My Alpha, My Bodyguard

4.1 Marcus

Marcus wasn’t a stupid man. He was well aware that he was acting a tad overprotective of his new charge. Obviously remaining at home – within a known confined space – was the safest option, and it was common to scope out venues prior to arrival to ensure that the client remained safe, but supermarkets were far too open to do so. Marcus was good, but he was just one man, and he didn’t have the authority or funds to cordon off the building and subject every casual shopper to a strip search. Not that he’d ever needed to. Gunpowder had a very distinct smell, and it was one he would never be able to mistake for the rest of his life.

Nevertheless, that didn’t rule out other possibilities such as knives or poison. One of the bodyguards at the agency Marcus was affiliated with had told a story about a greedy uncle who had tried to bump off his young nephew by smearing peanut oil along the rim of the child’s cup. If not for her nose and lightning-fast reflexes, the toddler might have gone into a severe anaphylactic shock and died before anyone could have grabbed an Epi-pen.

Luckily Vivienne wasn’t allergic to anything, aside from a mild skin reaction to soy and soy-based products. According to the report Marcus compiled from a combination of agency files and Liam’s half-assed descriptions, Vivienne Hardison nee Payne was a relatively healthy young woman in her early 20s who had started life in LA as a waitress/lounge-singer before marrying her current husband and beginning an acting career where she’d gained notoriety for playing ‘bitchy villains’, or so the tabloids claimed. Not much about her real life was known, as she had never made a secret of how much she loathed the paparazzi, but her social media pages displayed a fondness for fantasy and horror stories alike, as well as medical discoveries.

Her music tastes were similarly eclectic, ranging from indie acoustics to headbanging metal all in the span of a single playlist. It was rather cute if Marcus had to be honest. Which he didn’t have to be. At least not out loud.

The shifter pinched the bridge of his nose again, grateful that he was standing a little behind Vivienne so that she wouldn’t see his expression twist in self-disgust. If this wasn’t a job, Marcus was aware that the amount of information that he had on her would make him no different from the intruder that was harassing her. Hell, it being a job didn’t stop him from still feeling like a stalker, considering how much of the information came from his own personal awareness of her and her profession.

For example, he knew what kind of soap and shampoo she used (Honey Safari, with the jasmine blend), what kind of coffee she liked (plain black when she had something sweet to pair it with, otherwise she added a bit of milk and sugar), and her favourite acting role (she’d told the tabloids that it was Red Veil because it had won an EMMY for Best Cinematography and was her first big break as a Hollywood actress but truthfully it was the action version of Blood on the Trail).

There was nothing he could do about all of that though, and it wasn’t like he had expected her to recognize him anyway. It had been so long ago, and she hadn’t been in her right frame of mind at the time. It was enough to see her now, to be able to protect her here and now. That would have to be enough, because Marcus wasn’t sure he would be able to bear it if he offered more and she turned him down flat.

“We’re here!” Vivienne’s chirpy voice interrupted his thoughts, and Marcus glanced up from the large brand store to the woman in question. She had been acting off all morning, pushing herself to sound more excited and upbeat than she really was. Perhaps she didn’t know that he could smell the sour note of anxiety radiating off of her skin. The discrepancy between her outward behaviour and inner emotions was causing the back of his brain to itch, and Marcus had to force his eyes to stay fixed on her instead of darting around the environment for some unseen threat.

Baseline humans tended to either exaggerate or undersell how well a shifter’s senses worked, often depending on what was most convenient for them. In this case however, Marcus was more certain that she had either forgotten about his abilities or was so used to putting on a façade that it didn’t occur to her that she didn’t need to pretend with him.

To his relief, Vivienne calmed down once the automatic double doors slid open and the icy air of the supermarket washed over her. “Let me just grab a basket and – oh!” Her big brown eyes fluttered in surprise when Marcus pushed a shopping cart between them. “Thank you! So, first thing we need is more milk, of course…”

Keeping half his attention on Vivienne, Marcus focused the rest of his senses on the supermarket around them, letting conversations and smells filter in and out of his periphery. Almost all of it was normal, the sort of casual discussions one would expect to hear. Couples debating over two flavours of ice cream, a child begging their parent for a plastic toy, a businessman in a rumpled suit arguing about budget concerns over a basket that was filled bottom to top with different flavours of ramen noodles, etc.

“What do you think?”

Marcus blinked, refocusing on Vivienne. They were standing in front of one of the freezers in the meat aisle, and she was gesturing between two cuts of meat. “What do I think about what?”

Vivienne gestured again, pointing first at a whole chicken and then at a cut of steak. “Since we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other, and since Liam’s supposed to be home this evening…I thought it would be nice to make dinner for all of us. So, do you prefer chicken or beef?”

She wanted him to dine with her and her husband. Marcus fought to keep the grimace off his face. On the one hand, the idea of eating food made by her was horribly, awfully appealing. On the other hand, he wasn’t certain that he would be able to keep his composure if Vivienne’s husband tried anything that night, and he couldn’t afford to lose this job. Not when her safety hung so precariously in the balance.

Thus, the shifter opened his mouth, intending to turn her down brusquely. To bring up his position as nothing more than a bodyguard, to imply that her husband wouldn’t appreciate another man intruding on their meal, but instead what tumbled out from his lips was a rough, “I prefer pork.”

You’re an i***t.

Missing the implied overtones of her suggestion and his own internal struggle, Vivienne only nodded understandingly, shooting him a sly smile that made his heart flip-flop around stupidly. “Personally, so do I. My best friend Melanie showed me how to make this spicy pork belly dish and I’ve been dying to try it out. Come on, I think the deli section should be over there.”

Fifteen minutes later they were walking out of the store, a slab of prime pork belly resting at the bottom of a separate shopping bag that he carried while Vivienne cheerfully counted down the spices for the marinade.

“Cloves, nutmeg, chili pepper – oh!” She glanced up at him with a smile that was somewhere between concerned and teasing. “You’re okay with spice, right? You’re not going to start sweating and crying if I sprinkle a tiny bit of habanero into the pot, are you?”

A huff escaped Marcus’s nose, a tiny exhale of amusement as he met her irresistible, glittering eyes with a smirk of his own. “Do you really think that I’m the type of person who goes down so easily?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Vivienne shrugged as she dug into the nylon bag and retrieved a treat that she had bought for herself: a sour apple lollipop. Marcus had seen her place it onto the conveyor belt after paying with the card, eyeing him sneakily like a child hoping to pull one over on their parents even though she was the one doing the shopping.

Even now as she unwrapped the candy, the look she gave him was a little awkward, an expression that made her look younger than her 21 years.

“Hey, could you…just don’t tell Liam about this, please?”

Marcus eyed her bemusedly, unsure why he mattered. “What does he have to do with this?”

A shrug, and she popped the little green ball of sugar into her mouth, pushing it to the corner of her cheek to talk. “Oh, I’m sure he told you. I’m not supposed to have any more sugar. The nutritionist he hired is such a snitch, she used to report everything I ate to him, so now I just get these little candies on the side.”

The more she spoke, the closer Marcus’s brows drew together until he was full on glowering at the path ahead. So, that was why she’d paid for the lollipop in cash. He’d thought it was just a last-minute treat, but did Liam Hardison have access to her bank details? Was he monitoring her finances in addition to her eating habits?

The sun hit her hair, tinting the coffee-brown locks with hues of honey and gold and highlighting sticky-slick lips. That isn’t normal, he’s not good enough for you, he doesn’t deserve you, you don’t deserve to be hurt, come with me, let me make you feel better–

Instead he elbowed her gently, careful of his bulk and strength. “Well, I won’t tell if you won’t,” Marcus replied, and was rewarded with a smile so blinding he swore he saw stars. Letting out a cough, he redirected their conversation back to its earlier point. “As for spices, I can handle myself. I mean, look at me,” he gestured down at himself.

“Mm,” Vivienne hummed, turning around so that she could take him in. Obligingly, Marcus stopped walking as well, and the two of them came to a halt in the corner of the parking lot. Marcus placed a hand on his hip and willed himself to ignore the flush of burning heat eating its way up his spine. s**t, s**t this was dangerous. The way those far too perceptive eyes trailed over him had his c**k chubbing up in his pants, precum beading at the tip and dampening his boxer-briefs from the mere flicker of her attention.

God, what was it about this woman that turned him into such a helpless teenager when he was at least a decade older than her? One meeting, two meetings, was that all it took to have his blood boiling and leave him harder than f*****g steel?

Innocent, deep brown eyes swept over his body, and Marcus let out a helpless groan when the tip of a pink tongue poked out of her mouth, hovering a millimeter away from the lollipop. “Stop it,” he grunted.

“Mm?” Vivienne blinked up at him, her tongue still teasing the sticky corner of her mouth like a matador waving a red flag. The beast wanted to bite that tongue, lick the taste of sugar and citrus from her throat, suck the air from her lungs until the only thing she knew how to breathe was him. “Stop what? What am I doing?”

Marcus couldn’t think of a way to respond that wouldn’t have him sounding like a psycho or a p*****t, so wisely he just grunted and kept walking, thanking every deity that she hadn’t noticed the bulge forming at the front of his trousers. Hopefully it would go down by the time they reached the car, because there was no way he’d be able to hide it when she was sitting right next to him.

The car wasn’t too far away, parked between an empty yellow Camaro and a black sedan that seemed to be transporting half a soccer team judging by the number of children clambering in and out from every door and window.

The two of them stood back to let the driver – an obviously overworked mother – pull out from the parking space before Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out the matching nondescript key fob to unlock the doors. The car beeped once, twice, and then–

BOOM.