Page 89 of Gilt

That’s weird behavior for a psycho.

I expected The Dealer to be someone we know—someone who has a stake in our secrets—but I’ve never seen this man before, and I know I’d remember him. The guy makes The Rock look like a weakling. He could probably eat The Rock for breakfast. His neck is wider than his head, bulging with veins that pulsate down to his broad shoulders and inhumanly large arms. If someone told me he was smuggling pythons around those biceps, I’d believe it.

“This is Maddox,” Jameson informs me. “He’s a former Navy Seal.”

“And my new stalker,” I add.

“And your new bodyguard,” Jameson corrects.

I whip around to face Maddox, not realizing how much closer he’s come to me. I have to crane my neck so that I can see his face when I tell him, “Thanks, Maddox. Nice to meet you. We won’t be needing your services.”

Maddox glances at Jameson, who gives a condescending tilt of his head as if to say you’re dismissed for now before he grabs my hand and drags me inside.

“I do not need a bodyguard,” I say through gritted teeth. “The thought of someone following me around night and day is enough to drive me crazy.”

“I disagree with you,” Jameson says.

“That doesn’t matter. I didn’t give you permission to hire someone to follow me around.”

“No, you didn’t. But I cleared it with your mother.”

“You spoke to my mother?” I begin to pace, needing to put distance between us, even if it’s only a few steps. I guess he’s siding with her on the whole Emma is a minor. We can do whatever we want to her issue.

“I assumed that you’d fight me on this.”

“And you didn’t think I’d fight my mom on it?” I ask. If that’s true, then Jameson West doesn’t know me half as well as he thinks he does.

“This is about your safety. I don’t want to control you, I just need to know that you’re safe.”

“You keep using that word. I don’t think you know what it means, because I am safe. The accident was just that: an accident.”

It’s obvious that he’s been preparing for this reaction because he doesn’t blink. “Hans and your mother had security on you the whole time that you were in Palm Springs.”

“What?” This I didn’t expect. “I barely left the house.”

“They sat outside the house, and when you did leave, they followed you.”

How on earth had I missed that? “You all should win awards for paranoia. I’m going to get the lot of you tinfoil hats for Christmas.”

“It’s not paranoia, Duchess. Someone pushed you through that window. I can’t be with you all the time.” His tone isn’t pleading. It’s firm. This has been decided for me. “When you decided to leave Palm Springs, I reached out to your mother because I wanted my man on you.”

“I don’t want any man on me,” I tell him, shoving him in the chest. “Especially not you at the moment.”

A growl of frustration vibrates through him, and he moves forward, backing me toward a wall. “They would have sent Hans’ men,” he informs me, “and I don’t want that creep to know that you so much as ate breakfast this morning.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to have me followed.”

“It’s a precaution. Nothing more.” When I go to argue, he smashes his mouth against mine, kissing me until I’m senseless. My rage seeps away. It’s an effective way to end the conversation.

My fingers run along the stacked plane of his abs, vibrating on each one. Now I know where they got the term washboard. I break away, panting heavily, my lips still brushing over his. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“I’m not stupid, Duchess.” He licks my lower lip in invitation.

“You’re very stupid,” I moan. “With your stupid mouth and your stupid body.”

“That’s it, baby. Try to stay mad.” He rocks against me, encouraging me to focus on a very different but equally intense range of emotions. “You’re so cute when you’re angry.”

“I’m about to be goddamn gorgeous!” But I can’t keep my lips away from him. Jameson answers my kiss with a groan as he lifts me off my feet. My thighs make contact with the heat of his bare skin, and I give in to the wild woman trying to claw her way out.