Page 3 of Rescuing Erin

“Sorry, Erin,” he said, picking up a large, spiral bound pad and bolted faster than a speeding ticket.

Pussy.

“Why’s he sorry?” I asked. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” she mumbled.

“Put some fucking clothes on.” I looked around on the floor trying to find her dress when I finally spotted it on the same chair the man had laid his suit jacket. I didn’t bother looking for her bra and panties, if she had even worn them under her fancy gown. “Here.” I tossed the dress to her and turned my back.

But it was too late. Erin’s naked body would be forever seared into my memory. Every sexy inch of her.

Shit.

“It’s not what you think,” Erin said.

“It isn’t?” I turned to face her.

“No.”

“Funny, it looked to me like you were getting ready to fuck one of your country club boys, not even an hour after you were begging me to fuck you,” I mocked.

Erin adjusted her tight-fitting, strapless dress and offered no further explanation. Not that she owed me one. She was no one to me, a woman I’d been hired to babysit. If that was the case, why did it piss me off so badly?

“Virgin, my ass,” I mumbled and walked to the door. “Let’s go. I’m taking you home.” She didn’t protest and followed me.

“It really wasn’t—”

“Save it, Erin. I don’t give a shit.”

I heard something that sounded like a sob but I didn’t dare ask her what was wrong. The last time I fell for her wounded doe act, she’d sneak attacked me and shoved her tongue in my mouth. That wasn’t going to happen again.

“I know you don’t. No one does.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her what she meant when I caught sight of the photographer I’d choked out running toward the woods, reminding me I had a job to do. Protection—nothing else. If she needed someone to unload her burdens on, she could hire a therapist. I wasn’t that man.

Chapter 1

“We’re leaving,” Colin announced.

I remained silent as he prowled around my apartment like a caged animal. He always did this when he was in my home. Every time we walked in the door, he searched the bedrooms, closets, and bathrooms as if someone might possibly be lying in wait. It was ridiculous. Hell, the last year of my life had been one big overreaction.

“Erin? Did you hear me? Get packed. We’re leaving tonight,” he grouched.

With each passing day since the charity event, he’d become more and more unbearable to be around. He barked orders, he gave commands, and he kept his distance. I knew I’d screwed up the night of the party. I never should’ve kissed him. And I really never should’ve used William to try and make Colin jealous. I should’ve made him listen to me that night and explained who Willy was and what we were doing. But I didn’t, and the whole thing blew up in my face. Over the last few months, he’d put distance between us—both physical and figurative. He was never close to me unless we were in public and he was guarding me. No more sitting next to me on the couch at night. No more of the innocent touches I’d lived for. Nothing. He was distant and a complete ass.

I’d messed up.

“I heard you, Colin.”

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“An explanation.”

He was sadly mistaken if he thought I was going to pack a bag for places unknown and blindly follow. I had done that for the last seven years with my secret service detail. I was done being the dutiful first daughter. Done being told what to do instead of being asked. That’s what had started all this nonsense to begin with. Now that I wasn’t simply following orders, instead of living my life the way I wanted to, suddenly there was something wrong with me and I needed a full-time babysitter. It was beyond ridiculous. I knew my dad loved me and wanted me safe, but he’d gone way overboard ever since my friend, Olivia, had been kidnapped.

I was intimately aware of the limitations that were put on me because I was the first daughter. Being the only child of the President of the United States wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Colin thought I was a spoiled princess; he had no idea that was the furthest thing from the truth. Since my dad had been elected, I’d had no privacy. I was okay with most of it but never having a minute to just be me, had gotten old. It made me sound like a selfish bitch to everyone, including Colin. They all sat back and judged me. None of them had any idea what it was like to have someone always watching your every move. I’d been chastised by the media. Bloggers called me fat and ugly one week, and anorexic the next. Trolls on the internet made daily comments about everything from what I ate to what charities I supported. Everyone had an opinion—but no one knew me.

“An explanation? You’ve been briefed. Pack. We’re leaving soon.”