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“I am the one who was nearly abducted last night. I got away from them without you. So why are you holding me against my will? And how does that make you different?”
In her head, he wasn’t. She was fighting for her life.
“Because I’ll never hurt you. I’m sorry I yelled. Quit panicking so we can get you out of this fucking tourist trap. It’s great that you escaped last night. You did good. But I’m the professional here. I’m taking over. You’re not making the demands, little one. Stop fighting me.”
“Never.” She squirmed as she spit rapid-fire Spanish at him. Trees only knew every third word, but it was enough to know that he was better off not understanding.
With a single lunge, he heaved her onto a seat in the little dining area, towering over and blocking her in with his body. He hoisted the duffel on the table and rifled through it, shoving what he needed into his pocket. Then he lifted Laila off the padded bench, stomped to the front of the RV, and dropped her into the passenger’s seat. “Don’t move.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I will do as I please. You do not scare me.”
“Bullshit. You’re terrified. And I’m going to prove there’s no reason to be—tomorrow. Tonight?” He fished the implement from his pocket, clutching the cold metal.
Then he clipped a handcuff around her wrist.
She gaped at the restraint before sending him an incredulous stare. “What are you—”
“Doing?” He anchored the other cuff to the sturdy door handle. “Making sure you can’t escape.”
Laila screeched a litany of curses in Spanish. Trees did his best to tune her out as he slid into the driver’s seat, started the RV, and pulled away. When he eased onto the road, he glanced over. “Want to know where we’re heading?”
The little spitfire merely continued cursing him. Too bad that didn’t deter him from staring. Laila’s dark curls tumbled past her flushed cheeks and smooth olive shoulders. She flashed bare midriff above her minuscule tank, and her legs… They might not be long since she was a short little thing, but they were smooth and firm—and too easy to imagine wrapped around his hips as he plowed into her soft, sweet body.
Dream on.
She was too much for him—too petite, too young, too wary, too beautiful. And too off-limits. He especially couldn’t forget that.
A few months back, his former teammate, Cutter Bryant, had been bodyguarding TV star Shealyn West in LA. He hadn’t merely stepped a toe over the client-bodyguard line. He’d stomped over it with unabashed glee, even being captured by paparazzi kissing the starlet into next year. The moment he’d been identified, all hell had broken loose. Hunter, Logan, and Joaquin had powwowed about firing him. They might have if Cutter hadn’t quit to marry his starlet and move halfway across the country.
No, thanks. Trees wanted to keep his job. Not that Laila would have him anyway.
Now if he could just stop imagining kissing his way up her neck while sliding the thin strap down her shoulder and exposing the lacy bra he’d glimpsed under her tank…
Fuck, she was still cursing him, and he had a raging boner.
Not helpful.
Gritting his teeth, Trees stopped the RV at a stoplight. Streetlamps abounded, and neon signs gave off the kind of big-city illumination that ensured residents rarely saw the stars. When Laila turned to deliver another well-aimed curse, she caught sight of his erection tenting his jeans. Suddenly, her insult fell silent as she gaped at his overeager cock.
“Sorry,” he muttered. Not that he could hide it. His shirt wasn’t long enough to cover his reaction, and he didn’t have a blanket handy to toss over his lap.
She scrambled back in her seat, against the passenger door. “Stay away from me.”
The abject terror in her eyes made him wonder… Had she been not only confined by the Tierra Caliente cartel but violated?
“You have nothing to fear from me.” He held up a hand to reassure her. “I won’t touch you.”
Laila huffed. “Your assurances mean nothing.”
“I’m here to protect you. Give me time to earn your trust.”
She didn’t reply, just crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. Trees tried to stop noticing her plumped-up cleavage.
Words might never convince her of his sincerity. His actions would have to prove he meant what he said. Ogling her and sporting a hard-on definitely wouldn’t put her at ease. He might be nearly thirty-five, but damn it, when he looked at her, his cock seemed to think he was a perpetually horny seventeen.
It would help if you stopped thinking about her naked.
Trees focused on the road and the vehicles around them. An uncomfortable silence fell. He wished he could think of something to set her at ease, but nothing came to mind.
Fifteen minutes later, they rolled up to a big-box store on the northern outskirts of Orlando. He parked between a big rig and a travel trailer, then killed the engine. “We need supplies, so this is how it’s going to go. You’ll come with me. You won’t make eye contact with anyone. In fact”—he stooped his way back to his duffel and pulled out a ball cap—“you’ll wear this. And you’ll hold my hand every moment we’re in public.”
