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This story takes place after Reckless and before Relentless.
“I swear, if she puts her hands on you one more time,” Megan said through gritted teeth, “I’m cutting them off.”
Dimitri smiled indulgently at his fiancée. “She doesn’t mean anything by it, Buffy. It’s just her way.”
Megan’s head turned slowly as she pinned him with a fiery stare. “It’s just her way?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged, feeling the weight of his sidearm in its shoulder holster. “She’s one of those touchy-feely types. Most actresses are.”
Oh yeah, her eyes were definitely flashing fire now. “She doesn’t touch me.”
“That’s because of those scary vibes you give off. I’m more of a laid-back kind of guy, more approachable.” He fought to keep his face blank. “More touchable. I don’t mind. I get it a lot.”
For a second, he could have sworn there was steam coming out of her ears. “You don’t mind?”
Man, she was stunning when she was jealous. She was also dangerous. You never quite knew what Megan Donaldson was going to do next, and now she had a permit to carry a firearm, that made teasing her a risky business. Which meant, he probably shouldn’t do it, no matter how much fun it was.
“Buffy,” he said softly, “I don’t want anyone but you to touch me.”
Her mood shifted from jealous outrage to sexual possession at the flip of a switch. Her blue eyes pinned him in place as she closed the distance between them to stand in front of him. A short, unvarnished fingernail trailed down the front of his black dress shirt.
“That’s good,” she said as she leaned into him, making every inch of his body scream to be touched. “Because only I get to touch you.” She stepped back, resuming her position on the other side of the hotel suite’s doorway. “Which is what I’m going to tell Princess Pain-in-the-arse as soon as her meeting’s finished.”
It was clear the only way to stop her would be to tie her to their bed. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option, so he went for reason. “Remember, she’s a paying client. This new service of Rachel’s offers women a safe and secure experience with Benson Security. We’re supposed to make women feel comfortable while we protect them.”
Her chin went up, making her blonde ponytail bob. “That doesn’t mean we pander to the clients. I can guard her body a whole lot better when she isn’t touching yours.”
There was no talking sense to her. She was determined to have it out with the Hollywood actress who’d hired them to protect her. All he could do now was damage control. Which made him grin—life with Megan would never be boring, and he couldn’t wait to marry her. Only seventeen more days and then he could relax, knowing he’d tied her to him forever. Until then, he had to live with the worry of her being free to walk away.
Over his dead body!
Megan caught his frown and rolled her eyes. “You’re thinking about our wedding again, aren’t you? Or more precisely, how you can get me down the aisle faster.”
There was no denying it. “I have a license. We could go to the courthouse after our shift ends.”
“This is London. There’s no going to the courthouse. We have our weddings in churches or at the registrar’s office, which is generally located in some concrete monstrosity built in the seventies that looks like it should house serial offenders.” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Not exactly my idea of romance.”
“I don’t care about romance. I care about getting a ring on your finger and a signature on a document that makes it harder for you to leave me.”
“You are so insecure.” She shook her head in disgust. “If you didn’t have a fantastic six-pack and thighs like tree trunks, I would totally leave you.”
It was comments like that made him want to drag her ass in front of the nearest judge—damn it, registrar. If they were in the US, this wouldn’t be an issue; he’d have her in Vegas so fast that her head would spin. He wondered if that was an option. No, unfortunately, they were on the job, and they couldn’t walk off without leaving their client wide open to an attack by her secret admirer slash stalker. Which reminded him. “Did you get a look at the latest threatening letter? It looked kinda hinky to me.”
“No. Rachel whisked it away for analysis before I had a chance.” She glanced around the corridor. “Would it kill them to provide us with a couple of stools? My feet are aching. How long does one meeting with your agent take? What is there to talk about? You’re a crap actress. No one wants you. I’ll call if they do. That takes, what? Ten seconds to say.”
“She isn’t a crap actress. She’s just has a limited breadth of performance.” He’d heard that from Belinda, who was an amazing actress, and thought it made him sound knowledgeable.
Megan wasn’t fooled. “Stop reading Variety. It’s messing with your head.”
“I didn’t get that from Variety.”
“Well, stop listening to Belinda. Our charge can’t act.” She paused. “And ninety percent of her body’s been put together by Silicon Inc. Lips, tits, arse. There’s so much plastic in her, she won’t biodegrade for centuries after she’s buried.”
Glenn Close’s voice suddenly blared out, saying her famous line from Fatal Attraction, ‘I’m not going to be ignored, Dan.’ Megan pulled her phone out of her blazer pocket.
“Rachel.” She groaned.
