Page 24 of Protect Your Queen

I fleetingly wondered why their parents weren’t involved. Their father had disappeared when she was twelve, and they all had different mothers. But why weren’t any of them ever in the mix? Or were those some of the others that they might invite to her concert?

Jareth left without a word, though he stopped at the reception desk and gave them his card. After they ran it, he walked out. She watched him leave, like a child watching their parent close the door as they went away for a business trip.

Christ, I felt bad for her, as she played with the beads at the end of her skirt. Not that I was unhappy to be in a jazz club, but I bet I wasn’t the company she wanted. She had expected to end the night as a family, but instead, here she was, with nothing but the help.

“You sang really well,” I said, nudging her still full glass of rum towards her.

“How do you know about Ella Fitzgerald?” She shot back, as if it was an accusation.

Normally, I’d love to talk about music. It was my favorite subject. But I didn’t feel like it tonight.

“I saw her name on a poster outside or something.” I tried to keep the smirk from my lips but failed miserably.

“Why doyouknow what key I should sing in?” Oh, how brilliant. She was challenging far more than my knowledge, but myrightto said knowledge. Musicians are such an elitist bunch.

“Because I’m a very talented babysitter.” I lifted a brow and enjoyed the angry flush that went up her neck, and spread across her face. I reached out and nudged the back of my knuckles against her heated cheek, and chuckled. “Come on, I’m just kidding.”

“Take me home.” She got to her feet, the chair scraping behind her.

She hadn't touched her drink. She marched out of the club, with me in tow. Close enough to show I was with her, but not so close that I looked like a date.

I stayed a step or two behind, watching the people around her, searching for threats. I looked for people’s hands, their eyes, and the errant paparazzi camera.

I also pinged Brian via text to have the car brought up front so we could make a swift exit.

“Ma’am, you really need to give me warning, so we can coordinate with Brian.”

Lingering out in the open wasn’t a good idea, especially with her little antagonistic game with the paparazzi vultures. But she wasn’t listening.

“That sounds like ayouproblem,” she said over her shoulder, not slowing her step for an instant. Not even the view of her swaying ass could calm the sudden rise of my annoyance. I wanted to grab her by the arm and pull her over my knee. My hand itched to spank her until she agreed to not let her sass get in the way of her safety…a thought that I definitely should not be having about my client.

“Ma’am, I won’t be able to protect you from the paparazzi that are most certainly outside.” We turned down a darkened, black hallway that separated us from the intimate bowels of the building, to the palm-laden street. “Ma’am, you shouldreallylet me get the door.”

She pushed it open, shouldering it with her annoyance. She did it because I told her that she shouldn’t. Diva Difficult, indeed.

“Don’t call me ‘Ma’am’!” she growled, stomping her foot. “How old do you think I am?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Right now, you remind me of a three-year-old girl in need of a nap.”

She twirled around and glared at me, her dress swirling about her, perfectly silhouetting that definitely-not-a-little-girl’s body.

The salt air was windy, and loud, lifting the edges of her skirt and tossing her hair back. She stood facing the wind, her dress plastering against her skin, showing off every delicious curve. The sight of it was too beautiful for words. I resented that it was on display for just anyone walking up the street. Paparazzi had been sitting around, smoking cigarettes, no doubt waiting for her exit, and as one, they suddenly came alive.

I came to her side, resisting the urge to grab her by the bicep and pull her against me.

“I get that you’re determined to be a pain,” I said low, catching the scent of the floral perfume of whatever she had put in her hair. “But can you not be Diva Difficult,and…”

A strange gust came, swishing her skirt up to mid-thigh, the tassels dancing as leaves skittered across the ground. She looked around for a moment, her hair dancing around her shoulders, circling her like she was caught in a spell. I stepped away to watch it, as lenses rose, and photos were taken.

Pop.A gunshot.

Pop.I tucked her into my body, knocking her to the ground.

Pop. Pop. Pop.A familiar face, with red glasses and a snubbed nose faded into the crowd. In his hand was a metallic piece - the telltale silhouette of a gun. Mario Pesci. His aim was worse than his pictures.

I felt heat on my left upper arm, followed by throbbing pain on the outside of my left bicep. I was hit. I flexed my hand, opening and shutting it to quickly assess the damage. Since my nerves were still intact, it must be a superficial wound. But I didn't have time to fully assess that now.

“Get in!” That was Brian’s voice, and I saw the man’s leather shoes in front of my face. “Come on, Miss Jestiny.”

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