The Mogul and the Muscle - Claire Kingsley Page 0,26

effects. Add to that the usual aggravation of dealing with Noelle, plus the parking garage incident, and I was like a rubber band being pulled too tight.

But now I felt a bit like a kid who’d been grounded. I knew it was irrational. No one was keeping me from leaving my house. But it irritated me that I couldn’t just go somewhere on a whim. Get in my car and go shopping by myself for a few hours.

Although, when was the last time I’d actually done that? I had a personal shopper because I was always too busy. And she was fabulous. But damn it, I wanted to go try on some shoes in a store.

Me: Fine, you’re probably right. But don’t get cocky about it.

Brandy sent a gif of a rooster strutting down a sidewalk.

I pulled up Jude’s number and sent him a text.

Me: I’m leaving the enclave and could use a big guy who doesn’t talk much to follow me around. Know anyone?

Jude: I have a guy for that. He’s good.

Okay fine, he was funny.

Me: Meet me at my house in an hour?

Jude: Destination?

Me: Shoe shopping. I’ll drive.

Jude: No problem.

10

Cameron

Weekend Jude managed to surprise me.

He arrived at my house precisely fifty-five minutes after our last text. On a vintage Indian motorcycle.

Damn him.

I loved motorcycles. I loved men on motorcycles. I had a not-so-secret obsession with a TV series about a motorcycle gang and their very sexy and compellingly complicated leader. I read deliciously unrealistic motorcycle club romances.

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