Cannon(46)

So when Addy walks out of her bedroom wearing the tiniest of tiny dresses, white and barely covering her ass and gold heels that make her legs look a mile long, I nearly fall over. "Where the hell are you going?"

"Out," she says. "It's my friend Sapphire's birthday."

"Dressed like that," I say flatly.

"Yes, dressed like this," she says. "It's just a birthday thing."

"Not like that, you're not," I say, half under my breath. I'm not aware she even hears me until she visibly bristles, responding with a hard tone.

"You have some objection to what I'm wearing?"

I inhale deeply, trying to maintain my composure, but I can hardly contain myself when it comes to Addy. I've been attempting to be reasonable, trying to not behave like a sex-starved lunatic around her, but it's impossible, especially when she goes and walks out the bedroom door looking like...well, this. I stand close to her, breathing her in deeply. "You might as well be naked," I say, my voice gravely.

Her jaw clenches. "You have no say in what I wear or don't wear," she says. "I'll go out in pasties and a thong if I want to. And I'm going out with my friends."

"What friends?" The only reason she's going out with friends is to piss me off. Dressed like that, it's totally working. I'm torn between wanting to throttle her and wanting to lift up the edge of that skirt she's wearing and turn her over my knee. The image flashes in my head, her bent over my leg, bare ass in the air, and I swear my cock goes rock hard right then and there.

"The friends you've prevented me from seeing, with your overbearing-ness and hanging around all the time."

"Because your friends are so awesome and look out for you so well," I say.

She tilts her head up to look at me, setting her jaw the way she does, and tosses a lock of blonde hair over her shoulder. "Well, you did a great job looking out for me."

"I've been looking out for you every day," I say, ignoring her dig about what happened between the two of us. All I can think about is the fact that she's standing in front of me, dressed like she is and that I want to rip those goddamned clothes off her. What I don't want to do is follow her around like a fucking puppy dog all night while guys throw themselves at her.

That is the fucking definition of a high-risk situation, because I'll have to put my fists on the first guy who lays a finger on her. Anger management skills be damned.

"It's Sapphire's birthday. And you're not actually my boss, you know," she says. I smell her perfume, jasmine and something else that hints of the tropics, and I want to drink in her scent. I have to remind myself what a total and complete fucking brat she's being. I don't have to remind myself for long, as it turns out, because she opens her mouth again. "You're my bodyguard. That's it. You work for me, not the other way around."

She says the word bodyguard with disdain, like she's better than me somehow, and anger surges through me. And then I think I see the flicker of something else on her face – regret? -- and for a second, I want to grab her and pull her toward me and tell her to stop screwing around and kiss me, because everything she just said is total bullshit.

But fuck it, I've got my pride. "You're being a total -- "

"Bitch?" Addy interrupts.

"You said it, not me."

Addy's jaw clenches and she looks at me, anger flashing in her eyes. "Don't worry, bodyguard," she says, the word hanging heavy on her tongue. "I'll behave completely professionally with you from now on."

"Fine," I say, affecting a British accent. "Where will madam be off to this evening?"

"I don't like you," she says, grabbing her purse. She's lying. I know she is. And this whole fight is manufactured bullshit. It's not real. But I also know that it's easier for the both of us if we pretend. It's easier if we hate each other. It's for the best.

"I don't like you either, Addy-girl," I say, following her out the door. Her hips sashay as she walks in her too-high-to-be-safe heels, and when she tosses her hair over her shoulder again, I have to clench my fists at my sides to keep from grabbing it and yanking her toward me.

I'm not lying when I say I don't like her. Riding down the elevator with her as she looks to the side, pointedly ignoring me, I realize it with growing certainty. I definitely don't like her. Like is the wrong L-word to use when it comes to Addy.





FOUR YEARS, EIGHT MONTHS AGO



"Let me see them," Grace says, grabbing at my journal. "Come on, Addison."

"No way." I grip the notebook tightly in one hand, swatting at her with the other. "It's private."

"Fine," she says. "I can always guess your secrets anyway. Is it about a boy?"