Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (7 page)

“Look, this is a fun lunch,” I tell her. “Look at these fucking fries. Try to enjoy yourself, Elly.”

She glares at me as she pulls her lobster roll close. She takes a bite and closes her eyes, making a quiet
mmmm
sound as she chews. I take a huge bite of mine, and it’s fucking incredible.

“Damn,” I murmur between bites.

“Yeah,” she says, sipping her Coke and trying the fries. “Oh god, these are even better.”

She pushes the plate of fries over to me and I take a few, smirking at her.

“This is your first time having a lobster roll, huh?” I ask.

“But not the last,” she quips, and I laugh. The food has broken the tension, it seems.

We eat for a couple of minutes, not talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Karen eating her own lobster roll, though she’s standing in the corner watching everyone as she does it.

“You’re doing it again. Assessing the room,” Elly tells me.

I nod.

“It’s my job. Even if it wasn’t, I’d still do it. It’s good to have an exit strategy.”

Her lips purse.

“I wish it didn’t have to be like that,” she says. “I know that’s kind of naive.”

“Very. Even if you weren’t Elly Parsons, even if you lived out in the middle of nowhere, you still need to know how to take care of yourself.”

“I know. I did take those krav maga classes,” she points out.

“Yeah, but if I came at you across the table right now, you wouldn’t be able to fight me off. You’d probably go limp.”

“I— No I wouldn’t!” Elly says, appalled.

I chuckle.

“Yeah you would. You know me, or at least you’re familiar with me. You’d trust me not to hurt you.” The annoyance on her face makes it hard not to crack up. “Don’t get mad! It’s what almost anyone would do in that situation.”

“Oh, but not you?” she asks, heavy on the sarcasm.

“No, not me. I guarantee you that the list of people who are allowed to lay hands on me is very, very short.”

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Just… are you always this full of yourself?”

“Yep.” I pop a fry in my mouth and wink at her. Too late, I realize that I am
definitely
flirting with her.

Fuck me
.

She gives me a really odd look, taking a last sip of her Coke before pushing it away.

“I’m stuffed,” she says.

Keep it neutral
, I warn myself before I speak.

“You barely made a dent in that lobster roll,” I say.

“I’m not used to so many carbs. And butter, I can’t tell you the last time I had butter,” she says with a laugh.

“It’s good to be regimented,” I qualify, “But it’s also good to live a little. Stop and smell the roses.”

“Or the lobster rolls?” she says.

“Exactly.”

I finish my lobster roll and few more fries, then push my own plate away. I stand up and offer her my hand, pulling her to her feet.

“Ready, Princess?” I ask.

It’s like I can’t fucking stop myself, this stupid flirty shit just keeps coming out of my mouth.

“Yep,” she says, her cheeks coloring.

Damn, that blush is sexy. Like she’s sweet and innocent but she knows
just
what I’m thinking about every time my eyes drop lower than her face. It’s killing me right now, playing it cool.

“Let’s get a move on. If we head straight back, your jailers probably won’t even know you were playing hooky.”

“Elly?”

Elly and I turn to find a couple of young fans standing between us and the door, their eyes wide and star struck.

“Yeah, hi!” she says.

I almost cringe at the change in her voice. She slides from real Elly to pop star Elly so easily that it’s a little creepy.

“Would you sign something for us?” one of the girls asks.

“Of course,” Elly says, a big grin on her face.

She signs a couple of autographs and even helps the girls take selfies with her, holding the girls’ phones at a flattering angle. She chats with them the whole time, asking if they ate a lobster roll, asking what subjects they like in school or if they’ve read any good books.

When she’s done, the gaggle of girls look absolutely bowled over with happiness. Elly’s flushed too, pleased with herself.

“They were great,” she tells me as I usher her outside.

“I saw them primping before they came over here, trying to look nice for you,” I tease her.

Elly sighs.

“I never talk to girls about their clothes or hair or looks. I try to only talk to them about their brains,” she says.

I stare at her for a second, totally thrown off.

“All my life, people have only talked to me about shallow stuff. I’m so pretty, I’m dressed cute, I looked good in a video I did.” She pauses for a second to get into the car, and I climb in beside her. As we head back to the hotel, she gives me a very serious look. “Did you know, I had to beg my mom to let me finish high school? I was working on that television show, Heaven On Earth—”

“Wait, you were on Heaven On Earth?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, giving me a funny look. “That’s how I launched my singing career, duh. Anyway, my mom pulled me out of school at fourteen. When I got my first small movie part and landed a recording contract, she was ready for me to quit school and work full time.”

“That’s… not cool,” I say, feeling lame. It’s a lot to digest.

“Yeah. I don’t know, I guess I took it upon myself to read a lot and try to go to museums and stuff. I’m an auto-didact, Artisan says. I would’ve gone to college too, but my mom told me how stupid that was in light of all the other opportunities I had. So here I am,” she sighed. “Honestly, coming up like I did… from
where
I did… I think half the reason I’m so driven is because so many people told me I
couldn’t
accomplish something.”

I stumble over that little admission. It makes me realize that I have no idea where she’s from or how she came up, as she put it. It seems ridiculous that I took this job without even reading her Wikipedia page. Hell, I’ve met her mom half a dozen times before this, and I still have
zero
idea what Elly’s referencing.

I take the coward’s way out, picking an easier topic to forge ahead with.

“I get that. People always assume that because I’m a big guy and I’m former military, I’m some dumb meat head. I do the same thing as you, read here and there when I get a chance. Plus I’ve traveled all over the world in my job, so I’ve seen and experienced more than people can imagine. It’s… I guess it’s about being curious about the world around you, not about whether you have a four-year degree.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Still, I kind of wish I had a degree. A piece of paper that I could shove in someone’s face and say, “Here,
proof
that I’m not brainless!’”

“You could still go to college. Aren’t you only twenty three?” I ask.

“Studying up on me?” she asks with a laugh. “And yeah. I’ve probably got plenty of time. I just wish people knew I had a brain. I know I’m not exactly in a career for geniuses, but I’m not dumb either.”

The
probably
part makes me frown.

“I don’t think anyone thinks you’re dumb.”

She bursts out laughing, like genuine belly laughs until she’s gasping for breath.

“Oh man,” she wheezes. “Have you ever even
been
on the internet?
Everyone
thinks I’m dumb. It’s like… everywhere.”

“What? Why?”

“Oh.” She sobers a little, but her eyes are still sparkling. “I did a press tour for my last film. The reviewers caught me off guard by asking me a bunch of basic knowledge questions.
Are You Smarter than a Fifth Grader
kind of stuff. I bombed it pretty hard. It was kind of cruel of them, actually.”

She sighs and waves a hand at my scowl.

We’re quiet for a minute as I try to figure out how to respond to that.

“Hey guys,” Elly says, leaning forward to address Karen and Alejandro. “Thanks so much for breaking me out for the day. Is it cool if we keep this trip on the down low?”

Karen and Alejandro both nod at her. I can see a glimmer of respect on Karen’s face; like me, I think she’s finding that Elly is pretty nice and grounded, for a celebrity.

I mean, she’s still a fucking brat when she wants to be. But today she’s been pretty righteous.

“Awesome,” she says. We pull up to the hotel and get ourselves inside. Karen drifts off to the other side of the lobby; I imagine she’s trying to be respectful of Elly’s space, not smother her with bodyguards everywhere she looks.

We catch the elevator up to her floor, Elly humming along with the song playing in the background.

“What is this?” I ask, glancing down at her.

She cracks up.

“Only my hit single,” she cackles. “You know, the song that’s paying all our salaries?”

“Ah. Uh, sorry,” I say with a wince.

“Not a fan, huh?” she says, but I can see she thinks it’s funny.

“Not really my type of music.”

She looks me up and down and snorts, walking out of the elevator. When we make it back into her hotel suite, I check my watch.

“Plenty of time,” I say. “I’m going to get Lawrence outside your door while I go hit the showers. Gotta look fresh for your show, seeing as how I’m supposed to be your super sexy underwear model boyfriend.”

“Is that what you’re going with?” Elly asks, grinning. “In your dreams, buddy.”

“Jealous,” I shoot back, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

I turn and find her standing all too close.

Leave now
, I beg myself.
Just make any excuse and fucking leave.

“You’ve um,” she taps the side of her face, then beckons me closer. “You’ve got some fuzz or something…”

She steps forward until she’s nearly pressed up against me, plucking a speck of lint from my hair, thumb brushing my jaw. She stares up at me, her eyes stunningly purple.

This close up, all I can think is how small she is, petite and fragile. She looks larger than life on stage, striding around in sky high heels and wild feathered costumes, but right this minute she seems like she’d fit in my pocket.

Or in my arms…

“Today was nice…” I start to say, trying to break up the tension shivering between us.

“Shut up, Connor,” Elly says.

Then she’s up on her tiptoes, hands clutching my shoulders, lips brushing mine. I react on pure instinct, one hand cupping her jaw and the other sliding down her waist to bring her flush against my body. I’m beyond hard for her, have been all day, and she gives the tiniest gasp when she feels my cock against her belly.

She makes a little sound against my lips, the same kind of
mmmm
she made earlier at the restaurant that drives me fucking wild. Savoring, I guess you could call it.

Fuck, she
likes
this
.

The second I deepen the kiss, my tongue sliding against hers, she tenses up and pushes me away.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry,” she says. She presses her fingers to her lips like she’s been scalded, looking mortified. “Sorry, sorry.”

She whirls and runs for her bedroom, leaving me standing there like a jackass.

What the fuck did I just let happen?

Cursing my stupidity, I storm away from the suite.

I
am a freaking idiot
.

The new anthem of my life. Or the past three days, at least.

Three days ago, I kissed Connor. Three days ago, I made a huge mistake.

I hear my mom’s voice, a flashback from age thirteen:
A guy’s nice to you for like an hour, and you throw yourself at him? You really are a slut, Elianna Lee Parsons.

I sigh and rub my forehead.

Our flight to Chicago is delayed, so the whole entourage has taken over one of the semi-private Sky Club suites. It’s still early in the tour, so everyone is full of energy, hanging out and chatting animatedly, sipping coffee.

I exiled myself to the furthest corner near the window, staring out at the planes and luggage trucks and orange-vest-wearing airport employees running around in the mild spring weather.

I am a freaking idiot
.

I can’t even look at Connor. After I shamed myself by kissing him, by practically sticking my tongue down his throat, I got all overwhelmed. I freaked out, froze, and ran away.

Story of my damn life, where men are concerned
. It’s funny, because for the zillions of times my mom has called me a slut, I’ve only actually had sex a couple of times.

The first time… well, it wasn’t exactly something I wanted. I was too young, too drunk.

The others were all equally drunk, me getting wasted and trying desperately to feel like a normal girl. Mostly I just lay there like a dead fish and tried not to pass out drunk while some guy fucked me for a brief period of time.

The most recent time, about a year ago, I actually burst into tears in the middle of it. The guy was off me and gone from my hotel room faster than you can say
bad sex
.

Worse, I had to tell Artisan what happened and make sure the guy was paid off. No way could I let that story get out to the press.

Elly Parsons, Sexually Frigid Pop Star
. I can see it now, and it still makes me want to hurl.

Yet just a few days ago, I apparently thought it was a good idea to basically come onto my bodyguard. Someone who’s paid to take care of me. I basically abused the help. If I was a guy and I’d come onto a female bodyguard like that… If anyone found out, I’d be fed to the wolves.

I’d probably still get it pretty bad as a woman, but this was one of very few scenarios in which sexism worked in my favor.

“Elly?”

I look up and Karen’s standing over me, offering me a styrofoam cup. She’s wearing white jeans and a pale blue shirt, her long braids wrapped around her head in a no-nonsense style. Feminine, but practical.

I’ve really come to like Karen,
I realize.
Just the idea of her, really. She looks like she’s never taken shit from anyone, ever. I wish I could be like that.

“Oh… I can’t have coffee,” I lament.

“It’s green tea,” she says.

“Oh!” I perk up and accept the cup.

“Can I sit?” she asks, indicating the seat across from mine.

“Sure thing,” I say, eyeing her curiously as she sits down.

Has Karen ever actually spoken to me before now?
I wonder.

She doesn’t say anything for a long time, just stares out the window like we’re both being perfectly normal — like everyone else isn’t socializing and singing Disney songs and recounting stories from other tours they’ve worked.

Finally, she turns her Medusa gaze on me. For a second, I think she’s about to scold me and I wonder what I did wrong.

“Did Connor do something bad? Inappropriate, I mean,” she asks.

My eyes go wide.

“Jesus, no. Why would you think that?” I couldn’t be more surprised, even if she’d just backhanded me for no reason.

“Cause you’re… no offense, but kind of sulking. And Connor is being a complete dick to anyone who meets his gaze. Add that to the fact that you two are avoiding each other…” Karen shrugs. “It seemed the most likely explanation.”

“No, he didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Alright. Well, sorry to stick my nose in,” she says, leaning back in her seat, sipping from her styrofoam cup.

And that’s it. Karen isn’t the talkative type, so she just lets the matter drop. I get the feeling that she won’t just take my word for it. But if I’m not willing to call him a bully, there’s not much she can do about it.

“Hey,” I say to her.

She looks up, raising a brow.

“Thanks for asking. Seriously,” I say. “I’m glad someone’s… I don’t know, looking out for all the women like that.”

Karen nods, shrugging one shoulder.

“No problem.”

Silence lapses again. Little does Karen know that there is in fact a problem, and a big one: I can’t let my stupid mistake effect the tour like this. If Karen noticed I’m being weird, it’s going to be obvious to others, too.

It’s going to bring everyone’s energy down, and I need my whole crew to be pitch-perfect. I can’t let my sulking ruin what we’ve all worked so hard for.

So… that means I need to make shit un-weird with Connor. I glance over at him. I don’t need to search for him amidst the dozens of people packing the Sky Club. In a weird way, ever since I kissed him, I feel hyperconscious of his presence and location at all times.

I just…
know
where he is. It’s creepy as hell, I admit.

He’s leaning against the doorway of the Sky Club, glancing back and forth between the glass-paneled door and the stewardess at her podium. I’m pretty sure she’s been trying to sneak cell phone photos of me for the last thirty minutes, but Connor’s glare has her too scared to actually do it.

I take the briefest moment to ogle him. I can’t seem to help it. He’s wearing this red plaid button-up and these tight jeans with his black Doc Martens, and
damn
. He cracked a joke about looking like an underwear model, but in another life he could easily have starred in ads for Armani boxer briefs.

Ugh, you are so weak
, I scold myself.
Remember your new mantra: I am a freaking idiot. I am a freaking idiot.

“I’m going to talk to him,” I tell Karen.
In a very public place, with my lips really really far from his lips
, I refrain from adding.

She just gives me that half-shrug again, although she seems vaguely satisfied with the outcome of our little talk. I shove to my feet and walk over to where he’s standing guard.

He turns his head from the stewardess and watches me approach. I hear a click; the stewardess got her cell phone photo after all.

I hope it’s blurry.

Connor is already moving toward her, but I reach out and catch his sleeve.

“Leave it,” I tell him. “Can we talk for a minute? Like… out there?”

I jerk my thumb toward the glass door. Outside, people are rushing past with their suitcases and crying toddlers in strollers. Connor gives me a distrusting look, but he just nods.

“Lawrence,” he calls, beckoning the other guard. “Can you step outside with us?”

“I want privacy,” I whisper.

“And I want to do my job,” Connor says. He opens the door and leads me outside. He nods to Lawrence when the other man steps out. “We won’t be far, just stay in our line of sight.”

Always with the commands
. I clench my jaw when I think about the fact that a cocky guy like Connor would never do what I’m about to do. He’d never apologize if he was the employer, the person in the position of power.

Oh well. There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio.

We walk over to stand next to one of those busy, overpriced little news stands. Connor folds his arms across his chest, looking down at me with an expression of impatient expectation.

“So, um. I guess I need to apologize?” I start.

A muscle ticcs in his jaw, but otherwise Connor doesn’t respond in any way.

“I’m, um, I’m your employer. I shouldn’t have— done that. You’re just doing your job, and I crossed a line with you. It’s totally unacceptable for me to…” I pause, flailing.

“No one should get sexually harassed doing their job. I am really, really sorry for… getting my signals crossed, or whatever. Even if I thought you wanted me to…”

I break off and press my hand over my eyes. My face couldn’t be hotter if it was on fire. I am so fucking embarrassed right now that I wish I could sink into the floor and vanish. Or that I hadn’t ever started this conversation and just let shit be weird.

“Elly?”

I peel my hand from my face. Connor is looking at me with something like pity, which makes me feel even worse.

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes at myself.

“It’s fine.”

Just like that? Three days of the silent treatment, and all I get is, ‘It’s fine’?

“O….kay,” I say, just wanting this to be over.

“I might have accidentally encouraged you,” Connor says, surprising me with his admission. “Sometimes I come off as being flirtatious, even when I don’t mean to be. Let’s just call a truce, huh?”

Sometimes you what?
Now I desperately want to know.

“Um, okay,” I say instead.

“We good?” he asks. His tone is so casual and impersonal; I feel like such an idiot for ever taking his single afternoon of being friendly as… well, more than that.

“Yep.”

“Okay. I think our flight’s about to board,” he says, nodding toward the gate down the hall. “Better rustle up the crew.”

And that’s that. All settled… for Connor, at least.