Bodyguard: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (Snake Eyes Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Mailing List

  Chapter 1: Fox

  Chapter 2: Dani

  Chapter 3: Fox

  Chapter 4: Dani

  Chapter 5: Fox

  Chapter 6: Dani

  Chapter 7: Fox

  Chapter 8: Dani

  Chapter 9: Fox

  Chapter 10: Dani

  Chapter 11: Fox

  Chapter 12: Dani

  Chapter 13: Fox

  Chapter 14: Dani

  Chapter 15: Fox

  Chapter 16: Dani

  Chapter 17: Fox

  Chapter 18: Dani

  Chapter 19: Fox

  Chapter 20: Dani

  Chapter 21: Fox

  Chapter 22: Dani

  Chapter 23: Fox

  UNTOUCHED (Midwest Alphas) (Book 1)

  Chapter 1: Who Are You?

  Chapter 2: I'm A Prisoner

  Chapter 3: Factory Equipment

  Whispers From Tabatha

  Copyright

  BODYGUARD:

  A BAD BOY STEPBROTHER ROMANCE

  by Tabatha Kiss

  WARNING: This novel contains explicit descriptions of

  erotic and sexual acts that some may find offensive,

  including perverse adult language.

  Reader discretion advised.

  This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences only.

  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All characters detailed within are eighteen years of age or older.

  No characters engaging in sexual acts are blood-related.

  Text and Story Copyright © 2016 Tabatha Kiss

  All Rights Reserved.

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  xoxo

  Tabatha

  Chapter 1

  Fox

  “Did you know you’re the only one of my clients that goes down on me?”

  I open my eyes, overcoming the rush of exhaustion. “No,” I say.

  Darla’s propped up on her elbow, staring at me from the other side of the hotel bed with narrow, inquisitive eyes. They wander my face and body, once again trying to figure me out. I don’t blame her, though. I’ve been paying her for this for a few months now and all she’s gotten out of me is bodily fluid. “Why do you always request me?” she asks with her high-pitched voice.

  I look away from her and slide off the bed. Darla always gets a little chatty after sex and that’s always been my cue to leave. “You don’t have other regulars?” I ask, deflecting her questions.

  “Oh, I do…” she says, her wandering gaze skips down my black tank to take in my bare lower half. I bend over to grab my boxers and slide them on. “Most of them request me because I look like her.”

  “Her?” I ask, snatching my pants off the arm of a chair. I fish my fingers into the pockets to confirm that I still have my wallet and keys. Check and check.

  “You know, her,” she giggles. “Roxie Roberts.”

  I pause. “Never heard of her.”

  She slaps the wrinkled bedspread with her palm. “Oh, come on! Roxie Roberts. The actress from the Night Trials movies? Backseat Driver? To Take A Look? You know her. You have to know her.”

  “I don’t know her,” I say, zipping my fly.

  “She looks like… well, this.” She makes a gesture up her body and frames her face.

  I let my eyes follow her fingers, climbing the length of her from her toes to her forehead. Long, blonde hair. A slight curve to her hip. Thin, cherry-colored lips that stretch out wide when she smiles. Blue eyes. She’s not wrong. She does resemble Roxie Roberts, other than her voice. “Well, if that’s true, I bet you make good money off those suckers.”

  “You betcha!” she says. “It’s kind of a pain, though. I have to stalk the tabloids to make sure I stay up-to-date with her looks or else I lose clients. She went red for like a month last year and my boss got so many complaints when I didn’t dye my hair quick enough to match…”

  “I guess every job has its drawbacks.”

  “So…” She sits up and plants her feet on the floor. “If you have no idea who Roxie Roberts is, then why do you request me every time?”

  “I like consistency.”

  She stands up and walks over to me, throwing on the most seductive glare she can muster. “Why do you pay for it?”

  “You’d prefer it if I didn’t pay you?”

  “No… I mean,” she chuckles. “Why does an attractive guy like you need to pay for it? There’s no way you can’t just walk into a bar and leave with a beautiful lady on each arm whenever you want.”

  I look down at her and she stares back at me with a kind, warm smile, like she’s comforting a lost child at a theme park. I ignore it and throw my shirt over my shoulders. I don’t exactly pay her to pity me if you get my meaning. “Too much effort,” I say.

  “Bullshit.” She smirks at me. “I bet you have some narcissistic drive. Like a grandiose sense of self-importance with an extreme inability to recognize the feelings and needs of others.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

  “Really?” Her face beams. “I knew I’d figure you out eventually. I’m only one year into my degree and I’m already good at it.”

  “Degree?”

  “Psychology. University of Iowa.”

  “Good for you.”

  She takes a step closer and her perky breasts press against my chest. Her fingertip glides between the hairs of my beard, just barely touching the long scar hidden underneath on my left cheek.

  I take hold of her shoulders and guide her away from me. “I need to get going.”

  “You should stay a little longer…” She bites her wet lips, smiling at me. “I won’t even charge you. It’ll just be our little secret.” She reaches for me again, this time tugging at my tank to try and see beneath it.

  I grab her wrist and she lets go. “No, thanks.”

  She winces, obviously offended by the rejection. Her hand falls back to her side. “Okay…” She steps away and grabs her little black dress off the floor.

  “Nothing personal.”

  “No, I get it,” she huffs. “You’re an all business, no pleasure kind of guy.”

  “I don’t think it’s too far out of line for me to request that we keep this professional.”

  “It’s not. I’m pretty sure it’s me that’s out of line…” She keeps her eyes low and she leans over to slip her black heels on. Her nostrils flare and her cheeks flush red. I blink to clear my head. She really does look just like her.

  I slide a hand into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. “Sorry if I offended you.”

  “You didn’t.” She flips her neck hard to force her hair away from her face and looks up at me. “Thick skin comes with the job.”

  “Good.”

  “I just… I just find you a little fascinating, is all.”

  “Why?”

  Her eyes fall to my chest. “Well, you’re obviously in great physical shape, but you’ve never taken your shirt off in front of me. You leave it on during sex, which makes me think that you have something to hide under there — something other than the scar on your cheek you easily conceal with that beard. You’re not like my other clients. You’re gentle—”


  “Gentle?”

  “Well…” Her cheeks turn pink. “You’re rough, but in the right ways. And you’re nice, thoughtful. Almost caring. Sometimes I think, ‘Wow, maybe he really likes me,’ and yet, you won’t even tell me your name.”

  “You know my name.”

  “Your real name is not Channing Tatum.”

  “It could be.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Look, I get it. You’re the very definition of the tall, dark, and handsome stranger and you obviously like it that way.” Her shoulders bounce in defeat. “I guess it would be easier to hate you if you were more of an asshole to me.”

  I reach into my wallet and pull out a small stack of twenty dollar bills. “Sorry.” I hold out my hand and she takes the money from me. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

  She folds the money into a tight rectangle and stuffs it inside her clutch. “And you always pay cash, so I can’t trace your payment…”

  I breathe a small laugh and walk over to the door for my suit jacket.

  “One last question…” she says. “I promise it’ll be the last time I ever ask you.”

  “What?”

  “Why do you really request me every time? Do I remind you of someone?” She chews on her lip. “You know, someone other than a beautiful, glamorous movie star?”

  “No.” I push one arm into the jacket and slide it onto my back. “Like I said. Consistency.”

  Her eyes narrow, not believing a word of it. “Well, whoever she is, I hope you two are happy someday.”

  She’s baiting me, hoping I’ll slip up and admit she’s right. I say nothing more and step outside, closing the door behind me.

  Sorry, Darla. It’s not just you. Getting personal isn’t something I do with anybody anymore.

  Roxie Roberts. Of course, I know who she is. Everyone has a movie star they’re head over heels in love with. Mine is Roxie Roberts. Every guy wants to date her and every girl wants to be her best friend. You’ve no doubt waited in line to see every one of her blockbuster movies. You cried with her when she won her awards because she’s just so darn relatable, it makes you believe that one day you could be in her shoes, too. She’s the perfect role model for young girls, a walking billboard of body positivity and confidence. The perfect storm of talent and beauty.

  I knew her before the fashion or the fame. Before all of that crap, she was my little stepsister, Dani.

  Beautiful, off-limits, Dani Roberts. The girl down the hall.

  Darla makes an okay substitute. Her resemblance to Dani is absolutely the reason why I request her every time. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not all that ashamed of it either. It’s been five years since I’ve seen Dani — outside of the silver screen, of course. I’d love to go home and see her face again, but that situation is about as complicated as it can get.

  I climb into my car and drive away from the motel, leaving Iowa City behind me. I rarely enter the city at all anymore. I travel in about once a week for groceries or to run an errand for Mrs. Clark on the days when her hip is acting up on her. I suppose I’ll have to limit my trips in to see Darla now, too. She’s gotten way too attached to me and I don’t feel like dodging her questions anymore. Tonight was the first time she started slipping personal information about herself into the conversation — Psychology. University of Iowa. — but I already knew all of that because I did my research on her. She’s your basic, no-nonsense girl, someone that didn’t seem like the type to psychoanalyze me when I first started paying for her company. I guess she switched majors.

  I turn off onto a dirt road and flick my brights on to illuminate it once the city lights dim away. Mrs. Clark has lived on this land for nearly fifty years. I know this because it’s always the first thing she mentions at the start of every story involving her and her late husband, Larry. He died in his sleep early last year — it’s how I met her. She wanted to upgrade the guest house and rent it out to help pay taxes on the land. I offered to do both and I’ve lived out here ever since. It’s quiet, secluded, and completely off-the-grid, which is exactly what I was desperate for about six months ago.

  The farmhouse comes into view along with Mrs. Barbara Clark herself, gliding back and forth in the rocking chair Larry built for her with his bare hands. She raises a pale salute and waves at me while I park near the guest house across the driveway. Her husky dog, Sammy, stands up as I approach; the ever-watchful protector. His lips split and he growls at me.

  “Sammy, down!” Mrs. Clark tells him. She rests her hand on his head and gestures him back to the porch. “It’s just Fox.”

  “Bit late to still be up, isn’t it?” I ask, eying the dog. He keeps his eyes trained on me, as he always does around those he senses could be a danger to her. I’d be offended, but honestly, he’s not wrong.

  “Well…” Her little nose crinkles up, accentuating the wrinkles on her aged face. “I saw you sneaking out a few hours ago. Figured I’d wait up for you.”

  “You know you don’t have to do that,” I say, smiling at her.

  “I know I don’t have to, but I wanted to. An old lady like me doesn’t have much else going on. I was about twenty minutes away from packing it in…” she raises a silver eyebrow, “but now that you’re here, you might as well tell me all about her.”

  “All about who?”

  “Whatever hot, young thing you went out with this evening.”

  I shake my head. “There was no hot, young thing, Mrs. Clark.”

  “Well, why the hell not?” she says, her fingers wrapping around the dog tags hanging from her neck — another proud reminder of Larry she keeps with her at all times. “You’re too good-looking to sit around out in the middle of nowhere with me all day and night.”

  “If I don’t, then who will keep your spunky, old ass company?” I joke.

  “I’ve got Harvey here,” she says. Her hand taps against the shotgun leaning against the wall next to her chair. “And Sammy, of course.”

  I laugh and scratch an itch on my chin through my beard. “You’re right. Who can compete with that?”

  “Seriously, kiddo,” she says. “Don’t let me and my bum hip hold you back. There’s a world full of good pussy out there and you’re the best brand of catnip money can buy.”

  “And with that, I’m going to call it a night,” I say, barely able to speak through my laughter. “Goodnight, Mrs. Clark.”

  “Goodnight, Fox.”

  I look at the dog. “Goodnight, Sammy.”

  He stands to attention with twitching lips, ready to bark if I make any sudden movements. Mrs. Clark wraps her finger around his collar to hold him in place. “Chill out, Sammy. He’s not an actual fox…” I keep my hands exposed at my sides and walk slowly away to keep him calm until I reach the guest house door.

  It’s a small, one-room cabin, but I don’t need much more space than that. My life is far simpler now than it used to be. I just need a few pairs of clothes and a place to sleep. It’s not much, but it’s enough, and it’s far more than I had on the bad days during my deployment overseas.

  I trudge into the corner kitchen and grab a beer from my fridge. The cold alcohol tickles on the way down and settles in my gut. Soon, it’ll turn me numb and I’ll pass out — pretty much the only way I can get myself to fall asleep as of late.

  Dani.

  Even a cheap knockoff like Darla isn’t enough anymore. Part of me wants to say fuck it and drive back home to Los Angeles. I’ll walk right up to her front door and step inside. I won’t even knock. I’ll let myself in but she won’t care as soon as she sees my face. I can just picture it now. She’ll gasp and throw a hand over her mouth.

  “Fox?!” she’ll say. “You’re alive?”

  And then I’ll apologize. I’ll say how sorry I am that I kissed her on her birthday, joined the army the next day, and left for basic training the next. I’ll say that I’m sorry I volunteered for deployment the first chance I could and never came home again. And the biggest one of all — I’ll apologize for m
aking my family believe I’ve been dead for the last two years.

  Shit. Maybe my life isn’t as simple as I thought.

  Chapter 2

  Dani

  “Roxie!”

  That’s not my name, but I’ve answered to it since I was seventeen. “Yes, Dad?” I twist around and Lena drops the makeup brush from my cheeks.

  My father’s eyes trail me up and down to check my appearance. It’s the same hard glance he’s given me every day since high school when my looks started to matter more to him than they did to me. “Thanks again for doing this today,” he says, satisfied by my look. A navy blue pantsuit isn’t exactly my regular style, but he seems satisfied with it. “This means a lot to your stepmother.”

  I throw on a smile. It’s not like I had a say in the matter. He makes my schedule. “I’m happy to do it.”

  “After this, we have that meeting with Bruckberg.”

  Lena raises the brush again to wipe a bit more rouge along my cheekbone. I cringe behind it, hoping he doesn’t notice.

  “Roxie…” He does. “I don’t want to hear about this again.”

  “I didn’t say anything, Dad.”

  “This is a huge opportunity for you. You read the script, right?”

  “Yes, I read the script.”

  “And?”

  “I hated it.”

  “You hated it?!” He steps in closer and the anger lines on his face stand out even more, along with the speckles of gray in his black hair. “You don’t hate a Bruckberg script, Roxie.”

  “Well, I did.”

  He lets out an impatient breath. “Lola, could you not do that for a minute?”

  She lowers her hand and steps away with a sour look.

  “Her name is Lena,” I point out. “Be nice. She’s just doing her job, Dad.”

  “Well, that makes one of you,” he quips. “What are you doing, huh? You trying to kill your old man?”

  “No.”

  “What could possibly be wrong with it? The role is perfect for you.”

  “The role is too safe,” I argue. “I’m sick of making the same movie over and over again—”