Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security 3)

“No.” The word comes out just as harshly as I mean it to.

“Okay. Fine. Any of the guys but Brooks.”

“Go ahead and cut Finnegan from that list, too. Thanks.”

I hang up before he can rib me about the Scottish ginger, but I’ve seen how women go crazy for his damn accent. It has nothing on the British lilt that still clings to my voice even though I was born in the States. Women grin when they hear my voice, but they fall over their own damn feet when that fucker opens his mouth.

Ignoring my need to dig deeper and question why I’m so bent out of shape at the idea of either of those guys setting their sights on Remington, I leave the security office in search of my ward.

She isn’t in the living room or lounging out by the pool, and there’s no way I’m going to go see if she’s in her room. I head back to the kitchen and wait as casually as I can for her to show her gorgeous face.

Things have been… stilted since the kiss, but they’re better than right after coming back from the hotel. I don’t know how she felt when we returned but being vulnerable around her while sick really did a number on me. Her caring for me put my head in a dangerous spot, and the second we got back, I had to put some distance between us.

Had… not want.

What I wanted was to sneak into her room while she was sleeping and curl myself around her luscious body.

I wanted to sift my fingers though her soft hair.

I wanted to wake for once with the sun streaming through the curtains when neither one of us was covered in sweat from breaking fevers.

And of course, there were a million other things I wanted, things that made my slacks uncomfortable, things that made my mouth water and my fingers twitch.

But I can’t want those things any more than I can have them. Just the thoughts are torture enough for me to lose my mind.

And we won’t even go into the things I do when I’m alone.

Nope. We don’t even think of those things.

Those things are insidious. Those things make me ask questions like—What would it hurt? My brain answering that it would be a mistake while my body is insisting I jump in feet first.

“Good morning!” Bubbly and bright with a wide smile on her face, Remington bounces into the room, another pair of sinful leggings clinging to her body. “I have an appointment today.”

“Another pole class?”

She bites her bottom lip, making it obvious she was able to hear the excited anticipation in my voice.

“No.” She laughs when my face falls, and it reminds me once again that I need to do better on schooling my emotions around her. “It’s at a clinic.”

My brows furrow. “Are you feeling bad again? Relapse of illness after being sick is very common.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head to the side. “Are you worried about me?”

“No,” I lie. “But I imagine your parents wouldn’t be very impressed if you were sick twice in the small amount of time I’ve been here.”

Narrowed green eyes glare at me. “Of course. Always worried about your damn job.”

The jovial mood she was in disappears, and I fight the urge to stand, cup her face, and assure her that I don’t give a shit about her parents, or at this point, my fucking job. But that would be another partial lie. My job is keeping her safe, and other than her sinful body, the only thing in my head.

“It’s not that kind of appointment.” She grabs a juice from the fridge before walking across the room toward the garage. “It’s a little more intimate than that.”

I glare at her back, my fingers twitching to open the front passenger side door when she stands near the back of her car.

“I’m not going to your woman’s visit with you, Remington.”

She just laughs as she settles into the backseat, tugging the door closed when all I can do is stare down at her.

Heaven fucking help me, because it’s going to take celestial intervention to survive this woman.

***

“Absolutely not,” I hiss as Remington leads the way into the clinic. There’s more conviction in my voice than was present when I started out denying her ideas for her birthday party.

A beautiful woman stands at the front counter, beaming at first, her face falling slightly when I clasp Remington’s arm. I could have this conversation without touching her, and it’s definitely possible without pressing my front against her back and growling in her ear, but maybe the nearness will get my point across better.

“I’m not going into that room with you.”

She spins toward me without even attempting to pull her arm from my grip. It’s not tight enough to hurt her, and she doesn’t seem too keen to lose the contact either.