Page 25 of Spring Break with a Bodyguard
An idea begins to form in my mind. “What if we plant something in multiple rooms—identical items with some kind of tracking? Then we could see which one disappears first and track it to the thief.”
As he leans closer, the spark of approval in his gaze sends a disproportionate rush of pleasure through me. “That could work. We’d need something small but valuable-looking. And we’d need a way to track it that isn’t obvious.”
“I have some costume jewelry that looks expensive but isn’t,” I offer. “We could hide tiny trackers inside—the kind people use for keys or luggage.”
“Smart thinking,” he says, voice dropping lower.
We spend the next hour plotting our trap, our plan taking shape despite the distractions of our shoulders touching, his breath warm against my cheek, the way he watches me with those dark eyes.
Plant the modified jewelry in four different rooms, one on each floor. Then monitor the trackers and see which item disappears and where it goes.
By the time we finish our second round of coffee, we have a solid plan. I don’t even mind that my desire to be alone with Javi has been replaced by the focused energy that comes with collaboration. It almost feels natural. It feels good.
As we prepare to leave, Javi’s hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the crowded café. The touch is protective, possessive even, the heat of his palm sending a shiver up my spine despite the warmth of the day.
Outside, in the shadow of the building where the sidewalk is momentarily empty, he pulls me gently into the small alcove of a closed shop front. My back meets the cool brick wall as he steps closer, his body shielding mine from the view of the street.
“Be careful tomorrow,” he says, voice low and rough. “Whoever is behind this has a lot to lose if they’re caught.”
Instead of answering, I reach up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer. For a heartbeat, we both hesitate—a final acknowledgment of every professional boundary we’re demolishing.
Then his resolve breaks.
“God, Teddy,” Javi groans as his lips find mine with none of the tentative exploration of last night’s kiss. This time, there is heat and certainty and barely restrained need. As my hands slide up to his shoulders, I can feel the tension coiled in them. But it’s his kiss that completely disarms me, revealing an ache that goes straight to my core.
When we finally pull away, both breathing harder, his forehead rests against mine. No words of warning or complication—the recklessness of what we’re doing is written in the tight set of his shoulders, the struggle evident in his eyes.
“That wasn’t very careful,” I whisper, my hands still on his chest.
The corner of his mouth lifts in a rare smile. “I never claimed to be perfect.” He steps back reluctantly, putting professional distance between us once more. “See you tomorrow, Theresa.”
The use of my alias serves as a jarring reminder—tomorrow we return to our roles, with all the complications and pretenses they require.
As Javi walks away, I touch my lips, still feeling the imprint of his kiss. I might regret letting my feelings take over when I should be focusing on proving to my cousins that I’ve changed, but for the first time in my life, I want something real more than I fear the consequences of reaching for it.
EIGHT
JAVI
I tuckthe four tiny GPS trackers into the pocket of my uncomfortable hotel security uniform, acutely aware of how many tactical protocols I’m violating.
This operation has none of the careful planning, thorough reconnaissance, or redundant safeguards I’d normally insist on. Just four trackers, some costume jewelry, and a hastily constructed plan.
Eight years of elite military training has drilled into me the importance of proper mission preparation. Special operations required meticulous planning, extensive intelligence gathering, equipment checks, and contingency protocols. Yet here I am, essentially running a surveillance operation with less preparation than I’d allow for a routine security assessment.
All because Teddy Hollister asked me to help her, and apparently, I’ve lost the ability to say no to those beautiful blue eyes.
The employee entrance is already bustling when I arrive. Spring break is in full swing, and the aftermath is visible in the weary faces of the morning staff. I spot Teddy—Theresa—her disguise as perfect as ever. If I hadn’t spent hours with the real Teddy, watching the sunset over champagne-colored beaches, feeling her lips against mine, I might be fooled myself.
She gives me the briefest of nods as she collects her cleaning supplies, her expression professionally neutral. No one would suspect we’d spent an afternoon plotting like characters in a heist movie, or that I know exactly how soft her skin feels beneath my fingertips.
Carmen begins the morning briefing, assigning floors and special tasks for the day. “Theresa, you’re on the second floor today. Rooms 201 through 218.”
I note the assignment with interest. Second floor—not where most of the thefts have occurred. Is Roberts keeping her away from the valuable items, or setting her up for a new pattern of thefts to further implicate her?
The staff disperses, and I begin my security rounds, making sure to pass Teddy as she prepares her cart. “Morning, Ms. Holden,” I say formally, for the benefit of anyone listening. “Security will be conducting additional patrols today. Spring break, you know.”
“Thanks for the heads-up,” she replies, matching my professional tone.
