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One
Frustrated by it all, Zeke Mitchell unbuckled his seat belt, preparing to exit the plane. He’d just spent four hours and fifty-one minutes in the air, obsessing about his ex.
He should be glad to be home. But instead, he was stressing over Margot Jensen. She was an actress and one of his LA clients. She was also his occasional lover. But most important, she was his former wife. They’d started sleeping together soon after their divorce, which was going on three years now. An uncommitted affair, he thought.
Sporadic, sex-only hookups.
But that might be coming to an end. Margot had texted him last night, saying that she was having second thoughts about their affair and wanted to discuss it with him.
He stood and removed his carry-on from above his seat, then disembarked with the rest of the first-class passengers and proceeded to the baggage reclaim area to collect the remainder of his luggage. From there, he headed outside to ground transportation, where he’d already arranged for a town car to take him straight to Margot’s. She’d asked him to come by as soon as he could, but he was fine with that. He wanted to get their damned discussion over with.
He blew out a sigh. What did he expect? To have a fling with his ex-wife forever? At some point, their affair was meant to crash and burn. Then again, maybe he could convince her to be together one last time...
Damn it. Why did Margot have to affect him this way? Why couldn’t he shake her from his blood?
He cleared his mind and scanned the cars lined up at the curb, searching for his driver. The sidewalk was busy, people rushing past him. Some of them glanced his way, but Zeke tended to stand out in a crowd. At six-four, he was packed with muscle. Not all bodyguards were his size. A lot of the agents he employed were able to blend in, to go unnoticed. That would never be the case with Zeke. In addition to his stature, his mixed heritage made him identifiable, too. He was Samoan and Choctaw from his dad’s side and white from his mom’s.
He located his driver, and within no time, he was riding in the back of a Lincoln, en route to the Hollywood Hills, where Margot lived. They’d sold the Redondo Beach house they’d owned together. Nonetheless, Zeke still lived in that area, making an oceanfront condo his current home.
About forty-five minutes later, he arrived at Margot’s residence, an elegant three-bedroom, four-bath Spanish Colonial Revival surrounded by a wrought iron gate.
Zeke instructed his driver to wait for him, then exited the car. He opened the coded gate and ascended the red clay steps leading to the front door. He had a key to her house, but he never used it. It was strictly for security purposes.
Zeke and his partner operated Z-One Security, a personal protection company with over three hundred employees guarding celebrities all over the world. Whenever they took on a new or complicated assignment, Zeke would spend some time with the client, becoming familiar with their lifestyle and training the rest of his team accordingly.
He rang the bell, and Margot answered, looking soft and luscious in a billowy blouse and wide-legged jeans. He noticed that her nails were decorated in mismatched polish. She’d always had an eclectic fashion sense, with different looks to suit whatever type of mood she was in. Today, he surmised, she was in a state of uncertainty. Would that work in his favor? Or was he reading too much into it? She’d never been short on contradictions.
“Hi, Zeke.” She greeted him with an anxious smile.
“Hey, Margot.” He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of a smile, anxious or otherwise. He was already pissed at himself for wanting her.
She wore her wild red hair in a low-slung ponytail with loose tendrils framing her face. Her bright blue eyes lent her an innocent quality. Her dimples, however, struck a mischievous chord. They’d served her well when she was a child actor playing a precocious character inThe Kid Years, the family sitcom she’d become known for. She was playing an adult version of that same character now, in a sequel of the old show aptly calledThe Grown-up Years.
The job that had triggered their divorce.
When they’d first started dating, she’d given up acting, only to resume her career after they got married. A move that felt horribly deceptive to Zeke. He’d never wanted a celebrity wife. He’d grown up with a famous mother, and he’d struggled through every minute of it. As a kid, his only salvation had been his mom’s security team. They’d provided a sense of stability in an otherwise chaotic environment, shielding his family from the paparazzi and obsessive fans who hounded his mom. For Zeke, becoming a security specialist when he got older was a no-brainer.
Luckily, Margot didn’t need much of a security detail. Aside from the usual internet trolls who harassed celebrities online, there’d never really been any issues. But he wasn’t taking any chances. He engaged a crew to monitor her social media accounts and keep an eye on the camera footage outside her house.
He was being filmed right now. Not that it mattered. As far as his employees knew, his visits with her were strictly professional. He hadn’t told a living soul that they were lovers. Margot, on the other hand, had blabbed about their affair to Zeke’s sister. The two women had been friends since they were kids, and now his sister was privy to his personal shit.
“Are you going to come inside?” Margot asked.
He nodded and entered the house, catching a glimpse of his dark suit and gray striped tie as he passed a mirror in the foyer. He preferred to wear business attire when he traveled. He would change into a pair of board shorts when he got home.
She escorted him to the living room, a space rife with wood floors, beamed ceilings, a stone fireplace and French casement windows. There was a view of the backyard, including a mixed garden, a pool, a spa and an artfully designed patio.
He glanced at the sofa, but he didn’t take a seat. Neither did she. Flustered by their ever-present attraction, he shifted his stance. The energy between them was thick and tangled.
Confusing, he thought.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked.
By now, he was itching to kiss her, to touch her, to carry her to the master suite and do wicked things. “What did you have in mind?”
“Coffee, water, beer. Whatever you want.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Whatever I want?” He waited a beat. “Surely you know what that is.” He kept his voice low, quiet. Seductive, he supposed. He was making his move, scattered as it was.
