Broken: (McIntyre Security Bodyguard Series - Book 3) Page 10

  We step up onto the boardwalk and head down to the pier, which extends out into the lake. Shane has two speed boats moored here, a couple of small sailboats, and a pontoon. He keeps his big yacht moored at the Chicago Yacht Club, near downtown, where it’s better protected from the harsh winter weather.

  “My family often hangs out here on the weekends,” I tell him, following him to the end of the pier. “We have camp fires and cook-outs and take the boats out. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “You’re lucky to have such a close family,” he says, turning to head back.

  * * *

  Ellie meets us at the back door when we come inside. Her long silver hair is up in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing dusty riding clothes and boots. She must have just come in from the stables. When she’s not tending the house or spoiling us, she’s babying her horses.

  “Hello, Lia, dear,” she says, smiling as reaches out to hug me. “I didn’t know you’d be stopping by today or I would have prepared something for you and your guest.” She smiles politely at Jonah, and it’s obvious she has no idea who he is.

  “No problem, Ellie. It’s just an impromptu visit. This is Jonah Locke. He’s a client. I was just showing him around.”

  “Welcome, Mr. Locke,” she says. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier to greet you. Can I get you something to eat or drink? It’s nearing lunch time.”

  “Oh, no, but thank you,” he says. “I wouldn’t want to make work for you.”

  “Nonsense!” she says. “I can have a luncheon ready in no time at all. You and Lia could sit out on the back deck and eat while you enjoy this lovely day.”

  “That would be great, Ellie, thanks,” I say, before Jonah can refuse her offer. I have a suspicion he’s not had much to eat today. And I’m starving.

  * * *

  “What now?” I ask Jonah, after we finish our deli sandwiches, fresh fruit, and lemonade.

  Jonah doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to get back. He’s probably avoiding Makayla, and maybe Dwight as well. But if he and Makayla are going to perform together in three days, they’re going to have to spend some time together.

  “I saw horses as we drove in,” he says. “Can we go see the barn?”

  “Sure.”

  We carry our dishes into the kitchen and thank Ellie for lunch. Then I walk Jonah outside and down the path that leads to the barn. The barn is cool and dimly lit inside, and it smells of leather, grain, and fresh cut hay. Jonah strolls the length of the barn, looking into the empty stalls. “This brings back a lot of good memories.” He has a bittersweet smile on his face. “When I was little, we’d visit my grandparents’ farm on the weekends and ride horses and swim in the pond.”

  I get the feeling that happy childhood didn’t last. “What happened?”

  Jonah shakes his head. “Nothing. Never mind.” He reaches for my hands and raises them for inspection. “How are your knuckles?”

  I pull my hands back, feeling self-conscious. I don’t have pretty hands like other girls. My nails are cut short, and my knuckles are permanently scarred. “They’re fine.”

  His gaze searches mine. “Why did you hurt yourself last night? Working out is one thing, but beating a bag until your knuckles bleed is something else.”

  “I guess I overdid it, that’s all.”

  “Come on, Lia. That wasn’t overdoing it. That was self-inflicted damage. Why?”

  I shrug. “We all have our issues to deal with. I’m sure you have a few of your own.”

  He steps closer, and I take a step back. “We should head back now,” I say.

  He takes my hand again, and his touch sends shivers up my arm.

  “Don’t go,” he says.

  He moves toward me, and I back up. I can tell by the heat in his eyes what’s on his mind. Before I know it, he’s got me backed into a stall door, and his gaze is locked on my mouth. He’s thinking about kissing me again, but it can’t happen. I can’t let it happen, because if he does, I’m not sure I’ll want him to stop.

  I raise my hand to his chest and hold him back. I can feel his body heat through his T-shirt, his chest warm and solid beneath my palm. The need to explore his body, to touch him, is overwhelming. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I told you, I’m not interested.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m just a job, right?”

  “That’s right.” No, you’re not.

  His hands come up to cup my face and he leans closer. I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks.

  “I don’t believe you,” he whispers.

  I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter what you believe, Jonah. I’m not going there with you, so give it up.” But he keeps coming, leaning closer. “You know I could put you on your ass in about two seconds if I wanted to,” I tell him.

  He grins. “I know you could.”

  “Then stop pushing me.”

  “No.”

  He entwines his fingers with mine, and suddenly we’re holding hands. He presses our joined hands against his chest, right over his heart, which is thundering in his chest. God damn it, he’s going to do it. He’s going to kiss me. I have about two seconds to decide if I’ll let him, or not. But my curiosity gets the best of me. I want to know what his mouth feels like, what he tastes like. It won’t kill me to kiss him, just this once.

  “Fair warning,” he says. “I’m going to kiss you in about five seconds,” he says. “If you don’t want me to, then stop me. You certainly know how.”

  I roll my eyes at him. “So melodramatic.”

  “I’m just giving you a heads-up so there are no recriminations later. If you don’t want this, you know what to do.”

  “Yeah, knock you on your ass. You see, the thing is, if I injure you and you can’t perform Friday night, Dwight will kill me.”

  He laughs. “Since when do you care what Dwight thinks?”

  Good point. “Shut up, Jonah.” Stop talking about it and just do it.

  And then he kisses me. Pressing me into the stall door, he lowers his mouth to mine. I gasp at the feel of him, his lips warm and firm on mine. I really should knock him on his ass, just to teach him a lesson. But his lips feel too good, and he smells so damn good, a combination of soap, a hint of cologne, and warm skin. I feel my insides softening.

  His lips nudge mine open, and for the time being I’m willing to go along with this. When his tongue slips inside, sliding against mine, I suck in a sharp breath. I’ve kissed more than a few guys since Logan, but kissing has never felt this good before.

  As he leans into me, enveloping me in his heat, his mouth seduces mine, stroking and licking. And before I know it, my hands are in his hair, grabbing fistfuls, and I’m kissing him back. He groans deep in his throat, and the raw sound makes me shiver.

  Jonah presses closer, aligning our bodies fully, from our lips to our hips. His erection, which is hard as a rock, presses insistently into my belly. He groans again when I reach down and press my palm against him, measuring the heat and length and thickness of him. He breaks our kiss and lays his forehead against mine, his breath coming hard and fast.

  When I continue exploring the outline of his erection through his jeans, he dips down to kiss my neck where it meets my shoulder, and I shudder as a tingle ripples down my spine.

  He groans, pressing himself into my hand. “Lia, fuck.”

  His hand comes up to cover my left breast and he brushes my nipple through my clothing with his thumb. Lightning courses through me, and I can feel myself growing warm and flushed between my legs as all my blood heads south. I feel lightheaded, almost dizzy.

  Gasping for air, I push him back. “We can’t do this.” I’m breathing hard now, too, my chest heaving, and every inch of me is on fire.

  “Why not?”

  I shake my head. “We can’t. You’re my client.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Well, I do. It’s unprofessional. Shane would kill me.” But the truth is, I don’t trust myself with Jonah. I’ve n
ever felt like this before, never wanted someone like this, and I’m afraid to give anyone that much power over me. I won’t let anyone use me ever again.

  “Lia – ”

  Both of us jump when Jonah’s phone chimes with an incoming text.

  “Aren’t you going to get that?” I say, hoping to distract him.

  “No.”

  His phone chimes a second time, and still he ignores it.

  Then my phone chimes with an incoming message, and I’m pretty sure it’s related. I check mine. “It’s Dwight.” I frown as I read the message. “Apparently, you’re taking Makayla out to dinner tonight.”

  “What?” His expression turns grim, so I show him the message. “Shit!”

  “Just say no. Tell Dwight to fuck off.”

  “It’s not that easy, Lia,” he says, replying to Dwight’s text on his own phone. “If we’re performing together on Friday, then I’ll have to see her so we can plan. But you’re coming with me.”

  “She’s not going to like having me there.”

  “I don’t care. You’re coming.”

  I chuckle, anticipating the pleasure of seeing Makayla again. I don’t work for her, so I’m under no obligation to kiss her ass. If she gives me any grief, I’ll give it right back to her.

  Chapter 16

  Jonah is lost in his own thought on the drive back to Lincoln Park. His gaze is focused outside his passenger window, and he stares at the passing scenery. I’m not sure what’s weighing so heavily on his mind... whether it’s our kiss in the barn or the prospect of facing Makayla again.

  The more I contemplate him spending time with her, the less I like the idea. He’s not mine, and he never will be, so I have no right to start feeling territorial about him. And yet, the thought of those two together makes my blood boil.

  * * *

  It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon, and we don’t have pick up Makayla until eight o’clock that evening, so we have some time to kill. Jonah wants to go back to the recording studio to work, so that’s where we head. Mostly, I think he’s avoiding going back to the house in case Makayla’s still there. That’s fine with me. I don’t feel like running into her a moment sooner than I have to.

  Shane has upgraded the security at the recording studio, temporarily replacing the existing staff with McIntyre Security employees. No more security breaches. He must have made some kind of deal with the building’s owners.

  When we arrive, we use the intercom to request entrance, and then we’re vetted by a security guard dressed in black slacks and a black button-down shirt and jacket with the white McIntyre Security logo on it. He’s armed and wearing an electronic listening device in his ear.

  I know this guy. Joe Kramer. “Hey, Joe. How’s it going?”

  “Hi, Lia. Come on in.”

  Joe admits us to the building, and we head down the dimly lit hallway to Jonah’s studio.

  “This place is depressing,” I say, gazing down at utilitarian carpet that’s now a dull olive-brown color. It has to be at least fifty years old. The walls are paneled with dark, cheap fake wood that’s just as old. “They could at least update the place.”

  Jonah laughs. “The acoustics are great, and that’s all that matters to me. I’m not here for the ambiance.”

  We enter Jonah’s studio, and he pauses just inside the control room. “This may take awhile,” he says. “I’ll be fine here if you want to take off. I hate that you have to babysit me all the time. You’ve got to be bored out of your mind.”

  “Nope, I’m staying. Don’t worry about me. I’ll entertain myself. You go do your thing.”

  “Are you sure? I really don’t mind. And I don’t think I’ll get any unauthorized visitors here with Joe on duty.”

  “Jonah, shut up and stop worrying about me. This is my job. Let me do it, and you go do yours.”

  Jonah rolls his eyes at me, then disappears into the sound booth, where he turns down the lights to a low glow and picks up a guitar. I sit down at the main control panel, kick my feet up, and watch him through the window. He looks relaxed, happy even, as he sits on a tall stool and starts tuning his guitar. I’ve never seen him so happy as when he has a guitar in his hands. I suspect he likes writing and playing music more than he does performing.

  Before long, he’s lost in his music, strumming chords and picking out notes on the strings. He makes notations on his little pad of paper, then crosses things out and writes more. It’s a long, tedious process as he plays little bits of music over and over again, but I enjoy watching him do it.

  While Jonah’s working on his music, I check text messages and e-mails on my phone. That takes a whole ten minutes. I have one text message from Shane reminding me to play nicely. There are two from Beth – nothing important, just saying hi. One from Jake – just checking in on me. And one from Cooper – also reminding me to place nicely. Cooper must have talked to Shane.

  The sound of Jonah’s voice draws my attention away from my phone, and I look up. He’s playing actual music now, a real song, and he’s singing. God! The sound of his voice does something to my girl parts... they start tingling. His voice resonates so beautifully – it gives me goosebumps. This man was born to sing. He doesn’t need any auto tuning gimmicks or special effects.

  Let me be there for you

  Through your highs and your lows

  Let me be there for you

  I’ll catch you when you fall

  It’s a snippet of a love song, and the words flow through me like warm honey. I close my eyes and lay my head back in my chair and just listen to his voice as he works this stanza, playing with the notes, with the phrasing, the chords. I’ve heard his voice on the radio countless times, but hearing it like this, so intimately, makes me realize what a truly gifted artist he is. There’s no artifice here, no engineering magic or tricks. It’s just Jonah’s voice and an acoustic guitar. I lose all track of time as I listen to him. He plays so effortlessly, his long fingers deftly navigating the strings and the frets.

  Perfection.

  Oh, God, I sound like a fan-girl.

  * * *

  “Sorry,” Jonah says, coming out of the sound booth two hours later. He tucks a folded-up piece of paper in his back pocket. “I tend to lose all track of time when I’m in the studio.”

  “It’s okay. I enjoyed listening. How’d it go?”

  He nods. “Pretty well. I’m making progress.”

  “Good. Where to now?”

  “Back to the house. We can hang there until it’s time to pick up Makayla.”

  He frowns, and I can tell he’s not happy about the plans for tonight. He’s silent – preoccupied – as we lock up the recording studio and head down the empty hallway to the rear exit.

  * * *

  Jonah’s quiet on the drive back to the house. I’m not sure what to make of him. He’s certainly nothing like expected. Jonah’s surprisingly normal. But he’s clearly not happy. I don’t understand why he lets Peterson call all the shots. Why doesn’t he just put his foot down and say no?

  The crowd outside the house is larger than usual, and they seem rather worked up this evening. I can’t help wondering if this has something to do with Makayla being in town. If it does, now we’re not just dealing with Jonah’s fans, but with hers as well.

  As I pull into the drive, a teenage girl throws herself against the passenger door, her face and hands pressed against Jonah’s window, sobbing incoherently. Another girl jumps on the rear bumper of the Jeep. Two photographers are standing in front of the Jeep, rapidly snapping pictures through the windshield. I have to stop the vehicle.

  I turn off the engine and unbuckle my seat belt. “Stay in the vehicle.”

  “Lia, you can’t go out here.”

  I radio the guards inside the gate. “A little help out here would be nice.”

  The gate opens just enough for one guard to step through. He chases off the two photographers, while I go to the back of the Jeep and pry the girl off the bumper. It’s
not easy, because she’s clinging to the luggage rack like a little monkey. I finally get her off, then get back inside the Jeep just as the security guard peels the sobbing girl off of Jonah’s window.

  Once we’re finally inside the house, Jonah grabs a bottle of beer from the fridge and heads upstairs to his suite without a single word to me. Moody artist, much? Part of me wants to follow and make him talk to me. But I suspect he needs some alone time right now. So I head to my room, check my work e-mail. Shane’s sent me some info on Friday’s performance. He succeeded in renting Rowdy’s bar for the night – although it cost him a fortune – and he’s got some of his employees and some of Beth’s lined up to attend the event. That will simplify security greatly.

  With Jonah holed up in his room, and Dwight and Esperanza nowhere to be seen, I’m bored. So I go in search of the boys. It doesn’t take me long to track them down. The sounds of explosions and gunfire coming from the media room in the lower level is a dead giveaway. I recognize the tell-tale sounds of a popular shoot-em-up game.

  I find the guys sprawled out on the sofa with their booted feet propped up on a long, low coffee table. There are empty pizza boxes and empty beer bottles littering the room.

  “Hey, Lia!” one of the guys says, jumping to his feet. He’s got a game controller in his hands, and when he steps in front of one of the other guys, he gets shoved out of the way. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I smile at him, embarrassed that I don’t know which one he is. He’s the blond. I think his name is Dylan.

  “I’m Dylan,” he says, offering me his hand. “Drums.”

  “Hi, Dylan.” He reminds me of Justin Bieber – cute and full of energy. I’m sure the girls go gaga over him.

  “So, you’re Jonah’s bodyguard?” he says, sizing me up.

  “That’s right.”

  “How come we’ve never seen you before? Did you come out here with Jonah? From LA?”

  “No. I’m from around here.”