Page 16 of Unguarded

“Good morning! Maurie has almost finished your breakfast. It’s a gorgeous morning, so I was wondering if you’d like to eat out on the patio while we discuss the day and some last-minute tour details.”

I reach my hands overhead, stretching my arms as I yawn. “Sure. Let me pee, and I’ll meet you out there.”

She dips out, shutting the door.

I climb out of bed, shove my feet into my fuzzy slippers, and don a silky pink robe. After the break-in I stoppedsleeping in my birthday suit for a while because I felt unsafe in my own home. Last night was the first time I did it again, and I slept the whole night through. My bed is my sanctuary. I spend a horrifying amount of money on my luxurious silk sheets, and they’re worth every penny. My housekeeper launders them every three days, like clockwork.

After doing my business, I wash my hands and walk out to the second-floor balcony overlooking the Beverly Hills valley. The modern Greek villa was designed by Frank Wu, one of California’s elite architects. The creamy-white stucco walls and dramatic arches are what drew me in, but the view overlooking the canyon sold me on the home. It sits on three acres—a rare find so close to Los Angeles—but the distance from my neighbors is the only way I can breathe sometimes.

My chef, Maurie, is setting a tray of food out on the rectangular acacia table. He smiles at me warmly before returning to the kitchen. Ember steals a grape off my plate before continuing to tap on her iPad. My eyes trail over the rolling hills with enormous homes dotting the green scenery for a few moments, and I exhale deeply.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Ember comments.

I smile, pulling my chair forward. Movement to my right draws my attention, and I glance over to see Brooks sitting in a chair near the patio door. He looks tired.

“When is shift change?” I ask.

“Hmm?” Ember grunts, distracted by her iPad.

I pick up a piece of bacon from the tray. “For the bodyguard.”

Ember glances up at me before her gray eyes move over to Brooks. “I think any minute now.”

Her gaze lingers for a moment too long before her cheeks heat, and she looks back down at the device in her lap, sitting up.

“So! Let’s go over some details.Vogue, costume fittings, Clint, mid-tour break, the label, the last minute reshoot for the US leg tour promo happening today, and … that’s all I have at the moment.Voguewants you for a mid-tour shoot, and the sum they’re offering is staggering, as usual. Fidel thinks it’s a go, but I’m always a little wary of overbooking you. It will be three months in, so you might need the two-week break to just lie in bed or drink mimosas by the pool. Thoughts?”

I chew the thick bacon, considering her words. “Is it a typical lifestyle shoot? Where would it be?”

“They’ll come to you. I was hoping you’d be in a tropical mood, maybe get a beachfront property in the British Virgin Islands to relax in and disappear from the paparazzi. Coming home is out of the question, unless you’re okay with being bombarded anytime you try to grab takeout or are invited to a different party every night.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right. “Book it. A view in the British Virgin Islands sounds good, but I want either Maurie or someone just as good there. TellVogueyes, but no longer than four hours for the shoot and interview.”

It goes unspoken that only Ember, Fidel, and I will be in the know about the vacation. We’ll tell the security team I’m bringing the day we leave. The more people who know my whereabouts, the more likely I’ll be assaulted by paparazzi.

Or worse, my stalker.

I shiver, snatching the buttered sourdough toast off my plate. “Ugh, Maurie has my heart.”

“My sister makes the best sourdough. I need to bring you a loaf of it,” Ember says.

“Please do. It’s my favorite. What time is the shoot today?” We had a photoshoot for tour promo months ago, but Fidel said a reshoot is necessary before we take off for the Eastern Hemisphere.

A movement to my right steals my focus as Cash walks in through the side door of the house. His muscular six-foot-four frame is covered in all black—from his Wrangler jeans, V-neck T-shirt, Western boots, to a felt cowboy hat.

His emerald-green eyes are the only ounce of color on him. My stomach clenches, along with the naked slit between my crossed legs. I’m only recently single since calling things off with Zade, but it feels like ages since I’ve had a crush. Keeping up appearances for the media has been exhausting.

I should put some clothes on.

My nipples pucker under his steely gaze, the silk robe doing little to conceal them. His eyes sweep over me, as if looking for any hint of injury or if something is amiss.

His taut, broad shoulders relax slightly when he finishes his inspection. He dips the black cowboy hat in my direction before assuming his post on the side wall of the house, freshly shaven jaw in a hard line.

“Mr. Redford! Join us,” I hear myself say.

Clothes? You should put those on first.

My nakedness suddenly feels like all I can think about in his presence. He pauses for a few beats, eyes sweeping thevicinity once again before he struts over toward the outdoor dining table set overlooking the canyon view. He observes it for a few breaths, as if it’s the first time he’s taken a moment to.

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