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“Dal, I have to ask . . . Usually, you are with me. Usually, you don’t give a fuck what we do as long as it’s following orders. Why now? Why do you care enough now to argue their case?” I can hear the censure in his words as he tries to figure me out. He shouldn’t bother. The doctors couldn’t, so he’ll never be able to.
“Reign Harrow brings me to life,” I tell him.
I hear him inhale. “Is that a good thing or bad thing?” he asks carefully.
“I guess we will see,” I reply as I move back into the darkness to stalk my prey.
SEVENTEEN
I’ve painted my nails, colored my hair, changed my piercings, and I even dressed, and now I’m fiddling with the buckles on my knee-high boots. When that’s done, I look around my room for something else to do to keep me in here. I’m not avoiding seeing them—it’s my house, after all—I just want some time alone. That’s all. I am totally not hiding to avoid seeing my bodyguards after I crossed a very hard line with them. I haven’t fucked someone after playing around, and for some reason, what we did felt more intimate, never mind the fact that I usually slip out of the door and can avoid them. This time, I can’t.
I realize I’m hiding.
I’m such a pussy.
Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath and get it together. This is my house. I’m Reign fucking Harrow. I do not hide. I own that shit. I own my mistakes. I own my nature and my sexuality. So what if I let them touch me? They wanted it, I wanted it, and we are adults. Nothing else matters.
It’s also just a job for them.
No, we can’t go there again. They are bodyguards; they can’t be anything else. I remind myself of that as I head downstairs, but then I get a look at a sweaty Cillian coming from the gym, running a towel across his sweaty, bare, perfect abs. His red hair glistens with sweat and sunlight, sticking up, and my mouth goes dry, and I forget every reason I shouldn’t play with these men.
Hey, I’m only a woman after all, and they are damn good-looking, not to mention they give some of the best head I’ve ever had, not that I’ll tell that cocky fucker that. Shit, it’s already embarrassing and far too intimate that he carried me to bed and tucked me in.
No, behave, Harrow, just this once.
“Morning,” I call, and he stops, tilting his head as he grins at me.
“Morning, Reign—Miss Harrow,” he amends. “There’s breakfast in the oven if you’re hungry. Raff is out on a run, Dal is on the perimeter, and Astro is still asleep.”
I like that he gives me a report out of habit, or maybe it’s because I look ready to bolt. “Thanks,” I say as I head past him, trying not to sway when his sweaty, masculine scent reaches me. Fuck, I’m practically begging for him to fuck me and he knows it. He chuckles as he heads upstairs, and damn me, I watch him go, my eyes locked on that perfect, tight ass until he’s out of sight.
So much for that.
Heading to the kitchen, I plate the food and pull my phone out as I start to nibble on the full breakfast one of them made for me. How sweet—no, stop. I focus on the phone, using it to distract me from my turbulent thoughts, and I open a thread of spam messages from a number I don’t recognize. All the others have people’s names, but not this one.
I change my number a lot, usually when it gets leaked, but I’ve had this one for a while now and I haven’t really given it out. One of the guys maybe? I quickly realize it’s definitely not when I get a glimpse of the messages.
Unknown: You looked beautiful tonight.
Unknown: I can’t take my eyes off you.
Unknown: But you didn’t even notice me, did you? So lost, but I’ll find you.
Unknown: I missed you.
Unknown: I’ll see you soon.
Ew, it’s probably someone I hooked up with. I instantly block it and drop my phone, reminding myself this is why I don’t look at it. There are some downsides to being a celebrity, and privacy is one, but so are the types of messages you get—creepy ones, threatening ones, I see them all. I learned to ignore them after a while, otherwise it would get to be too much, but sometimes they cross a line.
Not often, but sometimes.
A knock on the door makes me drop my fork. I expect one of the guys to get it, but when no one does, I shrug and head to the door. I told them not to let anyone else in, so it has to be someone they approved.
As soon as I open the door, I have regrets. She tries to sweep past me as if I’m beneath her, but I put my boot in the door and block her entry. She stumbles back, her perfect, fake nose wrinkling before she smooths it out. Her sunglasses block her bright blue eyes, and she’s dressed to the nines in a perfect designer dress and heels. Her makeup is perfectly done, and her blonde hair is immaculately styled. She looks cool and collected.
Serena was one of my old best friends before she decided not to give a shit when I disappeared. “Reign.” She leans in and kisses my cheek. “So sorry for not visiting sooner. I’ve been so busy. First Paris, then Milan, you know how it is . . .” She trails off when I still don’t let her in. “Oh, do you have company?” She slides her shades down, wiggling her eyebrows. “Tell me everything.”
Ah, there it is. She wants gossip to sell since she’s a failing model. She was once a supermodel, but as she aged, she has been looked over time and time again for younger models. It’s sad really, because she’s truly beautiful on the outside. It’s the inside that’s the problem. She aligned herself with me for my status and to get more jobs. I didn’t believe it back then, but she used and discarded me when there was nothing I could offer her rep but bad publicity by association.
