“Call me Chrissie, please,” she murmured.
“We won’t be in your way.”
“Yes, but—”
“Dante Raske, my teammate here, is still recovering from an injury he received while saving a hostage from the bad guys. If you don’t let him work for you, he’s probably going to die of boredom waiting for his knee to heal.”
Ah hell, make her think I’m half a SEAL why don’t you?
Dante assumed a parade rest position, his hands behind his back and his gaze on a point behind the starlet’s head. Just this morning, he’d been tempted to kiss her. He’d walked out of the canyon still fantasizing about her in a sinfully short skirt.
And now he had to work for her.
“You’re injured?” She turned to him and placed her hands on her hips. “And you were still able to—”
Lift you up, wrap your legs around my waist, and thrust my rock-hard dick against you.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said before she revealed to the room filled with suits on her payroll—not to mention Ronan—that he’d beat up her backup singer. Although she might have been lying about that guy’s identity, too.
Why the hell was he always attracted to women who spun the truth to suit themselves?
Her blue eyes remained locked with his. He swore he saw a hint of admiration. But damn if it wasn’t riding on the back of the same primal interest he’d felt when he’d pressed her up against the rock. He knew what it looked like, because it mirrored his desire to finish what they’d started in the canyon.
But she wasn’t the backup singer. She was the star he needed to protect. And even if she wasn’t his boss, he was done playing fast and loose with his heart. He didn’t need a Vegas fling with a side of complications.
“I’ll give you one night,” she said. “But in the morning, I think we’ll all agree that I don’t need around-the-clock bodyguards.”
Without another glance in his direction, Ms. Chrissie Tate pushed through the door that separated the greenroom from the casino.
“Ma’am,” Dante said, moving to follow her.
“Quick trip to the ladies’.” She waved them off. “You don’t need to follow me there, do you?”
The door slammed behind her.
Dante shook his head. “Yeah, actually we do.”
“Give her some space,” Ronan said. “Until she’s comfortable with having us watch her six.” His teammate glanced at the suits. “Watch her back,” he clarified for the businessmen.
Dante nodded. He planned on keeping his distance. Even though he had a list of reasons to steer clear of complications, he still wanted to claim that kiss.
But that was why he’d been hired to protect her. He’d bet half her fans took one look at the All-American country star with a body that would make most Vegas strippers weep with envy, and those fans wanted a piece of her, too.
Not on my watch.
This time, he would keep the girl safe without landing himself on the sidelines.
…
“This is all your fault, Mr. SEAL.”
Chrissie placed her hands on her hips and waited for the overqualified bod
yguard—whom she didn’t want or need—to respond. Sarcasm, anger, maybe a smile, she’d take any response that offered a hint of emotion. She’d been waiting for a few choice words about her deception this morning since he followed her to the ladies’ room earlier.
So far he’d been professional. Period.
And he appeared determined to stick to the employer/employee routine. Her bodyguard scanned the music video set as if programmed on autopilot. Observe the surroundings. Calculate the risk factors. Eliminate danger. And repeat.