CHAPTER TWO

SAVANNAH

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I think I could handle you.

I can't get the arrogant—but gorgeous—man's words out of my head.

We watched each other all night. Well, I watched him while Nick teased me.

In truth, the groomsman barely looked my way again. It was refreshing, actually. But he did look, and when his eyes weren't on me, I still felt them.

In fact, I can still feel the ripples of his muscles under my fingers from having them on his hard chest. And, my god, he was even more stunning up close.

Step back.

His voice. Lord. Every syllable thrummed through my body right into my sex, making me so damn wet I'm still surprised I didn't orgasm on the spot.

Maybe I'm exaggerating, but I'm not sure I am.

I was mesmerized.

While everyone around me flirted shamelessly with Nick, I waited for the blue-eyed groomsman to ask me to dance.

Or slip me his number.

He did neither.

"He must be gay," Nick said at the end of the night as we were driven home in a limousine.

"He's not gay." I shook my head.

I knew he wasn't.

I'm not used to being rejected by men. I was popular in high school despite not dating a lot and hit on frequently at the diner where I waitressed. Now as a famous actress it's like a whole other world.

So while I was admiring the gorgeous man, it was refreshing to desire someone and not feel creeped out by a crushing fan.

That novelty has well and truly worn off.

By the time I got home and used my dildo, I wanted that deep timber voice in my ear and his enormous body on top of me.

Damn.

If he's interested, he'll find a way through common connections to get me a message. The chemistry between us was so hot, I'm almost certain he will.

I'm patient.

I'll wait.

I slide my feet into my nude-colored Louboutin's and take one last look in the mirror. I'm wearing a white pantsuit that plunges between my tanned breasts, a little inappropriate for daywear. But I'm a movie star, and this is what we do. The legs are fitted and finish slightly above the ankle where a tiny star tattoo sits.

I had it done when I was twenty-one.

I promised myself the entire time it was being done I would make it in Hollywood, and I have.

Scooping up my tote bag, I head down my sweeping staircase. Today my new bodyguard starts, and I want to chat with him first before we launch into what will be another long, busy day.

Memories Of Us was such a hit they signed Nick and me up for the sequel, and we went straight into production just weeks later.

Memories of You launched last week, and it's so much more intense this time around. Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly grateful for all of it. Heck, it's paid for the Hollywood Hills mansion I now live in.

But it's a lot.

We're on a media tour and interviewed day in and day out about the movie, who I'm dating, if I had a nose job, and what I'm wearing.

Oh, and if Nick and I are a couple.

It's a weird mix of being adored by people who don't know you, who think you're the character you just played, and criticism. As if I'm someone important who is responsible for world peace.

I wanted to act.

But the expectation to look beautiful twenty-four seven, the entourage, and the lack of privacy are part of it.

My heels tap on the floor as I reach the foyer and head toward the front door. I punch in the code on the security panel and it unlocks.

I pull it open and blink as my eyes adjust to the Los Angeles sunshine...and to the man standing with his back to me and his arms crossed.

Surely not.

He turns and my eyes lock with his bright blue ones, just as they had on the weekend, and my mouth falls open.

It's him.

"Ms. Sinclair," he says, uncrossing his arms and slowly walking toward me.

Like a lion stalking his prey.

My heart pounds as I realize he knew. He knew all along. He knew I was his client, and he didn't say anything.

This is a game for him.

My wide eyes narrow as he nears, but I'm so mad the pounding of my heart is deafening in my ears.

"Ryder St. James." He reaches out his hand and one corner of his lips is lifted.

I was right. He finds this amusing.

My eyes dip to his hand, and damn him, I can't help but notice the roped muscles on his thick powerful forearm or the sexy tattoos.

I quickly shake his hand, not wanting to show how affected I am.

Who am I kidding?

It's his job to notice everything and the almost imperceptible smile on his lips tells me he is fully aware how attracted to him I am.

A man like him? He knows exactly what's happening between my thighs.

Damn it.

"Please come in," I say, releasing his hand and stepping aside.

Ryder drops his sunglasses. "No ma'am. The schedule says we're due at your first interview in twenty minutes, so we need to get going."

God, he looks hot in those shades, but hot or not, Ryder St. James is about to get a lesson in boundaries.

I am the boss here.

Not him.

His game playing days with me are over.

I lift a brow, turn, and walk back through the house to my living room.

And wait.

It takes him less than a minute to figure it out. I hear his boots before I see his solid thighs and wide shoulders appear.

"Do we have a problem?" Ryder asks, planting his hands on his hips.

"I thought you'd prefer this conversation to be in private—"

"Unlikely. But continue," he says dryly.

Ugh.

This isn't going to work out. I will need to get him replaced. Ryder is far too dominant and, my god, too sexy to work with me so closely.

I don't like his attitude or arrogance. I mean, I do. In my bed, not in my business.

I cross my arms. "Ryder St. James, I don't know how you've worked in the past, but in my business, I set my schedule, and I am in charge."

"No."

"Sorry?" I ask, shocked.

"No ma'am," he repeats.

"Stop calling me ma'am." I splutter, and god, I hate that he's unraveling me.

"As your bodyguard, sticking to your schedule is important to providing you with the best protection. Changes need to be run past me."

"Like fuck," I snap.

He smirks.

I narrow my eyes and take five firm steps closer so that we're only about three feet apart.

"I. Am. The. Boss." I repeat. "You work for me. Whatever game you were playing last weekend is over."

"Game?"

Shit. Why did I have to say that?

"Forget it," I mutter.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

He's making me lose control and enjoying every minute of it. Well, he can enjoy himself today because tomorrow someone new will be in his shoes.

"Look, I communicate very well with my team, but I will not be dictated by them. If you can't accept those terms, then I'll have you replaced."

Which I am doing anyway.

As I stride past I'm sure I hear him ground out, "Please do."