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The woman goes on, but I stop listening. All I need is a simple yes or no.
“Thank you. I’ll be right there,” I say, cutting her off.
“All right, dear. See you in a bit.”
I stare at my phone, then shake my head before shoving it back into my pocket. The transition to civilian life has been... strange. The small talk and pleasantries make my skin crawl, but I know it’s not the receptionist’s fault. I’ve never been particularly good at accepting kindness, let alone being called dear.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m walking into the office with a bone to pick with one Miss Roxy Smith. I don’t bother stopping at reception, though the woman behind the desk waves to me as I turn down a hallway of conference rooms with glass doors and glass walls.
What the hell was she thinking, walking to work without me? Was my email not clear? Fuck that, I know it was flawless. I laid out our schedule, what I would need from her, what the expectations are now that she’s under my care, and all the numbers, emails, etc., where she can reach me if we get separated for any reason. I just wasn’t planning on the reason being my client giving me the slip at every turn.
My frustration mounts with each step, my breathing growing heavier as I think of all the ways she put herself in danger this morning. She might not care about her safety, but it’s my job to protect this woman.
I pause when I hear her voice, everything in me stilling at the sound. I turn my head, catching a glimpse of Roxy in the room next to me. The door is slightly ajar, allowing me to hear her every word. She’s in a navy blue wrap dress today that hugs her curves and matches her gorgeous eyes.
I notice she’s wearing a bit of makeup today, unlike yesterday. It’s not over the top, but it makes her eyes pop even more. Coupled with her red lipstick, Roxy looks like a goddess as she stands next to a photo of huge rolling waves on the sea projected on the wall.
“The sea is a wild, dangerous thing that cannot be tamed,” Roxy starts.
Her blue eyes appear to glow the more she talks about the ocean, and I wonder for a moment if we’re talking about the sea, or Roxy herself.
“The goal of Sea Change isn’t to domesticate the ocean and its wildlife but to restore habitats and rehabilitate once-captured animals. We seek to keep the ocean wild and free, which means dealing with the abhorrent practices of big fishing companies worldwide. The ocean suffers the consequence, but these multi-billion-dollar companies never get reported. No one is holding them accountable. Well, now I am.”
She pauses to take a breath and refocus. I can’t take my eyes off of her. This woman is in her element, speaking confidently about her mission in life. I wish I were that sure of myself and what I want from my time here on earth.
“You may be wondering why I’m so obsessed with saving our oceans,” Roxy continues, giving the most adorable self-effacing smile. “Truthfully, the ocean has saved me on more than one occasion. I never had a real home growing up... I... no, that’s too much information,” she mutters to herself. She smooths out her dress and smiles at the wall before starting again. “Growing up, when things got intense, or I felt lonely or out of place, I snuck off to whatever beach was closest.”
Roxy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. I breathe with her, wondering yet again what she’s been through. I feel so connected to her at this moment, even though she has no idea I’m here. Some part of me feels like I’m intruding on a personal moment, but then I remember I’m her bodyguard. I should have been here from the very beginning.
“Sitting in the sand with the cool water lapping at my feet grounded me in a way I’ve never felt before,” Roxy goes on. “The steady rhythm of the waves and the ocean's heartbeat calmed me on those dark nights and gave me a sense of belonging. Now, I’m older, and I have the power to make a difference. So do you.”
The enchanting woman gets more into her talking points about overfishing, trawling the ocean floor, and the harm done by abandoned fishing equipment. The more she talks, the more enraptured I am by her. She’s confident and brilliant, yet humble in her quest to save the sea. She’s inviting people to join her, not simply throw money at the problem, but to genuinely care.
Her mesmerizing voice stops, which pulls me out of my trance. I look up, catching Roxy’s eyes. Her cheeks are tinged with pink as if she’s feeling a little guilty about ditching me this morning. I furrow my brow and set my jaw, but it’s mostly to help me remember she’s a client who disobeyed me, not a stunning woman with enough passion and eloquence to knock me on my ass.
Roxy lifts her chin in my direction, and I take that as my cue to enter. Remember, she’s a client—a client who put herself in danger.
Even as I think the words, I know I’m fucked. I’ve seen a side of her I can’t unsee, and every moment in her presence is going to tie me closer to her. I can feel it already.
Chapter 4
Roxy
Yup. He’s as tall and muscled and devilishly handsome as he was yesterday. I hoped he would somehow turn into a toad overnight, and I would wake up this morning not under his spell.
But here he is, all six and a half feet of him, rippling with muscles and tattoos. Those golden-brown eyes latch onto mine as he takes a step forward. My heart stutters in my chest, then kicks into high gear as the giant of a man lumbers toward me.
His shoulders take up the entire door frame, which should scare me. I’ve known plenty of men who would use their weight and strength to intimidate, but I’m not scared of this man. Maybe it’s because I know he’s hired to protect me, but I sense it’s something deeper. His presence alone is calming in a way I’ve only ever felt when I’m near the ocean.
My bodyguard steps into my personal space, and I have to crane my head back to meet his gaze. The fire glowing in his eyes sends tendrils of sharp pleasure down my spine, and I hold my breath, not sure how to behave now that he’s so close.
The man slowly lifts his hand, brushing his fingertips across my temple and down my cheek, tracing my jawline until he reaches my neck. His warm, calloused hands make every part of my skin prickle with awareness at his touch. What would it feel like to have his fingertips grazing up my thigh, over my breasts, down, down, down...
“My name is Keaton,” he says gruffly as he cups the back of my neck.
I let out my breath, trembling slightly from his touch. His hold isn’t rough or angry; it’s more like he’s letting me know this is important, and he wants my full attention.
“Keaton,” I repeat, nodding in acknowledgment.
