Chapter 19

Nineteen

Roc

Iwoke with a sharp pain in my neck as I rolled over onto the cold, hard floor and readjusted one of the heart-shaped pillows under my head. I’d barely slept, but it wasn’t only the threadbare carpet that had made it difficult to sleep. It was Harlowe.

After torturing myself with an icy shower the night before, I’d returned to the bedroom to find the lights off and Harlowe buried beneath the satin covers. All my plans of apologizing for what I’d said to her had been scuttled as I stood in the dark room and listened to her rhythmic breathing. I’d had to settle for flopping onto the floor and snagging one of the many throw pillows that had fallen off the bed. But that didn’t mean I’d been able to drift off. Far from it.

My night had been a series of fitful shifting, disgusted sighs, and miserable rehashing of what had happened when I’d let my primal instincts take control. I couldn’t believe what I’d said to Harlowe. Worse? I was horrified that I’d meant every word of it.

When I’d been tasting her skin and breathing in the warm, feminine scent of her, I’d lost all sense of myself. I’d forgotten who I was—her bodyguard—and who she was—my protectee—and why we could never happen—too many conflicts of interest, professional boundaries, and age gaps to count. All I’d cared about was the knee-wobbling jolt I got when I touched her and how whole I felt when I held her. Every rational roadblock had fallen away like the flimsiest barrier the moment her lips brushed mine.

But now all those reasons seemed sharper than ever, especially after a night filled with regret and recriminations. My head pounded as if punishing me even further.

Suddenly, the pounding in my head wasn’t the only pounding reverberating through me. Someone was banging a fist on the door.

I leapt to my feet, instantly on guard. I detected light seeping in through the thin gaps in the curtains, so I knew it was morning. Morning meant it was possible that someone from the shoot had sent a car or that somehow the paparazzi had heard about the emergency landing and tracked us down.

Glancing down at my wrinkled black shirt and pants, I closed the distance between myself and the door, peering through the peephole. I huffed out a breath of relief that there wasn’t a pack of photographers angling for a shot of the starlet in the cheesy motel.

“Who is it?”

I twisted my head to see Harlowe sitting up in bed, her hair a mess and her eyes still heavy with sleep. How did she still manage to look beautiful?

“Roc?”

Her sharp tone made my back straighten as I looked through the peephole again. “Clean shaven guy with dark, wavy hair in a fancy suit.”

“Is he staring at a titanium iPhone as if it was retina-powered?”

I nodded, and Harlowe threw back the red satin covers, bustling around the room as the man outside knocked again, this time calling out, “Open up, Har. It’s me.”

I stepped back from the door and watched as Harlowe snatched some clothes from her suitcase and hurried into the bathroom. “It’s my agent, Grant. How did he find me? Did you call him?”

“No. I only contacted the coordinator of the shoot.”

I saw flashes of arms and legs in the open arch of the bathroom as Harlowe quickly changed, emerging in a clean pair of wide-legged jeans and a scoop neck, pink T-shirt. She’d swept her hair into a high ponytail and managed to look like she wasn’t on the trip from hell.

She flapped a hand in the general direction of the door. “You can let him in. If he thinks I’m here, he’ll never leave.”

I didn’t ask why she had an agent she clearly didn’t love, but I did open the door.

Grant’s hand was suspended in mid-knock and his mouth was open, as if he was preparing to yell through the door again. His gaze went from me to Harlowe, and his mouth didn’t close.

“Hey, Grant.” Harlowe cut him a brief glance as she jammed the clothes she’d slept in into the suitcase. “How’d you find me?”

Grant stepped gingerly into the room as if it might be wired to explode. “How did I find you? How did you end up here?” He slid his gaze to me and dropped his voice. “With him?”

Harlowe strode past her agent and shoved her carry-on bag at his chest. “Roc is my bodyguard, and he’s the reason I’m alive and safe.”

Grant caught the bag and hooked the straps over his shoulder as he jogged after Harlowe. “I heard about the emergency landing. I was worried sick, Har. Worried. Sick.”

“Thanks.” She sounded like she either didn’t believe him or didn’t care. She also showed not a hint of the scared, fragile woman I’d glimpsed the day before. Her voice was sharp and unyielding, and she carried herself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance.

One thing I now knew for certain. The woman could act.

“You haven’t told me how you found me.” Harlowe paused a few steps outside the room, and Grant almost bumped into her.

“The production assistant on the shoot.” He gave her a grin that had probably charmed many clients. “When they told me they were sending a limo, I told them that I’d handle it. I wanted to see for myself that you were okay.”

Harlowe eyed him carefully then glanced at the long black limousine that looked very out-of-place idling in the gravel parking lot. “How long have you been on the road?”

“Most of the night.”

Her shoulders dropped an inch, and she touched Grant’s arm. “You didn’t have to do that. Roc took care of me.”

Her agent shot me another suspicious look as I pulled her suitcase behind me and closed the motel door. “Since when do you have an orc bodyguard?”

Harlowe resumed walking once I caught up to them. “Since my dad decided the studio’s version of security was lacking.” When she reached the limo, she paused. “You do remember the part where I told you he saved my life and kept me safe, right?”

Grant mumbled something that wasn’t intelligible as he opened the limo door for Harlowe and cast me another tentative look before he jumped in the vehicle after her. I could now add her agent’s distrust to the long list of reasons why I should stay far from Harlowe. I didn’t need a slick, Hollywood hotshot looking at me like I’d crawled from the mountains on all fours.

As soon as this job was done, I would return to my isolation, and Harlowe would return to her life in the spotlight.

I would forget how sweet her hair smelled. I would forget how my skin buzzed when I touched her. I would forget how my breath hitched when I looked at her.

I would forget all of it, except for the fact that she could never be mine.

That, I would make myself remember.