Page 3 of South Beach Bodyguards

If anyone was doing any teasing, it sure in the hell was not me. “Is this some kind of game? Because I don’t know how to play it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Stop messing with my head.” She reached over and grabbed my beer, licking the rim in a manner that was very clearly meant to be seductive.

I felt the urge to physically back up, afraid I was going to grow another hard on and she would see it. “What do you remember about going home? Where were you before you got home?” I needed to try to approach this logically. Maybe she’d just rattled her brains a little and she was… what? Knocked into sexiness? That was ridiculous.

She frowned. “I… I don’t know.” Panic flooded her features. “Oh, my God, I can’t remember!”

That wasn’t good, because it meant she couldn’t identify her attacker, but at the same time, probably pretty normal. Trauma usually was a blank spot for most people, at least for the few minutes before and after an accident. What wasn’t normal was that she thought her name was Julia. “It’s not a big deal. You got knocked on the head. I think it makes sense you don’t remember what happened. Do you have a headache? Do you want any ibuprofen?” Maybe a pill could make this not so fucking weird. Maybe it could make her realize that bending over like that was a bad idea.

“I mean, I feel okay, but you’re right, I probably should.”

I gently took the beer bottle back from her. “And no drinking. There is soda and water in the fridge. I’ll get you something.” I turned and pulled out a flavored water. “Here, strawberry water. Refreshing.” I felt flustered as hell as I twisted the top off for her and sat it down on the counter in front of her. “I’ll get you some ibuprofen.”

She took a sip, doing that thing with her tongue that she’d done to the beer. Just flicking it out and licking the rim, around, in a slow, teasing circle. “Mmm. Isn’t strawberry an aphrodisiac?”

Literally everything was an aphrodisiac at that moment. Jesus. She was unnerving me. My last conversation with Isabel, she had crossed her arms over her chest, looked down at the ground repeatedly, and had talked about nothing but her dog. This was a completely different person.

“I have no idea,” I told her flatly. “I thought it was chocolate that gets people going.”

“Do you have any chocolate?”

I could feel my eyebrows furrow. I was frowning so hard I was viewing her out of eyes closed to mere slits. I needed an explanation and I needed it fast because Flirty Isabel was jacking with my head. “No.”

The doorbell rang, saving my sorry ass. “Get in the bedroom and put some clothes on,” I told her. “The pizza guy is here and he doesn’t need to see you half naked.”

“This is Miami. People wear less than this on the beach.”

“We’re not on the beach. Get dressed!” Suddenly, I sounded like an old Cuban grandmother.

She curled her lip into a pout. “Fine.” She flounced past me.

She fucking flounced. Who did that? It made me think that maybe I didn’t know Isabel even on a superficial level or that maybe she’d been sick or something when I had interacted with her before. Not that there was an illness that made you shy and when you got well you morphed in to mega flirt. I didn’t think. Rubbing my forehead, I went and opened the door.

“Hola,” the pizza man said with a smile, pulling the box out of the warmer case.

Despite having grown up in Miami, my Spanish was kind of shit, but I was definitely used to the assumption that conversation could be started in Spanish. So I greeted him in kind, paid him, and took my pie, bending over to sniff the box. I was that kind of hungry. Deep, growling hunger. Isabel came back into the living room, still not dressed. My dick hardened. I was the other kind of hungry as well, damn it.

“Where are your pants, Isabel?” I asked, exasperated. I checked behind me to make sure I had locked the front door behind the deliveryman.

“I want to know why you’re calling me Isabel.”

This again? I stared at her, trying to figure the game out. Was I being punked? Set up? “Because it’s your name. Did you bring your purse with you? Let’s pull out your driver’s license. Let’s look at your cell phone, too.” Maybe there was a clue as to what she’d been doing before she took a blunt object to the head.

I didn’t even know where her stuff was so I went to my bathroom and there at least I solved the mystery of her pants. There was a pair of jeans on the floor and I picked them up. A little dirt on the cuffs and on one knee. No purse though. I turned around and went into the hallway, then drew up short. Holy shit.

Isabel was standing in the kitchen eating a piece of pizza, her profile to me.

Naked.

two

My mouth went dry. I took a good, hard look. I couldn’t help myself. She was not hiding a damn thing and there was a lot to hide. She was all curves and skin and private parts that were very publicly displayed for me. If she didn’t care, why should I, right? I hated myself for being like every other guy, but biology was a powerful thing.

But then she dropped a pepperoni on the vinyl floor and bent over to pick it up, turning just enough that I had a more direct view of her ass and the dip between her thighs. That was a view no man who wasn’t sharing a bed with her should ever see. I coughed and looked down at my shoes. I hadn’t even taken them off yet. Normally I was barefoot in thirty seconds upon entering the apartment. Nothing was as it should be though and I now had to figure out what I was going to do about it.

There weren’t a whole lot of coherent thoughts running through my head, and as for a plan, one was nonexistent. I was disgusted with myself for letting my gaze linger as long as it had on Isabel, and now I couldn’t unsee that view, blood coursing through my veins hot and thick, rushing straight down into my dick. No wonder I couldn’t process any thoughts. All my blood was down south creating the world’s most painful erection. It was like being fourteen and having a boner that had nowhere to go. There was no barn for this horse and I needed to get a fucking grip.

“Um, why are you naked?” I asked, staring resolutely at my work boots.

---