The Bodyguard's Betrayal

Chapter Eleven

Evangeline

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The fire in Gabe's eyes ignites every nerve in my body.

His jaw hardens, the tiny muscle in his neck throbbing erratically before settling into a steady rhythm. He's torn between maintaining professionalism, something he clearly struggles with, and speaking his mind. I almost wish he would just to put me out of my misery.

"The car's here," he says instead, checking his watch. He rests a hand above my ass, fingers grazing the fabric of my dress in a not-so-accidental way as he guides me into the car.

I hate it. Hate how flustered and hot he makes me feel. Hate that all I can think about is that day in the dressing room, the heat spreading between my legs as he stood behind me, the urge to grab him and kiss him. I'd hoped our time apart would knock some sense into me, but if anything, it's made me want to kiss him more.

That's my problem––I always want what I can't have.

The car pulls out of the driveway as I try to relax, speeding down the winding roads of Bel Air. Gabe goes over tonight's plan: the entrances and exits at the exclusive Red Lace Club where I'm meeting Jude, the distress signal—a tug on my earring—and strict instructions to stick close to him at all times.

I'm dreading it. The Red Lace is the kind of place I'd never be caught dead in under normal circumstances—a private, upscale club that looks classy from the outside but is basically a seedy strip joint inside. With a strict no-cameras policy and a five-thousand-dollar entrance fee, it's a playground for the wealthy, and Jude's way of showing off to me.

I cross my legs as the car picks up speed, pulling down my dress as it creeps further up my legs. Gabe follows the movement, sliding down my body to my tanned thighs, watching the hem rise slightly to expose more bare skin.

This is the hardest part of our PR plan so far. Lilith got a tip-off that my father's trial date will break tomorrow, so the night I've been dreading—where Gabe watches me make a fool of myself to impress some rich movie star—has been pushed forward.

I try not to feel guilty. Using someone for their fame feels wrong at its core, I can't deny that, but Jude isn't innocent in this. He knows the game well, and being seen with yet another beautiful woman enhances his image as much as it does mine.

"I want you in my line of sight all evening," Gabe says as we near the club. "Don't make me come looking for you, Piccola."

His warning sends shivers down my spine, reminding me of the lengths he'll go to keep track of me. I have no doubt that the second I step out of line, he'll have me over his shoulder and out of there before anyone can get a paparazzi shot.

"I won't," I say, "but I think we need to set some ground rules for tonight, considering your tendency for unprofessionalism. For instance, I don't want you intimidating Jude or listening to our date all evening."

Jealousy flickers in his eyes. At least, that's what I hope it is. Kat was under strict instructions not to tell him it was a PR date. He already thinks the worst of me. "Don't flatter yourself, Principessa. I'd rather be shot at. Again."

"You've been shot at?" I realize being a bodyguard is a risky job, but it never occurred to me that while they're busy protecting others, they're risking their own lives. "What happened? Did you get hit?"

His mouth curls slightly as he watches my reaction with amusement. "The shoulder. My client's friend discovered my client had assaulted his wife and tried to shoot him."

My mouth goes dry as I look him over, imagining the scar beneath his suit. He looks good tonight. Too good. Navy shirt and dark blue trousers, perfectly tailored. It doesn't matter what he wears; he always looks polished. "Do you blame him?"