Page 4 of Death By Chocolate

YOU WANT A FIGHT?

Sunlight floods Ronald Reagan National Airport arrivals terminal, bouncing off the glass panes to cast an annoying glare over the bustling crowd. I scan the sea of travelers, feeling the cloak of responsibility on my shoulders. I wear it with pride. To be a bodyguard—to safeguard another life is an agreement signed in blood—one where their life holds a higher value than mine. The thrill, the possibility of danger, is an intoxicating rush. But my agreement to escort Xeno Voss, the billionaire butcher, comes with an added threat I hadn’t anticipated—a magnetic pull I felt the moment I laid eyes on him.

Had he baited me with the Murder Me Barbie comment… maybe?

Probably.

Definitely.

Men don’t comment on my appearance. Most avoid direct eye contact. They’re uncomfortable with a woman who looks through them. Ignores their blatant stares, the invitation to start a conversation. Outside of work, I don’t have jack shit to say tothe male species. However, I can look upon a predator in his prime with vast appreciation. Don’t think I missed those large and lethal hands or the skills they possess.

But as I note possible ambush sites, mapping out a just-in-case exit strategy, I remind myself that he is a mission. And I never allow emotions—or the enticing elixir of big dick energy—to get in the way of doing the job. Ever.

I move with practiced precision through the crowd, eyes assessing for threats when Xeno strolls through the No-Entry corridor to stand directly in front of me, his pure brown eyes obscene in their perusal of my tits.Asshole.

“Mr. Voss,” is all I utter. My stars, he was lip-biting handsome on screen. Face-to-face, he’s a brand new vibrator with ten thousand five-star reviews. He is snackable. Like a Jason Momoa, minus ten years, after a flea dip and the premium pet grooming package, snackable.

His casual smile and Brioni Vanquish suit paired with a tonal open-collar dress shirt do little to mask the gravity of his alpha male pheromones on the mere humans in the vicinity. Single women stare in blatant admiration. Small children tug at their mothers’ arms, pointing at the towering giant with the bronzed skin of an Instagram fitness influencer and the muscled chest of a back alley boxer in their midst. In response, he gives a sly grin, effortlessly charming. The men, the smart ones, detect that danger has entered the territory. A few pause, breath held, praying that whoever this man is, they haven’t drawn his fury.

I’m no less impacted. When Xeno inclines his head; that gorgeous bronde mane of sable brown roots surrendering to full blond waves pushed back from his bronzed forehead, a testament to his Greek god heritage, I curl my fingers into fists. It’s not much, but it tames the urge to brush the tendrils when they sweep within a millimeter of his cheek.

“Dani, in the flesh. Very lickable flesh,” he whispers.

A shiver ghosts over my skin at the unrepentant lust in his tone. His voice is rich and deep, a dark chocolate heated by a controlled flame that makes my mouth water for a taste as it slowly melts and trails straight to my center. Between my legs, my pussy clenches three times—slot machine style—cherry one,ding—cherry two, ding—cherry three, ding. Ladies, we have a winner!

I step back, re-establishing the professional distance he breached without appearing crude. Yet, his brown eyes pinned to mine remind me he’s still a lion, not a businessman wrapped in tailored loincloth. I want to fuck him up. And suck him down.

Instead, I offer my hand. “I’ll be your protection till we reach The Governor.”

His touch is jolting, though neither of us has moved an inch. I suck in a breath, holding it as heat spreads over my skin. My nipples tingle, sensitive against my black silk blouse. As if he knows my body’s responding to his nearness, the corner of his mouth raises into a crooked grin. “Lead the way, ma cherie.”

Growling at the endearment, I extricate my hand, all the while cataloging his full brows, fuller bottom lip, and trimmed goatee. Somehow, he’s testing me. That flash of white teeth is his stamp of approval. I don’t need it.

“I think we can do business, Daniella.”

“Sounds like a metaphor.”

He narrows the distance between us yet again. The hint of expensive cologne and even more expensive distilled spirits waft from him, hitting my nostrils in a one-two punch. For the first time, I wonder if he senses the primitive mammal appeal that I have no intention of acting upon. At five feet eight, I border on model height. A man who makes me appear small has a sexual advantage.

“This is foreplay, Barbie,” he says with a straight face.

I should probably taser him with the decorative bangles I wear on each wrist. Fifty thousand volts of electric current to a nut sac screams, hell no to whatever you’re thinking, and don’t try to fuck me, in every language. Again, I rethink my plan of harming, rather than protecting my new client.

“If you value your reproductive organs, never call me Barbie again. Follow me.”

“Anywhere, Chocolate,” he rasps, lengthening his stride to match my pace.

Hmm, glad to know he recognizes my warning about his dick health as a creditable threat. I don’t joke with clients. When I give an order, there’s one option, compliance. Deciphering truth from lies is a deadly game. No one under my protection has ever met the Grim Reaper. Besides, the Barbie comparison is an insult. Ain’t a damn thang on my body plastic.

“You’re pushing it, Mr. Voss.”

He chuckles, the sound low and lust-filled. “It’s Xeno. And, how else will I know your limits?”

I look up at him, not hiding my irritation. “Serious? You saw me like once on camera,” I accuse, “all you talk about, then and now, is fucking. We ain’t friends, Mr. Voss. Protecting you doesn’t come with between-my-legs benefits.” That stops him in his tracks. Good, he needs to understand who’s in charge.

“Fucking you, specifically. My focus is singular, Dani.” he says as if that answers all my questions.

“That sounds like a,youproblem. I said what I said.” The way he stands, brown eyes glued to mine, two gunslingers from the wild, wild, facing off in the center of the dusty road, neither backing down. It’s crazy.

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