The Billionaire's Dare (Book 4 - Billionaire Bodyguard Series) Page 5

  Yeah, he’d keep coming three days a week—but not with her. And he wasn’t progressing in that department. He was regressing into a constant state of lust he never seemed to fulfill. No matter how often or hard he and Tess went at it.

  “It’s not overload,” he said honestly. “I’ve seen results. And I like it. I want to keep getting better.”

  Already he’d experienced a huge, positive impact from her tutoring. Trey and Liam gave him props from the start, but the shocker came the other day when Mr. Smooth Talker himself, Cade, commented on how much better he responded to emails. He was learning, growing, changing. Becoming a better boss to his bodyguards and a better coworker for his team. He didn’t want that to stop.

  Last week on the way back to his place from an onsite meeting with one of his bodyguards, he’d discovered he could actually read the letters on the freeway overpass signs. He’d never needed glasses, clear vision wasn’t the issue. Being able to unscramble the letters in his brain into a sensible order was like giving a near-sighted person the miracle of contact lenses. On the surface he’d appeared no different. Inside, he’d wanted to high-five to every person he passed in gridlock rush-hour traffic.

  Because Marissa had given him a chance. No, more than that, a miracle. Even after he’d thought those things were dead, or not meant for a guy like him. She’d taught him a real skill, a life-altering ability.

  Still, his baser instincts wanted to thank her with an all-night, hot, sweaty tumble between the sheets. World class asshole. Right here. He might as well wear a neon sign with arrows pointing to his head. He could almost hear the mocking applause.

  “Three days a week is good,” he forced out. “I’m a lot better than I was when we started.”

  As she beamed up at him, her deep blue eyes sparkled like polished sapphires. Maybe when their sessions were through, and he “graduated,” he’d give her a pair of sapphire earrings to show off her eyes. She deserved to be spoiled by a guy. Even if she moved on to someone else. When, he told himself, gritting his teeth. When she moves on with her life and leaves me in the dust like a random memory from a blackout night of drinking, better forgotten.

  “I went online and downloaded study guides for the GED.” He held up his hands. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m nowhere near that level yet. But I wanted to keep sight of the end goal, you know?”

  The corners of her lips curved into a gentle, encouraging smile. “I think you hit on a great idea. Goals are really important, and you couldn’t have picked a better one. You will pass the GED, Adam. I’ll do everything in my power to help you achieve that.”

  For the space of a moment, he suspected Slone’s dare might’ve been the best thing to ever happen to him. He cleared his throat. “What’s on the schedule today, Miss Denning?”

  As usual, they sat at a sturdy, squat table scrawled with magic marker stains. He turned the kid-sized plastic chair around backward and straddled it, and their elbows met in the corner—the only physical contact between them.

  At first the kiddy surroundings had insulted him, alerting him like a slap in the face how delinquent he was. Yet he’d swallowed his pride for the sake of the dare. Best decision he’d ever made, at least one of them. Like most guys, he had a nine-year-old boy trapped inside him who’d come to appreciate the train set in the opposite corner and the goofy, colorful decorations and cartoon characters populating the space. It beat a boring, stuffy conference room at three in the afternoon any day. He’d rather dissect letters and words and sentences with her than listen to lame “advisors” drone on about graphs, spreadsheets and pie charts. There he suffered through endless meetings. Here, he participated. Probably a dumbass comparison for most normal people, but he liked action and progress he could measure for himself.

  In answer to his question about what they’d work on today, Marissa reached for a box of professionally printed cards. The box held dividers, and she selected several cards from each slot, setting them in individual stacks on the table in front of him. “You’re going to put these cards into proper sentence structure,” she explained.

  He spread his hands. “What happened to putting letters in the right order? Eat, eaten, ate…you know present and past tense, using words with those damn a’s and e’s, messes me up.”

  She leveled a look at him. “Do you want to pass the GED?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We’re beyond letters. You’re beyond letters. It’s time to take the next leap. We ordered sentences on Monday. You brought me your practice sheets.” She glanced at them and set them off to the side. “The primary stuff is over. You recognize the words, Adam. Now you can start putting them in order.”

  “Sounds hard,” he mumbled.

  “The easy road never leads to greatness.”

  “I hate when you quote smart people.”

  “I don’t even know if that’s a real quote. Trust me, you can do this.”

  “I trust you.”

  Their gazes held for a long, intimate moment.

  A blush crested her cheeks and she glanced down. He smiled when she wasn’t looking. “Then let’s move forward,” she said. “We’re building on Monday’s lesson on parts of a sentence. First the subject, then the verb, an article if needed—remember, ‘the’ and ‘a’ and ‘an’—today we’re introducing adjectives.”

  “Adjectives?” He frowned. “What are those?”

  “They’re words used to describe the subject, or noun. For instance, a ‘happy’ dog. A ‘sad’ boy. A ‘pretty’ dress.”

  Okay, so “fuckably hot” described her. He could totally do this. He shifted on the plastic chair, willing down his erection. As long as the box of cards didn’t include X-rated terms, he’d be fine. He could do this, damn it. Focus.

  Although…wouldn’t it be fun if they made a graphic, adult version? He’d love learning to read with those cards. The “horny” “guy” “wanted” the “fuckably hot” girl. Hell, he nailed it, right? Articles, subject, verb, and hello adjectives. Boo-ya. He bit back a lusty smile.

  Fine, she was right, he could do this. Focus, and quit being a prick.

  No, wait. “Fuckably” didn’t fit as an adjective. Monday she’d said words ending in –ly were ad…ad verbs? Damn, he was learning this stuff in spite of himself. Only Marissa could make reading entertaining and erotic.

  He liked that she constantly pushed him past his comfort zone. In more ways than one. She proved the ultimate challenge. And he wasn’t a guy who took challenges lightly. Ha!—another adverb. Maybe? If only he could speak the thoughts going through his mind.

  Midway through arranging the cards into a sentence, he stopped. Hold on. Usually she noticed when his brain dipped into inappropriate territory, and she called him on it. An amusing way he dug under her skin, flirtation on his part, though he never expected it to go anywhere.

  As he studied her down-bent face, he saw signs of distraction and concern. Her lips formed a tight line, and a groove wedged between her eyebrows. Wheels were turning something fierce in her beautiful head, and it had nothing to do with their lesson.

  What are you thinking, gorgeous? He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. Then he curled his fingers into his palm. Last night she’d let him touch her, hold her, comfort her. Now in broad daylight as tutor and student, touching her seemed wrong, an invasion of protocol. He’d have to find another way to draw out her private thoughts.

  “Here you go,” he said after plopping down random cards that kind of made sense. The “happy” “boy” “threw” the “bouncy” ball. Gay, lame, but he’d performed the task she’d asked of him.

  Blinking, she turned her unfocused gaze to the cards. Her smile appeared forced. “Very good, Adam. Let’s try another one.”

  The second he went to assemble a new sentence, she detached again. So unlike her. What’s cooking in your kitchen, sugar?

  To regain her attention, like some selfish neglected kid seeking interest, he ordered a more impressive sentence with the cards given
him. The “excited” “boy” “chased” the “bouncy” girl. A dirtier version. He wanted to see if she noticed.

  This time her smile appeared fainter. “See?” She flicked his forearm covered with tattoos, the sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. “I knew you could do this. No problem. I never had a doubt.”

  But he had a few. “Want me to keep going?”

  She rested her chin in her hand, all enthusiasm drying up toward his new success with sentences. He’d reached a goddamn milestone, here, and she seemed too wrapped up in herself to notice. Not that he needed her approval, just her distance bothered him. Really unlike her.

  “So…I’ll just keep going.” He shoved the two sentences of cards to the middle of the table, awaiting some revelation from her.

  “Adam,” she said, drawing out his name. “Out of curiosity. What does your company charge?”

  “Uh…for what?”

  “You know, a bodyguard.”

  “Why?”

  “No reason. Just curious.” Then, as if he’d been a hypnotist snapping his fingers, she broke out of her distant state. “You’re doing really well with these sentences.”

  Yeah, right. “No reason” my ass.

  He made a show of checking his watched and stretched with a loud yawn. “I’m just not feeling the tutoring thing today. I have an important meeting at five,” he lied. “I’d better do some research, before I walk in and Cade grills me on how I never come prepared.”

  “Oh. Okay. Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” He stood and swiped his leather jacket off the plastic seatback. Whatever you’re planning, baby girl, I’m gonna figure out your angle.

  On the steps of her front porch, he paused and reached into his pocket. He withdrew his business card, held it out to her between two fingers. “In case you ever need anything. The eight-hundred number goes to our call center.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze latched onto the thick slip of paper like she stared at a get-out-of-jail-free card. She raised her eyes to him, two pools of deep blue intensity fueled by gratitude. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime. So we’re on for Monday?”

  “Yes. Monday? Sure. I’ll be in touch.” She shut the door in his face.

  Didn’t she remember they always made firm plans for his next session? Something was off. Way off. She’d even forgotten this was Thursday, and he should be back here tomorrow. Not likely, he thought.

  What just happened to rock your world, honey? It wasn’t him, obviously. S omething, or someone, way more important. He slid onto his bike and peered at her closed door. She’d shut him out. He hated it.

  Grabbing his cell phone, he hit the button to engage the voice-activated texting option. “Slone Rowan, text message,” he said into the speaker.

  Slone’s contact info popped up and went straight to text mode. “Marissa is going to call for bodyguard service. When it comes through, I need to know. ASAP.”

  He pressed End, slid his phone into his jacket pocket, and started his motorcycle.

  On the way to his office, the wind hammered his face, colder than it should’ve felt in June, even in the mountains. Yeah, he knew better than to go without a helmet, but Pops had defied the odds for forty-nine years. Why ruin the family legacy of tempting fate? He was his father’s son to the core.

  After he parked his bike, the second he strode through the front doors of the Soren Security Bodyguards building, a text alert lit up his phone. When he glanced down at the screen, he clenched his hand.

  From Slone.

  She called. Come to the office, stat.

  *

  Adam flew past the receptionist desk, heading straight for the stairs.

  Since he’d signed on as a Cross-Fit athlete in Denver, he agreed elevators were for wusses who didn’t bother to exercise their God-given muscles. He exercised for an hour in his apartment, before he set foot into the Cross-Fit garage, and any extra strain offered an added bonus.

  On the sixth floor—where he hadn’t yet accepted he belonged—he paused. Pausing wasn’t a normal thing for him. He hit every goal hard and fast. No holds barred. He’d become a person his bodyguards accepted as their Czar. He could’ve laughed in their faces. If they only knew where he came from…

  Without knocking he burst into the office of Slone Rowan, his second in command. “I’m here. What the fuck is happening?”

  Slone pointed to the open door, down the hall. “Don’t take it out on me. Talk to Devon.”

  Adam took a step back. “Devon? Are you sure?”

  “Yep. She and I already had a pow-wow over this, and she has more answers than me. Go talk to her.”

  That woman put the fear of God in him. He respected the hell out of Devon for it. If she told him the entire company’s success depended on him traveling to Ireland and kissing the Blarney stone, he’d kneel and accept his duty. No matter how many people had kissed or pissed on that stone.

  Devon was a goddess out of every geek’s fantasy. Dark hair, pale skin, elfin features, smart as any nerd dared to dream. If she dressed up as a sexy wood elf, and bothered to support Halloween in her office, half her staff would call off the day to accommodate their geek-fantasies over her. Trey took it all in awesome stride like a champ.

  Kudos to Trey. Adam could never have a woman—let alone his wife—desired so completely by men who worked for her. Would drive him out of his mind.

  “Devon,” he pleaded in her office, almost on his knees. “Tell me Marissa is a random girl from the sticks of Iowa. Graduated from Iowa State. No weird secrets. No crazy past. You can trace that shit, right?”

  Turning her huge, gorgeous dark eyes on him, Devon placed a hand on his inked forearm. Only from her did he accept complete disappointment. “Slone sent you, didn’t he?”

  His heart dropped into his stomach. “That’s not an answer. Sounds like you found something bad.”

  “Not bad, but not good.” She reached out and tucked his hair back behind his ear, offering solace no one else could. She asked, “Do you want me to play our soundtrack?”

  Back when they’d first started working together, and she’d signed on as Chief Information Officer for Soren Security Bodyguards, the two of them had created a soundtrack for hardened souls like them. Except she’d broken their bond by falling in love with his cousin. The soundtrack started with Whitesnake’s “Here I Go Again on My Own.” The rest the two of them knew by heart. “Don’t,” he said. “It doesn’t mean what it used to, and you know it.”

  Bowing her head, she nodded. Though she’d even arranged her iPod to contain Rush song titles, in alphabetical order, based on album release date. “Okay. Just thought I’d offer, before I tell you what you don’t want to hear.”

  He braced himself. “Go on.”

  “The reality is the girl you know doesn’t actually exist.”

  Ice coated his veins. “What do you mean, she doesn’t exist?”

  Devon shrugged. “I found her transcripts from Iowa State. She didn’t lie about that. But the social security number attached to Marissa Denning only goes back ten years. There’s one main reason I can think of why a person finds herself a new identity.”

  “And that is?”

  “The government gave it to her.”

  He spread his arms. “So?”

  “So…honey, your girl either knows people in really high places and decided to reinvent herself. Or she’s in witness protection. And even I can’t hack those databases to find out for certain.”

  The information hit him like a physical blow to the chest. He staggered back. “Are you sure?”

  “No, I told you, I can’t be sure. But she might have more riding on this request for a bodyguard than you’re ready to handle.”

  “I can handle it,” he said through clenched teeth. “I just never expected that reason for why she’d need protection.”

  Devon pulled her ruby-red lips to the side in thought. “Has she ever revealed something personal about her past to you?”
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  After a moment’s pause, he latched onto one piece of information Marissa had told him in passing. “The day we met,” Adam recalled, “she said she’d tell me something about herself no one else knew.” Damn, why hadn’t he questioned this sooner? “She talked about where she grew up. The flat plains of city lights in the distance below, but purple mountains above where sunsets fell. Sure as hell doesn’t sound like anyplace in Iowa to me,” he muttered, irritated with himself for not seeing the inconsistency before today.

  “Maybe not, but it does sound like Phoenix, or one of its suburbs,” Devon said with an excited glimmer in her eyes. “I would know. I almost took a job there. She wasn’t talking about Iowa. She revealed something special and secret to you.”

  The rush of happiness about her confession paled in comparison to the thought of her returning to danger. “What the hell do I do now?” He didn’t require a response. “I’m going with her, Devon. She’s not facing down some old enemy without me there.”

  “You sure?” Slone’s voice of reason, filled with caution, came from Devon’s open office door. Adam turned to face the coworker responsible for the dare in the first place. “We can still send a guy—”

  “Screw that.” Adam’s blood heated with determination. “No one will protect her better than me.”

  In two sentences, it was decided. Slone had told him via text he had a guy he knew in Phoenix, for backup, just in case. That’s all Adam needed to come to Marissa’s rescue.

  *

  Marissa paced in the dark gray light of pre-dawn, awaiting her taxi to the airport. Nerves jangled inside her. She still couldn’t believe she was about to go home, a place she’d vowed never step foot in for the rest of her life. Death changes everything, she thought, bitter sorrow clinging to her chest. If Marshal Sharp himself showed up, he couldn’t stop her from going through with her plan to claim the last vestiges of her family history.

  When two headlights beamed through her living room window, she grabbed the handle of her suitcase, took a deep breath, and headed onto her front porch, locking her door behind her. Soren Security Bodyguards had promised that her hired muscle would meet her at the airport and pay his own way.