Page 12 of Room Ten: Put on a Show

I was never a possessive man before. Protective—yes, of course. That came with the territory of my job and leaked over into my personal life, but possessive? Never. Kenna was the only woman I had the desire to claim body and soul with a fierce burning in my chest and I hadn’t even kissed her, let alone spread her out beneath me the way I wanted to.

The problem was that even if I gave in to Kenna’s flirtations, I would simply be another notch on her bedpost. She would go back to her regular life and another string of men would get her attention while I faded into the background as her hired muscle.

I couldn’t live that way. For Kenna, I wanted all or nothing.

When Baron finally pulled up to the studio of Kenna’s costume designer, Asia Lanier, I circled around the car to Kenna’s door. She’d traded last night’s outfit for plain clothes—a pair of skinny jeans, tank top, and leather jacket. There was no hiding her starlet attitude though, the way she moved as if the whole world was watching her and she knew it.

Baron gestured that he would park the car so I guided Kenna into the studio. Asia met us at the door in a flurry of rainbow-colored silks, overpoweringly sweet perfume, and hot pink lipstick. She was well into her fifties but her burnt orange, chin-length hair and her exuberance gave her a youthful appearance.

“Kenna, my dear, I have a treat in store for you today. I can’t wait to get my clothes on your body. You’re going to love them. Prepare to look drop dead gorgeous on that stage!”

I trailed after them, leaving the foyer behind, winding deeper into the all-white studio until we reached the fitting room. Mannequins lined one wall clothed in various costumes, sparkling, glittering, show-stopping designs. Along another wall stretched a white velvet curtain for privacy, and a small raised dais surrounded by mirrors stood at the center of the room. It looked like the coast was clear.

Baron found me at my post by the door and took up his position on the opposite side. The echo of Asia and Kenna’s voices filtered through the air, alternating between gusts of laughter and soft noises of appreciation.

About an hour into the fitting, Kenna came to the door, draped in a red silk robe that was sliding off one shoulder to reveal her bra strap.

“Baron, Merrick, I ordered some breakfast and coffee. Would you let me know when it arrives?”

Before either of us could respond, let alone point out that we were her bodyguards, not her personal assistants, Kenna flitted off, leaving the door partly open behind her. Sometimes, I think she did things like that on purpose—being blasé about her safety—just to watch the expression of exasperation cross our faces.

Minutes later, I heard a voice in the foyer.

“Hello? Anyone here? I have a delivery for Kenna Newhouse.”

“Go,” Baron said.

I moved into the foyer to find a wide-eyed delivery boy, no more than eighteen years old by the looks of him. He fidgeted with a brown paper bag and a tray holding four cups.

“Um, hi, is Miss Newhouse—?”

“I’ll take it,” I said, cutting him off.

He seemed the type that would ogle Kenna if given the chance, tripping over himself as he awkwardly asked for an autograph. Or her number.

The delivery boy handed over the food with a reluctant glance down the hallway. My hunch was right after all. He wanted a glimpse of Kenna—his two seconds of fame with a stunning celebrity like her.

I fixed him with a hard stare. He blinked at me like an owl and scurried out the door. Carrying the food to the fitting room, I rapped two knuckles on the door.

“Breakfast is here.”

“Bring it in,” Kenna called.

I sighed, considering whether or not I could just leave the food here and wait for Kenna to pick it up when she was ready. Entering close quarters with her seemed to suck all the oxygen out of my lungs.

Baron cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head toward the door as if to say, what are you waiting for?

Stifling a groan, I stepped inside.

Kenna sorted through a pile of costumes on a chair by the privacy curtain. Asia had her mouth full of pins, bent over a sequined skirt as she made alterations.

“You should ask Merrick,” Asia said without looking up from her work.

Kenna brightened and she beckoned for me to come closer.

“That’s a wonderful idea. Asia and I were talking about spicing things up in the bedroom. A big guy like you surely has plenty of experience in that department, right?”

A little alarm went off in the back of my head.

---