Page 20 of Guarded Hearts
Chapter Nine
Pasha
Throughout the dance rehearsal, while I showered and changed for the show, as I watched Mia and Alyssa on stage and waited for Mia to be ready for the super-fan after-party, Alyssa’s financial troubles were at the back of my mind.
How could she owe moneyshehadn’t spent?
I understood how credit cards worked. Though I tended to believe many of those cards were glorified scams and refused to own one. There was no such thing as free money. The interest on those pieces of plastic convenience could sink a person into perpetual debt. If I couldn’t pay with the cash from my bank account or a legitimate loan from a bank, I couldn’t afford the item.
When Mia emerged from her hotel room, ready to greet her fans, she grinned. “I like these smaller venues. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I agreed. Security was easier, and there were fewer things to go wrong in general, which should have made me happy. But the slower pace had given me time to dwell on Alyssa far too much. I found if I kept myself busy enough, I could pretend the intense attraction didn’t exist. Today, she was all I could think about.
“I’m not holding back tonight. Anyone who tries to film me, kick them out, okay?” She frowned and checked her watch, which she turnedtoward me so I could see. “Aww. Isn’t she cute? God, I love this crib-view thing. Do you think it’s creepy?”
“It’s not creepy.” I smiled. “You love her, and you like to know she’s okay. Now, if you get a Tyler cam on your bed…”
She laughed and landed a punch to my shoulder. “I’m not obsessed with him now. I can go a bit of time without seeing his face—or other parts of him. My theory is that first love is an addiction. Well, you know, I’m sure. Even when I was gone from him, I never really was.”
Her words caught my attention, drawing me deeper into the conversation. “Is that how you feel? Obsessed? Addicted?” Had I ever felt that way about Zoya? Perhaps. Maybe. Our relationship had been comfortable, stable. I’d felt good with her, never going through the turmoil I experienced around Alyssa.
“Sure,” she said. “I mean, my therapist said love sets off similar zones in the brain to addiction. Or maybe it was lust. I don’t know. One of those. At the time I was like, ‘uh-huh, uh-huh, right, tell me how to control it,’ but you can’t. You feel what you feel.” She eyed me as we neared the door to the conference room for the party. “Why are you asking?”
“No reason. Just…curious.”
“Curious?” Mia smirked. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Alyssa.”
I shook my head. The last thing I wanted was for Mia to get the wrong idea. “She’s helping me with the dance.”
A crease appeared in her forehead—not quite a frown but a more thoughtful expression. “She’s helping you?”
“Yes. I asked her, and she said ‘yes.’”
“Huh.” She chuckled and wagged her finger. “That’sveryinteresting.”
“Not really, no.” Panic floated over my chest, threatening to drown me. I didn’t want her adding one and one and getting three.
“Well,” Mia said, pausing outside the conference-room door. “I’m not telling you to take the night off or anything because you’re my best defense against my own stupidity. But every single bodyguard from the tour is in this room. So, if you want to guard someone else’s body…” Her grin was wicked. “I’m just saying, you’re allowed to ensure the safety ofallmy staff but especially the backup dancers.”
I sighed and ran a hand through the back of my hair. “That is nice, but I am in charge of your security.”
Mia opened the door, and a chorus of high-pitched screams greeted her appearance, framed in the doorway. She was swarmed by enthusiastic fans, and I was flanked by two other bodyguards who stood on the periphery. Every fan in this room had been vetted, but the initial storm toward Mia caused a spike in my protective drive. My instinct was to push them back, keep them away. Ninety percent of the time, that was my job. I should be used to the screams and the crush of young girls, but the adrenaline rush always came.
Once the fans had settled into a reasonable fever pitch and some sense of order, I scanned the room for any other problems.
As though my gaze was a heat-seeking missile, it locked onto Alyssa, who was leaning over the bar, talking to the bartender. Not talking.Flirting. She was flirting with him. I’d seen her flirt often enough with other men, had been the focus of it once. Her breasts were pushed forward and up with her forearms, not quite spilling out of her tight tank top. Her ass almost peeked out of her short skirt, and the smile on her face was wicked, the kind meant to make men think of beds, walls, floors, tables, any surface where they could make her theirs.
She glanced over her shoulder, and our gazes locked across the room. She smirked. Without breaking eye contact, she tipped the clear liquid from her shot glass into her mouth. We stared at each other, my body electrified with need, with the memory of being buried inside her.
I wanted to close my eyes and sink back into that moment. I didn’t dare look away, wasn’t sure I could. She gave me one last assessing look before turning the full wattage of her smile back on the bartender.
My body tensed with the desire to storm over to the bar, drag her away from the bartender, throw her over my shoulder, and take her up to my room, claim her on the bed, on the floor, against the wall, in the shower, all the places I’d dreamed about, fantasized about in the weeks since our first encounter. I clenched my fist and took a step.
Someone in the crowd jostled me, and the movement was like coming out of a trance. I shook my head and cursed under my breath. I refocused on Mia and her fans, avoiding the far corner of the room, while my mind ran wild.
Claim her?Throw her over my shoulder?
What was wrong with me? Good men didn’t have these thoughts.
