The Mogul and the Muscle: A Bluewater Billionaires Romantic Comedy Page 8

  And I just happened to have a view out to the front of my house when Jude Ellis pulled up on a bike, wearing black leather.

  My heart skipped several beats when he pushed down the kickstand with his booted foot. Why was that so hot? He pulled off his helmet and set it on the back, then took off his leather jacket.

  That left him in a white t-shirt that barely contained his thick chest and tattooed arms, and a pair of dark jeans. So simple. But god, he made that look good.

  “Sorry, Cam, I can’t let you go out with a boy on a motorcycle.”

  I gasped at the deep, slightly accented voice behind me and put my hand on my chest. “Oh my god, you scared me.”

  Bert, my gardener, stood just behind me, his smile deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. He wore his usual uniform of a loud Hawaiian shirt—this one yellow with pink flamingos—shorts, and an ancient pair of flip-flops. He had deep lines in his dark skin and his short hair was entirely gray. Crooked teeth gave him the most endearing smile.

  “A bit early for a date,” he said.

  “He’s not my date, he’s security. Emily bullied me into hiring him after that thing at work.”

  “Good,” he said, his voice serious.

  Bert waited, facing the front door, his arms crossed. I raised my eyebrows at him, but he didn’t say anything.

  Jude knocked, then stepped inside when I opened the door.

  “Cameron,” he said.

  Bert was still standing there, reminding me vaguely of my grandad when a boy had picked me up for my first school dance, junior year.

  “Jude, this is Bert. He’s responsible for all the glorious foliage around here.”

  The two men shook hands. Bert openly appraised him, his gaze moving from Jude’s head to his feet in a slow sweep.

  “What are your intentions with our lovely Cameron?” Bert asked.

  Jude didn’t show even the faintest hint of surprise. “I’m taking her shoe shopping.”

  “And?”

  “And whatever else she wants.”

  Bert nodded slowly. “Do you plan to have her back by curfew?”

  “Bert,” I said. “He’s not my prom date. He’s security.”

  Bert’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Jude.

  “She’s the boss, sir,” Jude said. “I’m on her schedule.”

  “You aren’t taking her on that death-cycle, are you?” Bert asked.

  “I planned on letting her drive.”

  I felt a tiny dip in my stomach—disappointment that I wasn’t getting on that bike. Not that it made any sense to ride Jude’s motorcycle to go shopping. Not to mention how unprofessional it would be. I’d have to sit so close to him. Wrap my arms around him to hold on.

  “All right, Cameron,” Bert said. “You can go.”

  Shaking my head, I laughed. “Thanks, Bert. I’m glad I have your blessing to go shopping with my bodyguard.”

  “You treat her like a lady, son, or we’re gonna have words,” Bert said.

  “Will do, sir,” Jude said.

  First my cook banging his wife in my kitchen, now my gardener interrogating Jude like he was my first date. At least Jude was getting a crash course in the weirdos in my life.

  “See you later, Bert,” I said, gesturing for Jude to follow me.

  “Have fun, Cameron. Make good choices.” He chuckled as he walked off in the other direction.

  Jude followed me to the garage, and we got in my Tesla. Maybe it wasn’t cruising the streets of Miami with the roar of a motorcycle engine between my legs, but it was a damn fine car. I was a sucker for innovation and new technology.

  I drove us through the enclave, down a palm-tree-lined road. The guard on duty at the entrance nodded when I paused to wait for the gate to open. The sun blazed outside, but I was comfortable in an aqua sleeveless blouse and beige skirt. I was a Florida girl through and through—used to the heat and humidity. Every time I had to go somewhere with more moderate weather, I was freezing.

  Jude pointed to one of several tubes of sunblock I had stashed in my car. “Always prepared?”

  “I’m a redhead living in Miami,” I said. “Sunscreen is life.”

  “Smart.”

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. His skin was a healthy bronze, his short hair sun-kissed dark blond. Dressed in casual clothes, he looked rugged but still polished.

  Traffic was light—which was a nice change. We raced down the highway to Bal Harbor, one of several luxury shopping destinations in south Florida—a tropical paradise with lush gardens, fountains, and koi ponds. It made for an enjoyable shopping experience, which was exactly what I wanted today. I needed to get out of my routine for a few hours. Wander, browse, and think about something other than work.

  I pulled up to valet parking and Jude and I got out. He paused by my car while I shouldered my handbag and walked toward the shopping center entrance. I could sense him following behind me.

  After strolling past a few stores, I stopped and turned around. “Do you have to do that?”

  He took a few steps closer. “Do what?”

  “Follow me.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “I mean follow me at a distance. Are you staying back there so you have a better view or something? Because I really don’t think anyone is going to jump out and attack me.”

  His eyes darted around, like he was verifying my assessment. “Probably not. I’m just trying to stay out of your way.”

  “Can you just walk with me? It feels weird to have you back there.”

  “Sure.”

  I kept walking and he fell in step beside me. “See? Better. Now I can pretend we’re friends out shopping.”

  He didn’t reply.

  I took my time, although I knew where I was going. My first stop was Jimmy Choo.

  I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with my level of wealth. I’d grown up an orphan, raised by grandparents who hadn’t planned on returning to the parenting starting line. I’d worked my way through college. At one point in my early twenties I’d been so poor I’d lived on ramen noodles and cheap coffee.

  Now I wore custom tailored suits and drove a six-figure Tesla.

  I felt a strong sense of responsibility to use my resources well. I was working on creating a charitable foundation to organize my donations and charitable giving. My secret goal was to give away enough money that I dropped out of the billionaire category. Although with the way Spencer was thriving, that would be harder than it might appear, since much of my net worth came from ownership in the company.

  But I also didn’t feel guilty indulging sometimes. I’d worked my ass off to earn everything I had. Money didn’t buy happiness, but it did buy security—something I appreciated deeply—and the most fabulous heels in existence. Shoes were my favorite indulgence.

  Jude stood near the front of the store while I looked over the selection and chatted with the clerk. Wasn’t he bored? He had to be bored. I glanced at him a few times, but his face betrayed nothing. He didn’t look bothered or irritated that he had to stand in a shoe store while his client shopped. The man was a master at masking his thoughts. He didn’t seem to be feeling anything at all.

  Brick wall. Or maybe a statue.

  The clerk came out with several pairs of shoes for me to try. I sat on a tufted stool and put on the first pair. They pinched in a way I didn’t like. I could tell without even walking in them that they weren’t going to work. I slipped my feet into the second pair—red suede pumps lined with crystals. They were bright and glittery and fabulous. I had no idea where I’d wear them, but I loved how brash they were.

  Heels were my little rebellion. I’d spent most of my childhood being teased for my height. I hadn’t even tried on a pair of high heels until I was out of college, assuming tall girls couldn’t wear them. But now I wore them almost daily. I loved them. I loved the way they made my legs look. And I loved that they added inches to my already tall frame. They were my private fuck you to every ass
hole who’d made fun of me as a kid.

  “Those look incredible on you,” the clerk said.

  I stood and took a few steps in front of one of the full-length mirrors. The shoes felt fabulous, and I loved the way they looked. I planted one toe on the floor and angled my foot to get a better look.

  A hint of movement in the mirror caught my eye. I could see Jude’s reflection behind me. He was staring, but not like a bored statue. He’d tilted his head ever so slightly and his eyes were on my legs. My long legs in a short skirt.

  He was totally checking me out.

  I felt a flush of heat and glanced at my face in the mirror, hoping I wasn’t blushing. Thankfully there was only a hint of pink in my cheeks.

  My eyes darted back to his reflection, but he’d looked away. Maybe I’d imagined him watching me with heat in his gaze. Had there been something other than professionalism in Jude’s expression? Had I caught a glimpse of the man behind the wall?

  I tried on a few more pairs but ultimately left with just the red ones. I thanked the clerk and Jude held the door, then fell in step with me.

  I didn’t have another store in mind, so we wandered past meticulously curated window displays and bubbling fountains. Mostly it felt good to be away from all things work. Brandy had been right, I’d needed this.

  And I could grudgingly admit that it didn’t ruin anything to have Jude along. He didn’t talk much, but we strolled in comfortable silence. And any hint of anxiety I might have had about being in public since the incident in the parking garage was nonexistent. Jude was here. I was fine.

  But I didn’t need to spend an entire day shopping. My mind was already flitting back to my to-do list. I’d taken a break. I could finish out the day in my home office. Let Jude have the rest of his Saturday to himself.

  Agent Provocateur, one of my favorite lingerie stores, caught my eye up ahead. I thought about Jude’s statue impression in Jimmy Choo—and that glimpse I’d caught of him in the mirror. It had only been for a second, and maybe I’d imagined it. But I wondered if I could crack that stony façade again.

  “One more stop,” I said with a smile and veered toward the entrance.

  We stepped into a world of soft pink paneling and gold accents. Venini chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their nineteen-seventies style just on the fashionable side of gaudy. Leopard print rugs with pink borders decorated the floor.

  I pretended to be completely absorbed in the displays of lacy bras and panties, but I kept an eye on Jude, sneaking glances at him from my peripheral vision. He took up a position partway inside the store, probably where he had the best view.

  Just doing his job.

  A few other women wandered through the store. I took slow steps, pausing to brush my fingers over a sheer nightie. I found a gorgeous nude and black bra that would leave very little to the imagination.

  I pulled it off the display and stepped in front of a mirror. Jude was behind me, arms crossed over his chest, that same stony expression on his face.

  I held up the bra and tilted my head, like I was considering how it would fit. My eyes flicked to Jude.

  No change.

  He really was a brick wall.

  I put the bra back and glanced at a few more things. My circuit brought me close to Jude. Pausing again, I ran my fingers over a very naughty rose gold cuff and choker set. The shiny metal cuffs were connected to a black braided rope. Luxury kink.

  My eyes darted to Jude again. Nothing.

  Except I caught sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat with a hard swallow and a tiny bead of sweat glistened on his forehead. In the air-conditioned store.

  There was a man under there. Interesting.

  “We can go,” I said, taking my hand off the cuff and choker set.

  He cleared his throat and nodded.

  Brandy had been right. Having a bodyguard wasn’t all that bad. At least when I could have a little fun with him.

  11

  Jude

  I sat at my desk outside Cameron’s office. So far, there hadn’t been any new threats. No suspicious activity. Business as usual for her. A lot of standing around and waiting for me. Which was fine. I was used to it.

  Shopping with her had been… interesting. Not once in five years of doing this job had I been this intensely attracted to a client. But Cameron Whitbury was getting under my skin.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  But those fucking red heels.

  Watching her try on shoes had been one thing. Her long legs were amazing. But when she’d put on those sexy red shoes, I’d seen the slightest change in her. Her hips had swayed, and she’d slid her hands down her thighs while she checked her reflection in the full-length mirror. Confident. Gorgeous.

  Mine.

  She wasn’t, nor was she ever going to be. But the thought had hit me hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs. I’d recovered well. I was sure she hadn’t noticed. But it had been difficult to keep my cool.

  And then the vixen had taken me into a lingerie store.

  That move had been to fuck with me, clearly. I’d seen the glint of mischief in her eyes when she’d said she had one more stop.

  It made me want to spank that magnificent ass of hers.

  Despite the way my dick was trying to take over the show, I wasn’t going to let any of this get in the way of me doing my job.

  I had Derek’s people looking into Cameron’s ex and Noelle Olson. I skimmed the first set of information they’d sent. On the surface, Aldrich Leighton was squeaky clean. No scandals. No affairs. No record of bad rich boy behavior in college. He’d never been married. He made appearances at elite social events regularly, most recently with a much younger Brazilian model on his arm. But there was something tickling the back of my neck, a sense that this perfect image was just that—too perfect.

  Was he the kind of man to attempt revenge on an ex?

  Noelle Olson had a similarly clean public image. She’d been with Spencer for fifteen years. Worked her way up from middle management. Married and divorced, with one child, now in college. Although she was free of scandals or any public record of bad behavior, Brandy had forwarded me copies of enough angry emails she’d sent to Cameron to wallpaper half the office.

  This woman clearly had a grudge. She pitted herself against Cameron regularly, over issues big and small. But her habit of making Cameron’s life difficult didn’t mean she’d go so far as to hurt her.

  I’d gathered a dossier on Bobby Spencer, too. According to both Cameron and Brandy, he didn’t have a motive. But he’d sent up a flag when I’d met him, and despite the fact that it was looking more and more like Cameron didn’t have anything to worry about, I wanted to be thorough.

  His background was far more colorful. Bobby Spencer had been living the rich playboy life since high school. A regular in the gossip rags. There were stories about his obnoxious behavior and paparazzi photos of him partying in cities all over the world. He was the sort of guy who expected to be ushered to the front of the line, let in to every exclusive club and event based on his last name and the zeroes in his trust fund.

  But why would a hard-partying rich boy want to hurt Cameron? The guy had it made. He’d never have to work a day in his life, and Cameron posed no threat to his decadent lifestyle.

  No motive.

  Corporate espionage was harder to trace, at least without a solid suspect. So far, I hadn’t found any connections between any key staff members at Spencer and anyone at Reese Howard. I’d have to cast my net a little wider. See if I caught anything.

  An alert popped up on my screen. Cameron had a breakfast meeting at a restaurant a couple of blocks away. I closed my laptop just as she came out of her office. We took the elevator down to the lobby and left out the front doors.

  I walked down the sidewalk next to her, keeping her on my left, away from the street. She did something on her phone, then tucked it away in her purse. Her heels clicked on the pavement and she brushed her thick red hair be
hind her shoulders.

  The restaurant was just close enough that we weren’t sweating by the time we stepped into the comfortable lobby. I held the door for her, then went inside and did a quick visual sweep. The restaurant was elegant. Nothing of note. No sense of danger, other than the ever-present tingle I always felt when I looked at Cameron.

  Everly Dalton, the woman she was interviewing, was already here. Pretty. Blond. Big smile. She and Cameron exchanged introductions and Cameron complimented her shoes.

  “Are you ready to be seated, Ms. Whitbury?” the hostess asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I could only see part of the restaurant from here. Despite the fact that we still didn’t have hard evidence that Cameron had been targeted—or was in real danger—I was still going to do my job. Thoroughly.

  Plus, she’d messed with me the other day. I’d mess with her right back.

  “I’ll go first,” I said.

  Cameron only lost control of her expression for a second, but I saw it. A spark of annoyance made her green eyes flash. God, she was sexy when she was trying not to argue with me. Without a word, she gestured for me to go ahead of her.

  I followed the hostess through the interior of the restaurant. The décor was subdued for Miami, sleek and modern with wood and chrome accents. About half the tables were taken. Couples, small groups, business meetings. Nothing unusual.

  The hostess led us to a private terrace with a single table. I held up my hand and went out first. I didn’t really need to inspect the entire area, but irritating Cameron was too tempting to resist. I could practically hear the snarky comments she was trying to hold back.

  I checked the table, moved the chairs and inspected beneath them. Did a quick walk around the terrace and looked over the balcony. An awning provided shade and planters held bright green plants. Nice ambiance. And obviously perfectly safe.

  “Clear,” I said and took up a position off to the side, my arms crossed.

  Cameron and Everly came out onto the terrace and Cameron cleared her throat. “Sorry. Jude is… security.”