My husband's bodyguard
ISABELLA
The lingerie was supposed to make a difference.
I'd spent twenty minutes in front of the vanity putting it on, running my hands over my skin and imagining they were my husband's hands before checking my reflection. I kept telling myself that thirty-four days without so much as a casual brush of his hand against my hip was just stress from the upcoming Christmas launch.
It had been fourteen months since we'd last been intimate. I'd stopped counting the excuses somewhere around the sixth. Now, I was kneeling beside the mattress, my fingers curled around the hem of my husband's shirt. Richard Hartfield.
"Please." The word slipped out before I could stop it. "Richard, just look at me. It's been months."
"Isabella." He sounded tired already, peeling my fingers off the fabric one by one, his eyes fixed on me. He adjusted his cufflinks without looking at me. "It's seven in the morning. I have a board meeting in forty minutes, and you're here trying to get me into bed? Don't you have better things to do? Besides, where did you get that? It looks cheap."
"It cost a thousand dollars." My voice broke as I tried to reach for him again. "You used to like this."
He turned, looking down at me. There was no desire in his eyes. Not even the slightest hint of affection. "I liked it three years ago, before you started acting like a desperate w***e. You're married, for Christ's sake."
I stared at him, wondering when things got this bad and if he knew I couldn't get this anywhere.
Then he reached for his coat hanging by the door.
"Put your robe on. You look ridiculous, and frankly, this constant need for affection is exhausting. I have a company to run."
"Our company," I whispered.
I sat back on my heels. The movement pulled at the lower left side of my waist, and a sharp ache spread across my abdomen. I pressed my hand against the spot, careful not to put too much pressure on the four-inch surgical scar beneath my hip bone.
Eight weeks ago, I'd lain on an operating table and allowed a surgical team to remove my kidney to keep this man alive. I'd spent three weeks recovering, barely able to walk, telling myself the pain was worth it because Richard would live to grow old with me.
Now, his blood ran clean through an organ I'd given him, and he wouldn't even let my skin touch his.
Richard didn't acknowledge the scar or my pain, he simply picked up his briefcase, checked his watch and paused by the door.
"Oh, and..." He sounded as though he'd just remembered something unimportant. "The threats to the executive floor escalated yesterday. Two targeted letters were delivered to reception regarding the holiday cosmetic rollout. Security thinks it's an environmental fringe group, but the board is getting jittery."
I reached for my robe and pulled it tightly around my shoulders, tying the belt. "I have my own driver, Richard. I don't need you panicking over hate mail."
"Your driver is sixty-two and has a bad knee," he replied. "If someone throws a brick through the town car window, he'll probably have a stroke. So I hired a bodyguard. He started twenty minutes ago. Think of it as a thank-you for the kidney you gave."
I looked at him.
He couldn't possibly have meant that the way it sounded.
Before I could answer, a firm knock echoed downstairs. Richard didn't wait for me. He walked out, leaving me to scramble off the bed, smooth my robe over my chest and wipe the tears from my cheeks as I followed him downstairs.
The man standing by the open door didn't look like any of the security guards I'd encountered before.
He was six foot five, with shoulders so broad they nearly blocked out the morning light from the terrace. A black leather cut hung over his bare torso, his jeans tucked into heavy riding boots. His arms were covered in tattoos, and his dark hair and beard were cleanly shaved.
He was unmistakably a biker.
Then I saw his eyes and they were the most beautiful set of blue I'd ever seen. He looked at me, and whatever protest I'd been preparing died on my tongue, his gaze lingering for a moment before moving over my face.
Instantly, I felt heat creep up my neck as there was something about the way he watched me that made me uncomfortable then it clicked and for a moment I forgot about Richard. I knew that face. It had been years, but I would have recognised him anywhere.
Barrett Stone.
He used to be around my father constantly. Dinner parties, business meetings, even christmas gatherings. I remembered his easy laugh, the way he would lean back in his chair while Father talked, and how comfortable they had always seemed in each other's company. They had been friends. Close ones, as far as I knew.
Until something happened.
I was never given the full story, only my father's version. According to him, Barrett had betrayed his trust, turned against him and walked away when their friendship mattered most. Father had been furious. After that, Barrett's name became something we weren't supposed to mention.
And now he was standing in our penthouse as though the years between us meant nothing. I looked from him to Richard, unable to believe what I was hearing.
"Of all the people in the world, you hired the man who betrayed my father?"
Richard's expression shifted. "You know Stone?"
I didn't answer immediately as my attention was still on Barrett. He hadn't changed as much as I expected but there was no mistaking him.
And judging by the way he was looking at me, he remembered me too.
"Seems like you two know each other so I'll cut to the chase," Richard said, not bothering to turn around. "This is my wife, Isabella. She's the CEO of one of the biggest production companies in the city. Your job is to protect her and ensure she's safe. She goes to the office, attends her charity functions, and you bring her back here. Any press inquiries, you direct them to our legal team."
He didn't answer immediately but his attention remained on me.
"Do you understand?" Richard asked when the silence stretched longer than what he expected from an employee.
"Yes."
Richard seemed satisfied. "Isabella, listen to him. I don't have time to deal with you throwing a fit about your schedule today. I'll be back late. Don't wait up."
He opened the door and left.
I stood there for a moment, watching his car disappear before turning back to the stranger.
"I don't need a babysitter." I scoffed, straightening my shoulders, trying to recover some of the authority I was accustomed to having in a boardroom. "Mr. Stone, is it? You can tell my husband's agency that I've declined your services."
Stone remained where he was. "Your husband hired me."
"And I'm telling you I don't need you." The irritation in my voice was clear as day
"That's between you and your husband, Mrs. Hartfield."
I frowned. "Excuse me?"
He glanced at his watch. "I was given a schedule and I intend to follow it."
"Then you've been given the wrong impression. I don't take orders from strangers."
His eyes returned to mine. "Good. I don't give orders unless they're necessary."
Who did he think he was anyways? I could have him fired right now but then again, Richard was right. I needed some kind of protection especially for when he travels for those business trips of his, leaving me alone in this big house.
"You're going to be a problem, aren't you?"
He didn't answer. His gaze moved briefly to my left side, where my hand had unconsciously settled against my waist.
"Something wrong?" I asked, trying to put my weight on the right side as the pain zapped through my brain.
"You're favouring your left side."
My fingers tightened around the belt of my robe shooting him the meanest glance I could. I wasn't about to give him the impression that I was easy to talk to and I needed him to remember that I was a married woman. "I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me, I'm married now "
He looked at me for another moment. "Didn't ask if you were."
I stared at him, unsure what to make of that response.
He checked his watch again. "Fifteen minutes, Mrs. Hartfield. I'll be downstairs."
"I'm not going anywhere today. You can leave now."
"I'll wait by the car."
He turned and walked towards the entrance.
I watched him leave, annoyed by how easily he'd dismissed me.
"Are you deaf? I said I wasn't going."
He stopped but didn't turn around. Seeing that he wasn't going to leave this building without me, I sighed.
"One more thing. I expect you to remember that I'm your employer's wife, not one someone you can order around."
This time, he looked over his shoulder.
"I know exactly who you are, Mrs. Hartfield."
Then he walked out leaving me standing there, my blood boiling to the highest degree but I wasn't upset with him but with the man I promised forever with who had looked at me and not once asked how I was faring after the surgery. He hadn't noticed my trembling hands, the tears I'd been trying to hide or the way I'd struggled to stand.
But a man who had known me for less than a minute had noticed my injured side.
I didn't know what bothered me more: that Barrett Stone had seen so much, or that I'd spent so long hoping my own husband would.
