Burly

“He’s Murph,” Angelica says simply, curling her small hand into mine. “He was in the Navy with my father and I’ve known him forever. He’s also the badass who is going to keep me safe.”

Pride and determination swarm in my chest. Even after my inexcusable behavior on that night a year ago, she still has total faith in me. I don’t deserve it and I don’t deserve her. But hell if I’m going to let her down. “I’m going to need your contact at the surveillance company, a list of everyone who has been a guest at the house recently. I assume you’ve already called the police to dust for fingerprints?”

“I don’t want the police,” Angelica whispers. “I only want you.”

Again, the redhead blusters. “I’m her manager. I make important decisions and we don’t need outside help—”

“You make decisions about her career. I make them about her safety.” I give her a stony look until she turns and stomps out of the room. “Have you swept the rest of the house?”

“Yes, sir. It’s clear.”

I make a sound in my throat, knowing damn well I’ll be doing it again myself to be sure they didn’t miss anything. “Call in additional security immediately. Station them around the house for tonight and we’ll meet in the morning. I want those lists and contacts first thing in the morning.”

I rattle off my phone number, as if they don’t already have it programmed in their phones. “And if she gets hurt again on your watch, if she so much as chips a goddamn nail on your watch, you won’t like what I do about it.”

They nod in unison, fleeing the room.

Angelica looks up at me. “You put them under your command so easily.”

They’ve been under my command for a year. Not that I’m going to tell her that. It would lead to too many questions. Too many curiosities. If she knew how closely I follow her every move, obsessively checking in with her guards, she would stop thinking of me as her protector and start pitying the unsightly giant who pines day and night for America’s pop music sweetheart.

It’s only the two of us in the room now and Angelica turns, pressing the front of her sleek body to mine, wrapping her arms around my neck. And as natural as can be, she climbs right up onto me, those world-famous legs cinching around my hips. She has to feel the erection in my pants. There’s no mistaking how much it turns me on just to be in the same room as her. But she doesn’t comment or pull away, probably because she’s so desperate for comfort she’s willing to ignore my lust.

Hell, she’s a fucking bombshell. Every man with a pulse is turned on by her. It probably doesn’t even register as important anymore.

My arms close around Angelica and I take a deep inhale of her scent, getting it into my blood. “Which way to your room, kid? I’ll inspect there first and get you settled before I look through the rest of the house.”

“Up the stairs,” she sighs into my neck. “But…”

I walk us toward the staircase, savoring the feel of her against me. “What?”

“I’m just a little spooked.” She pulls back slightly to look me in the eye. “Will you stay in my room with me tonight?”

More pressure swells into my balls, pushing my hard dick more firmly against the juncture of her thighs. I can’t say no to her. I never could.

Meaning tonight is going to be pure heaven…and hell.

4

Angelica

Murph.

My goodness, I knew I missed him, but until he walked into my house I didn’t realize how much. He’s like a lighthouse in a storm and I can’t seem to stop touching him, clinging to his brick-house body for dear life. I know I’m probably driving him crazy. He tried to distance himself from me in the foyer and here I am again, wrapped around him like cellophane.

Everything in my life seems so superficial. Even the fame itself seems so fleeting, like the mist I watch dissipate from my balcony every morning. Not him, though. He walked in and the ground beneath my feet turned solid. The way he took charge of my security made me feel safe for the first time in a year.

And my body remembers.

It’s awake and buzzing, my skin turning hotter with every step we take toward my bedroom. My hallways seem so small with him inside them, his extra-large shadow casting itself on the walls. The steel of his forearm supporting my butt flexes with power, my body curved around his hefty middle, my nose buried in his neck. He smells like man. Not like the men in Los Angeles, but like a real man who has been working on a motor or cleaning his gun or something. I can’t get enough.