Page 33 of Wicked Duty
As Lucy gets farther away, my frustration increases. How am I supposed to keep her safe if she bounces around like a ping-pong ball?
By the time I reach the sprawling black marble club floor, she’s vanished.
The frustration in my gut morphs into an icy ball of cold concern. How difficult can it be to spot purple-streaked hair?
A hand drops onto my shoulder from behind. I whip around and reach for my gun, halting when I spy Lucy grinning up at me.
My fingers twitch as the concern transforms into something darker. That million-dollar smile is about to snip the last thread of my control.
I want to shake some sense into that pretty head of hers. Or flip her over my knee and spank that firm ass until it turns a delicious shade of pink. I want to rip her clothes off right here in the middle of this crowd and bury myself so deeply inside her that she feels me all the way up in her throat. The issue is, none of these things fall under the scope of my duties as her bodyguard, and that’s quickly becoming a major problem.
I settle for growling instead. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. I’m armed.”
She tilts her head, radiating smugness. “Doesn’t feel very good, does it?”
I scowl. “One hourand we’re gone.”
She wrinkles her nose, that irritating little smirk still propped up on her face. “I only came over here to ask what you said.”
“When?” I maneuver closer, and she backs away until we’re out of the crowd and leaning on one of these million-dollar walls.
“To the judge.” She wiggles her eyebrows, and I loathe the effect that playful gesture has on me. “After you finished withhim, he looked like he was about to pass out. Indigestion, my ass.”
I don’t respond.
Because, whether I want to admit it or not—and I don’t—that incident left me shaken.
The rage I experienced was entirely out of character. Anger and self-directed disbelief burn beneath my skin.
What’s wrong with me?
Why do I still feel trapped in her game? Just like earlier in the ballroom, when her hands roamed all over my body in that uncomfortably sensual display, and this morning in her kitchen…
“Well?” Her tone is bouncy and light.
The sound deepens my anger. “What the fuck did you think you were doing in there?”
Her expression freezes, and her smile falters before dimming. A storm gathers in her eyes. “My job. I was just posing for the portfolio shots when the judge came over?—”
“I’m not talking about that cock-for-brains.” I slam my open palm into the wall next to her head, forcing us farther into the dark corner. “I’m talking about the way you used me like a meat mannequin for your touringslutshow.”
Distance. I need to restore the distance between us, and if this is the way to accomplish that, then so be it.
Her happy glow extinguishes. “I did what I needed to succeed. It was a ‘take two’ from this morning. Why, what’s the problem? Isn’t that what you do pretty much every single day?”
I hate how her genuine smile disappears, then despise how much the loss bothers me. The fact that she’s right only contributes to my deteriorating mood.
Something inside me snaps. “At least I don’t whore myself out for the attention and approval of some vapid, shallow, brain-dead fashion zombies.”
She winces, hurt flickering across her face. “No, you make backdoor deals with criminals instead.” Her body quivers, but she throws her shoulders back and adopts a brave front. “You must be so proud.”
Her reaction tosses ice water on the shimmering coals of my irritation, and a pang of cold guilt slices between my ribs. “Stay here. I’m going to sweep the perimeter, and then?—”
She darts past me, weaving between the thick crowd with grace and speed. It’s obvious she can’t escape me quickly enough.
I probably deserve that.
The pop music blaring through the speakers is ear-splitting. My head throbs as I rush after her, but my size slows me down. I can’t get through the crowd as easily, not without women eyeing me and brushing up against me as though I’m part of tonight’s entertainment.
