You're Not Broken (21 page)

             
Jessa Blair.

              I shook my head as I outlined her body with my arms, making sure that she got into the hotel safely.

             
This woman was something else.

Chapter Four
Rowan

              I stared in silent amazement as we rode up the elevator together—me, Jessa, a team of security—to Jessa’s prepared penthouse suite.

              For nearly the entire day, Jessa had sat in a small room where she had been thrust a different journalist every half hour who then poked and prodded her in the most intimate fashion, all the while recording it on camera.

              As soon as we had arrived at the hotel, Jessa had been swept away so that she could have her make up re-done or whatever it was that make up artists did to keep themselves employed. She then was put into a new dress. This one was a dark blue.

              I didn’t say anything but the blue was arresting on her. With her beautiful rich fair skin, the dark blue only made her look more glowing. Her long shiny hair was pinned back on one side but was otherwise free. I stared at the long locks tumbling down her back.

              Fuck, there was no way this woman
couldn’t
have made it in Hollywood. She looked like she had been born to become an actress. And yet with every moment I spent with her, observing her, I realized she acted nothing like a Hollywood celebrity.

              With each nosy journalist, she expertly deflected questions that were too personal, repeated answers to tired old questions, and laughed whenever a lame or used joke was made.

              I remembered once when I was riding on my bike down a stretch of desert towards Las Vegas, I had seen a huge billboard for one of Jessa Blair’s movies. Beneath the title of the movie, it had said in huge quotes, “Starring America’s Sweetheart!”

              And I had snorted at what a hackneyed phrase that was. America’s Sweetheart. Yeah, right. Meanwhile she was probably some diva on set who would throw a hissy fit if she didn’t get her espresso on time.

              But now I realized that even if they had hung that title of America’s Sweetheart on her as an old tried and true marketing ploy, I couldn’t imagine a better name for her.

              Every reporter fawned over her. They felt as if she was making a genuine connection with them. Because of her sincerity and sweetness, she made
them
glow in the interviews, making the whole piece turn out better.

              But now it was all finally over for today and Jessa could find sanctuary in her hotel room.

              With her bodyguard. And security team.

              Reaching the top level, the elevator opened on to a private floor. The five security guards fanned out and took up posts along the walls of her suite. Jessa walked, sure footed, towards the front door and slid her key card.

              Not missing a step, I followed in right behind her before the door closed.

              I saw Jessa’s head turn slightly over her shoulder as she heard my footsteps following hers but she made no comment.

              God, I could see how fans could fall in love with her. She seemed to have a whole secret world hidden within her that seemed to beckon to you, tantalize you. You felt that if you could get close enough, you could share in her secrets and bask in that special light that only she seemed to cast.

              Jessa headed towards the huge living room that had an entire wall of windows that overlooked LA. To the right even stood a small white baby grand piano. A huge bouquet of pink and white roses stood on the living room table with a small card from the hotel staff, welcoming her.

              But Jessa took no notice of any of this and instead walked straight through the living room and down a hallway towards what I assumed was the master suite. Without a word, she entered the room and shut the door behind her.

             
Hm,
I thought with some amusement,
still a little miffed with the new security detail, are we?

              I did a quick but thorough sweep of the rooms, making sure that we were all clear. God, this penthouse was fucking huge. It’s funny to think that only a year or so ago, I had been happily making do with a cot and some leaves. And now I was following around a starlet who was staying for probably the millionth time in a penthouse that was larger than most people’s actual homes.

              Finding the place secure, I took a seat on the plush couch. I had been on my feet all day as well. Guarding Jessa was easier than guarding that wannabe singer in some ways but more difficult in others.

              Jessa played no games and she certainly didn’t use her staff menially. I watched her treat everyone from her make up woman to a security guard with respect and kindness. She didn’t need people to constantly bow and scrape in front of her just because of who she was. That was good.

              I had never been a very good bowing and scraping kind of guy.

              But Jessa was also one who didn’t take direction without explanation. She fought being led about. She wanted some measure of control. I imagined that as someone who had been acting since such a young age, control was important. I can only imagine the kind of pressure young girls are under in Hollywood. The kinds of demands, expectations, and standards they are surrounded by. So it made sense that when Jessa had grown old enough to find her voice, she had decided to stand up for herself.

              I admired it even though at the moment, it was annoying me.

              As an effective bodyguard, I wouldn’t always have time to explain exactly every single one of my decisions before they’re made. She would have to trust me to make the right choices and follow my lead.

              But therein laid the problem.
That
was what made Jessa Blair difficult. Could she learn to trust me?

              “You’re still here?”

              I whipped around in my seat and saw Jessa wrapped up in a thick white robe, her long hair wet and falling down her back, clearly fresh out of a shower.

              Without any of that make up on, she looked clean and pure. She looked younger. Her eyes were soft and wide, although at the moment they were narrowed down as they looked towards me.

              “Of course I’m still here,” I said. “Where did you expect me to be?”

              “
Not
here,” she answered flatly.

              For some reason, I wanted to grin at her tone.

              I wisely decided against it.

              “Well, as your personal bodyguard, that wouldn’t make much sense not to be near where you are.”

              Jessa’s brow creased as she sighed in frustration. “I thought you were just going to do a security sweep and then leave.”

              I nodded. “I did my security sweep,” I said. “But I’m staying.”

              Jessa was swimming in the robe. It was much too big. It made her neck and hands and ankles look much more delicate by comparison.

              “Did you find anything?” she asked.

              I stared at her in confusion.

              “During the security sweep,” she clarified impatiently. “Did you find anything during your security sweep of the rooms?”

              “Oh,” I answered. “No. Nothing alarming present.”

             
Except me,
I thought against my will.

              And I swore I saw the thought of “
Except you,”
brush across Jessa’s hazel eyes.

              Jessa threw up her arms in confirmation. “There!” she said triumphantly. “You see? Everything is safe as a bug in a rug here so I don’t think you need to stay. I have a team of five standing outside. If you really feel like playing the hero, you can go out and join them.”

              I stood up and walked over to her.

              Without her heels on, the top of her head barely brushed against my shoulder. Although she exuded a sturdy charm that made her seem bubbly and fun, I could see that close up, she was more fragile and delicate.

              As soon as I had stepped into her space, she had lowered her head, looking straight ahead at my chest.
No bravado when confronted head on, missy? Come now.

              I hooked a finger under her small chin and compelled her to look up at me. Those clear hazel eyes peered up arrestingly. I felt my chest tighten in an unfamiliar way as I looked down at her.

              “I am here to protect and guard Jessa Blair,” I said slowly. “You are my sole concern. So whether you are in a penthouse suite at the Beverly Hills Hotel or in an alley shack in Mexico, I’m going to be there by your side. I don’t leave you. My job is to always stay.”

              I felt her breath hitch. I was dying to run my thumb against her soft bottom lip. The image of me biting down on the lip as I squeezed her body hard against mine flashed through me, leaving behind an electric heat.

              Looking down, it seemed as if Jessa had felt it too. I could see her pupils dilate a little, her breathing coming in quick and shallow.

              “You can’t always be by my—” she started.

              I pulled her chin up a little higher so she didn’t miss a word. “
Always,
” I emphasized. “I’m by your side. You don’t go anywhere without me.” Instinctively, I pulled her in a little closer. She stepped easily towards me.

              “I’m your protection,” I said lowly, imagining the taste of her lips. “I’m your guard. I stay with you.”

              There was a moment of heavy silence between us. I think both of us were letting our imaginations run wild for a minute. I know I was. This little Hollywood vixen had brought out something so raw and electric within me, it was taking me by surprise.

              Finally, Jessa pulled away and I let her. She took a few steps back as if wanting to get some space between us.

              She ran her long fingers against her chin, touching exactly where I had touched her. Had she felt that immediate zing of heat when our bodies had met?

              “Fine,” she said breathlessly, as if she had been running. “Do whatever you want. Stay if you want. There are no extra bedrooms anyway.” And with that, she turned around and ran back to her room, shutting the door behind her.

              I was an ex-grunt. A bed? I was glad when I had a bundle of soft leaves. And this penthouse sofa was softer than my real bed. I didn’t need a bed.

              What I
did
need though, was a wake up slap. Because no way in hell could I possibly be falling for someone like Jessa Blair.

Chapter Five
Jessa

              “You look like you’re in a good mood,” Rowan commented as our black SUV took off. Normally, I liked to drive myself around but during such a chaotic week with all the press I was scheduled to do, it was just easier to have a driver take me.

              “I
am
in a good mood,” I said smiling. I could see Rowan raise a brow curiously at me. No doubt it was a sudden change from my attitude last night when I had been more than a little put out at discovering that I would essentially be
living
with this strange man.

              I was more than a little pissed at the FBI agents for not warning me of this added caveat when they had assigned this new bodyguard. All my previous bodyguards had always stayed outside with my security team. Once or twice they had tried to come inside claiming it was for security purposes but usually a strongly worded reprimand was all they had needed to bounce them back out.

              But Rowan had been different.

              Unlike the previous bodyguards, he didn’t have that slimy aura of trying to leech something from me. I never caught his gaze grazing down my body in a lewd fashion or lusting after me hungrily, wondering what he could possibly wring out of me.

             
Well,
I thought to myself. I
did
catch him looking at me once. I had seen his eyes slowly look over me, sliding over my cleavage to my waist then down to my hips. But instead of a leer, his eyes had grown warm and heated. They looked at me not lewdly but…appreciatively. As if, he could admire what he saw without trying to paw at it.

              It was a new experience. I hadn’t had a man look at me like that in quite possibly years. It was…refreshing.

              And of course, the way he had pushed his way into my suite, into my life, last night.

              I squeezed my thighs surreptitiously, hoping Rowan didn’t see the gesture. I could still feel his touch against my chin as he pulled my gaze up, forcing me to meet his eyes.

             
“I’m your protection. I’m your guard. I stay with you.”

              A thrill shivered down my spine as I recalled those words, spoken so lowly but so forcefully. I knew he meant every single word. He spoke as if repeating an oath. It was remarkable how in an instant, I felt completely safe within his arms.

             
Who
was this man exactly? Who was Rowan Matthews? In less than 48 hours, he had managed to worm his way under my skin and make me feel both heated and raw in a way I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

              As someone who was used to cavalier male actors and egotistical directors, it took quite a lot of work to get me feeling exposed and raw. And yet, this Rowan walks into my life, grabs me, and plunges me headlong into a spiral of pure sensation.

              I stared at the man sitting next to me. Dressed in a loose black shirt and dark jeans, he looked like a lion in repose. He looked like a jaguar before the hunt. His body seemed relax but I could see the definition of every muscle ready to leap into action when called.

              God, the man just oozed sex.

              I shook my head.

              What the hell was I thinking?

              “Are you okay?”

              I looked up and saw Rowan staring at me with concern. I hoped to god my face wasn’t blushing. I had never been one to easily blush but right now I felt like I was sitting on a furnace.

              “Yeah,” I said a little too quickly, making Rowan’s brow rise a little higher in concern. “I’m fine. Just got excited.”

              “Oh?” he asked. “What’s so exciting today?”

              Taking the opportunity to regain my composure and to focus on today’s goal, I smiled vivaciously and said, “My big break!”

              Rowan looked confused. “What big break? I thought you were a big enough star where you don’t need breaks anymore.”

              I gave him a grave shake of my head. “See, now that’s how people lose their careers before they’re thirty,” I said. “Everyone needs big breaks. And this one is mine! I’m having lunch with David Francetti.”

              I could hardly contain the nervous excitement that buzzed through me as I even said the name aloud.

              Recognition lit up Rowan’s stormy gray eyes. “Isn’t that some director? A famous one, right?” he said vaguely.

              I gave him a mock look of offense. “‘Some director’? David Francetti has had the last five of his films nominated for Oscars. Three of them won! He’s a movie magician. He is the king of storytelling.” I sighed, taken away by my own excitement. “And
he’s
my big break!”

              “Is he putting you in a new movie?”

              “He will be,” I said, grinning confidently. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” I smoothed down my very demure nude colored skirt. I had carefully picked out an outfit today that was very understated yet womanly. With my nude skirt and my silk cream blouse, I hoped I looked elegant with just a touch of sex appeal. It was very different from my press junket look where I wore very vibrant colors in fun and girlish silhouettes.

              “Why do you want to be in a David Francetti movie?” Rowan asked. “Doesn’t sound like your bag.” He gave me a puzzled frown.

              I frowned back. “That’s
exactly
why I want to be in a David Francetti movie,” I lectured. “Everyone knows me as this girl-next-door sweetheart. They think I’m all good for is to smile at a boy and to cry when he breaks my heart. They don’t take me seriously as an actor.”

              And it was true. No matter how often I had asked my agent or studios for a chance at another type of role, they kept reminding me how ‘likable’ I was as the romantic comedy lead. “Likability is more stable than artistry or drama,” my agent would always say. “Why risk a career on a chance drama when you’re the Queen of RomComs? Stick with likability.”

It came to be that I began to develop a strong hatred for the word, ‘likability.’

“You don’t like being a sweetheart?” Rowan asked. There was a dryness in his voice that made me look up sharply to see if he was teasing. But his steely eyes were solemn and serious.

“No,” I said bluntly. “That paints a flat picture of me. I can be a sweetheart. But I can also be a monster. I can be nice. But I can also be vengeful. I can cry over a boy but I can also grab a man and kiss him.”

I saw a heated burst of fire blaze across Rowan’s eyes that made my cheeks burn. I felt the same heat bloom within my belly although I hadn’t intended my words to be so inflammatory.

“I-In movies, I mean,” I amended lamely. “I’m saying I don’t like being labeled or stigmatized for just one thing.”

A sudden shift came over Rowan’s face. A hint of cool understanding yet detachment flitted over his hard and chiseled face. “Neither do I,” he said softly.

I suddenly wanted very much to ask him about his background—where he was from, what his training was like, who he bodyguarded before me—but I felt an odd nervousness in asking him. I could tell he was a quiet man who held his history close to his sleeves.

But there was a genuineness and a sincerity in the way he spoke that made him different from any bodyguard I had ever had. In fact, he was different from most people I interacted with on a daily basis. I was used to people lying or bluffing or exaggerating all for the sake of their own egos.

But not Rowan.

He had a quiet confidence in himself that spoke volumes. There was an ease in his manner because he knew he didn’t have to prove himself. I could think of at least a dozen famous male actors who still spoke brashly and acted rudely to show just how tough and manly they really were. But Rowan put on no kind of show like that. He knew himself.

“I have to show people that I’m much more than a silly romantic lead,” I said, plucking at the ends of my skirt. “There’s a time limit on this kind of narrow niche. Nobody wants to see a forty year old woman giggle and flirt with the boy next door. If I want to have a career in twenty years, I need to get better roles.
That’s
why I want to be in a David Francetti movie.”

A beat of silence fell between us as the SUV drove smoothly down the congested streets of LA.

              “So that’s why you’re having lunch with David Francetti?” Rowan asked, breaking the silence. “So you can break out of your ‘narrow niche’?”

              I nodded.

              “Hopefully,” I said quietly, suddenly feeling like I could reveal more to Rowan than I could to anyone else, “he’ll see that there’s more to me than just ‘likability.’”

              Another moment swelled with silence. I could hear the angry honking of cars outside our tinted windows.

              “If he’s any kind of person with half a brain, he will,” Rowan assured quietly.

              I looked up and was met with a pair of hooded yet understanding gray eyes. And I believed him instantly. He had a way of speaking that left no room for bullshit. He didn’t try to preen my ego or fawn over me. He spoke truthfully of what he saw. And for that, I felt touched and thankful.

              I felt
seen
for the first time.

              “Thanks,” I said softly.

              And we rode in companionable silence until we reached the restaurant.

              “We’re here,” my driver announced.