Page 4 of The Bodyguard’s Innocent Obsession (His Obsession #3)

Lachlan

The second that voice crackles over the walkie-talkie, everything inside me shifts. Heat drains from the room, my muscles lock into place, and instinct takes the wheel.

I grab her hand. “Come on, princess. We’re not safe here.”

I yank her gently but firmly into the hallway, one arm wrapped tight around her waist while I watch and listen for any sign of trouble.

We move quickly, quietly, reaching my room in seconds. I slam the door behind us and lock it, heading straight for the duffel bag under the bed. I unzip it and double check the contents. There are enough clothes for a couple of days. Cash. Burner phone. Glock. Ammunition. Toothbrushes.

I’ve dealt with evacuations before, but never like this.

Never with someone I can’t fucking lose.

Arabella’s still standing by the door, wearing nothing but her oversized sleep shirt, legs bare, hair mussed, lips parted like she hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening.

Jesus. She looks like a goddamn fever dream.

I cross the room, grabbing a clean t-shirt from the wardrobe and pulling it on before picking up a pair of sweatpants.

“Put these on,” I say as I crouch down in front of her. “Nobody sees you like this but me.”

Even now, I can’t control the possessiveness that consumes me when it comes to Arabella. God help any man who tries to come close to her tonight. I’ll fucking rip him to shreds.

She stares down at me, confused and flushed, then steps into the pants.

I pull them up her legs myself. My fingers graze her thighs and I bite back a groan.

This is not the time. I get the waistband up over her hips, tugging the drawstring tight.

The legs are far too long for her and the material bunches comically around her ankles.

But it’s good enough if it means I won’t be distracted by the thought of other men looking at her.

“Let’s go.”

I grab the Glock, check the safety, and shove it into the back of my waistband. Sling the duffel over my shoulder, and grab her hand again.

She’s barefoot. Her steps are light but quick, keeping pace with mine. I scan every corner, every shadow, making sure we’re clear.

The garage is quiet. Too quiet.

I shove her into the passenger seat of my SUV, close the door, and take the driver’s side. Lock it down. Turn the engine on.

“Stay down until I tell you it’s safe, princess.”

I wait for her to slide down in her seat before pulling out of the garage.

We don’t speak as I back the SUV down the driveway. I kill the headlights until we’re at the main road, every muscle in my body wired tight, senses sharpened like a blade. I watch the mirrors obsessively. No sign of pursuit, no lights, no shadows moving where they shouldn’t.

Once we hit the highway, I take a deep breath, some of the tension draining out of my shoulders.

“Okay, I think we’re safe now.”

She sits up, blinking, and looks around. One quick glance at her lets me see how much she is shivering. For someone who’s never experienced something like this, she’s holding herself together surprisingly well, and pride floods my chest.

I reach out and place my hand on her thigh, needing to feel her. Needing to know she’s real and safe. She doesn’t pull away.

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll find somewhere safe for us. You’ll be okay, princess, I promise.”

She nods softly. “It’s a good thing my parents are in D.C., otherwise Dad would be freaking out right now.”

“Yeah.”

We both go quiet. The road stretches out in front of us, endless and dark. My headlights cut through the night, but not enough. Not nearly enough.

Arabella curls up on the seat beside me, her bare feet tucked under her. She’s just watching me as if she’s waiting for something.

But I don’t say anything. I can’t. My mind’s racing too fast for my mouth to keep up.

She watched me in the shower. She wanted me to kiss her. She touched the glass like she could feel me through it. I almost had her in my arms.

My dick is growing hard again just thinking about it.

But then someone dared to come after her. Surely whoever it is that’s threatening the family would have known she was the only one at home. They were watching. Waiting. They know how much Senator Prescott dotes on his daughter, and it’s obvious they see her as the key to getting what they want.

The thought makes my knuckles go white on the wheel, and my jaw clenches so hard it hurts. I look over at her.

She’s fallen asleep. Or at least close. Her head’s tipped toward the window, lips parted just slightly, hair messy around her face. She’s soft and small and trusting in a way that guts me.

I give her thigh a gentle squeeze and adjust my grip on the steering wheel with my other hand. The road hums beneath us. Every mile that ticks by, I feel the tension ease just a fraction, replaced by something else. Something dangerous.

I could have lost her tonight. And now, I’m never letting her out of my sight again.

***

The hotel is tucked off the highway, quiet and expensive-looking.

The kind of place that men with money bring their mistresses to.

The woman at the front desk doesn’t ask questions when I flash a forged ID with a fake name and hand over a wad of cash.

She clicks through the booking like she’s done it a hundred times before.

“There’s only one room left,” she says, eyes flicking between me and Arabella. “The honeymoon suite.”

“We’ll take it.”

Arabella doesn’t say anything. Just stands beside me, her eyes wide and her hair trailing over one shoulder.

We ride the elevator in silence, alone, the air between us heavy with all the things we haven’t said. She’s leaning against the mirrored wall, arms folded, lower lip between her teeth like she’s trying not to speak.

I watch her in the reflection. The oversized clothes make her look small. Vulnerable.

When the elevator dings, I guide her out with a hand on the small of her back. She doesn’t flinch at my touch, and that does something to me I can’t afford to look at too closely.

Not yet.

When we get to the suite, it looks as sleek and expensive as I expect.

Arabella walks in slowly, eyes wide as she takes in the glass and marble, the plush bedding, the candles arranged around the edge of the sunken tub.

I lock the door. Engage the latch. Slide the deadbolt.

Then I head straight for the windows, yanking the blackout curtains closed with quick, precise movements.

Only when the room is secure do I pull out the burner phone and dial.

“Decker,” says Vince on the other end. “We got him.”

My pulse spikes. “Who?”

“Some punk. Probably no older than twenty-five. Tried to scale the perimeter, but tripped the motion sensors. We picked him up near the east wing. No ID, no prints in the system. Won’t say a word. Just keeps smirking like he knows something we don’t.”

“Do we know who sent him?”

“He wouldn’t say. Rick’s working on loosening his tongue.”

That means the guy will have bruises by morning. Plenty of them, hopefully. Good. The only thing bothering me about it is that I’m not the one giving him the bruises right now.

“Keep me updated. And don’t let him go anywhere. We’ll be staying somewhere safe tonight, seeing as it’s so late, but I’ll want to question him myself when we get back tomorrow morning.”

“You got it. Keep the girl safe.”

Always.

I hang up, toss the phone onto the table, and turn to find Arabella on the bed. She’s curled up on the edge of it like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Arms around her knees, eyes wide and unsure and locked on me.

Something shifts in my chest.

The adrenaline’s still in my veins, but now it’s mixing with something hotter. Deeper. The sight of her lights me up in places that have nothing to do with protection and everything to do with need.

She licks her lips like she’s about to say something, but I beat her to it.

“We’re safe for now.” Her shoulders relax a fraction, but her gaze never wavers from mine. “You should get some sleep, princess. It’s late and you need the rest.”

My voice is thick, rough. I can’t tear my eyes off her.

“Okay,” she whispers, rising to her feet.

She pulls the hem of her sleep shirt up just enough to hook her thumbs into the waistband of her pants, pushing them down to reveal the soft thighs that have haunted my thoughts since I first laid eyes on her this morning. My dick springs to life, thick and hard and aching.

I shouldn’t be looking. I should turn away and leave her to change. I should go and take another shower. A cold one.

I’ve barely finished the thought when her hands go to the buttons on her shirt. The top two were already open, showing a tantalizing hint of cleavage. Now she pops the third, then the fourth. The two sides fall open, and the shirt slides even further down her shoulders.

I’m rooted in place. My heart’s hammering. All the blood in my body has drained straight to my cock, making me light-headed.

Jesus.

I take two long strides, closing the distance between us so I can place my hand over hers, stopping her movements.

“Princess,” I say, my voice coming out sounding a lot like a growl. A warning. “You should keep the shirt on if you don’t want me to lose control. Open any more buttons and neither of us will be getting any sleep tonight.”

It’s taking all my fucking willpower to act as chivalrous as I am, because I have never craved anyone as much as I crave the beautiful young woman standing right in front of me.

But, as much as I need to sink my hard cock into that tight virgin heat between her thighs, nothing is more important to me than her well-being.

Not a single damn thing.

Arabella remains silent. She just stares up at me, and there’s something in her eyes. Something hungry. Her pupils are blown out, her cheeks are flushed, and her lips are parted, like she can’t get enough air.

Like she wants me just as badly as I want her.

Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. “What if... what if I want you to lose control?”

Oh fuck.