Forbidden Touch : Stories of Desires

I noticed him the second he stepped into the penthouse.

Tall. Broad. Black suit that looked like it had been tailored to hide a weapon. Dark hair cut short, jaw set like he didn’t smile often. He scanned the room once, windows, exits, me, and then his eyes settled on my face with the kind of calm focus that made the hair on the back of my neck rise.

“Miss Voss,” he said. Voice low. Controlled. “I’m Kai. Your new security detail.”

I set my glass of wine down on the marble counter and crossed my arms. “I told my father I didn’t need a bodyguard.”

“Your father disagrees.” He didn’t move closer. Didn’t offer a hand. Just stood there like he’d already decided the conversation was over. “There have been two credible threats this month. I’m not here to debate it.”

I hated that he was right.

Ever since the company went public and the press started calling me “the Voss heiress,” the messages had gotten uglier. Then the photos of my car. Then the note left on my windshield last week. My father stopped asking and started ordering.

Kai was the result.

He was older than me by maybe eight or nine years. Mid-thirties. The kind of man who looked like he’d seen things and decided none of them were worth discussing. When he took off his jacket later that evening I caught the outline of a shoulder holster and the hard lines of muscle under the black shirt.

I told myself I wasn’t staring.

I was.

That first night he walked the entire penthouse with me, checking locks, windows, the private elevator. He spoke only when necessary. Every time he passed close I caught the faint scent of clean soap and something darker underneath, gun oil, maybe, or just him.

When he finally left me in the master bedroom doorway, he paused.

“Door stays locked,” he said. “Phone stays on. If anything feels off, you call me. Not security downstairs. Me.”

I arched a brow. “And if I don’t?”

His eyes stayed steady on mine. “Then I’ll already be inside before you finish the sentence.”

The way he said it shouldn’t have made my stomach flip.

It did.

I slept with the door locked and my phone on the pillow. At 2:17 a.m. I woke to the soft sound of the hallway floorboard creaking. My heart slammed. I sat up, pulse racing, and reached for the phone.

A soft knock came instead.

Three quiet taps.

I opened the door in an oversized T-shirt, bare legs, hair a mess. Kai stood there in the dim hallway light, still in the black shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. His gaze dropped once, over my legs, the shirt, the fact that I clearly wasn’t wearing anything underneath, then came back to my face without a single change in expression.

“You left the terrace door unlatched,” he said.

I blinked. “I checked it.”

“You missed it.” He stepped past me without asking, walked straight through the bedroom to the glass doors, and locked them with a soft, final click. When he turned back I was still standing near the bed, arms crossed over my chest.

The air between us felt tighter than it should have.

Kai’s eyes moved over me again, slower this time. “You always sleep like that when there’s a stranger in the house?”

“You’re not a stranger. You’re the man my father hired to watch me.”

Something flickered in his expression, too fast to name. He walked toward me until only a foot of space remained. Close enough that I had to tip my head back. Close enough to feel the heat coming off his body.

“I’m here to keep you alive,” he said quietly. “Not to watch you walk around half-naked in the middle of the night.”

My pulse was loud in my ears. “Then stop looking.”

He didn’t.

For three full seconds he just stared at me, jaw tight, like he was deciding something. Then he stepped back.

“Lock the door behind me,” he said. “And next time, wear more clothes when you answer.”

He left without another word.

I locked the door. Leaned against it. And pressed my thighs together because the way he’d looked at me had left me wet and restless and furious about it.

I didn’t sleep much after that.

Every time I closed my eyes I saw the line of his throat, the way his sleeves had been rolled up, the controlled way he’d spoken while his eyes said something else entirely.

By morning I had a problem.

And his name was Kai.