Page 30 of Unguarded

The postorgasmic reality immediately overwhelms me as a knock sounds on the door to my empty room.

“Miss Blue, are you okay?”

Cash’s voice is sexier than anything I can conjure up. My face heats with embarrassment at what I just did.

Oh my gosh. I just had a wet dream.

After the fantasy I had about him, the sound of his voice on the other side of the door feels like a smack in the face. I jerk my hand out of my shorts, wiping the lingering wetness off on the inside of the hoodie.

Oh shit, I’m still wearing his hoodie! And now, it needs a round in the washer…

I scramble out of bed, a deeper flush rising up my neck. My feet patter over to the door.

“Monroe, I’m going to break down this door if you don’t confirm your well-being in?—”

I twist the knob and pull the door open. I bite my lip, looking up at Cash’s concerned face sheepishly, praying he can’t smell the light but distinct scent of my arousal.

I just masturbated, picturing my bodyguard stripping down to his birthday suit and telling me what to do. Get a fucking grip!

The wordPERVERTflashes through my mind.

He’s dressed in a black T-shirt, but his lower half is clad in gray sweatpants. He’s not wearing a hat this morning, and a five-o’clock shadow lingers over his jawline. His eyebrows pinch together as he scans my body from top to bottom with clear concern. My blush deepens from the recent imaginary scene.

“Were you still sleeping?” he asks.

I slowly exhale, my heart pumping faster than usual. I nod, pushing loose tendrils of hair out of my face.

“It’s so hot in my room.”

Why the fuck did I say that?

He inhales slowly, scanning me from head to toe again, a wrinkle between in his brows. “Ember texted to say that you need to leave in five minutes to get dolled up for the show tonight. It’s noon.”

I nibble my lower lip. Sleeping almost twelve hours straight after the first show and with a serious case of jet lag isn’t completely out of the ordinary for me. I nod, needing to get rid of him.

“I’ll be waiting,” he says, turning away from the door.

I shut it, leaning back against it with a heavy sigh. “Shit.”

My cheeks are flaming. As if there wasn’t already enough tension with Zade hovering over me and Clint constantly flirting with me, now I’m having dirty thoughts about my bodyguard.

The meetand greet backstage is always one of my favorite parts of the night. Getting to interact with my fans one-on-one helps me to remember how everyone has their own story. My music has had such a positive impact on women across the globe going through difficult times. That’s why I love what I do. I write about real feelings, heartbreak, and healing. My goal is to not only inspire my audience, but to help them feel less alone when life gets hard.

I always have the meet and greet right after my performance because I’m too wired and anxious before. I smile brightly for the last photo with a group of girls celebrating a bachelorette trip here. They wave at me and laugh with each other as Ember ushers them away.

“All right, time to head out. They have the limo ready,” she says.

Exhaustion overwhelms every one of my limbs. “Tonight went well.”

Ember nods, smiling. “It was perfect! Concert content on social media is starting to really blow up. Tickets for the rest of the tour are sold out.”

I nod. My body feels numb.

We walk out of the room, flanked by Brooks and Danny. Right as I start to wonder where Cash disappeared to, he materializes to my left. His face is grim as he marches beside me, staying a modest two feet away. My white duffel bag, filled with some comfy clothes I can change into in the limo, is clutched in his hand.

“Impressed?” I question.

Cash’s emerald-green eyes slice to meet mine briefly. His face is a mask of seriousness, impossible to read, until the corner of his mouth lifts for a split second.

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