Wicked Force Page 3

  I force my attention to her mother and offer her a smile as I hold my hand out. “Mrs. Meyers... I’m Kynan McGrath.”

  She gives me a brief handshake and looks around. “Pleasure. This is my daughter, Joslyn.”

  It seems every muscle in my body tightens as I turn her way, because on a physical level, I’ve never been this attracted to a woman before. Thankfully she’s looking at me now with a bland, reserved expression, although there’s still a tinge of pink on her cheeks.

  I don’t offer my hand because I’m actually afraid to touch her for fear of some mystical electrical spark that would snap between us. She doesn’t offer her hand either but I give her a nod of acknowledgment.

  Turning back to Mrs. Meyers, I suggest, “Let’s go into our conference room and we can discuss your concerns about Joslyn’s safety.”

  “There are no concerns,” Joslyn murmurs but Mrs. Meyers gives me a tight smile as she ignores her daughter.

  I lead them through the lobby, down a short hall, and to a small conference room that has a round table with four chairs. It’s a more intimate setting so they’ll both feel more comfortable.

  As for me, I’m not sure there’s anything that could make me comfortable around Joslyn and for a moment, I hate myself for that weakness. In my twenty-six years of living, I’ve never let a woman affect anything other than my cock. In just the moments since I’ve met her, my entire body seems to vibrate in awareness of her.

  I offer coffee, tea, water, or soda. I would like a few shots of bourbon myself, but that’s an impossibility. They both decline and once we’re settled at the table with Mrs. Meyers to my left and Joslyn taking the chair directly across from me, I ask a generalized question and wait to see who answers. That tells me who’s leading this march.

  “Why do you think personal security is needed?”

  Joslyn’s gaze turns to her mom, who regards me with an aloof sort of professionalism. I don’t think she’s in “mother” mode at all.

  “As Joslyn’s act has become more popular here in Vegas, she’s started to accrue a fan following. There have been a few concerning incidents and I don’t want to take any of them lightly. What might seem like an innocent fascination might turn into a real security threat to my daughter.”

  I give her an understanding nod. “I’d like more details on what’s happened so far to worry you. It will help me determine if we can be of help.”

  Joslyn’s gaze drops down to her lap where her hands are tucked. Mrs. Meyers launches into a litany of events that have occurred from anonymous love letters and gifts to exuberant fans copping a feel when she signs autographs and takes photos after a show. “She keeps getting typed letters from one fan that are just plain creepy,” she continues on. “Talks about how he’s in love with her but he doesn’t have the guts to approach her for a picture or autograph because she’ll reject him.”

  I note a reaction from Joslyn in the form of a heavy eye roll, so I question it. “You don’t agree that these are concerning?”

  “He didn’t say he was afraid I’d reject him,” she clarifies to me and gives her mom a stern look for perhaps massaging the words. “He said he didn’t want to be a bother.”

  “Same thing,” her mom says with a casual wave her hand. “The fact that he’s sent multiple letters all saying the same thing is a clue that he’s slightly obsessed with her.”

  I’d have to agree with Mrs. Meyers on this and it’s not a good sign. So I turn back to Joslyn and push at her. “How come you’re not concerned with this?”

  To my surprise, Joslyn sighs and gives her mom a quick but apologetic smile before turning my way. “It’s not that I don’t think that stuff’s weird, because I do, but it just seems... I don’t know... a little overboard to hire security.”

  “A lot of high-profile people do it,” I point out to her.

  “You see,” she drawls with a frustrated look on that incredibly gorgeous face, “I’m not high profile. I’m just a Vegas act. It seems... a little pretentious to me, is all.”

  And my attraction to her increases exponentially with those words. She’s not a princess or a diva at all. In fact, she seems incredibly grounded for a nineteen-year-old and that shit is sexy to me.

  Apparently.

  It’s not ever happened before... me being attracted to something other than the physical assets.

  I push that aside though and turn back to Mrs. Meyers. “Do you want full-time security or just when she’s out in public?”

  “Full-time,” she replies.

  “That’s going to be expensive,” I tell her, knowing that if anything kills this deal it will be the money.

  Mrs. Meyers waves me off with a casual flick of her wrist. “I had it written into her contract that they would pay for full-time security upon our request if we wanted it. And I want it, and I want your firm. I realize you and Mr. Jameson are young and new to the game, but you come highly recommended and we want to hire you.”

  That impresses me—that she’s had the foresight to require the casino provide security for her daughter—and I think Joslyn’s mom seems to have a really good head on her shoulders. Still, I need the actual client to be okay with it.

  Turning my gaze to Joslyn, I tell her, “While we will be as unobtrusive as possible, you need to be the one to approve this. You’ll need to follow our instructions when you’re out in public and you may have to modify your routines a bit. But I think based on what your mom has told me, that it’s warranted.”

  She regards me a moment, those light blue eyes churning with indecision. She glances at her mom, then back to me as she nibbles on her lip.

  Christ... wish that wasn’t sexy too.

  Finally, she gives me a slight nod. “We can try it out.”

  And while I should want to steer clear of this woman who seems to affect me on so many levels it’s ridiculous, I can’t force away the feeling of relief that she’s going to hire us.

  I am actually looking forward to watching over her.

  Chapter 4

  Joslyn

  Two paces to the front door. I reach out to touch the knob, then jerk my hand back as I reconsider. Turning, I stride away three paces and stop as I tell myself, “Just go for it, Joslyn.”

  I’ve been doing this for ten minutes now and I might be certifiably crazy. But I haven’t been able to concentrate since he arrived at the apartment I share with my mom. He performed what he called a “sweep” once he got here and assured my mom that everything looked secure. He checked out the alarm system that came with the place and pronounced it satisfactory, then immediately stationed himself outside our door in the hallway.

  God, he looked amazing, too. Not all buttoned up like yesterday at his office with his tailored suit and short, military-style haircut. He was clean shaven and with that silky British accent that caught me totally off guard when he first spoke, I thought he was quite the dapper business man.

  Today though...

  Black military-style cargo pants tucked into combat boots that were new and shiny but looked like they could totally stomp some ass and a well-fit black T-shirt with the words Jameson Group in white over the left side of the chest. The T-shirt was short sleeved and molded around impressively huge biceps you couldn’t quite appreciate under the tailoring of his suit.

  Best of all... yummiest of all, actually... is the two full sleeves of tattoos he has on his arms. I can’t help being a sucker for a bad boy, or at least a boy that looks bad. My mom gave them a double-take when she saw them then hardened her jawline in a slightly disapproving look. However, nothing could be said because she’d hired the Jameson Group and because they were so highly recommended by the casino owner where my theater is housed, she wasn’t going to let that dissuade her from allowing this man to protect me.

  I tried to act casual and disinterested as I sat on the couch with a note pad in front of me and my guitar on my lap. I worked on some new compositions, but I’d peer up through the long layer of hair across my forehead
every once in a while. He didn’t look at me once, though, other than a brief smile when he walked in.

  Then he was gone—sitting just outside the door in the hallway—and I tried to return to my lyrics. My mom made herself a slice of whole wheat avocado toast and pressed one upon me as well. What I really wanted was a bowl of Lucky Charms, but that made me feel juvenile and I didn’t want to feel that way.

  Not when Kynan McGrath was definitely causing me to have very grown-up, adult feelings.

  I pace back toward the door, still undecided. My mom left forty-five minutes ago to do some shopping. It’s her thing. She’s a fashionista of the highest degree and when she landed me this lucrative Vegas contract, from which I readily agreed to pay her a very nice salary, she began spending her money very seriously. I don’t mind, though, because first and foremost, it’s her money, but also because she works hard for me and I wouldn’t begrudge her anything that rewarded her for it.

  Just do it, I tell myself.

  Before I can reconsider, I’m snatching the door open and stepping out into the hallway. I didn’t startle Kynan but he gives me a worried expression. “What’s wrong?”

  My mind goes blank for a minute, and I can’t for the life of me remember what even led me to open that door. Then I blurt, “I want to play Scrabble.”

  His chin jerks inward as his eyebrows go up. “Pardon me?”

  Pardon me.

  Oh my God... swooning here over that British accent.

  “Um... yeah,” I continue, refusing to lower my gaze over the blatant lie I’m about to tell him. “I’m trying to compose lyrics and I’m stuck. I’ve found that playing Scrabble for some reason gets me past the block. I guess it’s looking at all those letters and trying to create words from them or something.”

  His look is dubious but more alarmingly, aloof. “I can’t while I’m on duty.”

  Does that mean he’d play with me when he’s off duty?

  Scrabble, I mean.

  But I can’t wait for that. I can’t sit around and wonder if he’ll ask me out on a Scrabble date, because I’m thinking most likely not. I’m just a job. A client. Nothing more.

  In addition, he’s older than me. I’m not sure by how much but while he looks young and handsome and fit and muscular and just absolutely perfect in my eyes, he seems a lot older and wiser than I am. What could he possibly want with someone like me?

  Normally, this would be the time I’d back off. I’d lose my confidence in myself and beat a hasty retreat. But when he looks at me with those warm brown eyes and I can see all those tattoos in my peripheral vision, I shore up my resolve. “Well, I’m the boss and I say part of your duty is to play Scrabble with me. You can protect me just as well in here as you can out there, right?”

  “I was out here,” he replies drolly, “because I didn’t want to intrude on you. It’s not necessarily the better place to be.”

  “Perfect,” I exclaim with a clap of my hands and turn my back on him to walk into the apartment. I don’t wait to see if he follows but call out over my shoulder. “Make yourself at home in the kitchen and I’ll go get the game.”

  My heart is pounding as I lift the board game down from a shelf in my closet. I pretty much just deviously calculated a way to put that man within my path so I can pretty much leer at him. How screwed up is that? I’ve never done that before. Never been so forward. Never reached out for something tangible that I wanted.

  And I do want him. I can’t explain it because I’ve never felt it before. It’s a palpable, almost mystical feeling, as if I could actually wrap my arms around a misty cloud yet feel its perfection with my heart.

  Hey... that would be a great lyric. I set the board game down on my bed and whip my phone out of my pocket. I type that out in my Notes app and save it.

  When I return to the kitchen, I’ve calmed my racing heart a bit but Kynan isn’t there. I walk into the living room and find him looking out the large window that gives an amazing view of the Strip in the distance.

  He turns to face me and nods toward the furniture. “I’d rather sit in here if you don’t mind. So I can see the door?”

  I grin at him. “Expecting some crazy guy to come busting in or something?”

  Kynan doesn’t smile back. “It could happen. It’s what crazy obsessed fans do.”

  That sobers me and my smile slides away.

  His face turns cloudy. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t,” I tell him, but he so did. I want to believe my mom is being overly cautious but to hear Kynan validate her concerns has me worried.

  “It’s fine,” he assures me and casually strolls over to one of the guest chairs that faces the front door. He pulls it up close to the coffee table that separates it from the couch. “Let’s play.”

  We’re five words into the game and it’s his turn when I get up the guts to start a conversation. As he studies his letters with his finger tapping against his chin, I clear my throat and say, “So what’s your story? How did you get involved in this type of work?”

  His gaze lifts and he stares at me in this way that says he’s glad I started a conversation.

  At least that’s what I think it means. So, I blurt, “I mean... where are you from? How old are you? Are you married?”

  The corners of Kynan’s mouth curve upward at my last question, and I can tell that for some reason, he’s pleased with that level of curiosity. Still, he doesn’t satisfy me because he merely says, “I was in the Royal Marines and served in Afghanistan with Jerico Jameson. He just started up this company a few months ago and hired me to work with him.”

  Hmmm... that sounds sexy and hot but leaves me hanging.

  “I’d say you’re... twenty-four?” I press.

  “Twenty-six,” he says and then lays out five tiles to spell out B-O-U-N-C-E vertically from my lame-ass word B-E-A-R.

  “And your wife’s name?” I ask sweetly, because he’s making me work for it and he’s enjoying making me work for it.

  “No wife,” he says as he refills his tile holder thingy.

  My mind races to the next level of personal questions I can ask him, but he turns serious again. His eyes are focused and intent. “Your mom was right in hiring a security company for you. You’ve drawn enough attention in the Vegas area to be considered one of their superstars. You know that, right?”

  I’m flattered and frazzled all at once. He clearly researched me, but he also thinks way too highly of me. I don’t want to believe those things he saying about me, because I still struggle with confidence in my abilities on a daily basis.

  So I deflect by saying something that truly surprises me. “She’s not my mom but my stepmom.”

  Kynan blinks at me in surprise and my face flushes with awful guilt for reducing her down. I hold my hands out. “I didn’t mean that in the bad way it sounded. Of course, she’s my mom through and through. Raised me since I was six and I love her dearly.”

  My words trail off and Kynan just watches me. I feel like a bug under a microscope with a hot glaring light just overhead to illuminate the worst of my flaws.

  “I’m not sure why I felt the need to distinguish her that way,” I murmur as my gaze falls to the board. “It makes me sound like an ungrateful brat.”

  “It makes it sound like there are times in your life that you need to categorize her,” he replies and my head pops up in surprise. “She wears different hats. She’s a mother and your business manager. They are two different things and I bet they often conflict.”

  I nod stupidly, because yes... THAT exactly.

  “And I expect,” Kynan continues on, “that when she might be failing a bit on the mom side, and perhaps becoming a little overbearing on the manager side—say for example hiring a security firm that you don’t believe is necessary—you need to have her be just a stepmom so you can express your anger and frustration a bit.”

  Again... more nodding with my mouth hanging open.

  Kynan smiles at me. “I didn
’t take what you said to be ungrateful or bratty in any way. I think your relationship with your mom is complex but I’ve seen the way you look at her and talk to her. I know you love her. You have nothing to prove to me.”

  Is this guy a security professional or a psychologist, because I think he just boiled down all my frustrations into something that actually sounds acceptable to my conscience?

  With a sigh, I sit back on the couch. “I’m not sure when it happened, but at some point, she wasn’t satisfied with just managing the business side of my career. Now she wants to control all of me.”

  “How so?” Kynan asks as he puts his elbows to his knees and clasps his hands together. The game has been forgotten and now we’re just conversing.

  “She tells me what to eat, what to drink, where to go, where I can’t go, how much to exercise, what clothes to wear, and who I can have for friends. I can’t go out and have fun because it’s too dangerous or I could fall in with the wrong people, and frankly... part of the reason she hired your company was to just add a babysitter on me. She doesn’t even want me to have any say-so on the type of jobs I take on. It’s like my opinion just doesn’t matter.”

  “You’re an adult,” Kynan says and the deep timbre of his voice gives me a slight shiver. Acknowledging he doesn’t see me as still a teenager, which technically I am. “Why do you let her control you that way?”

  “Because she’s done so much for me that was good, both for my career and as a mom. She took care of my father when he died a slow cancerous death.”

  Kynan winces. “I’m sorry. When was that?”

  Smiling through the sadness, I murmur. “Almost two years ago. And like I said... when my album didn’t do as well as we’d hoped, she landed me this amazing deal here in Vegas. A stepping stone is what she calls it, to bigger and better things.”