UNSHAKABLE (Able Series Book 4) (4 page)

Hot
—that’s how he makes me feel when he locks me in his gaze. How his hold on me today speaks of the strength of his feelings for me. How the heat of his skin against mine burns my nerves up to heights I haven’t felt. It may be in his actions that the intensity of his feelings for me is the greatest, and I’m thankful for that.

Cold
—that’s what I felt today when he let me go. Every time he doesn’t touch me, look at me, hold me, I achingly miss the heat his body emits. Every time he says there can never be an ‘us’. When he uses cold, calculated words that nick at my heart incessantly.

DAMIEN

I still can’t get over what happened two weeks ago. Every single time I play a different scenario in my head were she gets hurt, my anxiety ramps up freaking me the fuck out. If what happened isn’t enough to drive me insane—the woman, herself, drives me insane beyond words. She’s sweet as a lamb one second and roars like a lioness the next. Her presence makes it hard to breathe, let alone think of what the hell I need to do—what I have to do—what my job states I do. I’m close to requesting a change of assignment, but the need to protect her, to stand by her puts my heart and convictions at a standstill.

I could almost hear Cody saying, “You’ve grown a vagina! Own it!”

Sarah’s voice blares through my earpiece destroying whatever form of peace I have. “Change of plans, Damien.”

Thanking my lucky stars that she’s staying in and not leaving, I excitedly mumble, “Alright sounds good.”

“Ah . . . Damien . . .” she mumbles with a hint of apprehension. “She’s going out for dinner.”

I close my eyes taking a steady breath in, accepting the punishment she’s dishing out. “Dinner date with the girls? Is it one of her usual hang outs?”

“I have no idea who she’s going with and yes, it’s her usual hang out. I got it cleared, by the way.”

Dejected and frustrated, I walk toward the residence to switch places with Sarah. I’m always on point when it’s my shift. Always. I take my normal spot directly in front of her bedroom door, waiting for her to grace me with her presence.

Who the hell is my Wildflower going out with?

A few minutes later she comes out, almost giving me a heart attack with what she’s wearing, or lack thereof. Her black top is close to exposing her breasts, with its V neckline so low, one false move and her damn tits would be exposed for everyone’s enjoyment. What’s holding it up is a damn string around her neck. Good God! Her blue pants are hugging her ass. I don’t think she’s wearing any damn panties; and I hope she won’t trip over the fuck me shoes she’s wearing.

She faces me wearing a satisfied grin on her face. “I’m ready.”

I lean into her, allowing my lips to be inches away from her ears. “Sophia, do you think you could change. . . . please.”

My voice is bordering desperation and imploration. If I’m this affected, I’m sure everyone who has a dick out there will be too. There’s a high chance she won’t listen, but I have to try—I have to.

Leaning back she cheekily says, “Why, Damien? Why do I have to change?” Not satisfied with her speech, her gaze slowly slithers down my body, right smack to my junk.

God Almighty, keep me closer to the cross because I’m about to lose it.

As her eyes find their way back to mine, I lock her in with my imploring bluish green ones without a single word leaving my mouth. She’s not moving, not blinking, but challenging me at every turn, making me sweat—making me hurt. I know I can’t say anything, but my heart is currently cussing my head to give my mouth the power to speak.

I lean in again, authoritative tone evident in my voice. “Who are you going out with?”

She holds my gaze, eyes blazing with determination. “I’m going out on a date. Why do you care?”

I take a deep breath trying to control my emotions. “A date.” I let the words roll out of my mouth. Slowly and deliberately I say, “Well, you need to change. I’m not moving until you do.”

She glares at me. Matching my stare for what seems like forever. I can go on staring her down, but there’s no way I’m backing down. She’ll change or we’re not leaving. It’s that simple.

She closes her eyes, nods in a demure way that only my Wildflower can, and then saunters back into her room. Sophia will never know how a simple nod allows me to breathe in this moment. A few minutes later, she comes out wearing the same thing with a black leather jacket and a smile.

“Will this do?” She asks with her brow raised.

“Thank you, Sophia.”

She nods, followed by a sigh of relief. To show her my appreciation, I place my hand on the small of her back knowing that act alone will give her a great sense of joy. Any point of contact gives
us
a great sense of joy. We make our way toward the elevator while I debate whether to ask who she’s going out on a date with or not. While I go back and forth trying to reason with myself, the object of my temptation doesn’t have a problem voicing out her opinion.

“Why’d you want me to change? Were you afraid some guy will look at what’s yours?”

Yes, you’re mine, Wildflower. I’ve mastered the art of indifference. It’s part of the job. But someone needs to explain to me how my Wildflower can read me like a damn book. What the hell?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We need to blend in, and what you’re wearing shouts attention. Besides, that’s not proper attire for a woman your age, especially if you’re going on a date.” My tone goes cold and menacing uttering the word
date
.

She narrows her eyes and faces me. “You’re the most complicated person I’ve ever met. You’re so exhausting! This is what I get for meeting you half way, for wearing this stupid jacket to hopefully tame down the King Kong beast that wants to come out of your infuriating as hell body. But time and time again, you piss me off! Don’t talk to me.” She turns away from me, arms crossed over her chest.

“Noted,” I murmur.

“Don’t talk to me!” She looks at me then yells out this time.

“Don’t repeat yourself. I heard you the first time. It’s duly noted, Sophia.”

I know my even tone pisses her the hell off, but fire can’t fight fire. When she’s ready to bite my head off, it’s pertinent I stay cool.

I’m trying. I really am.

She moves to take her jacket off making me see red once again.

She’s trying to give me a fucking heart attack and a raging hard on at the same time. She’s using every WDD in her arsenal to fucking kill me. Why do I think about Cody’s acronyms, but weapons of dick destruction seems fitting though.

With a seething and low voice matching her attitude, I enunciate my words slowly, “Do.not.attempt.to.take.that.off. Carte blanche, Ms. Andrews. Do not forget that.”

She shrugs her jacket off, reaches for something in her bag as the doors open, then she hands me a banana . . . a fucking banana. I look down at the offending fruit, understanding why Jake hates it so much, before meeting her determined eyes again.

My brows almost hit my damn hairline. She’s gone mad. “What is this for?”

She moves to stand right in front of me, leans her body toward me, her cheeks almost touching mine, then speaks with a voice so angelic it caresses every rough part of me.

“Go eat your banana, Mr. King Kong. You may have carte blanche on my security, but I have full and absolute control over my body. Bite me!”

She spins and marches her tiny behind out of the elevator. I hear Sarah and Travis snickering like damn school girls as soon as she says ‘bite me’. I smack Travis with the infuriating fruit and follow Sophia who makes me want to charge her, carry her, and lock her in her room.

“Bite me, Damien!” Travis snorts behind me.

Before I can even formulate a smart ass answer, my eyes land on a shiny BMW. My blood begins to boil knowing none of her girlfriends own one. It only means one thing. She’s on a date with a damn guy. One that has a dick. One I might kill before she even sets foot in his car.

“You’re not riding in that car, Sophia.” My commanding voice makes her spin around.

“Why not? You can just follow us.”

“Negative. After the attack two weeks ago, you’re only allowed to ride in a vehicle with your detail. There are a lot of variables here.”

She moves closer to me with eyes in slits, voice low. “I swear to God you need to tone down the ape inside you or else. . . .”

I move even closer, our noses almost touching, my tone lower than hers. “Or else what? I run the show here. Deal with it.”

Her eyes are blazing but at this point, I don’t give a shit. The dimwit who has the balls to ask my Wildflower on a date exits his car and walks our way.

“Are you ready to go, babe?”

Babe? Did I hear that right? I think this asshole wants to die sooner, much sooner than I planned.

I turn to face him. “I don’t know who babe is. . . . .” I pause, wanting him to introduce himself to me.

He extends his hand and answers, “Shawn.”

I shake his hand, squeezing it harder than I should. “Yeah, Shawn. Like I said, I don’t know who babe is, but
my
Wildflower will not ride with you. We’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

He looks confused and looks at Sophia for guidance. Sophia though is looking straight at me trying to kill me with her stare. “Um, Shawn.” She turns his way and continues, “Why don’t we just take my car? I don’t want this old guy to have a heart attack.” She actually taps my back and goes in for the kill. “You know, at thirty and all.”

My ears are burning, eyes blazing, and I’m close to losing my mind when Sophia and her date get into the SUV. I take a few deep breaths, crack my neck to relive the pressure, and rub my hand down my face preparing myself for another ice-cold treatment from her. It’s what she does after I piss her off. Well too damn bad, I’m pissed off too.

As soon as we arrive at the restaurant, I’m next to Sophia placing her at the corner where I can be a little closer instead of her usual spot at the middle. By the time dinner is over I’m confident the asshole won’t have a second date. However, on the way home Sophia surprises me when she asks him to stay for a movie.

Once inside the residence, I assume my position wearing a scowl while I watch the idiot’s arm go over Sophia’s shoulder. He better watch his next move or I’ll rip his arm off its socket. Suddenly, I feel a presence next to me. I turn to see the President with a grin on his face.

“I feel the same way, Damien. Keep an eye on my princess, alright? Remind her he needs to go after the movie.”

“Will do, Sir.”

As soon as the credits start rolling, I clear my throat making it known I’m still here—waiting—ready to strike.

“I really had a good time, Sophia.”

That’s right; make the goodbye quick asshole before I push you out of here.

He moves to kiss her when I take two steps closer, my arms ready to grab him and toss him into the elevator.

“Will you excuse us, Damien?” Sophia asks nicely but her eyes are challenging me.

News Flash, babe . . . you’re talking to the wrong person. I don’t back down on a challenge.

“Sorry, Ms. Andrews. The President made it clear to ask Shawn to leave right after the movie. I believe the movie is over.” I face Shawn saying, “Are you ready to go? The elevator is waiting for you, Shawn.”

Shawn looks at me then to Sophia. “I’ll . . . ah . . . call you tomorrow.” He doesn’t waste time and walks toward the elevator.

“You told me to live my life, right? Well then I’m living it! You’ve won! Now you’re just being unbelievably ridiculous!” Sophia says.

“Good Night, Sophia.”

I leave only when she goes into her bedroom and accept everything she told me. If I’m being honest with myself, I don’t think I piss her off as much as I frustrate the shit out of her.

Hot
—that’s what I feel every time she’s around me, every time my eyes land on her beauty. It’s torture for my damn conscience because the nature of my job doesn’t allow me to think such thoughts, but my heart seeks the heat only her presence emanates.

Cold
—that’s what coats me every time I leave her—every time she’s not in my presence. Toward the end of my shift is when I feel the wind-chill knowing I need to leave, but it’s when I’m home that I feel the arctic sting of her absence.

SOPHIA

THREE WEEKS OF AVOIDANCE, IF
I can even call it that exists between Damien and me. No touch, no talk, no eye contact while having a calm and assertive energy. According to Cesar Milan, it’s the best way to handle an out of control dog.

What? Damien is not a dog, girlie! Ah, I beg to differ because the six foot ogre I see every single day in my mind is a controlling, psychotic canine!

I’m out having dinner with friends at The Capital Grille. Darcee, my long time best friend, sits on my right, and on my left is Bryanna, whom I met in high school. She’s the daughter of a famous Chef in D.C., Alexzander Sinclair.

“So, how’s it going with Mr. Bulldog?”

I roll my eyes at Bryanna as I contemplate whether or not to throw my fork at her for asking that stupid question. Thankfully, we’re at the corner of the restaurant, not within hearing distance of the other patrons.