His Forbidden Guard

CHAPTER FIVE: DANGEROUS ATTRACTION

Daveson stood in the marble foyer of the Heyden estate, his hands clasped professionally behind his back, his face a careful mask of neutrality. Around him, five other security personnel waited in similar poses, all of them hoping to be selected for the permanent detail.

Marco had gotten him this far, an interview, a chance to prove himself. The rest was up to Daveson.

"Remember," Marco had told him that morning, "Mrs. Heyden is particular. She wants people who are competent but invisible. Professional but personable. You do your job, you don't ask questions, and you definitely don't stare."

Daveson had nodded, committing every word to memory. He couldn't afford to mess this up. This was everything he'd been working toward for six years.

The sound of heels clicking against marble made everyone straighten. Lissa Heyden swept into the room like a force of nature, tall, elegant, her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun that somehow made her look more beautiful rather than harsh. She wore a cream-colored suit that probably cost more than Daveson had made in the last year, and her cold blue eyes swept over the assembled candidates with the detached interest of someone inspecting livestock.

Daveson's hands clenched behind his back. This woman. This monster who had destroyed his father, who had smiled for cameras while his family fell apart, who lived in obscene luxury built on lies and stolen money.

He forced his breathing to remain steady. Forced his expression to stay neutral. Forced himself to meet her gaze when it landed on him without flinching, without showing the hatred that burned in his chest like acid.

"Marco speaks highly of you all," Lissa said, her voice smooth and cultured. "But I only need three for my personal detail. My head of security will make the final selections, but I like to meet potential hires personally." Her lips curved in what might have been a smile. "I find that first impressions are rarely wrong."

She moved down the line, asking brief questions, making small talk that felt like an examination. When she reached Daveson, she paused, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Roarke Daveson, correct?"

"Yes, ma'am." His voice came out steady. Professional.

"You're young for this level of work."

"I'm good at what I do, ma'am."

"Confidence. I like that." She studied him for another moment. "Marco says you have excellent situational awareness. That you can read a room better than men twice your age."

"I pay attention to details."

"Good. Details are what keep people alive." She stepped back, addressing the group. "You'll be working a trial period over the next month. Various events, different situations. At the end, we'll make final selections for who stays on permanently. My son will be joining us shortly to meet you as well. He'll be requiring security for some upcoming travel, so you'll need to work well with him too."

Daveson's stomach tightened. Her son. He'd researched Leonard Heyden, of course, 26 years old, vice president of operations at Heyden Industries, master's degree from Columbia, considered a rising star in the business world. But research was different from meeting someone face to face.

The double doors at the far end of the foyer opened, and Daveson's entire world tilted on its axis.

Leonard Heyden walked in with the easy confidence of someone who'd never questioned his place in the world. He was taller than Daveson had expected, at least six-two, with a lean, athletic build evident even beneath his expensive charcoal suit. But it was his face that made Daveson's mouth go dry.

Sharp cheekbones. A strong jaw. Lips that were somehow both firm and soft-looking, curved in a slight smile as he greeted his mother. And his eyes, violet, an unusual shade that seemed to shift between blue and purple depending on the light, were striking enough to stop Daveson's breath in his throat.

And his hair. God, his hair. Golden yellow waves that fell just past his collar, the kind of hair that made you want to run your fingers through it, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Daveson stared.

He couldn't help it. For a moment, all his careful planning, all his controlled rage, all his focus on the mission, it all vanished under the weight of pure, physical attraction that hit him like a freight train.

This is Lissa Heyden's son, his mind tried to remind him. The enemy. Off-limits. Dangerous.

But his body wasn't listening. Heat was pooling low in his belly, his pulse accelerating, his pants suddenly feeling too tight. He was getting hard, right here in the foyer, surrounded by other candidates and the woman he'd sworn to destroy, because her son was the most beautiful man he'd ever seen.

He forced himself to look away, to stare at a point on the far wall, jaw clenched so tight it ached. Get control. Now.

"Everyone, this is my son, Leonard," Lissa was saying. "Leo handles most of our international operations, so some of you may be traveling with him to Europe and Asia over the next year."

Leonard moved down the line, shaking hands, making polite conversation. His voice was deeper than Daveson had expected, warm and rich, with a hint of something darker underneath that made Daveson's skin prickle with awareness.

And then Leonard was standing in front of him.

"Roarke, is it?" Leonard extended his hand.

Daveson forced himself to meet those violet eyes, and the impact nearly knocked him sideways. Up close, Leonard was even more devastating, the faint smell of expensive cologne, the way his suit jacket stretched across broad shoulders, the slight curve of his lips that suggested he smiled easily.

"Yes, sir." Daveson took his hand, and the contact sent electricity shooting up his arm. Leonard's grip was firm, confident, his palm warm against Daveson's.

They held the handshake a beat too long.

Leonard's eyes flickered with something Daveson couldn't quite read, surprise, maybe, or recognition of the same pull Daveson was feeling. His gaze dropped briefly to Daveson's mouth, then back up, and his pupils dilated slightly.

He feels it too.

The realization should have terrified Daveson. Instead, it made his blood run hotter, made him hyper-aware of everywhere their skin was touching, made him imagine what those lips would feel like pressed against his own.

"Marco speaks highly of you," Leonard said, his voice slightly rougher than it had been a moment ago. "Says you have good instincts."

"I try, sir."

"Leo. Just Leo is fine." Leonard's thumb brushed against Daveson's wrist, so quick it could have been accidental. But the heat in his eyes said otherwise. "I look forward to working with you."

He finally released Daveson's hand and moved on to the next candidate, but Daveson could feel him. Could feel Leonard's attention like a physical weight even as he talked to someone else. And when Daveson risked a glance sideways, he found Leonard looking back at him, that same intensity in his violet gaze.

Fuck.

This was bad. This was so incredibly, monumentally bad.

Daveson had spent six years planning this. Six years preparing, training, building himself into someone who could infiltrate the Heyden family and destroy them from the inside. He couldn't afford distractions. Couldn't afford to feel anything for Leonard Heyden except perhaps strategic manipulation.

But his body had other ideas. Even now, standing at attention while Lissa concluded her remarks, he was painfully aware of Leonard across the room. The way he stood, the way he moved, the occasional glance he sent Daveson's direction that felt like a caress.

By the time the meeting ended and they were dismissed, Daveson was wound so tight he thought he might shatter. He made it to the bathroom down the hall, locked himself in a stall, and pressed his forehead against the cool metal door, trying to breathe through the chaos in his head.

This doesn't change anything, he told himself firmly. So what if Leonard is attractive? So what if there's chemistry? It's just biology. Just hormones. It doesn't matter.

But he knew he was lying to himself.

Because the way Leonard had looked at him, like Daveson was something precious and dangerous all at once, that wasn't just attraction. That was interest. Real interest.

And God help him, Daveson wanted to explore it. Wanted to know what would happen if he pushed back against that interest. Wanted to feel those hands on him, that mouth against his, wanted to discover if Leonard kissed as intensely as he stared.

His phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: You impressed my mother. Good work. - L

Daveson stared at the message, his heart hammering. Leonard had gotten his number somehow. Was texting him privately. That was... unprofessional. Forward. Exactly the kind of boundary-crossing that could get complicated fast.

He should delete it. Should maintain professional distance.

Instead, he found himself typing back: Thank you. I hope to prove myself worthy of the position.

Three dots appeared immediately. Then: I'm sure you will. You have good hands. I noticed.

Daveson's breath caught. That was definitely flirting. No mistaking it.

He could shut this down. Should shut this down. Send back something neutral and professional that established clear boundaries.

His fingers moved across the screen: I notice things too.

The response was immediate: Oh? Like what?

Daveson hesitated, teetering on the edge of something dangerous and exhilarating. Every instinct screamed at him to pull back, to remember why he was here, to not complicate the mission.

But then he remembered the way Leonard had looked at him. The heat in those violet eyes. The slight flush on his cheeks when their hands had touched.

Like the way you looked at me, Daveson typed. Like you were trying to figure me out.

A longer pause this time. Then: Still trying. You're... different. Interesting. I'd like to know more.

That could be arranged, Daveson sent back, his pulse racing.

Good. We'll be seeing a lot of each other, Roarke. I look forward to it.

Daveson pocketed his phone and stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His pupils were blown wide, his lips slightly parted, his cheeks flushed. He looked like someone who'd just been thoroughly kissed, not someone who'd exchanged a few text messages.

"Get it together," he muttered to himself. "This is just a complication. You can use this. Turn it to your advantage."

But even as he said the words, he knew he was in trouble.

Because the way his body had responded to Leonard, the immediate, visceral attraction that had made him hard and needy and desperate, that wasn't something he could fake.

That was real.

And that made Leonard Heyden the most dangerous person in this entire operation.