Bella, who was watching the progress of that hand in abject fascination, stifled a shocked gasp when her eyes drifted south, and she undoubtedly noticed his burgeoning erection.
He was helpless to disguise the undeniable effect Vicki’s curious hand was having on him, but fuck it, he wasn’t about to acknowledge it to Bella, or himself, for that matter. It was a predictable physical reaction to having this woman feeling him up.
He was only human after all.
“Stop that,” he demanded of his irritating charge and recaptured her hand.
After securing her wrist, he set off again, determined to ignore the ache in his groin. He was going to walk it off if it killed him.
Happily, they made it to the car without further incident, and when he unceremoniously planted Vicki back on solid ground, she swayed, and her hands went to her stomach.
“Oh, I feel terrible,” she groaned. She looked awful. Her skin had taken on a green cast, and she was sickly pale.
Damn it.
“Are you going to p—”
He wasn’t able to finish the question before the inevitable happened. He leaped out of the way, avoiding any splash, while Bella made a soft sound of sympathy and stroked Vicki’s narrow back while she heaved.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not well,” Vicki moaned. She sounded so damned pathetic that Ty almost felt sorry for her.
“I know, luv,” Bella said. And Ty opened the car and found a closed bottle of water in the back seat. He handed it to Bella who coaxed Vicki to take a sip.
“I should get her home,” he told Bella, who nodded. “Where can I drop you off?”
“Oh, that’s not—”
“Yes, it is.” His tone brooked no argument. He wasn’t about to allow her to make her way home alone at this hour.
She made an odd pah-pahhing noise with her lips, appearing to consider his words, before nodding and giving him an address in Chelsea.
Ty hastily bundled the women into the luxurious black Mercedes-Benz Maybach S560, one in the fleet of luxury armored vehicles owned by Brand Executive Protection Services— Brand EPS—before climbing into the driver’s seat. A quick glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that the women were wearing their seatbelts. Grateful that this clusterfuck of an evening seemed to be drawing to a close, Ty allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief and started the car.
Chapter Two
Vicki remained slumped—out cold—in her seat for the duration of the short drive. She didn’t move even when Bella squeezed her arm and whispered goodnight, before hopping out of the car.
By the time Ty brought the Maybach to a smooth stop outside the sprawling Victorian mansion block where she shared the building’s luxurious penthouse apartment with her middle brother, Hugh, Ty had already resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably have to physically haul her ass up to her apartment.
The grand old building housed twenty-four beautifully renovated exclusive apartments of various sizes, spread across three of the building’s five floors. Miles Hollingsworth—Vicki’s oldest brother—owned seventy-five percent of the building. And, Brand EPS, Ty’s employer, owned the remaining twenty-five, which naturally meant they were in charge of building security. It also meant that Brand EPS owned six of the apartments. Which the company subleased to several of its higher-ranking employees, Ty included.
Ty very much doubted Vicki knew that he lived in one of these apartments. And he preferred keeping it that way. Where he lived was none of her damned business. He’d been staying there for nearly three years, long before receiving this assignment. And, since he had no immediate plans to move, he would continue staying there after he was eventually reassigned.
The porter, one of the company guys, watched with a raised brow as Ty scooped Vicki out of the back seat and carried her into the building.
“Challenging evening, was it?” Atwell, the porter—a James Bond sounding douchebag—asked, while he held one of the massive stained-glass doors open for Ty and his passed-out charge. Ty narrowed his eyes at the bastard in his absurdly ornate forest green and gold uniform. It gave him immense pleasure in that moment to remember how much Atwell despised the porter’s uniform. He and Atwell had never particularly cared for each other. Ty found the man’s arrogance and pretentious affectations grating. While Atwell constantly used the word cowboy in reference to Ty, making no secret of the fact that he considered the word a slur. The guy was such an asshole.
Ty eyed the long-tailed coat the other man was wearing and smirked. “Fuck off, Atwell. I’m sure there’s another door for you to open somewhere.”
Colby Campbell, their CFO and operations manager, usually assigned the porter position to whomever was at the top of her shitlist. And since this was a six-month assignment—the posh residents of Worth Manor did so love their continuity—everybody tried their level best to remain off Colby’s shitlist when it came time for reassignment.