Page 57 of South Beach Bodyguards

It was like Eva heard me. She started fanning herself and running her fingers between her breasts. “It’s so hot today.”

“Good thing you have a pool.” I refused to step away from her. Let her move back. Let her husband glance over and wonder what the hell was going on between us.

She gave a tinkling laugh. “So true. You must be burning up in the suit.” She glanced up the length of my legs and torso. “You should borrow trunks from Ricardo and take a swim.”

“I don’t think he’s paying me to go swimming.”

For whatever reason that made her frown. “How come Mariposa has a bodyguard and I don’t?”

For some reason, the naïve hurt expression on her face bothered me. “I don’t know. Maybe you do and you don’t know it.” Or maybe her dickhead husband cared more about the dog than his wife.

Eva slipped back onto her tight ass. She wasn’t curvy below the waist at all, just firm and slim. She glanced at Ricardo who was massaging oil into the shoulders of the Latin woman. “He’s cheating on me, you know. With her.”

The rich and their problems didn’t normally give me pause but damn it, I felt kind of sorry for her. She looked genuinely heartbroken. “I’m sorry. Then why don’t you leave him?” I cast my gaze over the scene. The ridiculous opulence of this house, the whole backyard a sexy garden and pool oasis, with the pool house, the private boat dock, the outdoor kitchen and bar. The handblown glass balls that glowed at night and the massive cascading waterfall. In the middle of it was Ricardo in his robe, twenty thousand dollar watch on his wrist, gliding his oily fingers over his friend’s girlfriend, her bikini top untied, side boob on full display. The house rose up behind them, a massive Spanish style hacienda worth twenty million bucks.

The money. That’s why Eva stayed, clearly, if her husband really was so blatantly cheating on her.

“Because I love him,” she said, and her voice was so plaintive, so aching, I actually believed her.

For a guy who didn’t want attachments, I had to admit I was feeling sorry for her. “Guys like Ricardo are used to getting whatever they want. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. You’re his wife.”

She turned back and gazed up at me again. “What’s your name?”

“Wester.”

“You have very beautiful eyes, Wester.”

I just nodded. My entire life women had been fascinated by my eyes. It was my chick magnet. My hypnotist trick. And I’d just been born with them, the result of a mix of races and cultures producing my pale ice-blue eyes.

“If he cared about me, he would actually have sex with me. It’s been three months. And I’ve never had an orgasm.” There were suddenly tears in her eyes.

Whoa. Hey, now. This was getting hella personal. What guy would be married to a woman who looked like Eva and not want to fuck her every night? It was mind-boggling. “Mrs. Davis, I don’t think you should be telling me something like that.”

She took a shuddering breath and wiped at the corner of her eyes. The tip of her tongue dragged across her bottom lip. She was still too damned close to me. “I’m sorry. I just… want to know what it feels like.”

My mind was suddenly blank and I frowned at the bulldog sniffing my pant leg. “How what feels like?”

“An orgasm.”

My eyebrows shot up. What the fuck? She was saying she’d never had one? That was inconceivable. Unnatural. “I…” I, what? I didn’t even know what to think, let alone what to say.

I was saved from further stammering by Ricardo calling out to her.

“Eva, get your ass over here! I need a drink.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping briefly before she started to pull herself to her feet. I reached out and gave her a hand to pull her up off the tile.

She pasted a smile on her face as she glanced back at her husband. “Just a sec, baby.”

“Hurry up, and turn the misters on. It’s fucking hot today.”

Tell me about it. I was wearing a goddamned suit. I tried to smile at Eva but it felt forced. I wasn’t turned on by her confession like I’m guessing some guys would. I felt sorry for her. She was a bird in a fucking gilded cage. And she wasn’t even getting laid.

“Thanks for being nice to me,” she said.

That made me frown even deeper. What the hell? I hadn’t even been nice to her. I wasn’t exactly the guy known for massive amounts of compassion. I was sometime charming, something cold and aloof. I flirted, I had fun, but I never let anyone get close and I wasn’t the guy you ran to with your problems. I didn’t know how to help this girl and I didn’t know why I should care that I couldn’t.

But I did know that if I ever found her alone without her douchelord of a husband around, I was going to get her off gigolo style. She had earned it and Ricardo could suck it. Pay it forward. That’s what I was going to do. No adult woman should have gone through life without knowing the pleasure of a screaming hot orgasm and I was just the man for the job. I wasn’t known for random acts of kindness, but this? I could do this.

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