Sexual frustration from lack of sex due to previously mentioned guilt? A big ol’ orange highlight.
Whatever. I’m a big girl. Give me coffee and I can handle anything.
So what changed that means the universe and I are going to have words?
Well I’ll tell you.
The universe is using karma as a beta reader, and that bitch is giving her all kinds of notes on how to up the angst in my life. And what does the universe do?
Oh, just decides the person I’m going to be forced into close proximity with for my protection is the man who inspires lust so strong it fucks with everything else I have going on. It’s truly the only reason I can think of for why I’m allowing him to stay on as protector when I’ve bucked everyone else.
I was only seven years old when the way I saw Dexter Stone changed.
We were at a playground near our house when a group of fifth graders decided to bully me. Seeing as at twenty-six years old I’m the height of your average twelve-year-old, at age seven my bullies seemed like massive giants.
Sammy and I were on the swings, and they wanted mine. I was pushed off and my arm hit a rock on my way down, resulting in a gash from elbow to wrist.
Dex saw what happened and rushed over before my brothers even had a chance to back him up. Did he care that the kids were two years older and bigger than he was? Nope. He went full-on yippee-ki-yay when I was pushed off the swings.
My little Disney-loving heart saw him going all Prince Phillip slaying Maleficent or Prince Eric fighting Ursula and I was done. D-O-N-E, done.
Unfortunately, puppy love does not equate to me singing about how I can go the distance like Hercules.
So let me ask you this: how the hell is a girl supposed to meet her deadlines when she’s dealing with all this?
“Damn.” Dex’s manly chuckle does all kinds of things to my girly bits. “I lost you already.” He taps a finger to the middle of my forehead. “Come back from Neverland, Tink.”
I swat his hand away with a curl to my lips. I hate and love that he is so well versed in Disney knowledge. Not even Sammy uses Disney-speak with me the way Dex does.
“What?” I ask, and he arches a dark brow. “You said first, so I can only assume you have a list of what you need. Let’s hear it. What else do you need to keep me from walking the plank?”
He scrubs a hand over his face in an attempt to quell what I’m sure is the urge to laugh again. While he wages a battle with his amusement, I fight one against the drive to rub myself against the stubble I hear scratching his palm.
Is it soft? Prickly?
Would it take away from the soft pillows of his lips when we kiss?
How would it feel between my thighs?
Aaaand holy Dory I seriously need to learn how to stay on topic.
Nemo isn’t the only thing we need to find; my self-control seems to be missing too.
I call back my wayward thoughts and hormones like Snow White calling to her animal helpers and settle in to listen to Dex’s plan.
Why do I get the feeling my stalker might be the least of my problems?
Chapter Eight
In the last hour, I’ve learned more about Maddey’s stalker from the things she hasn’t said than those she has. It’s cute how she thinks she’s spinning me this tale of overreaction to an overzealous fan and that she’s fine.
Yeah, right.
She can’t even fool herself—she has no hope of fooling me.
Her shoulders were hunched when she looked over all the items she’d received, and I had to put my hands in the pockets of my cargo shorts to keep from massaging the tension away.
I about punched the wall when she flinched at the loud bang heard from downstairs. She’s spooked, even if she won’t admit it.
Justin may have called me because Maddey has a better chance of getting Trident to meow than of talking me out of protecting her, and yes, one of the qualifications I completed with my SEAL training was in High-Threat Protective Security—but those things aren’t what’s really important.
The simple truth is I’ve been protecting her for the majority of my life, and I don’t see any reason to stop now.
Schoolyard bullies? Pfft, piece of cake.
Guys who only wanted to get into her pants? It’s not my fault their pansy asses were too scared to challenge me and her brothers.
Participated in the Die Hard Trilogy’s stay-away-from-our-sister interventions? More than a dozen times.
All those were handled when I was still a punk-ass kid. Now? Well the US government has invested quite a bit of money to make sure I can handle myself in the most godawful situations, and even more to enable me to protect heads of state if needed.
At five foot one, this curly-haired blonde with eyes such a pale blue they remind me of Genie, the husky I had growing up—and yes, before you ask, Maddey did name him—should be a piece of cake. Yeah, maybe if that cake was last year’s stale fruitcake.
She can’t sway me from playing bodyguard, but she damn sure charms me every other way possible. My carefully crafted plan of keeping my distance just hit an IED.
Madison Belle McClain might very well be the death of me.
“Enough.” Maddey steps back from the desk we spread everything out on, burying her hands in her hair, making the curls flounce about.
Her nickname may be derived from a pixie, but her hair has always made me think of mermaids the way it cascades around her to the dip at her waist. It’s long and lush, the perfect length to wrap around my hands, holding on while I drive myself in—
Are you out of your fucking mind, Stone? My conscience scolds me before I can complete the lustful thought.
Fuck! She tased me; I don’t even want to imagine what the Die Hard Trilogy would come up with if they ever caught wind of the majority of my spank bank material.
The tasing may not be an experience I want to repeat any time soon—or ever—but I’m so damn proud of Tink’s instincts.
“I can’t take any more of this.” She waves a hand over the desk. “I’m going downstairs to see what Gemma cooked.”
“Tink.” We aren’t done here.
“Don’t.” She cuts me an icy glare. “You’re just going to make me go over it again with Justin and Paul later. I’m done for now.”
“Maddey.” I don’t want her running away from this anymore. She needs to confront it.
“Dex.” She folds her arms over her chest, pushing up her cleavage in a mouth-watering display.
Shit! Get your mind out of the gutter before you get us sent to the brig, sailor. She’s Baby McClain, not some frog hog.
Life was so much easier when I only saw her as Baby McClain and not a…woman. Fuck me I’m screwed.
“Maddey.” Her name comes out gruffly, my voice rough from barely restrained lust.
“Dex,” she singsongs back, not intimidated in the least.
Damn if her internal fire isn’t the most attractive thing about her. Yeah, yeah, she’s all curves made to hold on to, big blue eyes worthy of any of her beloved Disney princesses, and pouty lips begging to be kissed—but it’s her spunk that makes me want to go AWOL just so I can spend my days getting into all kinds of shenanigans. It’s why with each chant of our names, the small distance between us has diminished to scant inches.