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Two years since he’d gotten laid and he hadn’t even touched a woman since, and there was something about Callie Hawthorne that got under his skin. She was small and fragile and yet there were those intriguing glimpses of stubbornness, of steel. They teased him, taunted him, and he couldn’t figure out why it felt like they reached inside him and twisted hard, but they did.

  Touching his heart. Touching his fucking cock, too.

  Christ.

  But this wasn’t the time or the place and she sure as hell wasn’t the woman. Sure, she was as sexy as fuck, but she was also his job and that made her untouchable.

  Jack released her, ignoring the way the warmth of her skin seemed to linger on his fingertips, trying to put that hot gleam in her eyes out of his head as he turned toward the doors. “Good. You can start by waiting in the hallway until I’ve secured your room.”

  Callie said nothing, a tense silence settling between them.

  That was fine. It had been a long night and right now, he didn’t care if she liked it or not. All he wanted was for her to do what she was told without argument, so he could do his fucking job.

  As they arrived at their floor, Jack checked that the hallway was clear before allowing Callie to leave the elevator; then he led the way to their designated suite.

  Unlocking the door, he ushered her inside, then made her wait by the door as he did a quick reconnaissance of the suite. She didn’t protest, merely folded her arms, her expression carefully blank.

  The suite was spacious, luxurious, decorated in soft, muted colors with subtle lighting. Not that he gave a shit about the decor. All he cared about was checking for signs of forced entry or tampering. But everything looked secure.

  Finally he came back to where Callie was standing. “It’s all clear.”

  She didn’t say a word, merely brushed past him and headed straight for the big bedroom. Then came the sound of the bathroom door shutting very firmly and the taps going on.

  Okay, if she was going to stay in a bad mood, that was fine. It was late, she’d had a shock, and she was probably exhausted. The quicker she got into bed and got some sleep the better. As for himself, he’d take the couch.

  Getting out his phone, he sent a quick text to the Hawthorne security team to let them know that Callie was safely secured and that he’d be checking out her town house tomorrow. Then it buzzed with an incoming call from an unknown number.

  Jack scowled at the screen for a second, then he hit the accept button and lifted the phone to his ear. “Who the fuck is this?”

  “It’s me,” a smooth male voice said. “Kellan Blake.”

  Right, from the team. “Yeah? And?”

  “Just checking in to see how the babysitting’s going.” The guy sounded insufferably pleased with himself. “I know it was a tough assignment.”

  Jack wandered over to the windows, staring out over the lights of after-midnight Boston. There was snow in the air, coming down in a soft white dusting. “It’s going fine,” he said curtly. “Though there’s already been one attempt on her life.”

  There was a silence.

  “Shit, really?” Kellan muttered at last, sounding less smug than he had a couple of seconds ago. “That’s quite the timing.”

  Jack frowned. Actually, now that Kellan had mentioned it, it was a bit odd. Sure, the senator had received some death threats to him and his family, but it was strange that the moment Jack had arrived on the scene, someone just happened to make an attempt on Callie’s life.

  “Yeah,” he muttered. “It is. Some guy tried to take her out by pretending to be her driver’s replacement. While I was in the car.”

  “Well, that’s dumb. Did they think they could pull something off before you arrived?”

  “I have no idea.” He thought back to the incident in the car, to the driver who’d kept catching his eye in the rearview mirror. There had been sweat beading on the guy’s upper lip and when he’d gotten out his gun, his hands had trembled. Not exactly indicative of a hardened killer, that was for sure.

  Shit. Perhaps he shouldn’t have left the SOB unconscious on the sidewalk for the Hawthorne security team to deal with. Perhaps he should have done a quick interrogation himself. Especially given Callie wasn’t where they were expecting her to be.

  Then again, it wasn’t his job to wonder who would be targeting Callie the moment he showed up, or even figure out who was behind it. That was the job of the Hawthorne head of security. His was simply to protect her until the senator’s electoral bid was over. That’s it.

  “So what’s happening now?” Kellan asked.

  “Hawthorne’s security team are dealing with it. Not my problem though. My job’s keeping the girl safe. End of story.”

  “True.” There was another small silence. “So . . . is she really the good girl everyone seems to think she is?”

  Jack stared out the window in front of him at the snow falling softly in the night beyond the glass. The good girl . . .

  Her eyes gleaming under golden lashes, hot and blue. Full of defiance and fury and heat . . . “Dance with me . . .”

  His breath caught and he had to force the words out. “She’s fine. Not that it’s any of your damn business.”

  The other man laughed. “She’s a handful then.”

  “Haven’t you got shit to do? Because in case you’ve forgotten, it’s after midnight here.”

  A couple of minutes later, after he’d finished up his conversation with Kellan, he heard the sound of the bathroom door opening and then Callie was standing in the bedroom doorway, swathed in a fluffy white robe.

  Her hair was damp and curling, gold and gilt and toffee and every shade in between gleaming under the subtle lights, and her face was bare of makeup. Her eyes were very dark and there were shadows beneath them, and she looked all of sixteen instead of twenty-two or however old she actually was.

  She made his chest hurt for reasons he didn’t want to examine too closely.

  “I just wanted to say something.” Her voice was clear and level, and she met his gaze without flinching. “Thank you for what you did for me back in the car. For protecting me. Don’t think I didn’t appreciate it.”

  Too surprised to speak, Jack simply stared at her.

  “I still don’t want a bodyguard and I’m pretty pissed about having one. But . . .” Her chin lifted higher. “I understand what you’re trying to do for me.”

  Holy shit. Was she apologizing to him?

  He found he didn’t know what to say to that, so he shoved his hands into his pockets and gave her a curt nod of acknowledgment.

  “And also . . . thank you for not telling my father where I was tonight. I . . . really appreciate it.” She shifted on her feet, looking awkward. “Well. That’s that. Good night.” Then without another word, she pulled the double doors shut.

  Jack stared at the closed doors, very conscious of an emotion threading through him. An emotion he didn’t understand and didn’t want.

  Christ, how had she done it? With that intriguing combination of fragility and steel, she’d managed to work her way very thoroughly under his skin within the space of a couple of hours. And now, a simple acknowledgment and an apology, and she’d worked her way under it even more.

  Which was unacceptable. This was a job. He wasn’t doing it out of the goodness of his heart. He was doing it for the money and acceptance into the 11th Hour team. Getting back the purpose he’d lost in the grenade attack and that’s all.

  Yet when he finally stretched himself out on the couch to get some shut-eye, it wasn’t the money that kept replaying itself over and over in his head. Or the thoughts of being part of the team. Or even the visions of a new purpose to his life.

  No, it was the memory of the warm, silky feeling of Callie Hawthorne’s bare skin under his fingertips, as she asked him to dance with her.

  CHAPTER 5

  Callie woke up feeling like shit. She lay there for a second, trying to figure out where she was, because she wasn’t in her bed back home and he
r brain felt too sleep-deprived to fully process how she’d come to be wherever she was.

  Then it all came flooding back. The night before at the club, the appearance of her new bodyguard, the driver who’d apparently been trying to kill her. Oh, and not forgetting the fact that she couldn’t go home, because apparently Jack-Hole had decided he needed to check the place out before she could.

  He’s not doing that to be difficult. He’s doing that to protect you, idiot.

  She let out a breath. Yeah, okay, she’d come to the conclusion last night, halfway through the endless hot shower she’d taken to warm herself up, that her behavior after he’d gotten her to the hotel had been childish.

  She’d just been full of a weird relief that he’d been there to save her from that guy in the car, and at the same time hating herself for being relieved, because even though he was there to protect her, he also represented the loss of her freedom. And so she hated him too.

  And he made her feel things. Unfamiliar, hot things. Things she didn’t understand, that excited her and made her ache, and she didn’t know how to handle that.

  God, she basically didn’t know how to handle herself around him, period.

  Take that moment in the elevator when he’d gripped her chin in his fingers and made her look at him, for example. While he’d been delivering some hard truths, all she’d been able to concentrate on was the fact that he was touching her, that his fingers were on her skin and there was a pleasant roughness to them that sent chills through her. And that his eyes were the most incredible color and she wanted to stare into them, count all the different shades of green that made up his irises. That she wanted to touch those terrible scars, follow the contours of them with her fingers where they twisted his mouth and eyebrow.

  It made her angry that she felt that way about him and it made her breathless. Made those feelings she didn’t understand wrap around her, suffocate her. She couldn’t breathe around him, and in the elevator car there was even less air than in a normal room, plus nowhere to run to.

  All she’d been able to do was stand there fighting all those weird urges, trying not to get lost in his incredible gaze, in the touch of his hand on her skin. Struggling to focus on exactly what he was telling her.

  He’d been right, of course. She was arguing with him for the sake of it, because she was angry and scared and so wound up she didn’t know what to do with herself. But that didn’t mean she should keep being oppositional. That didn’t help anyone.

  He was there to save her life and arguing with him about small things was pointless. The threat was real, which meant if she wanted to stay alive she was going to have deal with herself. Stop being such a bitch and do what he said.

  It didn’t help that the odds of him being her father’s spy were pretty high.

  Then again, he had said he wouldn’t tell her father where she’d been and she wasn’t quite sure why she believed him, but she did. Yet another rush of relief to add to all the emotions already tangling in the center of her chest.

  It made her wonder about other stuff.

  Callie blinked at the ceiling above her, thinking. God, what wouldn’t she give for her headphones and a bit of Muse in her ears. Or no, maybe some classical, Vivaldi or Mozart perhaps. Perfect for when she had some serious thinking to do.

  Because she did have some serious thinking to do. Jack was a reality in her life now and she had to figure out what her response to that was going to be, where she went from here. And that was likely to be what she normally did whenever her father interfered with her life, which was to not make a fuss and accept it.

  Or at least give the appearance of accepting it. She could do that with Mr. Jack-Hole King. Be nice and meek and biddable, and hopefully he’d find nothing of interest to pass on to her father at all.

  Or . . . you could do something else.

  Callie frowned at the ceiling as an idea formed slowly in her head.

  Maybe, if she was nice enough, she could get him on her side. Maybe if she was really, really nice, she might be able to include him in her escape plans. He was big and strong, and obviously knew how to handle himself. If anyone could help her vanish completely so her father would never find her again, it would be him.

  Yeah, you don’t even know him. So how can you trust him?

  Good point. Trust didn’t come easily to her, especially not with men since most of the men she’d come into contact with were her father’s friends or colleagues, and they tended to be assholes just like her father. Jack, though, was . . . different, she’d known it the moment she’d laid eyes on him, even though she didn’t quite understand why. He was . . . safe, which was a stupid thing to think when he was obviously very dangerous and very powerful. But . . . Well. Why else had she stood up to him so blatantly the night before? Telling him he was an asshole and shoving at him in a way she’d never even dream of doing to someone else. And even when she’d been unforgivably rude to him, all he’d done was stare at her. Yeah, she had the feeling that she could do anything she wanted to him and all he’d do would be to stand there and look at her.

  Then again, it had only been one night. She couldn’t put her plans for escape at risk based purely on a feeling. She was going to have to get to know him a bit more, see if she really could trust him before she said anything to him about getting away from her father.

  Her heart sped up, a complicated thread of emotion winding through her that was part curiosity and excitement at getting to know him—it had been a long time since she’d been excited about another person before—and a tiny part hoped this could really mean finally getting away from her father.

  It was probably stupid to pin this on a guy she’d only met a matter of hours earlier, but still. What other options did she have?

  There had been a few times over the past couple of years where she’d thought she’d be able to get free. Those first few months of college when she’d begun to meet people and realize how narrow her life had been up until that point and how small. She hadn’t known there could be laughter and friendship and music and fun. She hadn’t known she could go out when she wanted, stay out as late as she wanted, dance until dawn. And no one would punish her for it. No one would threaten her mother with pain unless Callie did what she was told.

  But she’d only had six months of that before her father had dragged her back home because her grades hadn’t been what he’d wanted them to be. And that’s when he’d made sure she knew what he expected from her, shown her that life would be nothing like the lives of her college friends.

  That had also been the day she’d understood just how much her mother blamed her for everything and that she would get no help from her.

  Callie was her father’s to do with as he wished and the quicker she accepted it, the better it would be. Oh, and if she ever tried to leave again, he’d simply bring her back.

  She’d tested him a couple of times after he’d ended her college career, getting together what money she had, plus a few clothes, and trying to sneak out of Boston, first with a cheap plane ticket, then with a hired car. But somehow he’d found out and both times he’d simply gotten one of his security team to drag her back home again.

  He’d locked her in her room for a week after the last time, telling her that if she didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in there, then she’d better deal with the fact that he could do what he liked with her, end of story.

  She had no choice but to accept it after that, because being locked up had nearly driven her mad. But that didn’t mean she’d ever given up the idea of one day finding her freedom from him. She’d managed to negotiate her own place with promises of obedience and that had worked fairly well. At least she could play her guitar and listen to the music she liked up loud without being worried he’d discover her passion and use it to manipulate her. And at least she could sneak out now and then, to concerts and nightclubs where she could dance and at least pretend to be free.

  Not anymore.

  Yeah, well, s
he’d see about that. She had a plan now and that was more than she’d had for months.

  On that encouraging thought, she rolled out of bed and went into the bathroom, completing a few necessaries before splashing some water on her face to wake herself up. Then she dressed, grimacing at having to wear last night’s clothes, before creeping toward the door and pulling it open.

  Coffee. That’s what she needed right now. Coffee and lots of it.

  The living area of the suite was empty, though there was a trolley beside one of the couches, with a whole lot of plates on the top of it. The plates had silver covers over them and were obviously breakfast judging from the delicious smells.

  Well, hell. Who’d ordered that?

  Give you one guess.

  She grinned. Okay, one point to the asshole bodyguard. Who she was beginning to think wasn’t as much of an asshole as she’d first thought.

  Callie made a beeline for the trolley, lifting the elegant silver coffeepot and pouring herself a large cup. It was only once she’d added a dash of cream that she thought to look around to see where he was.

  Which turned out to be nowhere.

  She was alone.

  She took another look around. Strange that he wasn’t here when he’d been so adamant about her not being alone the night before. What happened to him? Where had he gone?

  Sipping her coffee, she wandered over to the front door of the suite and pulled it open to find the familiar face of one of her father’s security team waiting on the other side of it.

  “Oh,” she muttered. “I was looking for Jack.”

  “Mr. King will be back shortly,” the man said. “I’m here until he returns.” He gave her a professional smile. “Don’t worry, Miss Hawthorne. You’re perfectly safe. All you have to do is wait in the suite.”

  Automatically she pasted on the pleasant, empty smile she used with all her father’s employees, then thanked him and retreated into the suite. Where she gritted her teeth and swallowed more hot coffee, welcoming the pain as it went down, a distraction from the usual hot ball of frustration that simmered in her gut whenever she was reminded of how much of a prisoner she was.