One Good Reason (Boston Love #3)(10)
“Oh, there you are, snookums!” a familiar voice interrupts her tirade. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
My wide eyes fly past the female guard and catch sight of Parker West, who’s striding down the hallway toward us with a determined look on his face. His gaze is locked on me as he pushes through the group and slides an arm around my shoulders, hauling me into his side with such familiarity, anyone watching would undoubtedly think we were something more than just friends.
“Where have you been?” Parker asks, peering down into my face. A warning squeeze of his fingers on the flesh of my upper arm tells me my vacant expression is blowing the whole act. The message in his eyes is clear: I’d better start playing along, pronto.
I don’t know why he’s helping me; right now, I don’t care.
I need him and he knows it.
“Here I am,” I say in bimbo-voice, turning into his chest and winding one arm between his shirt and his suit jacket. I can feel the muscled flesh beneath the fabric and instantly wonder what it would be like to run my hands down the bare planes of his back. My fingertips. My lips…
Zoe, focus! This is so not the time for sexual fantasies.
I try to banish the thought, but it’s difficult to focus on anything with the heat of his skin still radiating against my palm.
“I missed you, snookums,” Parker says, giving me another warning squeeze.
“I was on my way back, honey bear, I promise!” I bubble. His eyebrow twitches at the endearment. “These nice guards were just going to escort me.”
Okay, so, honey bear might’ve been a little much. Whatever.
“Well, so long as you’re back with me now, it doesn’t matter.” Parker steps forward, bringing me with him. “We must be getting back. Thank you all for looking out for my snookums, here.”
If he calls me snookums one more time I’m going to murder him.
“Mr. West, sir, that’s not exactly the case—” The female guard cuts in, trying to regain control of the situation. “She can’t just leave, we have some questions—”
“Oh, my little love bug here is always going off to powder her nose and getting lost,” he confides to the guards, who all look baffled and uncomfortable.
Pet names and PDA have that general effect, it seems.
Parker grins as he leads us down the hall, guards at our heels. “Terrible sense of direction, this one. Without me, she wouldn’t be able to find the front door of our condo.”
I grit my teeth in what I hope appears as a smile. “Thankfully, I have you to guide me, honey bee.”
“Mr. West, to be clear… you’re saying this woman is with you?” The female guard is frowning mightily as she trails behind us. “Because—”
“Of course she’s with me,” Parker says, coming to an abrupt stop. He pulls me closer until I’m practically fused to his side, my every curve plastered against the hard contours of his chest. I must admit, it’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling. “She wanted to stay home and watch The Real Housewives marathon but I simply couldn’t bear to be parted from my snookums for an entire night.”
That’s it. He’s a dead man.
“But sir—”
Parker’s demeanor shifts from playful to powerful so fast, it’s like a switch has been flipped inside him. He straightens to full height, his muscles go tense, and his voice adopts a thread of steel that was absent before.
“If you have a problem with my date, you’ll have a problem with me,” he says lowly. “WestTech is one of Mr. Lancaster’s most lucrative business partners, as I’m sure you’re aware. But if we’re going to be treated with suspicion and disrespect, maybe you should go get your boss.” He pauses and stares into the female guard’s eyes. “I have some of my own grievances I could air about his staff and their shortcomings.”
“Oh, no, sir,” the bitch backpedals quickly. “Of course not, sir. We meant no disrespect, you understand. Just doing our jobs.” She swallows. “Please, have a pleasant evening.”
“We will,” Parker says, cheerful once again. I find it somewhat alarming how fast he can shift gears from intimidating to exuberant. For the first time, I wonder if there’s something more to the playboy facade he puts on for paparazzi and the public.
I don’t dwell on the thought, because we’re suddenly moving again. This time, the guards don’t follow as we make our way down the hallway toward the ballroom. His arm remains tight around my shoulders even after we’ve left their line of sight.
When we reach the bathroom where I changed earlier, I dig my heels in and draw to a stop. He glances at me curiously, mouth parting to ask a question I don’t want to answer. Before he can say a word, I shove open the door, grab hold of his arm, and drag him in after me.
The door slams with finality, closing us together in the small space.
Breathe, Zoe.
I put as much distance between us as possible — which only amounts to about six feet, in the tiny bathroom. For a moment, we just stare at each other in silence.
With his hands shoved casually into his suit pockets and his tall frame leaning back against the door he looks totally relaxed, as if what just happened was no more interesting than the dinner party taking place thirty steps down the hall. His eyes though — they’re totally alert and keenly intelligent as they hold mine. I get the sense they don’t miss much.