand to knock. I don’t have time to wait if I’m going to give Emilie her smile back. I tap on the closed door.

“Come in,” a familiar French accent floats through the air.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and enter the chaotic room. Tables and chairs have all sort of clothes, irons, hair and makeup stuff on them. Emilie’s standing by one of the windows, fully dressed—thank God—in a white pants outfit. The way the light plays off her hair appears like a halo.

“Wills?”

Ignoring all the bustle around us, I head for the angel in white. “How are you doing, Emilie?”

Khaki eyes meet mine. “I am fine.”

I don’t challenge her lie. Hopefully, this call will help. I hold up my cellphone. “I have a surprise.”

She tilts her head.

“I know someone who’s ready to FaceTime you in exactly,” I check the time, “one minute.”

Her eyes light up, the green becoming more pronounced. “Really?”

I smile. “Yes. McKenna wants you to call in to the shower now.”

She squeals and reaches for my phone. “I did not even think to ask. Merci!” She clicks on McKenna’s contact, who picks up right away.

“Hi, Em. My God, you look amazing. Your makeup is to die for.”

Emilie laughs and runs a shaky hand over her hair. “I am on a break at the photoshoot. How is the shower going? Was Rose surprised?”

“Oh, yes! I got her real good!” McKenna turns her head and calls for Rose to come over. Within seconds, Rose’s smiling face appears on the screen. What the hell is she wearing? She appears to have a paper plate filled with bows on her head.

The talking plate yells, “Emilie!”

Emilie’s smile gets even wider. “Congratulations on your shower! I hope you are having a blast.” The three start to talk about presents and games and wedding shit, so I beat a hasty retreat. They need their privacy. And I don’t need to know all the gory details of what goes on at such a party.

I’m halfway to the door when one of the guys from the pier, Victor, enters the room and bellows, “Emilie. Let’s get your hair fixed up so we can get going. Emilie? Where are you?”

I go over to him. “Give her a sec. She’s on a call.”

He frowns. “You again? Well, she’s on our dime.” He turns away and screams her name again.

I take a deep breath and count to three, knowing I can’t punch him in the throat to shut him down. I find Emilie with her back to us, facing the ocean although her head is turned toward me. Our eyes lock. Grabbing Victor’s arm, I control my hiss—barely. “Listen, she just needs to finish her call. I’ll make sure she’s off in a minute.”

Behind me, the workers are shaking out various swaths of material that look like oversized bibs. Victor points to the chair they’ve set up next to another set of windows. “She better be in that chair in two.”

Geez. She really has no control over her schedule at any turn. “I’ll make sure of it,” I reply, dramatically checking my watch. Victor leaves the room, taking some of his prickly energy with him.

After another minute ticks by, I know her time is up. Victor will return and it won’t be pretty because this time I will throat punch the asshole.

As I approach Emilie, I smile at her belly laugh. In between breaths, she manages to say, “So sorry I could not be there to have seen that with the sand!” Rose’s corresponding laughter flits through me. I’m grateful she’s here on earth to celebrate her upcoming wedding. She and Cole deserve this. And Emilie deserves to be there.

I touch Emilie’s shoulder and put my face next to hers. “Congrats, Rose. Sorry to break this up, but I need to steal Emilie away for final touch-ups.”

Emilie looks at me and nods. She knows I bought her as much time as I could. They say their goodbyes and I escort a very happy model to her chair, pocketing my cell. Water is being misted on her head from a spray bottle when Victor storms back into the room. Seeing his orders are being fulfilled, he barks, “Get a move on. We leave in thirty.”

From what I can see, Emilie could leave right this second. Whatever. I’ll never understand this business. Catching her eye, I motion toward the door and leave the experts to do their work.

In the main dining room, once again I find myself in front of the sunset photo. This time, the manager doesn’t startle me when he approaches. On a whim, I ask if it’s for sale.

“Yes. All of the photos are available. They’re taken by a local photographer.”

“I’d like to buy this one.” The manager rubs his hands together and takes care of my transaction, including my shipping details. I don’t usually purchase things like this, but it really spoke to me for some reason. Perhaps because it will always remind me of Emilie, even when she’s no longer a part of my life.

The crew packs up the SUVs for the trip to Starfish Point. At our new location, Emilie’s demeanor has visibly improved as a result of her phone call. I puff up, allowing myself a moment in the sun knowing that I helped bring her happiness to the fore this afternoon.

While she works, my eyes are drawn to a group of people who gather to check out the excitement. They’re in bathing suits, and no one poses a threat. I keep my head in the game and ignore Emilie’s posing as long as I can. From time to time, her laugh draws my attention. She’s standing in the water with the bottoms of her pants swirling around her ankles in the water. Gorgeous.

After a couple of hours, the shoot wraps. I let the crew precede me and I look out into the blue water. A memory of my sister learning how to surf floods my brain. She picked it up so quickly her abilities surpassed mine within months. My chuckle drops off as I brace myself from falling to my knees on the beach. This is the first memory of Three that has spontaneously come to me, and it made me laugh. No anger, no remorse. Ahead, Emilie runs to the tide and then back toward the beach. It’s because of her. She’s giving me my life back.

What is she doing to me?

Keep it professional, buddy. Remember what happens to people who get too close to you—they get burned.

I pick up the pace and rejoin the group at the cars. Emilie’s bent over, leaning into the SUV, exposing her ass and long legs. I can’t help but admire the view—more alluring than anything I just saw on the beach.

She straightens and turns from the vehicle, waving her cell phone. “Wills! Come back to the beach with me! I want to capture the starfish.”

Not a good idea. Before I can tell her no, she rushes to my side. “It was so amazing out there. Come with me.”

I swallow over my objection. I’m her bodyguard, after all. “Okay.”

She leads the way, the bottoms of her pants now sandy from when they got wet before. “I want to thank you for the FaceTime call before. I had not thought of it, and it made me feel like I was a part of the celebration. You are so thoughtful.” She links her arm in mine.

Thoughtful? Not a word I’ve associated with myself. My father calls me self-absorbed, Mom would say I’m introspective, while others in the security field would say detached. But, thoughtful?

She stands at the shoreline again, the waves lapping around her ankles. She bends down and takes a photo of a grouping of many-colored starfish, then turns her screen toward me so I can see her photo.

My eyes never leave her. “Looks nice.”

Her smile makes my heart seize. It’s such an unguarded smile that reaches up to her eyes. The green has almost overtaken the brown in them now. What’s pulling me to her is not that she’s fully done-up with her hair and makeup and clothes. It’s her essence shining through. I bet the professional photographer’s pictures don’t show half of what I’m seeing right now.

“I got the whole family!” She looks to the heavens and laughs. So carefree.

I freeze this moment in my brain. This is my Angel. Right here, right now.

I approach her and touch her hand that’s holding her cell, transferring it to my hand. “Ems, you take my breath away.”

Her laughter stops on an intake of breath. “Wills,” escapes her lips as if on a sigh.

Not caring who can see us, where we are or if any cameras are trained on us, I slip her phone into my back pocket with one hand while wrapping my other around her waist. I close the gap between us and bring my lips in to meet hers. I need to let her know what she’s doing to me. What she means to me, even if I don’t deserve her. I want to thank her for just being her.

This kiss isn’t the frenzied explosion of passion from the elevator. It’s not the sex-throbbed infusion of the club. Rather, it’s an acknowledgement of her inner beauty. A thanks for sharing her light with me.

Our lips graze and nibble and caress. Unknown sensations rock my body. Sensations that have absolutely nothing to do with sex—yet everything wrapped up in Ems. I’m starting to feel. The warmth of the sun, the light breeze against my skin. Both have been here all along, but I didn’t notice them before. That’s what she does to me.

The realization that we’re in public finally penetrates my mind. I break our kiss. “You’re something special, Emilie Dubois.”

Her hands skim the back of my neck and tangle in my hair. “As are you, Wills Sumner.” Her hands drop from my neck to my back and then hover around my ass. When she slips her fingers into my back pocket, the roar of the ocean disappears over the storm generated from within my own body. I step backward as she pulls her cell phone out of my pants.

“I want to get a photo of us here.”

I can’t deny her. “Sure.”

Emilie sets the camera to take a selfie and extends her arm. I tilt my head toward hers and she leans her face against me, then snaps three pictures in rapid succession. She shows me the photos—she’s all soft and exquisite and light. I’m her exact opposite. Hard. Rough. Dark. Ignorant to my line of thought, she kisses my lips again.

“We’d better be getting back. They must have packed up all the equipment by now.”

We turn and she holds her hand out to me. Feeling an imposter—pretending to be someone who deserves to be linked with her—I intertwine my fingers with hers, and we return to the cars. Once we’re in sight of the crew, though, I disengage from her. “Better that you go on ahead, Emilie.”

Her brows knit together. “I want to be seen with you.”

War.

My body and my head are at war. I know I’m not good for her yet my head’s losing this battle. I want her too damn much. Still, the rumor mill doesn’t need me to get their tongues wagging. “Not a good idea.”

Her smile sags, but she doesn’t fight me. I stop at the tree line, watching as she trudges through the tree roots until she meets up with the group and disappears inside the SUV.

As I follow her footsteps, the short guy from this afternoon closes the trunk of one of the vehicles. “Now I get it. You’re banging her.”

My eyes zero in on this douchebag and I approach him with measured steps. I grab him by the collar. “Listen, whatever you think you know, you don’t. And if I hear a whiff of a rumor about her, I’ll come back and make sure you never utter a lie again. Got it?”

Like before, he shrinks before my eyes. “Whatever, dude. No idea what she sees in a dick like you.”

All of my bluster disintegrates with the wind. He’s right. I push his body away from mine and stalk to the SUV, hopping into the passenger’s side. The ride back is uneventful. I offer one-word responses to the driver and pretend to listen to the radio, which obliterates the conversation from the backseat between Emilie and the photographer. It doesn’t stop the scent of lavender from attacking my senses, though.

She’s a beautiful, sweet, caring woman who brings light into the world.

And I’m the monster who chases it away.