CHAPTER SEVEN

RYDER

––––––––

What the hell was that? I walk into my bathroom and ask the question over and over.

I was not fucking imagining it. There was lust in Savannah's voice.

Not lust. Arousal.

Did she have someone there when I called?

No. The guards would have texted me if someone arrived. That's how our system works.

I strip off my shirt and jeans and turn on the shower.

There's no way.

Stepping under the hot water, I pour the shower wash over my body and soap up.

No fucking way.

I grip my balls and wash them, my cock hardening as I try to convince myself what just happened isn't just a fucking wet dream of mine.

The image in my head as I hear her rough, almost shuddering voice replaying in my head is like a porno.

My own personal fantasy.

I don't care that she's famous. Those green eyes caught my attention the first time I saw her. If she wanted to get on her knees and suck me off while watching me with those long dark lashes, then I wouldn't say no.

I'd do more than that.

I'd wrap her long, dark hair around my fist and fuck her throat until she was gagging and begging me for her next breath.

Is she touching herself right now?

Jesus fucking Christ.

I stroke my cock, wondering how she does it.

With a toy?

My fucking god.

With her fingers? Fuck me. How wet does she get? Does she like her pussy licked? Does she wish I'd shown up and finished the job?

My hand strokes faster, picturing Savannah with her legs spread, working herself as I am now, and her wet hot glistening cunt needing my cock.

"Fuck," I cry as come spurts from my head into the shower.

The only question I really need to ask here is why she answered the damn phone.

I know the answer.

She wanted to hear my voice as she came.

And that changes everything.

We both know it.

––––––––

THE NEXT MORNING I'm on my way to Savannah's when Aidan phones.

I answer. "Ryder St. James."

"We never finished our chat," he says.

"Tara won't have the information back until at least midday," I say, knowing that's not what he meant.

"It will be up to Ms. Sinclair if she wants the police involved. But I agree, keeping it tight is the best decision right now."

"Agreed," I say. "I'll get more information from her today about who might have a motive."

"Find out if she has any enemies. Or who wouldn't want her with Nick Marciano," Aidan says.

"You mean, aside from his fifteen million Instagram fans who want to have his baby?" I laugh.

"God that must be weird."

I recall the phone call with her father and add him to the list.

"Her father is an asshole, but I doubt he'd send it. Could be the girlfriend." I share my thoughts out loud.

"She has a girlfriend?"

"No, the father's girl." I shake my head.

"Shame. That would've been a hot fantasy." He laughs.

I snort but want to punch him. He can get that fucking idea out of his head. Savannah is not his to fantasize ov—

Woah.

That's not good. She isn't mine either. She has millions of fans jerking off to her every night, so I'm out of luck. But I know what happened during our call last night and it was not my imagination.

It's stuck in my mind and my cock has been at half-mast all morning.

Still, Savannah belongs to her fans and if she died on my watch, I'd be one hated man. I already hate myself after watching a woman die. A woman I was responsible for keeping safe.

And it's a reminder I need to get off this job.

"Aidan—"

"Yeah, I heard you, Ry. Let me look at the roster. I'll come back to you tomorrow," he says.

I nod, although he can't see me.

"I'll call you if I learn anything important. Oh, and she's been nominated for a Golden Globe. It's not public knowledge yet, but I bet there are a handful of people who do. Could be relevant."

"Could be," he mutters, then signs off.

I pull into her driveway and nod to our BHS guards. There are two of them. One does an hourly perimeter check, and her cameras are monitored by our team back at headquarters.

"Morning boys." I grin.

"Ryder." They smile back.

"Anything interesting happening?" I inquire.

"Nope. Except watching Savannah Sinclair parade around in her bikini before going for a swim an hour ago." Asher, who is a former Army Ranger, snickers.

I lift my brows.

Is that what they're doing? Spending their time here perving on her?

I see red and feel my temper rising.

A complete overreaction, but I'm not great at hiding my expression so Asher pales.

"Come on, dude," he chimes while Cole chuckles silently and walks off to do the perimeter check.

He gives me a nod, which I return.

"Keep your eyes off her." I punch in the code before I say something inappropriate.

The gates start opening.

I don't like how territorial I'm feeling about her. It's more than just sexual chemistry.

Way more.

Fuck it.

As I press the accelerator on my car and start driving up to the house, I let myself recall the last time I was responsible for protecting a woman.

I had to watch her step into view with her baby in her arms. Sounds sweet enough.

It wasn't.

A man—her Iraqi husband—was wearing a suicide vest and holding a gun to her head. The baby was screaming while she trembled and stared at me, pleading for help.

He waited just enough time for me to take it all in. Her fear. Their deaths. Her punishment for betraying him. Then he detonated the vest and the three of them exploded.

Right in fucking front of me.

She'd trusted me.

Just as Savannah is trusting me.

She shouldn't and I can't go through that again.