Diva (Ironclad Bodyguards Book 2) (15 page)

“You were a nympho long before I showed up,” he snapped over her tirade. “It’s just about the sex for you, isn’t it? That’s why you want me to stay.”

“Of course that’s why I want you to stay, you fucking asshole.”

They stared at each other, breathless, wild-eyed combatants. There was a knock at the door, and Don’s abrasive voice. “Lola? Are you up? Answer my fucking texts.”

“I’m up,” she yelled. “Go away.”

“We have to leave soon for the interview.”

This time Ransom yelled along with Lola. “Go away!”

Ransom turned back to her and studied her in the sunlight. He wished he could express the true depth of his regret at leaving, but all she’d hear was that he wanted to stay. He had to be firm, aloof. “I’m sorry, kid. I know it sucks to have to get used to a new bodyguard, but what happened between us can’t be undone.”

“You want me.” Shit, she was groping him through his pants, finding the hard evidence she needed to keep arguing. “I know you want me. Even now.”

“No,” he said, pushing her hands away.

“Please.”

No. He wasn’t falling down that rabbit hole again. He wished he could fuck her a thousand more times, because she was so gorgeous, so responsive, but he couldn’t. He was never going to fuck her again. If he fucked her again, he was lost. Outside the hotel room, Don banged on the door.

“Lola? Lola!”

“Just stay,” she pleaded. “Call your boss and say you’ve changed your mind. At least finish the tour!”

Once again, he told her no.

“Fuck you, then,” she shouted, lashing out at him in her pain. “Leave if you want. Go make more films, you heartless asshole porn star. I don’t fucking care.”

“You do care. We both care.” He backed away from her flailing anger, then caught her hands to make her still. “But this is exactly why I have to leave. You see? I’m not okay with you calling me a porn star every time you get angry. I’m also not your sex slave. You can’t grope me and drag me to your bed—”

“The way you did to me last night?”

“Last night was your fault,” he said, wagging a finger in her face. “Because you threatened to watch my films. You manipulated me.”

She brought her knee up between his legs and almost connected. “That’s not the reason you slept with me. That is not why!”

Don knocked harder. “What’s going on in there?”

“Go away,” she yelled.

“Is Ransom in there?”

Ransom muttered an expletive under his breath, let go of Lola, and went to crack the door. “I’ll have her ready to go downstairs by four o’clock,” he said to the scowling manager. “Now please, just…go the fuck away.” He shut the door in his face. Lola had fled into the bathroom. He heard the shower running over the sound of her pathetic sobs.

“Lola.” He tapped at the door, then tried the lock. “Lola, let me in.”

“No.” The door shuddered from a kick. “If you want to leave, then leave. Fuck you to hell, you fucking asshole. I don’t even want to see your fucking face.”

“Lola.” He could hear her crying on the other side, hear the pain and agony he’d caused her. He’d known he would hurt her, but he hadn’t known it would be this bad. He hadn’t known it would feel like taking a slice out of his own heart. “Lola, please. Don’t be angry. I’m trying to do the right thing.”

She’d never believe it, but he was doing this for her, to protect her. If she was like this after one night of sexual connection, how would she be by the end of the tour? Her sobs wrenched at his soul as he stood with his ear against the barrier between them.
Lola, I’m sorry.
He was too old for her, too married to his job. She was traveling the world, living in the spotlight. They didn’t have a future. He was supposed to be protecting her, for fuck’s sake, not sleeping with her. It all boiled down to that.

He sat on the edge of her bed until he heard the water turn off. At some point, the crying had stopped, because all he heard now was silence. The lock clicked and the door swung open. She stood in a towel, red-eyed and pink-haired. So emotional. So devastated.

When he opened his arms to her, she leaned her head against his shoulder and drew a shuddery breath. “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered. “Please…”

“Lola. You’re making this so hard.”

She clung to him. “You can’t leave. I need you.”

Fuck. Fuck the world. Fuck his life. What had he done to deserve this?

But he knew what he’d done. Three times. Three monumental fucks. He silently berated himself as she huddled in his arms. What had he been thinking, to sleep with her? And how could he fix this?

“Lola,” he groaned. “Baby, I have to leave. I can’t keep working on this assignment now that I’ve had you. We crossed a line we’re not allowed to cross. If my boss knew—”

“He won’t find out. I swear I won’t tell anyone. I mean, this is so stupid. If I’d known you’d quit as soon as we had sex…”

“Did you think you could have a bodyguard and fuck buddy rolled into one? It doesn’t work that way.”

“But it’s
us
,” she said, stamping her foot. “We have something above and beyond your freaking job. Last night…” She gazed at him, tearful and distraught. “You can’t just abandon me. Please stay.
Please stay.
”

He cared too much now. He’d cared too much from the beginning. He needed to run, and run away fast, but how the fuck was he supposed to do that with Lola sobbing in his arms?

He sighed, knowing he couldn’t leave her, not after these emotional fireworks. He tightened his arms around her, hating the way she weakened him and made him do stupid things.

“If I stay, there can’t be any more sex,” he said. “No flirting, no temptation. That’s the only way it could work.”

She buried her face in his chest. “No sex ever?”

“Not for the rest of the tour. No more diva shit either,” he said against her tousled pink hair. “No more screaming and drama. No throwing my past in my face. You have to promise.”

“I promise. Just please…stay.” She lifted her head to look at him. “I’ll be good. I’ll behave. I swear I won’t do anything to annoy you.”

He put as much stock in her promises as he put in his horrible self-control, but the way she cried, and the way she clung to him…

When she finally left with Don to do the interview, Ransom paced the hotel room a dozen times, then sat at the desk and texted Liam.

On second thought, I’ll finish the tour. It’s only a few more weeks.

No Feelings. Just Beats.

L
ola stared at
Ransom’s ass as she jogged along behind him. If not for that gorgeous view, she would have collapsed twenty minutes ago. Her legs hurt. Her feet hurt. Her lungs were burning. Exercise was bullshit and she’d tell him so, if he’d only let her catch her breath.

He glanced back at her. “Doing okay?”

“Fuck you.”

He ignored her and continued jogging along the picturesque path. Every so often he looked over his shoulder to check whether she was keeping up. If she tried to stop, he just looped around and made her start running again.

“I need a break,” she gasped. “I’m about to have a heart attack.”

“You’re doing great.”

“I’m literally dying.”

He stopped with a sigh, and she pulled up too, resting her hands on her knees.

“Come here.” He made her straighten up, and held her arm with one hand while he pressed the other to her neck. She vaguely remembered him doing this once before, as her heart raced and burned in her chest. When she met his gaze, she knew he remembered too. He looked away and dropped his hand.

“You’re not dying. Your pulse rate is at an optimal level for your age and level of fitness. Cardio, right? Let’s go.”

“No.” She staggered away from him and collapsed on a bench. “You’re my bodyguard. You’re supposed to be protecting me from death, not urging me toward it.”

“You’re not going to die from a jog around a park. Let’s finish it, we’re almost done.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re evil.”

He tilted his head, still running in place. “You wanted me to stay.”

She looked up at him, squinting against the mid-morning sunlight that outlined his tall, muscular body. Of course he’d throw that in her face, remind her how she’d begged and cried to keep him on this tour.

Why? Why had she done that? He wouldn’t give her sex, or even flirt with her. All the physical attraction between them had been redirected into forced exercise and horrific lifestyle changes. He made her drink spinach smoothies and eat broccoli, and go out for morning runs on days she wasn’t performing. She’d weathered two days of headaches in Rome because he made her drink water now instead of diet cola.

Now she was running through a park in Milan wearing sweatpants and a tee shirt that were only ever supposed to be used for sleeping.

“Come on,” he said. “Up. Let’s go. The pain just means it’s working.”

“That isn’t what pain means. I want to go back to the hotel. I want to go to bed.”

He pulled her to her feet just as she said she wanted to go to bed, and his hands on her, his insistent force brought back all the memories. They’d gone to bed together once, and she couldn’t get over it no matter how hard she tried. He could make her run a thousand miles and drink a thousand spinach smoothies, and she still wouldn’t forget the way he’d grasped and caressed her, and shoved inside her until her whole world felt changed.

There was
before sex with Ransom
, and
after sex with Ransom
. Everything before paled in comparison, and everything after…

Well, everything after was frustrating as hell. When she looked at his hands, she thought about the delectable way he’d stroked her clit. When she looked at his mouth, she thought about his passionate kisses. When he stood close to her, the way he was now, she thought about how much she wanted to drag him to a bed, any bed.

“Lady Paradise.
Lady Paradise!
”

Ransom’s head whipped around when he heard the voices. “We need to get going. When you don’t run, people recognize you.”

Lola nodded and waved to the approaching group of teen fans, then followed her bodyguard as he jogged away. “Sorry,” she called, pointing at him. “I have to go.”

They waved and smiled and didn’t run after her. In Rome, a paparazzo had followed them for two blocks on a scooter, taking photos. He sold them and they ended up online, photos of her huffing and puffing, red faced, in her shitty workout gear. “This is your fault,” she’d shouted at Ransom, pulling up the offending sites.

His answer to her meltdowns was always, “You wanted me to stay.” Worse was the silent threat:
I can still leave.

She wondered if he suffered as much as she did. Not at running, of course. He jogged along beside her without getting winded, while she felt close to death. No, she wondered if he ever thought about that night they’d spent together, about the heat, the pleasure, the scent of their bodies in the throes of climax. She wondered if he ached for her the way she ached for him.

Doubtful. He only talked to her now if he absolutely had to. He refused to be drawn into any teasing or flirtation, rebuffing her words with a warning glance. He was the ultimate standoffish professional, just as he’d been in the beginning, but way too much had happened since then, and Lola was losing her mind.

Because she didn’t just miss the sex. She missed having Ransom as a friend, or at least a semi-friend. For a while he’d been nice to her. Not anymore.

She jogged along the running path, a two-word mantra droning in her head.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
Never mind that she felt better because of the spinach and water and exercise. Never mind that she had more energy and better concentration than she’d had in years. That energy and concentration was focused on wanting sex, and he wasn’t giving it to her, and if she stared at his hot ass for too much longer, she was going to cry.

She sped up and ran beside him instead, trying to keep pace with his much longer stride. He looked over at her with a smile, like this was fun, like they were two pals out running together. Ugh, why did he have to look so gorgeous, even when he was covered in sweat? Several fan sites and tabloids had begun calling attention to her handsome bodyguard. She didn’t even want to think about what
she
looked like, chugging along beside him, sweating and out of breath.

The next day was a performance day, thank God, and Ransom let her sleep late before he ordered her a healthy breakfast, complete with a spinach-and-strawberry smoothie in a nauseating shade of green. “Why do you get to drink coffee?” she groused.

“You can drink coffee if you finish that smoothie.”

So cold. So professional. She couldn’t take it anymore. When she dressed for the show that night, she slutted out in petty rebellion, piling on the eyeliner and bright red lipstick, and wearing her tightest pair of silver sequined shorts. When she was finished she turned in front of the mirror, studying the overall effect. Wow, her ass looked better, didn’t it?

No, fuck him. She wasn’t going to be grateful for being bullied to better health. She tied on her tiny matching silver bikini top and struggled to cinch the back.

“Ransom,” she called. “Can you help me?”

Don came in the bathroom instead, and retied the string several times while staring at her over her shoulder. “That’s fine,” she finally said.

He regarded her in the mirror. “New look with your makeup? I like your hair.”

She’d slicked it every which way and dotted it with silver star barrettes, a style that looked as wild as her emotions felt. “Whatever,” she muttered.

Ransom carried her laptop as Don hustled her out to the bus, complaining that she was always late. This from the guy who’d played with her bikini strings way longer than necessary. For God’s sake, she wasn’t trying to attract Don with her skintight, silver-sequined get up. She was trying to get the attention of the tall, dark shadow in her peripheral vision, the bodyguard who refused to be her lover anymore.

When they got to the bus, she cut in front of Ransom and sashayed up the stairs, even though he normally boarded first to check for stowaways.