Regin’s waist to prevent her from leaving and reached out with his right to shake the hand of the man staring daggers at him. “Damon Taylor. I’m a friend of the Duchess here.” He nodded to Regin, who was trying to subtly wiggle her way out of his grasp. She shot a look of distrust toward their uninvited guest.
“Don’t bother being nice to him or he’ll think you’re hitting on him.” With that parting shot, she wrenched free and stomped toward the house, leaving Damon’s mouth hanging open and Galen ready to leap after her.
Damon grasped Galen’s arm to keep him from charging after her. “Don’t even think of going near her. Not until we talk.”
He released Galen’s arm and nodded his head toward the path. “Let’s walk, Matthews, and you can tell me if you’re worth the money I’m spending. More importantly, what are you going to do to keep her alive?”
Instead of answering him, Galen walked lightning fast toward the pond. Damon followed. When they reached the tree line, Galen turned and pulled Damon by his white oxford shirt to his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Taylor?” Galen demanded.
No one dared talk to him this way. He was Damon Taylor, CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation. He didn’t answer questions, he asked them. “I’m keeping an eye on Regin, which is more than what you’re doing,” he said, unclenching Galen’s fingers from his now wrinkled shirt. “What the hell did you say to her? She already thinks you hate her.”
At the last statement, Galen’s head did pop up. He looked even more fascinated by the conversation, but just as quickly, he lowered his eyelids shutting down again. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks or how she feels. The only thing that matters is that I keep her alive.”
He lifted his head and met Damon’s gaze. “In order for me to do that, you’re going to be gone tomorrow. No questions asked or I walk. You can’t be here. Makes one more person I have to baby-sit, not to mention, you’ll be in my way. You’re cannon fodder, Taylor.” He paused to let the statement sink in, then continued. “Let me know now if this is going to be a problem, cause I don’t give a damn one way or another who spies on your whor-...woman. I get paid either way.” Galen turned and stared at the water.
The security man must have been preoccupied or he would have seen Damon’s fist heading straight for his jaw. “She’s not my whore, you bastard. She’s my best friend.”
Galen reacted to the blow before Damon’s fist even connected with his bone. He swung his left arm out to block the next hit, while his right arm took aim at Damon’s nose. Cracking bone and freely flowing blood from that less than perfect nose provided Galen considerable pleasure. The cocky bodyguard grinned from ear to ear. Before he could get too happy, Damon launched another swift right to his cheekbone and hoped he left Galen seeing stars. Then Damon backed a few steps away, breathing in ragged gasps. “Don’t you ever call her names,” he snarled. “She deserves more respect than that.”
“Son of a bitch,” Galen growled as he wiped the blood from his split lip. “I ought to kick your ass to Texas and back.”
Without another word, Damon launched himself at Galen and felt another rush of pleasure as they went toppling down onto the sand—fists and curses flew out in the night.
The fight was on.
****
Ten minutes later a wolf whistle broke through the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Both men stopped, looked over at one another, and dropped to the ground grinning. In the mysterious way of men all over the world, they had resolved their differences with their fists. Lying on their backs and fighting to draw breath into battered and bruised bodies, neither one said a word. Everything that needed to be said had been spoken through physical communication.
Where the hell the preppy had learned to fight so dirty, Galen wondered. When he
“Don’t bother being nice to him or he’ll think you’re hitting on him.” With that parting shot, she wrenched free and stomped toward the house, leaving Damon’s mouth hanging open and Galen ready to leap after her.
Damon grasped Galen’s arm to keep him from charging after her. “Don’t even think of going near her. Not until we talk.”
He released Galen’s arm and nodded his head toward the path. “Let’s walk, Matthews, and you can tell me if you’re worth the money I’m spending. More importantly, what are you going to do to keep her alive?”
Instead of answering him, Galen walked lightning fast toward the pond. Damon followed. When they reached the tree line, Galen turned and pulled Damon by his white oxford shirt to his face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing here, Taylor?” Galen demanded.
No one dared talk to him this way. He was Damon Taylor, CEO of a multi-billion-dollar corporation. He didn’t answer questions, he asked them. “I’m keeping an eye on Regin, which is more than what you’re doing,” he said, unclenching Galen’s fingers from his now wrinkled shirt. “What the hell did you say to her? She already thinks you hate her.”
At the last statement, Galen’s head did pop up. He looked even more fascinated by the conversation, but just as quickly, he lowered his eyelids shutting down again. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks or how she feels. The only thing that matters is that I keep her alive.”
He lifted his head and met Damon’s gaze. “In order for me to do that, you’re going to be gone tomorrow. No questions asked or I walk. You can’t be here. Makes one more person I have to baby-sit, not to mention, you’ll be in my way. You’re cannon fodder, Taylor.” He paused to let the statement sink in, then continued. “Let me know now if this is going to be a problem, cause I don’t give a damn one way or another who spies on your whor-...woman. I get paid either way.” Galen turned and stared at the water.
The security man must have been preoccupied or he would have seen Damon’s fist heading straight for his jaw. “She’s not my whore, you bastard. She’s my best friend.”
Galen reacted to the blow before Damon’s fist even connected with his bone. He swung his left arm out to block the next hit, while his right arm took aim at Damon’s nose. Cracking bone and freely flowing blood from that less than perfect nose provided Galen considerable pleasure. The cocky bodyguard grinned from ear to ear. Before he could get too happy, Damon launched another swift right to his cheekbone and hoped he left Galen seeing stars. Then Damon backed a few steps away, breathing in ragged gasps. “Don’t you ever call her names,” he snarled. “She deserves more respect than that.”
“Son of a bitch,” Galen growled as he wiped the blood from his split lip. “I ought to kick your ass to Texas and back.”
Without another word, Damon launched himself at Galen and felt another rush of pleasure as they went toppling down onto the sand—fists and curses flew out in the night.
The fight was on.
****
Ten minutes later a wolf whistle broke through the sounds of flesh hitting flesh. Both men stopped, looked over at one another, and dropped to the ground grinning. In the mysterious way of men all over the world, they had resolved their differences with their fists. Lying on their backs and fighting to draw breath into battered and bruised bodies, neither one said a word. Everything that needed to be said had been spoken through physical communication.
Where the hell the preppy had learned to fight so dirty, Galen wondered. When he
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