HOTTER THAN HELL

VALERIE: I drag my suitcase down the stairs, barely managing to balance my handbag, a stuffed duffel, and the ridiculous designer tote I swore I wouldn’t overpack. I’m irritated and panting, convinced that if Jackson doesn’t show up in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to burst a blood vessel. “Jackson!” I yell for what has to be the hundredth time. “Where the hell is that man when I need him? If I miss my flight, I swear it’s coming out of his paycheck!” My voice echoes through the high-ceilinged hallway, hoping he answers immediately. I grumble under my breath and round the bottom step, only to slam full speed into a wall of solid muscle. My bags scatter, and I stumble back, arms flailing to catch something, but it’s useless. Everything’s already crashing to the floor. “Watch it,” a cold, clipped voice snaps. I look up, ready to shred someone in half, but stop short at the sight of a tall, and dangerously rude man standing over my chaos. He’s wearing a tight black shirt that does nothing to hide his broad chest or the intimidating scowl on his face. “And who the hell are you?” My voice pitches up as I cross my arms. “You better pick that up and apologize, or I swear—” “Sorry, Miss Valerie,” Mrs. Polly, the house manager, says, appearing behind him. “Where is Jackson?” I snap. “He quit,” she replies, rushing over with her hands on the hem of her dress. “And this is Cole…” “Your new bodyguard,” the man cuts in, sliding off his tinted glasses to reveal piercing emerald eyes. “And I f*****g hate brats.” She kneels to gather my scattered bags while my eyes stay locked on the man. Daddy had the nerve to employ a new bodyguard, and he chose one with no sense of humor. I already hate him. “Rude!” I scoff with a hand on my chest, then I turn to Mrs. Polly. “What am I, a prisoner? Fire him! Fire him!” She hands my bags over to him, and he takes them without a word. “I’m sorry, Ms. Valerie, but you can’t go anywhere alone,” Mrs. Polly says nervously. “Your father hired him yesterday because there was no one else, and…” she fiddles with her fingers. “You’re… a lot to handle.” “What?” I yell with my brows shooting up. “That’s why I’m here to babysit your ass,” Mr. Rude growls. “I don’t need one.” I stare him down. “Not here for conversations, either,” he mutters without looking back. I grumble, “Good luck with that.” Turning to Mrs. Polly, I add, “After this vacation, he’s fired.” She nods in agreement. I run a hand through my hair, flipping it, then I straighten myself and walk outside to the black SUV waiting. Daddy had to use the private jet today, so now I have to board a commercial flight. First class, yes, but still—it’s practically peasantry compared to what I’m used to. I toss myself into the backseat and slam the door. “I hate public flights,” I mumble. “But no, Daddy says booking me a first-class cabin will make me forget that I have to walk through an aisle of actual people.” Cole doesn’t respond, and I’m glad I don’t get to hear his voice. He stares straight ahead while I keep ranting on the way. At the airport, we breeze through security. He handles the check-in while I adjust my sunglasses, walking to the VIP lounge. I sip watered-down champagne, ignoring him completely, until they call my flight. He walks beside me as we board, and I speed up so I can enter the plane first. He has been quiet, but his presence alone bothers me. The flight attendant checks my ticket and smiles too sweetly. “Welcome, Miss Moore. Right this way to your suite.” I make my way to the two-person suite, settling into the plush white seat. Kicking off my heels, I stretch out, hoping to relax. “Finally, some peace—” The door slides open, and Cole steps inside before I can finish. I sit up at once. “Why are you here?” I ask. He lifts an eyebrow and holds up his ticket without a word. “This is a two-person suite,” I hiss. “And I do not see two people in here without me.” He retorts, ticking my nerves. “Daddy booked this. First class. Not ‘former bar bouncer with an attitude’ class.” He scoffs, stowing his bag above my head. “What are you doing?” I ask again, like I didn’t hear him the first time. “Strapping in.” He slides into the seat next to me, the leather creaking beneath his size and weight. “Daddy booked the entire cabin,” he mimics my tone. “So I can keep his bratty little girl in check, and I can’t keep you safe thirty rows from here.” I stare at him, then flop dramatically into my seat, turning toward the window. “Please. If I were going to escape, I’d do it in Cabo with tequila and a man who knows how to smile.” “Good, ’cause you will never see the smile.” He snaps his seatbelt closed. “And you’re not drinking tequila.” We’ll see about that, I mutter. The moment we take off, I hit the call button. The flight attendant arrives with a smile. “Can I get you anything, Miss Moore?” “A glass of merlot. Actually, make it two.” “Sorry,” Cole cuts in. “I will need two bottles of water, and no alcohol for her.” My head snaps toward him. “Excuse me?” He pulls out a card, shoving it in her face. “Ex-military, and private security. Now officially her travel guardian until further notice. No alcohol. Doctor’s orders.” I gape at the badge. “I’m twenty-one.” “Yet you are still acting like a spoiled teenager.” I turn to the flight attendant, who nods at his orders. “You’re seriously listening to him?” She glances at the badge, offers me a sympathetic smile, and walks away. I cross my arms and sink into my seat. “I can take care of myself, and I do not need…” Before I can finish, the plane jerks violently. My heart jumps to my throat as another jolt rattles the cabin. The lights flicker, a few gasps sound from beyond the suite, and the captain’s voice breaks through the intercom. I clutch the nearest thing—the arm of the chair. As the turbulence rocks the cabin again, my hand grips the base tighter while I silently curse Daddy for putting me through this. After what seems like forever, the plane steadies, and I stop screaming, holding my chest with my free hand. He clears his throat, reminding me I have company—one I do not want. “You can take your hand off my d**k now.” His voice comes out calm and unimpressed. I freeze at once, my eyes widening as they descend, and—oh. My. God. I yank my hand back as if I have touched lava, my face flushing instantly. He adjusts his seatbelt like nothing happened. “Still think you can take care of yourself?” I fumble for a comeback, but the words are gone, and so is my pride. “Relax,” he says coolly, but I do not look at him. “It’s okay to admit your daddy’s scared little girl, but next time you want to grab something midair, try the seat handle.” I should feel disgusted, but my belly flutters and—f**k—I want to pound those stupid butterflies to death. Why am I thinking of the d**k of a f*****g jerk? Gross! “Reminiscing about what happened is also okay, sweetheart,” his gruff tone comes out, and he lets out a chuckle. My brows crease at the fact that he is enjoying this. I practice my deep breaths, setting my seat back and lying on it.