My Alpha, My Bodyguard

5.3 Vivienne

With gentle care, Marcus undid the straps of her heeled sandal and turned her foot over. Vivienne winced as he revealed a thin, sluggishly bleeding gash on her calf. The scrape must have occurred when Marcus had pulled her away from the bomb and she simply hadn’t noticed such a minor injury amidst the chaos that had unfolded. Now, in the comfort of her own home with the adrenaline worn off, it quickly began to sting.

"I thought I smelled blood on you," Marcus murmured, his brows furrowing in concern. "Stay put."

He rose gracefully, moving with a sense of agile fluidity that belied the sheer size of his bulk. Within moments, Marcus had located the first-aid kit and returned to his position kneeling in front of Vivienne. His fingers worked skilfully as he cleaned and bandaged her injury, the touch of his hands sending shivers down her spine. His movements were deliberate and gentle, large hands palming over ticklish skin and making the fine hairs stand up. Goosebumps formed all over both legs, travelling up her thighs and back.

The sunlight filtering through the window bathed them in a soft, buttery glow, casting long, delicate shadows across the room. It was a moment frozen in time, hardly a suspended breath between them as though inhaling too loudly would shatter the moment.

Marcus's hands were warm against her skin as he turned her ankle over again with the utmost care, revealing the minor gash on her calf. His touch was feather-light, his fingers tracing the line of the injury like an artist's brush on a canvas. Though he never lingered long enough to be improper, every movement of his hands was slow, as though he were trying to extend the moment just a little longer, savouring the evident connection between them as much as she was. His touch sent tingles of warmth through her skin, and Vivienne couldn't help but close her eyes briefly, shoving the guilt away in order to relish the intimacy of the moment. It was as if the world outside had ceased to exist, and there was only the two of them in that sunlit room.

Internally, Vivienne goaded him on. She wanted him to touch her more, to take liberties with her under the guise of searching for injuries. Perhaps there were scrapes on her thighs that he would only see by pushing aside her flowy skirt, or bruises on her back that required him to untie the simple knotted bow holding the whole thing in place.

With a damp cloth, Marcus delicately cleaned the wound, his thick fingers tracing the edges of the scrape with unwavering precision. When he finally began to apply the bandage, his hands moved even more slowly, his touch lingering like a whisper of a promise. Vivienne's breath caught in her throat as she watched him work, his eyes focused on the task at hand, yet filled with an unspoken depth of emotion that she could not parse.

“Ouch,” Vivienne flinched at the stinging splash of isopropyl alcohol, her calf almost kicking out before strong fingers steadied the limb in an iron grip.

“Sorry,” Marcus rumbled apologetically, still rendering her entire leg immobile with one hand while the other hovered carefully above her injury as though afraid to touch her again. “Here, let me…”

Shifting his grip until he was cradling the back of her ankle, the man bowed his head and blew softly on the wound, his warm breath hitting the damp patch and replacing the harsh pain with a soothing chill. Stunned, Vivienne couldn’t help but stare down at the top of his head, transfixed by the sight. No one had ever done this for her. Not even her parents, who offered nothing more than wet rags and band-aids; scolding their daughter for getting hurt in the first place until Vivienne stopped going outside at all.

The tension in the room seemed to build to a silent crescendo, interrupted only by their own shallow breaths and the sound of birdsong and cars engines eking through the windows. The unspoken desires between them hanging in the air like an invisible thread. For a moment, Vivienne thought Marcus might lean in and brush his lips against her skin to mend not just the physical wound but the ache that had settled in her heart.

But he was a better man than that, Vivienne acknowledged with fond disappointment. As soon he finished bandaging her injury, Marcus withdrew, his gaze filled with a mixture of restrained hunger that nearly bowled her over. Their unspoken connection lingered in the room, an echo of what could have been had things been different.

Yet, had things been different, would they have ever met? Vivienne wondered.

"There. You should go upstairs and relax now, Vivienne," he said softly, his gaze filled with a mix of tenderness and steely restraint. "I'll order lunch for us in a minute. Hopefully it’ll be as good as your cooking."

Her cooking? Why was he talking about her cooking–? Oh, oh! Vivienne slapped her hand to her cheek, an image of an abandoned bag of spices and pork flashing through her mind. In the aftermath of the explosion and her anger at the police officers who had interrogated Marcus, she had completely forgotten about the freaking meal.

“I hope whoever finds our bags gets a good meal out of all that meat,” she muttered to herself, and Marcus laughed deeply.

“Moon goddess willing, they’re as a good as you are,” he replied through his snickers, and just like that everything seemed to be back to normal. Well, as normal as it could be.

Disappointment welled up in Vivienne’s chest by the abrupt end to the intense moment they had shared, and the understanding that Marcus was willing to pretend their connection had never happened. It was best this way. Marriage and employee status aside, who knew what Liam would do to either of them if he caught wind of this. Vivienne didn’t want anything to happen to a good man like Marcus just because she was too desperate to control herself.

Somehow, Vivienne managed to find it in herself to dredge up a small smile, though it was tinged with melancholy. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice a soft, almost fragile sound as she stood up. Her legs felt a bit unsteady, but it wasn’t too bad. With a final, lingering glance at the man who had so quickly ensnared her heart, Vivienne turned and made her way upstairs to her bedroom where she could sleep and hopefully forget these pesky feelings after a nap.

Hopefully.

Inside her room, alone and out of sight, Vivienne finally allowed herself to feel the total weight of her emotions sinking onto her. Her heart was a tumultuous sea, tossed by waves of desire, confusion, and guilt. The encounter with Marcus had left her breathless, her senses ablaze with longing. Yet the reality of her situation, her marriage to Liam, loomed over her like an all-encompassing shadow.

Vivienne's first instinct was to call Melanie, dial up her best friend, and confide in the other woman about the whirlwind of emotions that she was experiencing. Melanie had always been her rock, the one person she could turn to in times of need. But as she reached for her phone, her fingers hovered above the contact button, hesitating.

If she told Melanie about this, she would have to reveal the events of that awful morning—the bomb and the police involvement. Vivienne had yet to come to terms with the horror that had been forced upon her, and the thought of sharing those painful details with her friend was far too daunting. Melanie would ask questions, would insist on coming over and making a game plan to hunt down the attacker, and as much as Vivienne adored the stubborn woman, she didn’t have it in her to speak to another human being at the moment and relive the trauma all over again.

Instead, Vivienne flopped face down on her bed, burying her face in the soft pillows. She inhaled deeply, the scent of the linens enveloping her like a comforting cocoon. The pillows carried the familiar scent of her room, a scent that offered solace and security amidst the chaos that had engulfed her life. Her body sank into the plush pillows that cradled her, conforming to the shape of her body. It wasn’t perfect, but it was nice to be somewhere familiar. Her bedroom was the one private solace in this house, the one place Liam never visited. During the beginning months of their marriage, she had slept in his room, because her mother had drilled into her brain that was what married couples did, and it was her job to support her husband by being nearby and available for his convenience.

Later, as Liam’s temper had continued to worsen and his out of town ‘business trips’ grew longer and more frequent, Vivienne had moved the bulk of her belongings to one of the spare rooms; the one furthest from Liam’s bedroom. At least this way, on the nights he didn’t care enough to book a hotel room for one of his trysts, she wasn’t able to hear the bang of the bedframe against the walls.

Slowly, forcing herself to relax, Vivienne inhaled deeply, drawing in the soothing scent of the linens that enveloped her like a comforting cocoon, carrying the sanctuaried scent of floral perfume and fabric softener that had always spelled safety.

Though now she couldn’t help thinking that a pop of outdoorsy fragrance would be welcome amidst the flowers…

As she lay there, her mind was a tumultuous swirl of conflicting emotions all stemming from the same man. Marcus occupied her thoughts like an invading general, his image lingering like a ghost in the recesses of her mind. The memory of how he had treated her with such kindness and compassion replayed in her thoughts like a well-worn movie reel that refused to turn off.

"It's not fair," she whispered to herself, her voice muffled by the pillows. "Why does he have to be so...so completely different from Liam?"

Vivienne couldn't help but compare the two men in her life. Liam, her husband, and her acting agent. If he simply wanted to cheat on her, Vivienne thought that she might have been able to live with that, but he had become a master at manipulation and control. When physical violence wouldn’t work, he used the threat of his money and the destruction of her career as a means to dominate her.

Marcus, on the other hand, was a defender in every way. A good man. A man with more integrity in his little finger than most men had in their entire bodies. The man treated her with a gentleness that melted her heart, and his protective instincts made her feel safe in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. In less than a day, he had become more than just an employee; he had become a lifeline in the midst of the turmoil that had threatened to drown her ever since she had seen those photos.

And that was dangerous because, as Vivienne reminded herself, it had been less than a day. It wasn’t fair for her to put all those weighty expectations on him. It wasn’t fair of her to cling to him when she was a stranger to him, and he was just here to do a job.

"He's just my employee," she sighed, turning her head to the side to stare out the window. Through the glass, a little bird with bright blue plumage hopped across a branch and fluttered its wings. How lucky for it, to be able to soar through the air and escape whenever it wanted. "I can't allow myself to feel this way about him."

Yet, despite the guilt that gnawed at her conscience, she couldn't deny the magnetic pull she felt towards the man. It was a force that transcended reason and duty, a spark that refused to be extinguished but extinguish it she would. She had to. For the sake of her own sanity, and for both of their safety, she had to try.

As she lay there, the swirling thoughts and emotions eventually began to lull her into a restless sleep. Vivienne's mind was a tumultuous sea of dreams and desires, the memory of Marcus's touch still haunting her consciousness and following deep into her dreams.