The Heiress And Her Bodyguard

Isabella slammed the door shut on her new bodyguard's face. She didn't understand why her father felt the need to hire yet another bodyguard after the last eight had quit in the last one month. She smiled ruefully, thinking of ways to make the unsuspecting fool take off in a day or less. Slumping, back down, onto her bed, Isabella exhaled heavily, rubbing her temples. She needed to find a way to get rid of her supposed shadow the soonest, so she could get her friends over without anyone knowing as usual. Before she could formulate a candid plan, there was a light tapping on her bedroom door. She ignored it, but the person on the other side of the door proved to be persistent.

“What?” She snapped, yanking the door open, and came face to face with a deliciously male species she called her bodyguard. Unlike a while ago when her father did the introductions, the man had ditched his jacket and the tie. He had also undone the two top buttons of his shirt and folded the sleeves carelessly to his elbows. Isabella's eyes raked over his frame briefly, appreciating the toned muscles before returning her gaze to his face.

“What does daddy dearest want now?” She asked in a bored tone feigning disinterest in her bodyguard, but Asher had already picked on her non-verbal cues. He deliberately didn't answer instantly. Instead, he checked her out openly, licking his lips suggestively trying to gauge her reaction. His gaze fell and lingered on her chest, and she squirmed under the scrutiny. Her perky nipples hardened beneath her thin camisole instantly. She swallowed nervously, bringing her hands to cross over her chest and growled. “Never seen a woman before?”

Asher was impressed by her ability to mask her nervousness. But he was too experienced in reading people, she felt like an open book. “Seen plenty and better-looking to be more precise.” He heard her sharp intake of breath and his first step was a success. He had gotten under her skin. Or so he thought until she opened her mouth.

“Tell me,” she began with a streak of mischief in her brown eyes. “Do these better-looking women open their legs and require you to crawl on your knees and get them off?” She held his gaze without blinking, daring him to take her head-on. Without even realizing it, an opportunity had presented itself for Isabella. She could easily manipulate him to think she wanted him between her legs and if he had any shred of decency like his predecessors he would be taking off too. But he didn't, as she learned shortly after.

“Would you like me to make you come?” He asked smoothly, giving her a smoldering stare. She knew he was just goading her.

“As enticing as your offer is, you are not my type.” She waved her hand in a bored manner. “Anyway, why did you knock on my door?” Asher lost his composure momentarily, but he regained it just as fast.

“Daddy dearest wants you to join them downstairs,”

“Unfortunately, I cannot accept his offer either. Do extend my apologies.” And once again, she shut the door to his face. Asher almost knocked again, but decided against it. The woman was infuriating. He had to give her that. But it didn't mean she was immune to his charms. He knew her kind, and sooner or later, she would be begging to have a taste.

“Dumbass,” Isabella cursed under her breath. The man's presence was unsettling. She admitted. Contrary to her earlier resolve, she didn't want him fired. Rather, she needed to disorient him. To make him eat his snobby remark. He will have to realize that the better-looking women he had met had nothing on her. Isabella decided.

Dutifully, Asher informed Lucas Garcia that his daughter wasn't joining them. The man threw some horrid words carelessly with regard to Isabella, and nonetheless they went on without her. It intrigued Asher about the kind of relationship father and daughter had. Once he was dismissed, Asher headed back upstairs and stood just outside the heiress' door. It took him a while to realize he was guarding an empty room. Isabella had slipped out through her window. He cursed with a grunt, wondering where the hell she could be. He knew close to nothing about her, so he couldn't speculate where she might be. Angrily he marched downstairs intending to report his first rookie mistake to his employer. He announced himself, and before he could speak, Lucas Garcia asked in a bored tone. “She evaded you. Didn't she?”

“Yes sir,” Asher breathed, shame-faced. He had clearly undermined her.

“Don't fret,” Lucas chuckled. “There is no bodyguard in our detail; she hasn't pulled that stunt on.” Asher didn't feel any better. He was too experienced to not have seen it coming. In his line of work, excuses are an admission of guilt. He excused himself, ready to go look for her after Lucas suggested all the places she might be.

He drove around for hours, hitting dead ends. Just when he was about to relent, his phone rang. It was a new number. He hesitated to pick, but then it occurred to him, it might be the brat, and she could be in danger.

“Marlowe speaking,”

“You do have a sinful voice over the phone.” Isabella slurred with a chuckle. Asher began firing questions in regard to where she was, but she refused to reveal her whereabouts. As furious as he was, he was scared more. She was his responsibility and if anything happens to her on his watch it would go to his record permanently.

“Beg and I might tell you,” she sassed, solidifying his desire to strangle her perfect neck once he lays eyes on her. He growled a faint, please, in displeasure, but she wasn't having it. She wanted him to use her name and beg respectfully.

“Please, Miss Garcia…”

“That's not my name.” She cut him off, making him angrier but for her safety, he stomached it and tried again.

“Please, Miss Isabella, may I know where you are?” Isabella burst out laughing and so did her friends. Apparently, she had him on speaker.

“Isn't he pathetic?” He heard Isabella ask, sending her friends into another fit of laughter. Asher fought hard to contain his anger, which was simmering. Before he could implore her again to reveal her location since she had turned off her phone's GPS, he heard a commotion from her side of the line followed by a shrill.

“Isabella,” he bellowed breathlessly. He heard Isabella's small voice ask, “Is she dead?” And his blood froze in his veins.

“Please tell me where you are,” he rasped in a hurry. Surprisingly, she didn't fight him or try her stupid antics. She quickly gave him the address, urging him to get to her fast. She sounded terrified, and he didn't like it. He broke a couple of limits rushing to rescue her like a knight in shining armor to a damsel in distress.