Chapter Ten

 

Abe

 

The next morning I’m tired and grumpy as fuck from not getting any sleep. How could I when the sexiest woman in the world was sleeping right up the stairs. After seeing her in the hallway without a bra on, I wanted to be in that room with her. No, not just with her but inside of her.

But Mercy didn’t give me any indication that I was welcome in her bed, and my job was to watch out for her, so I crashed on the sofa instead of Chase and Sasha’s other guestroom. That would’ve put me in a bed too close to Mercy. Besides, I wanted to keep an eye on the driveway to make sure the creep, who is apparently obsessed with her, didn’t follow her to the farmhouse.

As soon as Mercy woke up and came downstairs, she said she had to go home to get ready. I followed her back to her place on my bike so that she could shower and whatever else women do.  

While she’s in her bathroom, I wander through the entire one-story house and make sure that all of the locks on the windows are in place, then pull all the blinds closed so no one can look in on Mercy when she’s undressing or just going about her daily routine.

I didn’t realize how exhausted I really was until Mercy steps into the living room. She’s wearing a purple dress that crisscrosses at her waist and hugs her curves. Just the sight of her nearly knocks me off my feet.

“I’m ready,” she says before I can tell her how hot she looks. “I love the bike, but I guess we better take my car today?”

“Yeah,” I agree, my voice so husky that it sounds more like “eh.” And she loves my bike? I can’t wait to have her on the back of it again.

After I check the yard to make sure it’s clear and then lock up the house tight, I go around and squeeze into the passenger seat of her BMW. Once I’m seated, I have to quickly find the lever to move the seat backward because my knees are digging into the damn dashboard.

Mercy’s giggle in the silence has my heavy eyes cutting to hers. I throw her a gruff, “What?” even though the sound of her laughing is beautiful just like her, and it makes me want to pull her onto my lap and kiss her pouty, red lips. I didn’t even kiss her on the lips the other day, did I? I’m such a moron.

“You’re too big for my car,” Mercy says, smiling her perfect smile that’s contagious.

“I’m not too big,” I tell her while adjusting the seat as far as it will go and then resting my palms on my thighs. “See, I fit.”

“Barely,” Mercy points out as she looks up to where my hair is grazing the roof. “Will the seatbelt go around you?”

“Yes,” I huff. “I’m not a fat ass.”

“I wasn’t implying that you were,” she responds. “You’re a big man, that’s all. There’s nothing wrong with that. You look…capable.”

“Capable?” I repeat.

“Yeah,” she says. “Capable of picking men up by their necks and throwing them around like the Hulk.”

“The angry, green man?”

“Yeah, but a lot of women like that. They want a protector who they can depend on to keep them safe,” she tells me as she buckles her seatbelt.

And yeah, my chest puffs out a little at the thought of her seeing me as her protector. That’s why I’m hanging out with her today, right? To keep any psychos away. Whatever the reason, I like being hers, even if the only reason she wants me around is to protect her. That must be it since she didn’t invite me into her bedroom last night. Mercy said the sex was great but not great enough to fuck me again.

Which blows.

It would’ve sucked to have to be near her if I didn’t know how sweet her pussy tasted or how incredible it feels to be inside of her without a rubber. But now that I do know all of those things, it’s going to be fucking torture to stop myself from getting distracted when I’m supposed to be acting as her bodyguard.

We get parked in front of the huge warehouse type building, and then I walk Mercy straight inside to a room that actually has her name on the door. It’s a little impressive, and I want to take a photo of it when she’s not looking.

I take it that this is supposed to be Mercy’s dressing room since it’s full of racks of clothes and bright ass lights around mirrors. Two random women come in a moment later, moving in a hurry as one starts rubbing shit on Mercy’s face and the other takes a hot iron thing to her hair. Why are they doing all that? I have no fucking clue since her face and hair looked gorgeous the way she had it after her shower. Hell, the woman even looked amazing right out of bed this morning when she came down the stairs.

“So, ah, what’s this show about?” I ask Mercy as the two women continue to frantically work on her and she sits stock-still like a statue of a Greek goddess.

“It’s a, ah, a dating show,” Mercy answers.

“A fucking dating show?” I repeat.

“Uh-huh.”

“So you signed up to date some random guy on television?” I ask, unable to wrap my head around the idea.

“Something like that…”

“There are actually twenty guys,” the hairdresser person, who is obviously eavesdropping on our conversation, casually throws out.

“Twenty!” I exclaim, and without moving her head, Mercy’s green eyes cut to mine and narrow as if to warn me to cool it.

“My bodyguard is concerned about my safety around so many strangers,” Mercy tells the hairdresser. And I get that she put an emphasis on strangers since she and I have only known each other for two days. I don’t care for the way she refers to me as just her bodyguard either, even if that is the only title I have. For whatever reason, I want to make a t-shirt that proclaims that I’ve had my tongue in Mercy’s pussy for so long I can still taste her even days after the act. And I swear I can. Even if it was just one time, it seems important enough to broadcast my accomplishment. I doubt Mercy feels the same, however.

“So why do you need to be on a dating show? I’m guessing you don’t have any problems getting asked out,” I mutter.

“It’s a big draw from viewers,” she replies. “They love the drama of eliminating women, or in my case, men, until I pick ‘the one.’”

“The one?” I repeat with a scoff. Does she mean like the man of her dreams or some bullshit? “You think you’ll find that in a group of random asshats?”

“Maybe,” she answers with a smile. “I fell for Blake that way, so it happens.”

“Blake?” The sound of his name tastes as nasty and bitter as spraying lemon juice directly on my tongue.

“He was the King of Hearts last season, and I was one of twenty women,” she explains.

“Could he be the loser who wrote the note?” I ask.

Again, I get that angry, narrowed-eyed look from her that’s a silent demand that I shut up. It’s also sexy as fuck to see her beautiful face try to look all angry. She fails and looks adorable instead.

Adorable? Fuck, I’ve turned into a full-blown pussy.

“It wasn’t from him,” Mercy snaps in his defense.  

“How do you know?”

“Because he picked someone else. Now they’re married, living happily ever after in Bali,” she answers with a tone of voice that implies she doesn’t approve of that shit. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

It hits me that from the tension in her voice and defensiveness that this son of a bitch hurt her.

 How could he pick any woman over Mercy? She’s fucking perfect. Not just in the looks department either, but god, she’s sexy and sweet and there’s no one who could compare to her. Does she actually miss the fucker?

And while she may believe that the asshole is living a happy life with someone else, I think I’ll still find out his last name and have Reece do a search on him to make sure he isn’t hanging around in town. To me, the bastard seems like the most likely suspect – the dumb ass who passed up an opportunity to be with Mercy. Then, when his stupidity eventually caught up to him, he realized how badly he fucked up and is trying to fix it.

Mystery solved. Mercy’s stalker has to be her fucking ex.

 

…

 

“It’s not her ex,” Reece says to me on the phone a few minutes later when I call him. He’s easily able to figure out the dickhead’s full name with a few clicks on a keyboard and the name of the show.

“How can you be sure?” I ask.

“Because Blake Burton hasn’t left Bali. In fact, according to his credit card history, this morning he bought groceries. Now I’m looking at him sitting on his deck through his doorbell camera.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. If he’s crossed off the list of suspects, then we’re back to square one. “You got the security system in yet?” I ask Reece, since he ordered it last night and had it overnighted despite the fact that the shipping fees are as much as the system itself. I don’t care what it costs. I told him I’d pay him back, because Mercy needs to have her house monitored ASAP.

“Jesus, man. Not yet. I told you I would bring it over and install it as soon as it gets in.”

“Fine,” I grumble.

“You just need to focus on watching your girl’s back for now,” Reece tells me. I don’t bother correcting his comment that she’s my girl. “That note you texted me a copy of last night is obviously from someone with a very serious, very dangerous obsession with her. Those types of people can’t be reasoned with. Their reality doesn’t exist the same as ours. And if pushed, he could become extremely volatile. You staying so close to her could easily be what sets him off.”

“He can bring that shit right to me,” I declare. “The sooner the better to get him put away and out of Mercy’s life.”

“Looking through FBI profiles, if I had to guess, he’s probably socially withdrawn and rather timid in person. Likely unremarkable features. In other words, your average Joe who spends way too much time isolating himself from the real world.”

“Hmm,” I grunt. That could be any damn body. “That sounds sort of like you,” I tease him.

“Fuck you. I’m not average looking or isolated, despite my many attempts. Instead, I have to deal with one of you fuckers bothering me every damn day,” Reece responds grumpily, making me grin.

When Mercy steps out of her dressing room with bouncy, red curls draped over her fair shoulders, wearing a short and sexy, white dress showing way too much cleavage, I tell Reece, “Gotta go,” then abruptly end the call.

Jesus. No wonder this woman has a stalker. I’m on the verge of becoming a certifiable one myself. But I’m not just perving on her from afar. The way I’m looking at her leaves no doubts for Mercy about how much I want her again, even though I can’t have her.

“Aren’t you going a little too far?” I ask her.

“What?” Mercy asks with her red brows furrowing.

“How do you expect any man to look at you wearing that without throwing wood?”

Mercy lets out a small burst of laughter before she shakes her head. “You say whatever pops into your head, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “What’s wrong with that?” I ask.

“Nothing,” she answers. “I like your honesty. It makes me think that the things you say are actually true.”

“Of course they are. Why would I make shit up?” I ask in confusion.

Exhaling heavily, she says, “You’d be surprised how many people hide those real thoughts and just tell people what they think they want to hear.”

“Well, I’d be shit out of luck if I only said what I thought people wanted to hear. I’m fucking clueless most of the time.”

“You’re not clueless; you’re just authentic,” Mercy tells me. “It’s nice,” she adds with another stunning smile before she struts away, her white high heels clacking on the concrete floor and her ass swaying hypnotically underneath her tight dress. I can’t help but wonder what kind of panties she has on. A white thong maybe? Damn, I want to find out, but I need to spend less time worrying about her panties and more time looking around for dudes who look at Mercy like they literally worship the ground her long, gorgeous legs walk on.

This job may be harder than I expected.

 

…

 

That torture of mine I was so worried about is proven absolutely fucking true a few minutes later when I have to watch twenty fucking assholes drooling over Mercy. While some dick with a clipboard told the men not to speak to Mercy and just pose for their photos, there wasn’t any need for words. All of their greedy eyes said the same things – they wanted to fuck my woman.

Well, just because I fucked her once doesn’t mean she’s mine, but I did have her before any of them. And I guarantee that none of them could make her body shake as many times as I did.

Fuck.

I have to stop thinking about that shit. My cock is starting to swell, and I think being a “bodyguard” with a hard-on for the woman I’m supposed to be looking out for is generally frowned upon.

Since none of the men touch Mercy unless specifically directed to by the photographer, all I can do is cross my arms over my chest and glare at them, trying to decide if any look like the type to dig through trash looking for rubbers that have been inside of Mercy.

Several dickheads take notice of me and go rigid with fear. They should be afraid of me. I’d snap their necks if they even think the wrong things about Mercy.

The prissy photographer throws me an exasperated look over his shoulder before he walks up to Mercy and says something to her that causes her eyes to jump over to mine. Giving the photographer a nod and a smile, Mercy strolls on over to me, which means that no less than twenty sets of eyes watch her ass leave. More if you count the production crew that’s also hanging around holding lights and reflective shit.

“What’s up?” I ask without uncrossing my arms when Mercy’s standing right in front of me.

“The photographer asked if you could please wait for me outside the room.”

“What?” I snap. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Apparently you’re making the guys a little stiff and uncomfortable,” she explains.

“I’m just standing here,” I say, holding my arms out to the side.

“Exactly,” Mercy replies with a small smile. “You’re intimidating.”

“Isn’t that what bodyguards are supposed to do?” I ask. “Intimidate jackasses?”

“Yes, but I’m safe in here.”

“How do you know that for certain?” I point out with an arched eyebrow.

“Because I just met these guys,” she says while gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder. “Most, if not all, probably just got into town very recently, so the letter probably couldn’t have come from any of them.”

“Everyone is a suspect,” I tell her. “Except for your ex.”

Mercy’s eyes widen at the mention of the asshole. “I told you it wasn’t Blake.”

“Well, I wanted to make sure,” I reply. “Reece did a check on him. He’s in the clear.”

“Good. Great,” Mercy says with a nod, but crosses her arms over her chest now as if she’s pissed off for some reason. “Anyway, will you wait for me in the hallway or in my dressing room? We shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I don’t like leaving you,” I tell her, sighing heavily with my hands braced on my hips.

“It’s fine. You’ll be right down the hall, so close that you’ll hear me if I scream.”

A smirk stretches across my face at the reminder. “Yeah, I’m pretty familiar with the sound of your screams.”

Smiling even while her eyes lower from mine like she’s a little embarrassed by my comment, Mercy shakes her head and slaps a hand against my chest playfully. “Go,” she says. Then, she turns around and swishes her ass right back in front of the camera. Before I leave, I give every last dick in the room an angry glare in warning.