Triple-Duty Bodyguards: Chapter 39

Briar sighs softly, leaning her slick, naked body across my front as I massage soap into her breasts. “God,” she whimpers, tipping her head back onto my shoulder. “Oh, shit, Matt—” she bites her lip as I roll her nipples, tugging them away from her body. I swallow, feeling her writhe against me.

It’s been a good morning. Briar doesn’t have to be at the premiere until five, so we slept in and ate breakfast in bed. Kenta and I left her cuddled up with Glen to hit the gym, and when I came back up to shower, Briar slunk into the bathroom behind me and dropped to her knees. Now, it’s just past midday, and Briar’s working through a long, complex beauty routine. It involves hair masks and exfoliators and waxing, and God knows what else. She dragged me in here for her pamper-session bubble bath, and we’ve been soaking in the tub for the past half an hour. She’s already come three times, but she’s showing no signs of slowing down.

She starts grinding her ass back into me. “Come on,” she mumbles. “Matt—”

“You’re insatiable,” I mutter, slipping a finger inside her. Even under the water, I can feel how hot and wet she is inside. She clenches and flutters against me as I start to pump in and out of her.

“I never used to like sex before,” she pants, reaching back to run her fingers through my hair.

“Yeah? What changed?” I twitch my finger inside of her, making her hum happily. “You seem to like it plenty now.”

“I trust you, I guess. I have…” I add another finger, and she gasps, rocking back into me. “A bad track record with men. They like to take advantage.” I freeze, going still in the water, and she frowns. “Wait, not like that. Men like to use me for connections, or money, or status. Just being seen in public with a man can boost his popularity overnight.”

“Like Thom Petty?”

“Exactly like Thom Petty.”

“Hm.” I reach over the edge of the bath and pick up her drink of ice water, rolling the cold glass over her chest. She shudders, crying out. A bead of sweat rolls down her neck.

“B-but I trust you guys. It makes the sex a lot more enjoyable.”

“I’m honoured.”

She nods, shivering as I hook an ice cube out of the glass and trace it down her stomach. “P-plus, I’m at the horny part of my cycle.”

I laugh. “Is that a thing? I don’t remember that from my Biology classes.”

She wriggles against my front. “Sure is. Total nuisance, too. I get turned on at the drop of a hat.” She looks up at me through her lashes. “And then I just have to walk around all day wet.”

Even though I’ve already gotten off once this morning, I feel my balls start to ache, and shift uncomfortably in the hard tub. “You’re a menace.”

She smiles at me, really smiles, big and bright and white, and for a second, I’m dazzled.

I still can’t believe that this girl exists. That under the spoiled princess act, and the money, and the clothes, there’s a sweet, gentle, normal young woman.

I slip a third finger into her, rubbing the bumpy patch of nerves on her inner wall. She starts to moan desperately, rocking against me faster and faster. She’s close. So close. I keep thrusting inside of her, fluttering my fingers, and she buries her face in my shoulder, biting down. Just as I feel her starting to clench around me, my phone rings.

I sigh, gently removing my fingers and standing up, stepping out of the bath.

Briar clutches at me, her eyes wide. “What? But!”

“It’s probably important, princess.” I check the number. Anfisa.

She tugs at my hand. “So? You can take the call here.”

“You’re far too loud for that.” I pat her shoulder. “I know you’re used to getting whatever you want, but I’m sure you can handle waiting a bit. It’ll be good for you.”

She reaches down into the water, scoops up a handful of suds, and throws them in my face.

“As if. I’ve got three of you for a reason.” She raises her voice. “Excuse me!” She calls through the suite. “I am the biggest celebrity diva of the year, and I am demanding that someone comes in here to finish me off!”

There’s a few second’s pause, then Kenta comes into the bathroom, smiling wider than I’ve seen in years. He leans in the doorway and looks at us. “Problem, Briar?”

“Your useless partner won’t finish what he started,” she complains loudly. “Get in here.”

He’s already started unbuttoning his shirt.

I step into the bedroom, listening to the bathwater splash as he joins her in the tub. There’s a flurry of giggles, then a long groan. Trying not to smile, I accept the call. “Hey, I—”

“We’ve got him.”

Shock flashes through me. “You’ve apprehended him?”

“No. But we know who X is. We found a fingerprint match for the magazine, and you’re right; it is one of the suspects you picked up for online activity.”

“Let me guess. Daniel F.”

“Oh, yes.” Anfisa sounds exhausted. “You need to come and see this. It’s not good.”

Thirty minutes later, I’m back at the FBI building, sitting opposite Anfisa in her eerily bare office. She looks like she’s been up all night: her face is pale, and her dark suit is rumpled and wrinkled. She slides a photograph across the desk to me. “This is X,” she says. “Real name, Daniel Filch. Forty-one years old, grew up in Anaheim, his mother was an unmarried British immigrant. She died when he turned twenty.”

I study the man. He doesn’t look like much of anything. Thinning brown hair, watery eyes, an insipid, weak smile. It’s hard to believe that this is the man who’s been running rings around us.

“He dropped out of high school at sixteen,” Anfisa continues, “no further education. We’re not sure what he does for a living right now, if he works, but he had a string of menial jobs when he was younger. They never lasted long. We called up a cafe he worked at when he was seventeen; apparently he was fired for sexual misconduct. Wouldn’t stop groping the waitresses.”

“Shocker.”

“Mm. Another position as a janitor at a gas station; he got fired after CCTV caught him putting cameras into the women’s bathroom.”

“Jesus. You manage to get his location?”

She purses her lips unhappily. “Kind of. Our agents did some cold-calling around the city and managed to find a local motel which reported a man of his description checking into a room a few days ago. He used a fake name, but the physical appearance and handwriting all match. He only stayed for one night, paid in cash. We have no idea where he moved to after that.”

I nod, studying her face. She looks worried. Far more worried than I’d like. “What aren’t you telling me?”

She grimaces. “We swabbed down the motel room.”

My stomach twists. “And?”

“Traces of black powder.”

“Christ.” I rub my face. “You think he’s making bombs?”

“Well, he’s not using it in a goddamn gun. It’d be like sending us up a smoke signal.”

I close my eyes. “The premiere is tonight.”

She nods solemnly. “We’ll brief the officers at the event, give them his picture. If he does turn up, we can arrest him quietly.”

I frown. It’s not enough. “She’s not going.”

“That’s your prerogative. We have no idea what he could be using the explosives for, so I’d advise you check your cars very thoroughly, and give your hotel security his picture. Briar might not even be the target. She wasn’t last time.”

“Not a risk I’m willing to take.” I stand up, scraping the chair back. I don’t like being this far from her. I need to get back to the hotel. “Thanks, Anfisa. For everything. Keep me updated.”

She nods, and I turn to go.

“Matvey?”

I glance back at her. She smiles wryly. “Be careful. He attacked Petty because of their romantic history. You’ve been seen getting cosy with her, too.”

“I’m not the person I’m worried about,” I mutter, and she nods, waving me away.

My head is spinning as I head back to my car. I don’t know what to do.

Realistically, I know I shouldn’t tell Briar that we’ve identified X. That would be a terrible idea. If one dickpic prompted her to run her mouth in front of tens of thousands of live viewers, God knows how she’ll react when she finds out he’s been cooking up bombs in his motel room. I can practically see it unfolding in front of me: if I tell her everything we know about X, she’ll insist on attending the premiere. She’ll probably use herself as bait to lure him out. And then she’ll try to confront him. She’ll yell at him and humiliate him, and then he’ll probably blow her up.

As a bodyguard, your job isn’t only to protect the principal from external threats; you also have to protect them from themselves. And quite often, that means withholding information. If I suspect that Briar will put herself in danger if I tell her the news about X, it’s in my job description not to tell her.

The only problem is, when she finds out that I lied to her, she’s going to absolutely hate me.

It surprises me how much that thought terrifies me.

I grit my teeth, pulling open the car door and sliding inside. This is ridiculous. The only reason I’m even debating this is because I was stupid enough to get involved with Briar. I’m not letting my feelings for a client get in the way of her safety. Not ever. Even if it means destroying the fragile relationship we’ve started, I’m not putting her life in danger. Even if she ends up hating me, I’m not letting her die.

I care about her far too much for that.