Seeking Her (Losing It #3.5)(5)
Author: Cora Carmack

There was nothing that said women couldn’t have meaningless sex. I’d had my fair share, and it was only double-­standard ass**les that didn’t seem to think that that was okay.

And I didn’t want to be that guy.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever Kelsey was feeling, relaxed wasn’t it.

I resisted the urge to move closer. The trail was wide open next to her. There was no sneaking up on her now, not like when she’d been in the woods.

So I had to wait, with just conjecture and my GPS for company. If only that little app could tell me where her mind was along with her body.

Not that that mattered. How she was feeling had nothing to do with my job. I just needed to keep her safe. But then again . . . how she was feeling would influence her actions, which did matter to me.

When the sun’s light was low in the sky, casting angled shadows across the trail, Kelsey sat up.

I strained my eyes to see if she’d been crying or if there was any other signal of meaning for her little break.

I got nothing.

She looked as perfect as ever, and I decided that it had all been me, seeing what I wanted to see. She was fine.

I made a promise to myself once and for all to turn off the emotional side of this. I needed to be as objective as possible if this was going to work.

From now on, I would watch her when I could.

Find her when I’d lost her.

Protect her when she needed me.

That was it. Nothing else.

3

TEMPTATION. IF THIS mission had a code name, that would be it.

Not just Kelsey, though the girl was temptation at it’s finest, but everything about it. It was hard to stay focused on work when “the office” was a bar.

I’d pretty much decided that she was a spoiled rich girl, and that made her easier to resist. But having daddy’s credit card meant she had no shortage of outfits designed just to bring men to their knees.

She was wearing one now—­ a short white lacy skirt that made her tan skin seem to glow in the light of the bar. Her shirt hung off one shoulder in a way that was supposed to look like an accidental peek of skin, but definitely wasn’t. And there was just something about the plateau of her shoulder that made you want to lay your lips against it for a taste.

That wasn’t the only thing beckoning for a taste, though.

I watched her lick her lips before tipping back some dark concoction in a shot glass that tonight’s guy had bought for her.

I clenched my fists harder, wincing at the stinging cuts my short nails made into my palm, and focused my eyes elsewhere. I wasn’t here to have a good time. I busied myself scanning the bar for potential hazards.

The only potential danger I saw was a drunk guy weaving through the tables. And he was mostly in danger of knocking over any drink within a ten-­foot radius.

I redirected my gaze to Kelsey in time to see her finish a shot and then take a lime from between some dude’s lips.

A few seconds later, she grinned wildly, like she was having the best f**king time of her life.

I envied her that.

I’d certainly done my fair share of partying. I could still remember the first party I’d attended in high school. I’d been a freshman, and when I made varsity basketball, the team invited me out with them.

My first shot of tequila had burned like rubbing alcohol, and I ended that night blowing chunks into the pool in the backyard.

Funny how something so terrible could be nostalgic now.

Maybe Kelsey’s dad was strict. The fact that he hired me certainly meant that he was controlling. Maybe she was just sowing her wild oats. And as much as I didn’t want to be here, I couldn’t exactly begrudge her the chance to loosen up.

And damn, was she good at loosening up.

The music was electronic and kind of all over the place. It made it even harder to focus on the task at hand, and I could feel the beginning of a headache pulsing above my eyebrow.

I heard a shrill shriek on the other side of the bar and jumped to attention. My mind ordered my feet to move, and I got a few steps before I really catalogued the situation.

Kelsey wasn’t in trouble.

Not really.

A guy with dark hair and model good-­looks had lifted her up to sit on the bar, and she was laughing as he pushed her to stand up on it.

She shook her head, her smile so wide that it shone in the dim bar. The guy said something, his fingers pressing into her waist. She laughed, throwing her head back. Her hair fanned out behind her, and my fingers itched to freeze time and sketch her in that moment.

Her eyes closed—­she looked transported. Like she lived on some other plane, one brighter and more beautiful than ours. And I wasn’t the only one who thought so. Eyes all across the bar were pinned on her, no doubt drawn by the same inexplicable essence that made me unable to take my eyes off of her, regardless of what I was supposed to be doing. In that moment, I think everyone envied her.

And if she was magnetic then, she was downright hypnotic when she pulled up her feet, and balanced her hands against her date to stand up on the bar.

A group had formed around her, ­people that she’d spent the night flitting between like the ultimate social butterfly. They laughed and cheered, drawn to her like moths to the flame. And maybe I was too, because before I realized it, I was less than a dozen feet away, leaning against the bar.

She swayed her hips, and the electronic music that had seemed chaotic before made sense when seen through the movement of her body. The music was . . . restless, a description that worked when applied to Kelsey, too.

Despite being the center of this entire bar’s attention, her eyes were flicking around, constantly on the lookout for what was next, waiting for something more. I couldn’t tell if it was boredom that had her always looking ahead or something else.

She bent, giving me (and everyone else) a long look at her legs. When she stood, she’d pulled another girl up on top of the bar with her. Within minutes, the bartender had cranked up the music and the vibe of the entire bar changed.

Where before all the chairs had been filled, now it was the aisles and the open space that were overflowing. ­People were dancing on their own, in pairs, and in groups. But still . . . every few seconds they seemed to cast their eyes up to the girl dancing on the bar, the girl who had single-­handedly turned the night upside down.

I sat down on a stool, watching her, too. It was impossible not to. A few other girls had joined her on the bar, and Kelsey seemed completely oblivious to all the guys who were practically salivating below.

I was far from oblivious.

A song came on, some remixed version of an American hit that I couldn’t stand, and she threw her arms up and declared to no one, “I love this song.”