Page 88 of South Beach Bodyguards

“Do you need help with that?” I asked, gesturing to her panty problem.

“What?” She glanced down. “No.”

I was amused. “You’re just doing a lot of digging. I thought I could help. It is my fault, after all.”

“You’re still not getting a medal.” She used her forefingers to slide under the fabric and ease it back into place.

How could she be so damned cute?

The indulgent thought was a warning sign. Fuck. I was falling for her. Time to take her home. But first, I had to make sure she would think the absolute worst of me. “Ricardo is having a party tomorrow. I’m working. You should go and I can sneak off and fuck you in the bushes.”

Even as I said it, I hated myself. This was what I did. If I felt uncomfortable or that a girl was too interesting to me, I made sure she no longer liked me. By being a complete smarmy asshole.

Her face leeched of color. “Give me my pants.” Olivia held her hand out for the jeans I had picked up, her face furious.

I passed them to her. “What’s the matter?

She made a sound of exasperation. “Just take me home. Now.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be alone.”

“I’d rather be alone right now.”

“You sure you don’t want more dick before you go?” There was a pit in my gut, but I was doing the right thing. It was far too tempting to just want to spend the rest of the day and night with her. I wanted to talk to her, get to know her, hold her in bed. Take her again, slowly this time, spend long minutes between her thighs with my tongue until she screamed my name.

“If you’re my only option, I’m good, thanks.”

She was pissed and she had every right to be. But I figured it was better to hurt her now than hurt her later when I bailed. Because I would. I couldn’t handle a relationship. “Why am I your only option?” I asked, smirking.

Olivia smacked me on the arm.

It caught me off guard enough that I winced. “What the hell?”

“Your determination to be a playboy isn’t cute. Stop it.”

That made me grin. It hadn’t hurt, I just wasn’t expecting it. “Relax.”

My plan was clearly working. She looked definitely annoyed.

Stepping into her jeans, she muttered to herself.

“What?” I asked.

But when she lifted her head, there were tears in her eyes. “Nothing.”

“Fuck.” I caved. “Shit, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be teasing you right now, I’m sorry.”

I’d never had a problem being a prick before, but now she teared up and I rolled.

“It’s fine, Wester. I get it. I’m a fun fuck. It’s a compliment, really.”

“Olivia.” Now I was at a loss. I reached for her and she shifted past me and went into the living room. I’d made her feel cheap and that made me feel like a true dirtbag.

“I’m ready to go.” She grabbed her backpack off the floor and waited for me by the front door.

It was for the best. I reminded myself of that. “Sure. Let me get a shirt.” I took my time, sauntering down the short hall to my bedroom and rustling through my dresser for a clean white undershirt. I pulled it on, trying not to get blood on it. I tucked it in to my dress pants and then went back to the kitchen to grab my keys.

She stood there, shoulders slumped, looking tired and dejected. Damn it, she made me feel so guilty. “Can you drive?” I asked her. “I think I drank too much whiskey.” It was a lie, but I wanted the option to watch her. Catch my last glimpses of her features, her profile.

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