Page 73 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
When I sat up, I saw Wilder on top of my kidnapper battering his face with a volley of punches. Several security guards and police officers arrived, guns drawn, one of them yelling into a radio attached to his shirt. Another pulled Wilder off the moaning man.
“What’s going on here?” the cop yelled at Wilder.
I answered. “He just saved me. That guy was trying to abduct me, and he stopped him.”
“Yeah, but Jade did a little girl-power judo move of her own first,” the skinny, shirtless guy said with a laugh, holding up his phone. “I just Snapped a video of it.”
“What’s your Snap code?” someone else called out and several others pulled out their phones.
Apparently satisfied by my explanation, the police officer released his hold on Wilder, who immediately turned and moved toward me. He helped me to my feet and wrapped me in a hold so tight it was nearly crushing.
I managed to work my hands in between our bodies and pressed against his chest. “Honey, you’re smothering me.” I let out a weak laugh.
Wilder shifted his hands to my head, cradling it as he searched my face with frantic eyes. “Sorry—I was so scared. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No. I’m okay. I was calling for you. Did you hear me?”
“I heard you, hummingbird. I’d know that voice anywhere.” His voice turned rusty, and his eyes filled with tears. “Thank God you’re okay. I don’t know what I would have done if—”
He stopped right there, electing to finish the thought with a kiss instead of words.
I sank into the wonderful warmth of it, the feel and scent and taste of Wilder—the safest place I’d ever known.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Out of the Bag
Wilder
All around us cell phone cameras flashed.
Some part of me knew that wasn’t a good thing, but I couldn’t stop kissing Jessica. I’d come so close to losing her.
My heart was still thrashing in my chest, partially due to the mad dash to get to her and the fight with the guy who’d grabbed her and partially due to the thought of what could have happened to her if the man had succeeded in throwing her into one of the nearby cars.
This had been a close one, and I still wasn’t sure how it had happened.
I’d watched her performance, nearly mesmerized by her incredible voice and stage presence. I was so proud of her, so happy for her that she’d achieved the success I always believed she deserved.
When the set ended, I’d watched her leave the stage on the opposite side, expecting like everyone else that she’d return for an encore. When she hadn’t, I’d assumed she’d simply decided not to do one.
So I’d started making my way to her via the walkway behind the main stage’s enormous rear video wall. When I’d emerged in the other backstage wing, I’d taken one look at Jessica’s wardrobe assistant and known something was very wrong.
The woman had stared at me like I was a ghost. Then her hands had come up to cover her mouth. “Oh no.”
“What’s the matter?” I’d demanded.
“She thought you were hurt. She went that way.” She pointed toward the stairs at the rear stage exit. “She was with a security guard.”
I hit the stairs at a dead run. There was only one reason Jessica would have thought I was injured.
Someone had lied to her—most likely the “security guard” who’d led her away.
HowcouldI have let it happen? I’d let my own guard down, so concerned with allowing her to do her job without me hovering that I hadn’t donemyjob—keeping her safe.
Drawing back a few inches and obviously just noticing all the cameras documenting our dramatic reunion scene, Jessica smiled up at me, clearly oblivious to the firestorm torching my heart and soul.
“Well, so much for holding off on telling people—I think the cat’s out of the bag.”
