“Do you know if he’s any good?” Vlad said suddenly while they all waited in the living room.
Surprised that Vlad cared at all, Sebastian shrugged. “Never met him.”
Vlad gave him a hard look. “Let me get this straight: you’re trusting a man you’ve never seen before with your life, a man you don’t even know the credentials of. Do you know how many amateurs become bodyguards to make a quick buck?”
Feeling his face turn warm, Sebastian glowered at him. How did Vlad always manage to make him feel stupid so easily?
“The agency wouldn’t hire an amateur,” he said stiffly.
“Fine,” Vlad said. “Let’s test it.” Clad in all black as usual, he strode to the lift and took a position beside it.
As if on cue, a few moments later, the lift doors slid open.
The second the bodyguard stepped across the threshold, Vlad had him in a chokehold with his gun pressing violently into the man’s temple. The guy was even bigger than Vlad, but it didn’t seem to help him at all, and Vlad shoved him away.
“That’s your professional bodyguard?” Vlad said with disgust.
Sebastian scowled at the stranger. “I was cheering you on,” he told him sulkily. “Now I have to put up with that guy’s gloating.”
“Sebastian, looks like Vlad is right,” Luke said reluctantly. “This bloke is clearly not very good. No offence,” he added with a glance at the stranger, who seemed to be torn between looking sheepish and pissed off.
Sebastian sighed. “What do you suggest I do? I don’t have time to find another bodyguard.”
Luke smiled apologetically. “There’s always Vlad.”
“No,” Sebastian and Vlad said together before glaring at each other.
Luke went to the couch, picked up his discarded book, and said, “Vlad, I’m lending you to Sebastian. And before you protest, Roman gave me permission to lend you out as long as I stay at home, and I have no intention to move from this couch anytime soon. If you have any issues with it, take them up with Roman.” Luke smiled serenely before turning to his book.
Sebastian didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Luke obviously thought he was doing him a favor, and Sebastian couldn’t exactly tell him why it was anything but.
With a sigh, he dismissed the bodyguard the agency had sent, picked up his car keys, and strode toward the lift.
Sebastian felt rather than heard Vlad follow him, Vlad’s big body putting him on edge rather than making him feel safe. His skin still felt too hot, his muscles jittery, and his thoughts foggier than he would have liked.
God, it was going to be a long day.
Chapter 12
Sebastian’s hometown turned out to be a small seaside town. A cold breeze blew in Vlad’s face as he stood a few feet away from where the photographer had set up his equipment. The shingle beach was abandoned as far as Vlad could see, but he remained alert, his gaze scanning the beach and avoiding settling for too long on the photo shoot that was taking place a few feet away.
But he still couldn’t help looking.
He gathered from what he had overheard that this part of the photo shoot was supposed to capture the man Sebastian was now. Apparently that required skinny trousers, Gucci jackets, Saint Laurent velvet boots, and smoldering looks into the camera. Vlad had had to hold his tongue, because all those outfits were very impractical for the setting. He hadn’t said anything. He had come to the conclusion that the less he talked to Sebastian, the better. It felt like every time they talked—quarreled—they had somehow ended up all over each other’s personal space, which was something Vlad was determined to avoid after what happened last night.
He pressed his lips together and scanned the length of the beach again.
He wasn’t going to think about what had happened. If Vlad could bleach his brain, he would. But at least he was good at compartmentalizing. He wasn’t going to spend the day thinking about things he shouldn’t be thinking about—things that shouldn’t have happened. He was a professional.
“Part your lips a little, love,” the photographer said, and Vlad’s gaze snapped to the model again.
Sebastian was lounging on a big rock, his long, dark hair swept back by the breeze, his pale fingers pulling the collar of his black turtleneck up over his chin. The contrast between his snow-white skin, dark hair, dark eyes, dark fabric, and red, bitten lips was incredible. Vlad was no photographer or artist, but even he could see how beautiful the…the shot was.
“Perfect,” the photographer said. “You’re gorgeous, love.”
Sebastian smiled at him. “You’re a flatterer, Matt, but it isn’t going to work.”
The photographer laughed. “You can’t blame a bloke for trying. Maybe one day I’ll wear you down and you’ll agree to go on a date with me.”
Vlad sneered. And that man was a professional?