And physically.
I didn’t believe him. Not at the time.
I don’t look away from her, and I keep unbuttoning. “I’m not cold, Jane.”
A shiver snakes through her body. “Are you positive?”
“I’m positive.” I reach the bottom button, a gust of air sweeping my hot skin.
She watches me take off the shirt, her gaze stroking the ridges of my abs and carved waist. Blood pumps through the veins in my cock.
Fuck.
Jane.
Not in that order. Not in that fucking way.
It’s not my job to think about her in any setting outside of client-bodyguard relations.
It’s not my job to think about what she’d taste like if I spread her legs. I have pictured it, and I’ll do a hundred deadlifts as punishment for even thinking about her pussy.
Unprofessional.
Un-fucking -professional.
It’s not my job to feel a fucking thing other than duty. Responsibility. Devotion—workplace devotion.
Not even as intrigue lights up her eyes.
I stay rigid.
“Before you worked in security,” Jane says, “did you always gravitate towards button-downs?”
I thought she was about to say, did you always gravitate towards me?
That wouldn’t make sense. I met Jane when I first became a bodyguard at twenty-two. She never knew me before security.
This is an easy question to answer. “Button-downs, no.” I pull my arms out of the sleeves. “Before this job, I only wore them for formal events like mass, weddings, and funerals.” I pass Jane my black shirt, and I take her beer, our hands brushing for a second too long.
Her neck tightens with a shallower breath, and she speaks quickly. “But security has no uniforms, except for some events. Correct?” She fits her arm through one hole.
I nod firmly. “The Tri-Force encourages bodyguards to dress professionally.” For the families.
Jane pulls one more arm through. Stretched-out sleeves are baggy on her limbs, and my shirt hangs to her thighs. She clears her throat. “So…how are we making this right?”
We?
“Me,” I correct. “I fucked this, not you.”
She tilts her head like I’m revealing more of myself. Something beneath the hard exterior.
I try not to wear my guilt. That’s for me to bear. “First,” I say. “You should be able to speak openly with me. If you want to know how I feel about Farrow or the whole situation or anything about me, I’ll tell you. I’m going to give you more transparency.”
She deserves that.
“Starting when?” she wonders.
“Now.”
A brighter smile pulls her freckled cheeks. “You’re opening Pandora’s box by giving me free reign to all questions, you know?”
I nod.
I’m not even close to afraid. But that lack of fear almost stokes fear . Because I must want Jane to know more about me. Under the circumstances and the rules of being her bodyguard, being too personal is wrong and feels fucking impossible.
Jane wraps her arms up in my shirt, and she puts her nose to the collar and breathes in.
I stiffen. Don’t think about her like that.
She notices that I just noticed her sniffing my button-down. “Um…you smell wonderfully.”
My dick strains against my slacks. I’m a brick wall. “Thank you.”
Jane reaches for her beer that I’d been holding, and she lands on a question. “How do you feel about Farrow rejoining security? Are you upset?”
I shake my head, almost instantly. “I’ve always wanted him to be on the team. I voted for him to stay last December.”
Back when I was a lead and the team found out Farrow had been sleeping with his client, Akara and I voted for him to keep his job. We were two votes out of three in the Tri-Force, and majority wins.
“I remember. I thought…perhaps your feelings had changed since then, and now you wished you’d voted for him to be fired.”
“No, I stand by my decision.” I notice how she’s straining her neck to keep eye contact with me. “You can look away if it’s hurting your neck.”
Jane smooths her lips together. “Um…” She blinks for a long second. “I’m quite fine…”
I can’t discern much else in the dark, but I’m trying.
“Is there a second?” she asks me.
I frown. “What?”
Jane holds my gaze. “You said, ‘first, you should be able to speak openly…’ I wondered if you wanted to make things right some other way too.”
She’s perceptive. Especially when her whole attention is on you. It’s like you’re the center of the fucking universe.
Like now.
I’m undeservingly the focal point in her blue irises.
“Second,” I tell her, “I want to make an oath with you.”
Surprise catches her breath. “What kind of oath?” Her lips start to inch upward.
What I’ve learned about the Cobalt Empire: the family of nine loves pacts, oaths, soul-binding agreements that put loyalty and trust to the test.
“I want to make you an unbreakable promise,” I tell her. “Do you do blood oaths?”
“Oh no, no blood.” She smiles. “These days, we Cobalts shake on spit.”
I would’ve even shaken on blood. Good to go. “I’m going to start unless you don’t want me to.”
She waves me forward, her face more cheerful towards me than I’ve seen in months. “I’m all ears.”
I’ve never declared something like this to a woman, and it’s the closest I’ve come to feeling like I need to drop to a fucking knee.
I grip her glittering eyes. “I’ll never break your trust again,” I promise, “and if I ever hurt Farrow or Maximoff, I’ll quit security.”
Seriousness draws her lips down. “You understand…that if you break this pact and you don’t quit security, it reflects truly badly on your character and you will never be in my good graces again?”
The stakes have to be high for this to be meaningful, and I can’t fathom hurting them or disappointing her. I won’t fucking break this. “I understand.”
She tenses but then nods. “I accept the oath.” Jane cups her hand below her mouth and spits on her palm, no hesitation.
I watch her for a second before I spit on my hand.
She ropes you in, Thatcher , Banks said.
I didn’t believe him.
Whenever you hear about a heckler railing on Jane, you look like you want to pop them between the eyes, Banks told me. And she’s not even your client. What do you think’ll happen if you actually join her detail?
I extend my arm to Jane first.
Eight months later, I know I’m in deep, but I can control myself and my nine-inch cock.
Hell, I’ve held her hand before where security is concerned. To draw her away from paparazzi. To protect her from crowds.
And now to solidify a promise of trust and devotion.
It’s for her safety. Parameters still intact.
“Bound to this oath, we shake,” Jane declares, and she clasps my hand and with one strong shake, we should let go.
She holds a beat longer
I hold an extra beat longer. Longer than I should .
My chest tightens with a hot breath, and we both loosen our grip.
2
JANE COBALT
Two Months Later
“If you’re just tuning in, this is 97.2 The Fix with Cathy and Jackie, bringing you the latest trending hits and news during your morning commute.”
I raise the volume of my car radio. Drowning out the honking paparazzi who are in a money-fueled cock-fight with each other behind my baby blue Volkswagen Beetle. Both sedans want to ride my bumper and snap pictures through my rear window, but only one can occupy the prime spot.
Pink cat pompoms hang from my rearview mirror and sway back and forth.
I take a quick peek at the mirror. “And the winner is a gray Toyota. Well done, sir, you have won a fabulous view of my scratched bumper.”
One paparazzi cock-fight—at the very minimum—is a constant variable in the fickle equation of my life.
My clammy palms dampen the steering wheel. I’m remarkably nervous. Today, my great and terrible life takes a drastic turn, and I’m trying my best not to be late.