The Protector

“You know he likes to play the game,” I laugh, taking Heather’s arm lightly by the elbow. “Excuse us for a second.” I pull her away and lead her over to a couple of empty lounge chairs.

“What’s up?” she asks, following my lead and taking a seat, slipping her shades on.

“That look your mother gave you. What was that?” I don’t beat around the bush. What’s she been telling them?

Heather feigns innocence, an act I’ve grown to recognize. “What look?”

“Really?”

“I might have mentioned the stunt Jake pulled at Saffron’s party.”

“You mean when he leathered my scumbag of an ex after the bastard whacked me?”

Her lip curls in disdain, matching my own loathing for the lowlife. “No, you know I’d never tell a soul about that. I told her about Jake carrying you out of the bar like a knight in shining armor.”

“He was doing his job.”

She laughs. It’s condescending and should be. “Camille, don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You’ve fallen for him.”

Her words hit me like a boulder in the face. Is it that obvious? “I haven’t fallen for him,” I argue meagerly as I glance over toward Jake.

He looks like a solid marble statue, just a few paces away. I’m not worried about him hearing us; the surrounding noise is too loud. He’s got me firmly in his sights. It’s no different than any other time, yet today I really don’t like it. I feel like he’s reading my mind, figuring me out. His bristled jaw is sharp and tight, the hollows of his cheeks evident, and his handsome face is etched with annoyance.

It’s ridiculous that he’s here. I’m surrounded by family and friends, and apparently I’m to expect the all clear very soon. Nothing could happen here, anyway.

“I haven’t fallen for him,” I murmur quietly again, ripping my eyes from Jake.

Heather’s palm meets my thigh. “Why won’t you admit it?” she asks.

I take a deep breath and choose to end the conversation right there. “There’s nothing to admit,” I say resolutely, disregarding my screaming heart and my best friend’s incredulous face.

She sighs and relaxes back on the lounger, putting her feet up. “Do you remember when we used to lay here every day in the summer holidays, planning our fairy-tale lives while sipping fruit punch and telling your brother and his mates to stop splashing us?”

I smile and reflect back to the days when it was really that simple. Just us, plotting our perfect world without the burden of real life getting in the way. There was no debilitating sense of hopelessness or fear. There were no challenges like temptation and wrong decisions. There was no father trying to make choices for me and telling me who my prince should be. There were no threats. There was no Jake Sharp. “If only it were still that easy.”

“It can be.” Heather slips off her glasses and looks at me, a thousand reassuring words in her eyes. “Most of the time we make it complicated ourselves.” She swings her legs off the lounger and stands. “I don’t know what’s stopping you, apart from your father, and I know you don’t care what he thinks. You so obviously mean more to Jake than a contract.” She dips and kisses my cheek. “You should go see your father and that wonderful stepmother of yours. She wants a birthday kiss from her favorite little girl. Catch you in a bit.”

I watch as Heather strolls off, giving Jake a shake of her head as she goes. He doesn’t react to it, doesn’t frown or even raise his eyebrows in question, but he does look across to me. I avert my eyes and stand, set on finding my father when all I want to do is go home and hide under my bedcovers.

As I make my way up the garden, I conjure up the fortitude I need to face my dad and my unbearable stepmother. Ten paces in, no fortitude to be found. In fact, I grow more despondent by the second. I know I’m going to find my father holding court in his elaborate bar in the orangery, and I just know that there will be some boring associate of his, ready to please my father and displease me.

“Oh!” I yelp as a result of an abrupt tug on my arm, pulling me into a nearby recess at the entrance of the orangery. A palm covers my mouth and a hard body holds me against the wall. I blink rapidly, trying to focus on Jake’s dark eyes, his lips almost touching the back of his hand where it’s lain upon my mouth, keeping me quiet.

“I let my personal emotion compromise my judgment once when I was in the service,” he whispers quietly, searching my eyes. “Two of my friends died. I got shot. And then I was deemed too volatile and unstable to continue my duties.”

I still, but my heart pumps faster. Jake’s dark eyes shut, robbing me of the comfort they’re offering while he spills his story, rushed but clear. His nostrils flare. This is taking everything he has. “The only thing that mattered to me was stripped away after one bad decision because I let my personal life affect my duty. I swore I’d never let that happen again in any element of my life, Camille. I’ve always upheld that promise.” I can hear the pain in his words, and he breathes in deeply. “Until you,” he finishes softly, giving me his eyes.

I choke on a sob, making him lift his palm a little, his face blurring as tears threaten. His face is straight, but his eyes are swimming with emotion.

Then he swallows before he goes on. “I can’t make another wrong move again.”

I’m instantly fearful of what he means by that. His face is still expressionless. Why now? In the middle of my father’s garden party, why is he telling me this now? That woman. That woman in the picture is the personal emotion he’s talking about—the emotion that made him question his judgment. Am I making him question his judgment?

He goes to speak again, but hesitates for a moment, gathering strength. Then he squeezes his eyes shut, and my heart slows in my chest. He looks beaten, ready to give up. A treacherous tear slips down my cheek and hits his hand, and he opens his eyes. The conflict in them floors me. “My need to protect you goes a lot fucking deeper than a well-paid job, Camille.” He whispers the words so softly, defying the hulk of a man that he is.

I breathe deeply in relief, trying to see past the tears welling in my eyes, and Jake drops his hand from my mouth and steps back, out of the recess into public view. He shrugs, like he’s apologizing, and my heart finally kick-starts again, skipping all of the lower gears and roaring straight into a thundering rush. The activity of the party is a distant hum, and the people are a blur of lethargic movements in the distance. All there, but not there. The world is happening around us, oblivious to Jake and me trapped in our bubble, and I realize in this moment as I stare into his eyes that he won’t pull me into his darkness. He wants me to help him find his way out. He feels trapped. I’ve felt like that. I know how it feels to see no way to the light. I had Heather to help me. Jake has no one. Except me. I can’t walk away from him. I have to help him.

I don’t know what to do. My instinct is telling me to go to him, but my barely functioning brain is reminding me that my father is nearby. He won’t approve of this. In fact, he’ll do anything to stop it. I know and dread he will.

I move out of the recess and watch Jake watch me as I back into the orangery, a silent understanding passing between us. I’m preparing my excuses to Dad as I go.

Jake’s need to protect me goes deeper than a well-paid job?

How deep?

Chapter 19

JAKE

I follow as Camille weaves through the crowds, ignoring anyone who tries to stop her for a chat on the way. Her urgency is calming. I’m not at all comfortable with her being here, whether it’s her father’s home or not. It’s still day three. I’m still edgy. And Logan’s intention to pull my protection isn’t easing it.

I had no intention of seizing her and spilling the details of my darkness to her, but as the evening passed, I could see her falling further away from me, and I can’t bear the thought of letting her go. I’ll do anything to keep her in my life. Even if that means laying myself bare to her. Even if it means losing my sanity. It’s too late. I already feel certifiably crazy.

I have nothing to lose. I’ve more or less just thrown myself down for her, despite my better judgment. I’ve been torn apart before at the hands of a woman. I never expected to put myself in that position again. I feel vulnerable and scared. Yet more hopeful than ever before.

Camille Logan can damage me far more than anything else I’ve encountered in my past. She has a stronger hold. She has the ability to destroy me. But she’s my only hope of happiness again, of freeing myself from the clutches of my past.

A sniff of my history is all I’m prepared to give her right now. It’s all I’m capable of, and telling myself that she has enough to deal with at the moment, without my shit, is easy. And a cop out. Part of me is riddled with guilt for letting her step into my darkness without being armed with all the information she needs to decide if she’s making the right decision. But the other part of me is too desperate to cling onto her—I’m not prepared to jeopardize what we have before we really have it. I saw no disgust in her eyes when I told her a part of my story. I saw only sorrow. But there’s the problem. It was only part of my past, and I need to find the strength from somewhere to share the rest. To face that part of my old life. To do the right thing and put it to rest, to finally move on.

Camille wastes no time muscling in on her father’s group, smiling her apologies when she brings the conversation to a halt. Trevor Logan casts his eyes across the room to me, checking my presence and narrowing his eyes briefly before giving his daughter the attention she wants. His look tells me everything I need to know. I’m not the kind of man that he wants for his daughter. I’m not even the kind of man that I want for his daughter. I’m not ignorant of his power and influence. He could destroy me. Have me booted out of the agency. I need to figure out the best way to approach this.

Logan’s minions are hovering across the way, keeping watch on me as he indulges his daughter. His current wife, Chloe, is also lingering close by, but her attention is elsewhere while her husband’s distracted by Camille. I watch closely as Chloe talks to a man. She’s being coy, her eyes constantly flicking to Logan and Camille, wary and watchful. Then the man’s hand comes up and brushes her arm subtly, and she jerks nervously, moving away and shooting him a warning look. It prompts him to check for any attention that might be pointed their way, but he seems to relax when he sees Logan and everyone else in the group are focused on Camille. Shame he missed me. I get my phone from my pocket and tap out a message, taking a discreet picture and attaching it to the e-mail.

I think Logan’s wife is having an affair. Picture attached. Who is he?

I click send and get an immediate reply.

On it. Just found out Trevor Logan funded Sebastian Peters’s rehab. I also checked the kid’s bank statements. 100K landed in his account the day he was admitted. Kind of convenient.

I hold on to my composure. Just.

Logan paid the little fucker off? Yeah, ’cause that clearly worked. The bastard achieved nothing but feeding the lowlife’s drug habit for a year or two. Logan should have just done what I plan on doing: killing him. He doesn’t even know that the prick has hit his daughter. Logan will do anything to keep Sebastian Peters away from his daughter, and on this occasion I’ll give him credit, even if his plan was shit. It also confirms what I should expect when he finds out about me.

I slip my phone back into my pocket, seeing Chloe rejoin her husband. Her smile is fake as she approaches and slips an arm around Camille’s shoulders, hugging her, and I can see from here that Camille stiffens in response. Then another man approaches the group and the Neanderthal in me screams like a demon to be let loose when he leans in and kisses Cami’s cheek. Logan smiles fondly and Camille grimaces, jerking away. A suitor? The son of a friend that Logan plans on marrying Camille off to? I growl deep in my throat. He makes her skin crawl. He makes my skin crawl. Camille backs away from the group and her father’s face drops in disappointment, but she doesn’t give him the opportunity to keep her there.

She’s passing me quickly, looking as eager to escape the confines of the extensive mansion as I am. I fall in behind her and quicken my pace to pass so I can open the door for her. I use the opportunity to look back as I hold the door, seeing Logan watching us leave, his face thoughtful as his stare falls to mine. I lock eyes with him for longer than I should, unable to stop myself from narrowing them. It’s a stupid move; I shouldn’t be spiking any suspicion, but seeing him trying to throw his daughter at that prick rattles me dangerously.

“I need to say good-bye to Heather,” Camille says, heading down toward the pool. I have no choice but to follow when all I want to do is gather her up, take her home, and keep her safe from her father’s debasing world.

She finds Heather quickly, whispering something in her ear, and Camille’s best friend’s eyes smile, but her mouth remains straight as she nods her agreement to whatever Camille has said. I know I’m under close inspection from elsewhere, and I look to my side, seeing an older woman looking at me knowingly. Heather’s mother. I don’t give any indication that may confirm what she may or may not be thinking, ensuring I maintain my professional front.

“Ready?” Camille asks, approaching me.

“Just keep walking,” I say under my breath, spotting Logan’s personal security exiting the orangery and scanning the pool area.

Cami continues past me as ordered, and I discreetly scan the crowds as I walk behind her, taking in all the faces, hyper-aware. Reaching behind my back, I feel my gun, reminding myself that it’s there and waiting to blow out the brains of anyone who tries to stop us from leaving. That look I gave Logan—I shouldn’t have challenged him like that.

Once we’re out of the garden area and rounding the house, I move to Camille’s side and slip my palm onto her lower back, pushing her along.

“You’re twitchy.” She looks up at me as I gauge the distance to my Range Rover. “Why?”

“I just want to get you home.” I pull the door open and physically lift her into the seat before rounding the front quickly and hopping in. As I start the engine, I see Logan’s apes come barreling around the corner.

“Hey, what do Pete and Grant want?” Camille asks, throwing me a questioning look. I pull off down the drive, faster than I planned, my head whizzing. “Jake!”

“I don’t know, Cami,” I grate, picking up speed.

“It could be some news,” she says innocently. “Maybe Dad’s found out who’s been sending the threats.”

“I don’t think they want to talk about the threats.” I’m only half-lying, but what can I tell her? That I think her father’s hiding something? I don’t feel in the least bit guilty for hiding the most recent photographs from her—the ones that I found on the windscreen of her car. She has enough on her plate.

“Then what?” she asks.

“What do you think your father would do if he found out about us?” I glance across the car and find horror etched all over her face.

“He’d say no one is good enough for me. Only some idiot business associate’s son.”

“I know that, angel. But you haven’t answered my question.”

“He’d do anything to keep you away.” She looks pained as she openly admits what we both know. “But you are good enough,” she says quietly.

“I don’t think your father will agree, angel.” I reach over and take her hand, squeezing some reassurance into it, choosing to keep the tiny detail that he paid Seb off to the tune of 100K to myself. It’s irrelevant, since it hasn’t worked, and it’ll only upset Camille, for no other reason than it’s her father taking her life into his hands again. There’s nothing unreasonable about Logan’s motives. Camille’s fierce desire to be independent isn’t always a good thing, especially where abusive ex-boyfriends are concerned. Stubborn little thing.

“I don’t care what he thinks, Jake,” she spits out shortly. “He’s obsessed with controlling everything around him. He will not control me. I’m not marrying a man so Dad can make a few more millions!”

“He cares about you. He wants to look after you,” I say quietly, for reasons I don’t know.

She looks at me, that fierce passion burning bright in her eyes. “But I have you to look after me now.”

My breath catches in my throat. Never has anything sounded so good. So right. “You have me now,” I confirm in a hushed whisper, returning my attention to the road.

* * *

I don’t take Cami back to her apartment. I take her to mine. I don’t want Trevor Logan to know where we are, and the only way his goons would find me is if they hacked into the agency database. That isn’t going to happen.

I pull into the factory unit down by the Docklands, smiling on the inside at Cami’s evident concern. “Where are we?” she asks, looking around with a half-concealed, appalled expression on her face.

“My home.” I exit the vehicle and circle to get her out, trying not to laugh at her obvious revulsion. She’s plain horrified.

She takes my hand and lets me help her down. “You live here?”

“That’s right, angel.” I walk on, waiting for the sound of her heels clicking against the concrete to kick in, but when I reach the old industrial elevator and stop, there’s no sound. I punch in my code and turn to find her gazing around the huge open space, up to the steel rafters and corrugated iron roof. The low evening sunlight hits her face, seeping in from one of the broken panels. I smile, expecting nothing less. Not because it’s Cami standing in the derelict space, but because it really is that bad. “You coming, or shall I bring your coffee down here?”