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I swallow hard. “So what do they want from me, then? Money?”
We’re stopped at traffic lights now, so Jaxon turns to face me. He looks serious. I don’t like it when he looks serious. In my experience, it usually means I’m about to get in trouble. Only this time, I’m not. I haven’t done anything wrong; at least I don’t think I have. So it must mean that what he has to say is bad.
“I don’t know, Jade. I really don’t. It is possible, yes. Or maybe they’re the paparazzi you hate so much, or maybe they’re just dickheads wanting to get a picture of you for social media. I don’t know. But what Idoknow is I’m going to keep you safe. I’ve got backup available if we need it, and now that we’ve lost them, it’s unlikely they’re going to find us again. I think they followed us from the airport last night and camped outside our hotel, which suggests they’ve got paparazzi contacts in America. But they’re not following us now. I’ve been watching for them, and there’s no sign of them. I think we can relax.”
The light goes green and he steps on the gas, the rented Mercedes surging ahead smoothly. This time when he talks, he keeps his eyes on the road, and his voice sounds lighter.
“We’re going to head to the waterfront. There’s bound to be other cars just like this one parked there and crowds of people where we can blend in.”
Despite my worry, a giggle escapes me. “There’s no way you’re going to blend in with that moustache. It looks so obviously fake! People are just going to look at you and laugh.”
Slowing down for a traffic light again, Jaxon glances across at me briefly and moves his mouth, making the whole moustache waggle weirdly. Both ends of it move at once; there’s no flexibility to it like there would be a normal moustache andit looks so ridiculous, I can’t help but laugh. There’s such a contrast between the man making me laugh with his silly antics right now, and the stern, grumpy man bending me to his will earlier. I’m starting to get used to it, though. And even better, I’m starting to enjoy it. I like this side of Jaxon. If he was like this all the time, I’d be much more willing to cooperate with him and far less likely to argue and disobey.
You’d be willing to do more than just cooperate,my inner voice insists, but I shut it up.
How much I will or will not do with Jaxon is irrelevant. He’s not interested in me like that, and I’m not interested in him. I repeat that last part over and over in my head. Maybe if I tell myself that enough, I will start to believe it.
“They will not laugh,” Jaxon insists. “It’s a perfectly fine moustache.”
When I snort, he turns and winks at me. “But I might just leave it in the car anyway.”
Jaxon is right—there are other black Mercedes just like this one in the carpark at the waterfront and crowds of people dotting the multiple cafés and bars. Unless the men in the white sedan were right on our tails, there’s no way they are going to find us now. I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m so, so sick of people bothering me, invading my privacy with the cameras they shove in my face, the long lenses they use to photograph me going about my life. Sneaking into private parties, filming me doing stupid things… they’ve ruined my life. I wouldn’t even be here in New Zealand if it wasn’t for them. If they’d just left me alone… Fury risesup inside me, but I push it back down. Jaxon and I are getting along so well right now, and I don’t want to ruin it. Although he’s been laughing and joking with me, I’m not under any illusion that we’re actually friends. Not really. Jaxon is still very much in charge, and if he objects to any part of my behaviour, I’m sure he’ll have no qualms about putting me back in the place he thinks I should have, in the way that only he can. That thought makes me sad. I’ve been enjoying Jaxon’s company. And, if I’m not mistaken, I think he’s been enjoying mine.
Jaxon steers me past the lively-looking bars filled with laughing patrons and big-screen TVs and into a little café that looks rustic and welcoming. I’m pretty sure it doesn’t serve alcohol, though, and I’m sure coming here is a deliberate decision. Jaxon knows I want a drink. And he’s not going to let me have one.
He takes his hand off the small of my back for long enough to pull out my chair, then he sits down opposite me, catching my gaze across the small table. I feel myself blushing. The last time I was in a place like this, at a café sitting across a table from a man, was on a date. There was never a second date; the guy I was with wasn’t cool with his face making headline news on all the gossip pages and we broke up. This doesn’t feel like that. But it does, at the same time. Jaxon’s probably used to appearing in celebrity gossip columns, though. Most bodyguards are. Especially with a body like his. Looking the way he does, it would be surprising if he hadn’t been photographed.
Jaxon looks different without the moustache. Friendlier. The moustache definitely gave off a slight pedo vibe. The glasses make his face look a bit different from what I’m used to, but they don’t do anything to diminish his attractiveness. In fact, I think they enhance it. They hide the little laughter lines at the corners of his eyes and make him look younger. Sexier. Definitely sexier.
Auckland, or at least this part of it, is a melting pot of cultures. There are so many conversations going on around me, in different languages, that I can’t hear anything clearly, just a buzz of noise. Jaxon probably could have blended in just fine if he’d worn that stupid moustache, but I’m glad he didn’t. I don’t want to be out in public with someone who looks ridiculous. But I quite like being out in public with a drop-dead sexy man who walks beside me so protectively, his hand resting against my back so possessively. Like he’s mine. Or I’m his. Or something. I’m not immune to the heads that turn his way, the ladies that think they’re being sly when they’re checking him out. They’re not: I notice. And my pussy tingles in response. I like being with a man who attracts so much attention. I mean, I’m notreallywith him, but they don’t know that. They don’t know that Jaxon is actually my manager, in total control of every aspect of my life. They don’t know that while I came here under duress, he’s slowly breaking down my defences and earning my trust. I’d almost go as far as to say he’s earning my respect and admiration. Almost.
A waitress brings over menus. Just as I thought, there’s no alcohol.
“Don’t cafés in this backwards country sell alcohol?” I ask Jaxon bitterly. It seems to bother him when I insult his country, so I do it every time I want to prove a point. It annoys him much more than just my sassy tone. And right now, I really want a drink. I don’t even care what it is; I just want to feel the heat of alcohol running through my veins.
“Not to you they don’t,” Jaxon tells me sternly, frowning.
“But I need a drink,” I moan softly.
“On the contrary, little girl,” Jaxon growls. “A drink is the last thing you need.”
“A drink is exactly what I need,” I argue. “You don’t know me, you can’t read my mind. I need a drink.”
Jaxon closes his eyes for a second and pinches the bridge of his nose. An unreadable expression flits across his face and it looks like he’s going to erupt.Good,I think, satisfied. This isn’t easy for me either, so if I have to suffer, so does he.
“Look,” he says, his tone cajoling. “This café doesn’t sell alcohol, so you can’t have a drink here. But if you behave yourself now and on the plane, you can have a drink when we get to Dunedin.”
I want to pout. I want to throw a tantrum. I want to demand a drink right now. But I know what will happen if I do. So instead, I smile sweetly—a sweetness I do not feel—and nod.
“Good girl,” he says approvingly, and I want to melt. Those words, spoken in that tone, send heat straight to my core, the warmth spreading through me, making me want to do whatever he wants, whatever it takes, to hear it again. He’s just found my kryptonite. He’s made me weak at the knees. Totally helpless. All I want is to please him and to hear those words, in that exact tone, again.
The smile I give him this time is genuine. My melty marshmallow goo insides are twisting around, my pussy is clenching with need, and my panties are dripping wet. Across the table from me, the look Jaxon is giving me has me completely in his thrall. I’ve been fighting my attraction to him for so long and I just can’t do it anymore.
“Yes, Daddy,” I say softly. Immediately, my eyes widen, and my hands fly to my mouth as I realise what I just said. Heat washesover my face as shame floods me. I’m so mortified. I can’t believe I actually said that… again!
Jaxon reaches across the table and takes my hand in his, rubbing my knuckles with his rough thumb. “It’s okay, little girl. You’re allowed to call me Daddy. A daddy is exactly what you need, after all. I want to take care of you, sweetheart. Please let me take care of you.”
Emotions overwhelm me. Emotions I can’t even explain. Shame, embarrassment, happiness, sadness… they all war within me, fighting to get out. Mixing up my thoughts, scrambling my brain. I can’t make sense of anything. I can’t speak. I can’t even think. My eyes fill with tears, but I don’t even know why because I’m not sad. I’m just… I don’t even know. I can’t make head or tail of any of this. I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never even felt anything close.
