Page 2 of Kissing Games
He knows about Caroline… Charlie shook his head at his own naivety.Of course he does.
Petrov would know everything about him. And her. He pulled off his clothes, throwing them to the floor. He wanted to burn them. Scour everything in his life touched by the Petrovs.
He stalked into the shower and turned it on, letting the full force of the cold water batter his face. Ice-cold needles pointing out his stupidity, over and over again. Resting his forehead on the wall tiles, he let the water flow down his back.
Is this my life? Always judged by my looks and what happened with Caroline? By what happened before that?
He turned off the shower and got out, staring at his reflection dispassionately. He filled the mirror. Six foot, four inches of battle-hardened, gym-sculpted muscle, decorated with tattoos. His thick chestnut hair was cropped short, his green eyes hard, his jaw set tight with frustration. Water dripped down the inked planes of his body, following the contours of his chest. Pulling a folded towel from the rail, he rubbed himself dry, watching the movement of the muscles under his skin. In the army he’d always wanted to be the best. The fittest, the fastest, the strongest. But his killer body also came with killer looks. ‘Pretty boy’, ‘player’. People decided who they thought he was before he’d even opened his mouth.
Then he met Caroline, his commanding officer’s daughter...
His bedroom door opened and closed with a click.
Tatiana. Again.
Fuck’s sake!Would she ever leave him alone?That’s what happens when you don’t lock your door, dickhead.He wrapped the towel tightly around his hips and sighed. He’d made the same mistake twice before and wasn’t doing it again. Even if he could see past Tatiana’s façade, any physical attraction he might have felt was rendered void by her personality. Entitled, arrogant, stupid. Her mother’s beauty lay under the contoured layers of make-up, but she had all the charm of her father.
‘Char-lie?’ A soft, sing-song voice drifted in from his bedroom. ‘Are you in there?’
He tensed, icy fingers of fear scraping up the back of his neck.No fucking way. It couldn’t be.He glanced around the sparse bathroom. No robe.Fuck!
‘Charlie, darling.’ The voice was coming closer. ‘I wanted to say sorry.’
He wrenched open the door.
There, standing in a thin silk robe, her nipples pointing straight through at him, and holding an oversized, pink, fluffy, heart-shaped pillow, stood Olga Petrov, his boss’s wife.
‘Hey, sexy,’ she purred.
Five minutes later,Charlie was striding up Sloane Street, phone clamped to his ear. ‘Mack, I need a new gig. I can’t do this any more.’
‘What’s happened now?’ Mack huffed. ‘Tatiana jump you again?’
‘Mrs P just tried it on as I was getting out of the shower,’ replied Charlie tersely, rubbing at his forehead with his free hand as if to erase the memory.
There was a pause, then Mack started laughing. He laughed all the way until Charlie turned left into Pont Street, making wheezy whooping sounds as he drew breath, like an owl having an asthma attack.
‘It’s not fucking funny,’ Charlie huffed. ‘This is my life. You’ve got to reassign me.’
He could hear Mack trying to control himself and imagined him passing a hand over his face, like a mime artist rearranging his features. They’d known each other for years. As Charlie was entering the SAS, Mack was leaving to set up a private security business. He’d done well for himself and always tried to find jobs for people like Charlie – those who found the adjustment to life on Civvy Street hard.
‘Okay, mate, here’s the situation,’ Mack began. ‘The Arabs won’t touch you after that sheikha and her sister took a shine. Male celebs think you cockblock them and you won’t handle females after that incident with the girl band. There’s a limit to how many Ruskies need new security and the Chinese use their own. You’re burning bridges with every job—’
‘What about diplomats? CEOs?’
Mack sighed. ‘We’ve been through this. You’re too tall. Too good-looking. They don’t want someone drawing attention. They want someone unobtrusive, not a fucking supermodel.’
‘Mack, I’m just an ordinary bloke.’
‘Mate, I’m as straight as they come and even I know you’re hot. Fuck, we all thought you’d turned Rory after he grew his hair long in Afghan.’
‘I’m not a player, Mack. Come on, you know me. I’ve been with the same woman for ten years.’ He rubbed his forehead again. A headache was coming on.
Mack was silent. He’d never approved of Caroline. No one in his life did. But Charlie didn’t care.
Eventually Mack sighed again. ‘I know you’re not a player, Charlie. But you’ve got that rep and it’s hard to shake. There’s already rumours in the media about some hot bodyguard who likes getting in trouble. You can’t have that shit made public.’
Charlie’s stomach rolled and his step faltered. If that happened, he’d lose Caroline forever.
