She was talking to the birds. Of course she was. Spencer is as pure and sweet as the chickadees she loves so much. I’m a dirty old man for wanting to corrupt her.
The last of the sparkly shit finally washes down the drain, though I have a feeling I’ll be finding more of it on my clothes for the rest of the day.
I splash some cold water on my face then blow out a breath. “She’s off-limits,” I remind myself. I go through the list of reasons why Spencer can’t be mine. She’s too damn young, for starters. I’m friends with her dad for fuck’s sake. She’s an innocent little lamb and I’m the big bad wolf who can’t wait to sink my teeth into her soft, creamy skin.
Jesus, even as I’m trying to convince myself I’m no good for her, my dick is hard just thinking about biting and licking every inch of her curvy little body. I squeeze the fucker through my jeans, nearly coming with the vision of burying my face between her thighs.
“Goddamnit,” I grunt, gripping the side of the sink with both hands so hard I’m afraid I might break the damn thing.
I take a deep breath and scrub a hand down my face. Today is day five of being Spencer’s bodyguard. Five days of pure torture following the little angel around but not touching her. Not kissing those pouty pink lips. Not wrapping her up in a blanket and holding her until all the sadness is gone from wherever she keeps it locked up deep inside.
None of that is like me. I don’t chase women. I don’t obsess over them. I certainly don’t cuddle them. But with Spencer…
I shake my head, clearing thoughts of a future with Spencer. I’m not the man for her. I’ll be out of her life in a little over a week when her dad gets back from his business trip.
Ignoring the searing pain ripping through my heart at the thought of leaving her, I open the door and step outside into the hallway.
I’ve mostly gotten myself under control by the time I reach her craft room.
Peeking my head inside, I stop short, my breath catching in my throat.
Spencer is sitting at her desk, colorful art supplies strewn about her haphazardly, looking out the window with the softest smile on her face. The early morning sunlight shines on her face, lighting up little dust particles in the air and making her sparkle brighter than the glitter I just washed off my hands.
Her auburn hair looks almost fiery red in the orange glow of the sunrise. I want to run my fingers through those silky locks and see if she smells as sweet as she looks.
When Spencer turns to look at me, I swear to fucking Christ my heart stops and my chest caves in.
And then she smiles at me.
Fucking game over.
How can I resist her when she smiles at me and blushes?
My feet start moving before my brain can catch up. Her eyes follow me as I walk closer to her and lean against the wall next to the window. It gives me the perfect view of her delicate features lit up by the first few rays of sunshine.
She’s beautiful in a way I don’t understand. My chest grows tight the longer she looks at me. She’s studying me the same way I’ve been studying her these last few days. I wonder what she sees. A gruff, washed-up, bitter man? A lethal motherfucker with the scars to prove it? A desperate man in need of her touch, her smile, her light?
She’d be right on all accounts.
“You can sit down, you know,” the little angel teases. “I won’t bite.”
Jesus, it takes everything in me not to groan at her words. She has no idea how much I want her to bite me. I want her mark on every part of me.
Spencer taps the leg of the chair next to me, scooting it a few inches closer to me. How can I deny her anything when she grins at me like that?
I sit down next to her, though I’m too tall to fit my legs under the table. Not that there’s much room for me between the magazines, markers, ribbon, and of course, glitter. She’s a beautiful mess and I want her as mine. Fuck that, I need her.
“What are you making?” I grunt out, wincing at my harsh tone.
Spencer just keeps right on smiling at me before looking around at the chaos surrounding her. Normally, a mess like this would frustrate me endlessly, but how can I be upset when Spencer looks so happy?
“A collage.”
When I don’t respond, she looks up at me again, then quickly drops her eyes to the table. She picks up one of the magazines and flips through it, landing on a page with a picture of a meadow on it. It’s an ad for some allergy medicine, but Spencer cuts just the meadow part out, then arranges it on the poster board to her liking.
Watching her work is...soothing. I can’t explain it and I don’t want to. Spencer is pure light and magic. That’s all there is to it.
“What is it for?” I find myself asking. I want to hear her voice again. Need it in a way that terrifies me and excites me at the same time.
Her hands stop moving and then she slowly lifts her head, tilting it to the side as she stares at me.
“You want to know about my art?” God, the doubt in her soft tone kills me.
How do I tell her I’d listen to her talk about paint drying or migration patterns of the birds she loves so much or any and every thought that pops into her head?
I don’t want to open my mouth in case any of those words come out, so I nod.
Her eyes sparkle, the little golden flecks in her irises shining with delight. Am I the reason for her joy? I can’t be, but part of me hopes so. I must have done something incredible in a former life to be here in this moment with Spencer.
“Well,” she says, clasping her hands together as she launches into a graduate level course lecture on collages. “For me, collages are kind of like a mood board…”
I sink further into my seat, letting her voice seep into my skin. I feel it coursing through my veins and wrapping itself around my heart, branding me for all of time. This woman has a hold on me. I have a feeling she already owns me, body and soul.
The snapping of a branch jars me out of my relaxed state. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that good and she was only talking to me.
But now I’m on high alert, every one of my protective instincts kicking in.
“What’s wrong?” Spencer whispers, her eyes darting around the room.
I jump up from my chair, nearly knocking it over as I peer out the window. I see the bushes lining the far wall rustle ever so slightly, making my fists clench at my sides. Anger and adrenaline flood my system, snapping me back into bodyguard mode.
“Go into the bathroom and lock the door,” I growl at her. When she flinches away from me I want to punch myself in the face. I don’t know how to be gentle, but fuck, I want to try. “Everything will be okay,” I tell her, trying to make my voice softer.
She nods once, swallowing back her fear. Spencer trembles slightly and she looks white as a fucking sheet, but she obeys.
I go into my room and grab the gun I keep in the bedside table drawer, tucking it into the waistband of my jeans and covering it with my shirt. I move quickly and quietly through the house, slipping out one of the doors that leads to the backyard.
Keeping close to the wall surrounding the property, I carefully do a perimeter sweep, starting with the bushes that were moving a few moments ago.
I get there just in time to hear a thud on the other side of the wall, then footsteps pounding the pavement. Without hesitating, I back up a few feet then run at the six-foot-tall wall, grabbing the top of it as my right foot kicks off the solid brick, giving me a boost. Pulling myself up, I leap over the top and hit the ground, rolling once before righting myself.