Page 11 of The Bodyguard

I’m impressed that she tried, though. It was sexy as hell. I bet she’s a tiger in bed. One I wouldn’t bother taming because I like it just as wild.

I hold the door open as Savannah climbs into the back of the SUV, then I go around to the passenger side.

Jack, her driver, and I already had a good chat this morning while waiting for Savannah to get ready for the day.

While I’m on that topic, her outfit is completely inappropriate for...everything. I can almost see her fucking nipples.

I’m not complaining. I’d quite like to see them, suck them, and lick my tongue around them.

I can’t, of course.

We don’t fuck the clients.

On Saturday night, at Josh and Cassy’s wedding, Savannah Sinclair wasn’t technically my client—yet —and I’ve wondered more than twice in the past five minutes if I regret not taking her into the bathroom and fucking her up against the door.

Seeing her ass in her snug pantsuit when she stormed off has landed me on a big fat yes.

Too late now.

Whatever game you were playing last weekend is over.

The only game I was playing was don’t fuck the movie star client.

Plus, there were enough eyes on her without mine being added. I’m sure that’s the case no matter where she goes. Savannah is Hollywood’s it girl right now.

I wonder if she realizes Nick Marciano is in love with her. Or if they’re sleeping together, as the media claim. It’s hard to know with these actors. Sometimes that’s exactly what they want you to think.

I glance in the side mirror as we head through the gates and out onto the road. I also have my own rear vision mirror that enables me to view a number of angles in and out of the vehicle.

I lift my hand to adjust it to study the surroundings.

Then I find a pair of eyes watching me.

“Everything okay, Ms. Sinclair?” I ask, smirking.

Stop fucking looking at me like you want me to grip your neck and fuck you until you scream.

“Yes,” she replies and lifts her phone to her ear rebelliously. But she doesn’t look away.

Not for a second.

Sassy little tiger.

If my job wasn’t to be aware of everything around us, I would have held those green eyes until she broke.

But it is.

So I had to.

Savannah: one. Ryder: one.

Jack makes small talk with me while Savannah chats animatedly on the phone, but I’m more interested in what she’s saying.

“What? No. No way. I’m not playing a bumblebee.” She giggles. “I know it’s just a voice job. Sounds adorable, but I want more leading lady on-screen roles before I do kids’ movies.”

Her laughter runs through me, and I find myself wanting to hear her more. It’s infectious.

Happy.

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