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“So why do you have a bodyguard?” Rome asks as he pours me a glass of my company’s Bourbon. His arm stretches out behind me. We’re friends but we never ran in the same crowd. He went to Vandy, and I went to Belmont, which are less than a mile apart.
“Honestly, I don’t know. My dad put in measures whenever I became CEO.” I tug on the hem of my dress, noticing it’s riding up a little too high on my thighs. Showing a lot of leg with Beau is one thing but not with a hopeful business partner.
His palm and perfectly manicured fingers rest on that same thigh. This meeting feels more personal than business. I mean, it’s a date-like time and place, although I didn’t expect his interest, I’m not going to shove him away when it’s obvious Beau is only here because he doesn’t want me hurt—not because he loves me.
I lift the glass with a wide opening, allowing me to smell the bourbon as I take a sip. I let it lay over my tongue before swallowing. “Damn, my company makes the best Bourbon. It’s as smooth as a baby’s butt.”
Beau glances at me.
Rome stares between us. “It is. Am I missing something?” he asks.
Casting a covert peek at Beau, I notice his hands tightly clasped, his black shirt clinging to his well-defined arms, and his expression a mask of unyielding determination. “No. Now, let’s talk about doing an advertising campaign together.”
“I like the together part.” His hand skates farther up my leg.
How can something feel good but wrong at the same time? I cover his hand with mine. I’m enjoying the warmth and the attention—I just wish it was from the man standing ten feet away.
The music thumps loudly, cluttering my thoughts. “Rome, I really need to secure this campaign. I want a fresh approach to this private selection. I want every man in your clubs to want to impress the girl on their arm with Barron’s 12. The bottle that’s curved like a woman’s silhouette with a gold plated racehorse ornament on top will be the envy of every other brand. I want it to be exclusive—not delivered from the local liquor store. My idea requires it to be sold in limited quantities on the company website. I want it to be precious and cherished.”
“Who else do you plan on offering Barron’s 12 Special Reserve?” He squeezes my hand.
“A few Michelin rated restaurants. My cousin’s restaurant in Nashville, The White House, and there will be a limited number of bottles available for purchase from the distillery website. Of course, the rest will be in my private collection.”
“The White House—dreaming big. Sounds like a plan.” He stands up, admiring my body as I rise with him. “Let’s dance. Tell me why we didn’t go out in college?”
“Probably because I’m not a flavor of the month.” He was known to be a player and never had a girlfriend longer than a month.
He chuckles, his voice low when he says, “No, no you are not.”
He leads me out of the room, and we ride down a different elevator that’s only accessible for those using his VIP booth. Beau stands in front of the doors, and when they open, he holds back both sides as he peers out. Finally, he steps aside and follows us to the edge of the dance floor, pausing before the elevated hardwood.
Part of me doesn’t know how to act. The free-spirited girl comes out sometimes, but it’s never very long before I start feeling guilty. Beau was off fighting a war—doing God knows what—and I would be drinking myself into a stupor, dancing with random guys, letting them feel me up just to make the pain of losing Beau go away for a few minutes.
But Rome isn’t a random guy. He’s hopefully a business partner, friend, and good looking to boot. If I want to know if it’s over between Beau and me, I’ll know shortly.
Rome and I bump and grind for several songs. I almost forget that Beau’s on guard until Rome’s hand slides under my dress to my center. The presence of his fingers causes me to close my eyes as I can enjoy the thumping rhythm and the touch of a man. As my fingers twirl through my hair, feeling free, Beau appears in my face, dragging me from the dance floor in a matter of seconds.
“What are you doing?” I say, catching my breath.
His steel-blue eyes look gray in this environment, and they drill into mine. There’s so much emotion swirling inside them. “You used the code.”
“Jesus, Beau. I’m dancing. You know how my hair sticks to my face. We’ve danced hundreds of times.”
His chest is heavy, and he loosens his grip on my arm until it finally disconnects from the warmth of his hand.
Rome makes his way through the crowd. “Is there a problem? Do I need to notify my security team?”
I don’t know if he means alert his security team to remove Beau or if he thinks Beau sees something that could be dangerous. I watch as the two men have a stare-off.
Rome makes on observation. “Do we know each other? You look familiar. Vandy? Bodyguard in Nashville?”
Beau scoffs. “No, we don’t. I was serving six years while you two were doing the college thing.”
You could cut the tension with a knife, but still, I’m not sure if it’s because Beau is jealous of Rome touching me or if he is resenting others not serving in the military.
“I’m going to the bathroom while you two measure dicks.” I march off without knowing where the restrooms are located.
Beau’s big, beautiful hands find my back. “You’re going in the wrong direction.” He spins me around. His breath covers my skin as he rasps with sheer confidence. “And I don’t have to measure my dick to know it’s bigger than his. I don’t think you do either.”
