He stared stonily ahead.
A bouncer hurried over. "Everything all right?" He eyed Viper up and down. Unlike the drunk guy, he knew a formidable opponent when he saw one.
"Personal security.” Viper flashed a card in the bouncer's face.
Izzy nodded. "He's mine. We’re good.”
The bouncer nodded and disappeared back into the club.
"I don't need you fighting my battles for me,” Izzy continued, feeling her suppressed annoyance come flooding back.
"That's what I'm paid to do."
"Not on the dance floor," she retorted. "It was hardly an assassination attempt."
"You looked like you were struggling. I was just doing my job."
"Okay, well can we limit your involvement to real danger like kidnappings and attempts on my life from now on?"
"I'm afraid not, Miss Beaumont. If I see you're in trouble, I'm going to step in."
She rolled her eyes. "Okay, Mr. Macho. I get it. I can see I'm not going to be having much fun with you around."
"I'm sorry about that, ma'am."
She huffed, resisting the urge to pummel his chest. This man made her so mad. "We may as well go back to the hotel. And for God's sake, stop calling me ma'am."
CHAPTER 8
He was in trouble.
Viper walked along the sidewalk to their hotel, Izzy a step behind him.
Hell, she was trouble.
Watching her dance, he’d felt things he hadn’t felt in a long time. Feelings that weren’t particularly welcome. Possessiveness, lust, jealousy. He'd wanted to beat that drunk guy to a pulp for grabbing her like that. For holding her beautiful body against his uncouth, sweaty one. For gripping her butt like it was his property.
Idiot.
Except he couldn’t do that, obviously. Not on duty. Not now that he had a reason for getting up in the morning. Blade had given him a purpose, a shot at a real job, one he actually wanted. He was going to do his best to keep this job, no matter what.
Bar fights and drinking away the boredom were a thing of the past.
They got to the hotel, walked through the lobby and up the elevator in silence. He sensed her silently fuming beside him. She was mad at him. He got it.
She was used to living her own life, on her own terms. Having a PPO was a new experience for her. Lots of the principals he'd guarded had been the same at first, but they got used to it. And in South American, where he’d spent the last few months before he’d been shot, protection was a serious business. Foreign diplomats, engineers, and executives were kidnapped all the time. Sometimes not even for ransom, but to make a point. Their deaths were a macabre message to the American conglomerates.
Stay out of our country. You don't belong here.
But in the end, money talked, and the corporations kept sending personnel, which meant there was always work for the likes of him.
A packed beach bar in San Diego was a different type of war zone—one he wasn't familiar with. But the rules were the same. Protect the principal at all costs. From whatever threat presented itself, be it a rooftop sniper or a drunk man on a dance floor. One thing he was not going to do was apologize for doing his job. She'd just have to deal with it until the threat on her life was neutralized. This was her new reality.
He unlocked the door using the keycard, then took a quick look around. “It’s clear.”
Izzy stomped in behind him.
“Will Emily be okay?” he asked, aware they’d left her on the dancefloor at the mercy of those men.