Page 101 of My Broken Bodyguard 3: Catch & Bianca

“You love it.” He smirked.

Rage pumped through my veins as I seethed with anger towards him.

I stepped away, striding through the elegant lobby and exiting through the revolving doors at the front.

This was my first time in Las Vegas. My fingers nervously twirled a lock of hair as I blended in with the crowds of tourists on the strip. Stopping, I took in the glitzy hotels across the street, marveling at the bustling city.

“Bombshell.” Catch’s deep vocals startled me, and I almost jumped out of my skin.

"What?" I snapped.

“Men are staring at you. Drinking in what’s mine. Get your fingers out of your hair before I go on a killing spree right here in the middle of the strip,” he growled into my ear.

Heat struck my body.

“Catch, I told you I need time alone.”

“Well, baby, don’t do shit that will have me pulling you behind a building, wrapping my hand around your pretty little neck as I fuck you from behind.”

“Catch,” I warned.

This man’s words had my pussy begging to be filled with his dick.

“Pretend like I’m not here. If that’s possible,” he chuckled.

Needless to say, I removed my hand from my hair and continued down the sidewalk. As I strolled across the street, I shrugged out of my sweater. The sun was blazing down on the back of my neck. Why did he pack the sweater? Was it to make me believe we were still in Chicago?

How could Catch do this? We just shared an explosive evening together. That man was the love of my life. I’d like to say there wasn’t anything he could do to make me mad at him, but this was up there with telling me I was going to marry him.

Now he planned to marry me tomorrow. What about our family and friends? If he thought he’d whisk me off and marry me and I’d be happy with him, he was mistaken.

I halted in front of the bar. A smile tugged at my lips. I’d always wanted to try a hurricane. When in Vegas aren’t you supposed to live life on the edge?

“Bianca.” I felt his warm breath on the side of my face.

“Are you sure you want to drink alcohol on an empty stomach?” he whispered in my ear.

Ignoring him, I strolled into the bar. My eyes combed over the large selection on the wall behind the counter. I thought there would be only one flavor. There was Pineapple Express, Blue Hawaiian, and a few others.

“She’ll take a hurricane. The biggest one you have. And I’ll have a Heineken,” Catch said.

“Coming right up,” the man stated.

“So much for staying away from me,” I muttered.

“Relax, I bought our drinks, that’s all,” he grumbled, dropping a fifty-dollar bill on the counter.

“Catch, what was the point of giving me your credit card?”

He shrugged. “Just in case you got the slip on me.”

I shook my head before swiping my drink off the counter.

“Come on. There’s a nice little diner down the street,” he said.

Rolling my eyes, I sipped the fruity drink. My stomach growled at the thought of food. I’d find the diner myself.

I strolled past Catch and continued my path down the street. Hopefully, the diner wasn’t that far away.

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