“Please stay while I clean up. I don’t really want to go to sleep yet. I could ask Retta next door to come over, but she has the kids.”

“I am here for you as long as you require.”

“I require you to hang out. Just a bit. And I require you take off your jacket. Oh, and I require you eat some potato chips with me.”

I was still in the suit and tie, Petra’s sanctioned work attire in Vegas.

“I don’t eat potato chips and this is my uniform.” She took a step toward me.

I resisted and raised an eyebrow. She matched the gesture. Today was a day of restraint. Epic restraint on my part, and it was being tested again. I allowed Marilyn to pry my folded arms open. She then slid her hands under my jacket and removed it. I could feel her hands through the starch of my dress shirt. She was doing what she could to connect herself to me, it seemed.

She finished removing my jacket, and her look had switched from challenge to question. A man who didn’t respond to her was an anomaly I imagine, another good reason to stay away. I wondered again about my assessment of her. Was she innocent or just really good at this? For a woman who looked like her, ensnaring men was a survival tactic. As the thought crossed my mind, her kitten wound itself around one of my ankles and then sauntered off. Were they the same – doling out a little affection and vulnerability so you’d take care of them?

Was it the real her? This sweet vulnerability? Was it something the real Marilyn would do? Was cotton candy hair just the tip of the bombshell iceberg? The brain underneath that blonde hair knew just how to play Barchek and me. I’d watched her do it.

In my case, she didn’t need to entice me to stay. I was being paid. That’s right. I stayed for the cash. And if you believe that, I’ve got a line on a horse for you.

I remained outwardly unmoved; she was trying to break my veneer and I knew it. I was stoic, so she turned on her heel and headed for the shower. She already had me under her thumb, she just didn’t have to know it yet.

She emerged much as I’d seen her in the first moment early in the day. Was this still the same day? I’d gone through some major emotional bullshit since I’d walked into this place, and the longer I stayed with her, the worse this bullshit would get. But I couldn’t leave just yet, not when I saw her try to sit.

She went to sit down on the kitchen chair she’d perched upon earlier while dolling herself up for the assignment and shot back up like there was a tack on it or something.

“Ooh. I forgot.” She rubbed her backside. Barchek had clearly left behind more than I thought from watching on the monitor.

“I am going to have to take a look.”

“It’s nothing.”

“No more argument. Mr. Barchek will be banned if he can’t behave. Also, we need to see if you have to go to Petra’s physician.”

“I can’t afford that.”

“Petra will pay if you need care. Now I’m going to lift up the back of your robe to take a look alright?” I didn’t want her to be afraid or embarrassed.

“Well, I guess you’ve seen it all already.” She slid the robe aside, her rounded cheeks covered in white cotton panties, the thong long gone.

“I need to slide them down to see, is that alright?”

“Sure.”

I slid her cotton panties slowly down her rounded little ass. I was careful not to hurt what was already bruised. The panties rested just under her cheeks, and there they were two deepening bruises on her otherwise white flesh. They were pink, turning purple, and by tomorrow would likely be plum colored. Both were the size of Barchek’s ugly mouth. I wanted to soothe her. Gentle the bruises away somehow. But there was no way to unmark her. Barchek had done a great job being a first-class asshole.

I used my hands to rotate her from back to front. I rolled the panties so they rested on her thighs. This was not an attempt to see more of her, but really to assess what she’d endured, and decide if I needed to call Doc.

At the top of her thighs where they met her pelvis were four finger-sized marks on both sides. When he’d grabbed her and pushed her open, he’d bruised her like a peach. I ran my thumb over both. The skin wasn’t broken. I wanted to kiss every mark, make it better. God help me, I did. But I didn’t do it. Instead, I noted there was bruising, but no blood. There was likely nothing a doctor could do anything for. She wasn’t broken.

I slowly slid her panties back to her hips and closed her robe. I was hard as a rock at this point, but she didn’t need to know about it. She needed someone who cared if she was hurt. She needed someone who could control the urge to fuck her senseless. I was barely that person. Any man who saw her would have a hard on. I wanted her to know I was different. Why? I wanted her to trust me. She had to trust me. Actually, she had to trust whoever Petra sent next to guard her. Her life did depend on it. I wasn’t going to be the reason she ignored what her security advised.

“Lovely, eh,” she said and tried to make light of it.

“You’ll live. But do you understand that you do not have to endure injury?”

“I don’t think this was on purpose.”

“You need to let your client know if he is too rough. You must do that. Or I will advise your next bodyguard to do it for you.”

“My next bodyguard? What about you?”

“This is my last assignment. Your security will be handled by one of Petra’s other very qualified staff members. I am retiring.”

“Was it something I said?” She was taking this personally. That was not my intention, but if ever I needed to get away from someone or something, it was her. My thoughts, upon seeing the bruises, were murderous.

“No ma’am. I’m just done. I did this job as a favor to Petra. You’ll be just fine.” I grabbed my coat and made a quick step to the door.

“And I never even told you my safe word.”

“Can I give you some advice?” I couldn’t stand it. She had to be warned.

“Sure.”

“Get out of this now. Go find a job doing something else. Or a nice guy. Or a rich guy. This is not the kind of job for people that bruise easily.”

“I thought you were a nice guy. And I’m tougher than I look.” She sat down hard on the chair, ignoring the bruises I’d just seen to prove how tough she was.

“Good luck, Marilyn.” And I walked out. I didn’t look back for fear of seeing her and being totally undone. I didn’t inhale for fear of smelling her and being drugged by it. And I for sure could never touch her again. I’d shown epic restraint with her in all areas in my opinion, but I was no nice guy, and that was a fact.