CHAPTER ELEVEN

RYDER

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I step back and glance around the room.

As much as I'd love to scoop this beautiful woman up, lay her down on the plush rug in front of the fireplace, and fuck her for two hours, I can't.

I have a job to do.

Savannah Sinclair has a stalker.

Yesterday's note was a question mark.

Today was a full stop.

Taking her panties and leaving such an obvious message was clear. Someone is obsessed with her. Honestly, I get it. She's beautiful, charismatic, charming, and funny.

When Savannah walks into a room, all eyes turn on her.

Mine never leave her.

Then again, it's my job.

At least, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.

"You eat. I'll talk," I tell her, as I increase the space between us.

"No. I'll make us dinner and we both eat," Savannah says.

"That's not necessary," I reply.

I need to keep this strictly business. Even if it's a little late for that.

"Don't be silly, you need to eat too."

She has a point, so I only hesitate for a moment before nodding and then follow her into the kitchen.

Savannah kicks off her heels and pulls a few things out of the fridge, including a bottle of wine. Lifting it, she offers me a glass.

Technically, I'm off duty now that she is home, but alcohol equals lowered willpower and I need all I have around this sexy woman.

All of it.

"Come on, Ryder. Chill out. It's one glass with dinner." She juts out her hip and I force back my smirk.

She can be so fucking sassy when she wants to be, and I like it way too much.

"Fine. One glass."

This woman is playing me like a fiddle and I'm here for it.

Goddamn it.

Before long, she's whipped up a chicken salad and the most delicious, heated bread rolls with lashings of butter.

I sit at the dining table and dig into the salad. "Did you empty the contents of your fridge into this?"

Savannah laughs, swallowing her mouthful and placing her hand over her lips. "I don't like boring salads."

"Strawberries." I hold up my fork.

"Go in salads." She finishes the sentence I didn't know was incomplete.

"Apparently. Fuck it's good." I dive into the bread roll and try to remember what I'm doing here.

This is not a date.

After Savannah ran upstairs to get changed into a pair of denim shorts and a long-sleeved white t-shirt, and I wiped my chin off the floor, Savannah told me the backstory to Selena Hendrix. All the drama.

So far we haven't got to the purpose of me being here tonight. Although, I'm slowly working my way through the members of her team and getting a handle on the people in her world.

There are a lot of them.

"Kali has been with me since the first movie," she tells me, sipping her wine.

We're on our second glass. This wasn't my plan but getting her to focus and talk while she's working would never happen.

Tonight, Savannah is relaxed and opening up as if we are two friends having dinner. I'm not her friend. I am her bodyguard.

And the man who fucked her on the washing machine this morning.

The man who wants to flip her over, tug down those Daisy Dukes, and slide my cock inside her pussy again.

Once is a slipup.

Twice is on purpose.

This woman is getting under my skin, and while I should be speeding up the process to get me replaced and confessing that I slept with the client, I don't know if I want one of the other guys here.

I don't know if I can go back to the office or another job and ignore the natural instinct in me that wants to protect her.

Didn't go well last time did it.

Shit. Fucking brain.

"You okay?" Savannah asks.

"What about Ricco and Luis?" I prod, ignoring her question. "Are they new?"

"No. Well, yes. Luis is. Ricco's old assistant left about a year ago. Then I hired Gina midway through filming the second movie. She's my best friend."

She's already mentioned that.

I watch as her eyes drift away and study her.

Interesting.

The dynamics between the two women are interesting and I need to dig further.

"You didn't want to hire her?"

She hesitates to answer, playing with her napkin. After a long sigh, Savannah says, "She lost her job. I did feel pressured to offer her a job, but it was the least I could do. Briar needed some help and I think Gina's doing an okay job. When she's not offering PA support to fucking Nick."

I hear the resentment in her voice.

"You think it's her?" I ask, lifting my brow.

Savannah's eyes shoot up to mine. "No. God no. She had a crush on Nick, and I told him to stay away from her. I think she's still hoping he'll fall in love with her."

"Like millions of other women," I state.

"Exactly." She shrugs. "He doesn't help. He loves the attention, and it just bugs me."

Because...she has feelings for Nick herself?

I should ask the question but if she does, she won't answer me honestly after this morning. If she doesn't, I'll know by observing her.

As long as I can keep a neutral point of view about her.

I can.

I think.

"It will pass. When this media tour is over and I start on a new movie, she'll crush on someone else."

"Except Gina didn't seem to like you giving her direction."

She shakes her head. "We're friends. It's difficult."

Is it?

The way I see it, there's nothing complicated at all. Gina is her employee and needs to do her job. Or maybe I'm just used to a military environment where people do their fucking job, or someone loses their life.

Or job.

I reflect on what I know about Savannah's life so far. Her family doesn't support her and, in fact, believes she should be dishing out her money. Her best friend is taking advantage of her. And her co-star is disrespecting her request to stop behaving in certain ways with her employees.

She has an enormous fan base, and many believe she and Nick are a couple. A woman in a prominent media position has a poisonous and jealous dislike for Savannah.

Last, she's one of the most desired women in the world.

It could be anyone.

Someone she's not even aware of.

Often, that can be the case.

"Stalkers aren't necessarily criminals." I wipe my mouth with my napkin. "They can go undetected for a long time, if not forever."

"That's terrifying," she says, sitting back in her chair, nursing her wine.

"Which is why you have a bodyguard." I wink.

"Do you think it's serious? Should I be worried or just take it in my stride and remember this is part of being in Hollywood?"

I hold her eyes for a long moment, then nod.

"Yes, I think it's serious. Or at least there's a strong possibility it could be. If it was just the first note, I would've said no, but taking your underwear shows a darker side to this person's psyche."

In other words, they are fucked up.

I watch as Savannah begins to unravel. She drops her wineglass on the table and her head falls into her hands.

The urge to go to her, pull her into my arms and tell her I'll protect her is so damn strong I have to force myself to stay in the chair.

Christ.

If she was a man, I wouldn't be even thinking about it.

She's a client. She's a client.

But reassuring a client is part of my job, so I can voice it at the very least.

"No one is getting past me, Savannah." I growl softly. "I mean it."

Her eyes lift and god the vulnerability in them is palpable.

Which must be why I add, "If you didn't notice, I can't take my eyes off you."

Fuck.

Goddamn mouth.

"Because it's your job." Savannah's voice is no more than a whisper.

A shiver runs through me. The sun is going down and the light in the room has shifted. It's more intimate now and I realize I've stayed later than I should have.

My jaw twitches as I force back every natural instinct. "Sure. Let's stick with that, sweetheart."

She smiles softly, knowing as well as I do that's bullshit. Then glances away and stands, taking our plates from the table.

"I was a waitress for a long time," she tells me as I grab the condiments from the middle of the table and follow her into the kitchen.

"Oh, yeah?" I say, glad to move on from that conversation. "I bet you got your ass pinched a time or two."

Don't talk about her ass.

Savannah smirks over her shoulder.

God, she's fucking sexy.

"About a million times. I worked a lot of late shifts."

"That's dangerous." I frown, reaching over her to put the mayonnaise in the fridge.

"Well, I couldn't afford a bodyguard then." Savannah turns to me, and I slowly close the fridge, noticing how short she is in bare feet.

And adorable.

"On the bright side, no one was threatening me." Her eyes lock with mine and they are full of lust.

Ignore it.

"We'll find them." I overpromise.

The truth is, we may not. But I make myself a promise right there and then. I'm not going to let any harm come to Savannah Sinclair.

Unlike the last woman I promised that to.

Her eyes roam over me and I stay deathly still. As if I'm lying in the desert under enemy fire, trying to stay alive.

I'm not sure it's too different.

This woman is a risk to me.

"Well, if you won't kiss me, then the least you can do is help me load the dishwasher." Savannah winks.

"I'll do you one better," I say, glancing at the stools behind us.

Then I lift her up as she squeals and place her pretty little ass on one of the stools.

"You sit here and write down a list of people you think could want to rattle you while I do clean up."

Her smile is too fucking sexy as her head swivels and follows me over to the sink.

"Ryder St. James, admit it. You love carrying me around."

Yeah, I do.

––––––––

AN HOUR LATER, I'm leaning on the counter beside Savannah, and we've gone through a long list of people who might have a reason to threaten her.

It's an emotional task.

One I've been through with many clients before.

No one ever wants to believe someone they know, and certainly someone they believe loves them, would do this.

But it happens.

More than people realize.

"I don't know." Savannah shakes her head. "My dad's girlfriend wouldn't have access to the studio today."

"People can be paid," I tell her. "You focus on the who, and we'll work out the how."

"It's not Nick, obviously," she says, crossing his name off.

It could be.

Babe.

I mentally uncross it. For all we know, he could be setting her up. People do insane things.

Clearly, I don't like the guy. I don't like him teasing her. I don't like him touching her. I don't...want him near her.

Irrationally.

Also on the list, she's put Selena Hendrix along with her mom, dad, and sister. There were a few tears as she wrote them, which I ignored and stacked the dishwasher.

Now it's done.

We have at least twenty people to look into. I plan to send it to the BHS team to dig into key suspect backgrounds and activity for the past few weeks.

Longer if necessary.

I straighten and Savannah spins on her stool. I glance down and Christ, even her painted toes are gorgeous.

That's not a foot fetish. I just find every inch of this woman sexy as fuck.

I lean my hand on the counter and Savannah runs her eyes up my bare tattooed arm. My shirt came off hours ago, leaving me in a short-sleeved black t-shirt.

"What do your tattoos mean?" she asks.

Huge question.

Her fingers reach out and she sends a shiver right to my damn dick. She runs a circle over the Greek symbol for Delta on the inside of my forearm.

We all got them.

By all I mean the members of my team, which never existed.

Same page?

Good.

"That one there means I have the skills necessary to keep you safe." I lean in and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "Better than most men, sweetheart."

Crap.

I'm fucking useless at keeping my hands off her.

Those big green eyes lift to mine and she swallows. I can read her damn mind.

Shit.

I shouldn't be here still.

Two bottles of wine and a sexy woman I had my cock balls deep in twelve hours ago.

"No." I say, and as I go to move her hand reaches out and grips my t-shirt.

I grab her wrist.

"One kiss. I'll never ask again," she purrs.

I groan.

"Savannah, if I kiss you, I'm fucking you. End of story."

"Okay," she purrs again and tilts her head.

I shake my head and press my eyes closed, searching for the willpower I used to believe I had a whole lot of.

Maybe it runs out when you get older.

Jesus, I'm only thirty-three.

Or maybe she's a witch and I'm done for.

"I need to protect you. Fucking you will just distract me." I attempt to reason with her.

Reasoning with a seductress. Good one.

There are reasons we have these rules, and while I've now broken them and will one day confess to Josh, I know they're necessary.

I clear my head and remember why they are important. I won't let my cock get in the way of keeping this beautiful woman safe.

The chemistry between us is off the charts. I should've known she wasn't the kind of woman you sleep with and the itch is scratched. The moment I sunk inside her, I knew she would be my cocaine.

Dream pussy.

But the more time I spend with her, it's becoming clear to me; Savannah Sinclair is not the kind of girl you fuck. She's the one you fall in love with forever.

The world has.

I don't doubt there are men in her stardom world who will soon swoop in and steal her heart.

I'm not stupid.

She's a movie star.

A former Delta operator, now bodyguard, is not exactly the type of man Savannah Sinclair is expected to be associated with romantically.

And I'm not looking for a wife.

I'm wealthy, for reasons that we don't need to go into, but not in the same league as Savannah or the leading men in the movie industry.

This is her world.

This is what she's chosen for herself.

I'm not getting involved with a woman I can't have, can't be seen with in public, and would have to stand back and watch with other men.

Acting or not.

I've had a taste of that today with Nick the Dick.

Her knee brushes my cock.

"Oops," she says, sucking her finger slowly into her mouth.

"Goddamn it, Savannah."

My cock hardens as I drop her wrist then grip her face with my hands.

We pant heavily as sparks ignite around us.

The delight in her eyes infuriates me as I pull her off the stool and up against my body.

"If I'm going to kiss you, I'm kissing your pussy," I ground out. "And I already did that today, so you need to. Go. To. Bed."

Fuck.

I need air.

I need to think and breathe and get away from this seductress.