PROLOGUE

**                                                                               TAE **

Some men are just hot.

The

hot that's hard to look away from. The kind that stops you in your tracks.

That makes your mouth water. That's so damn hard to resist.

Like, say, off the top of my head, the man next to me when my concerts end. The man is waiting to walk me offstage.

Whoever made him work by my side was indeed trying to test my self-control.

Oh, hang on.

That'd be me since I was the one who dug his own grave when I hired him.

I'm lucky that I'm a king of resistance. I can stay strong in the face of plenty of life temptations, and I'm frequently doing that. When a man is off-limits, then he's off-limits.

End of story.

Eyes though? That's a whole other story.

It's too damn hard to not check the man out or steal glances at him.

Fine, some of my glances are more like shameless stares. But it's not only me who's enjoying the view. The whole damn SNS is.

I have seen the pictures of us that the paparazzi take of us. Shots of him walking next to me on the streets of Seoul, Las Vegas, Chicago and London. Images of him standing by a limo as I step out of it. Shots of us at the airports, heading past the security.

But like I said, he's off-limits. Because of the job. And also because of, you know, I don't think he's into guys.

So I keep things fun. Light.

We shoot the shit. I give him a hard time because it's fun to wind him up. But I never cross the line, even in my fantasies, since what's the point? The world is full of beautiful men and women, and I don't need to salivate over someone who doesn't swing the way like me.

Until the night I discover I'm wrong.

And I learn that he's into every bloody thing I'm down for.

That's when I discover a whole new meaning to the word 'resist'.

Though, not sure how long I can.

___

PROLOGUE

**                                                                              JUNGKOOK**

Nobody would ever accuse me of being laid back.

The word 'chill' has never been applied to yours truly.

But that's okay. There's not really a thriving job market for an easygoing, laid-back, relaxed...bodyguard.

"Easygoing" is the opposite of the job qualification.

Words that people use to describe me would be more like "intense," "focused," and "dedicated."

That's what clients want.

They don't want someone who's a "no big deal."

Everything in my line of work has the potential to be a big deal, and my job is to be vigilant.

That's why I've learned not to sweat the small stuff.

Shit that would irk me years ago doesn't even register as a blip on my radar anymore.

I don't get worked up about everyday annoyances like slow Wi-Fi, stalled traffic, people cancelling on you, or people not cancelling when you want them to.

Life's little irritations aren't worth obsessing over. But... there's one thing that's driving me crazy. One thing I desperately want to let go of.

It's like a fever.

Give me a pill, the antidote.

Because there's one inconvenience I simply can't shake, and it's this---being unfairly, ridiculously, insanely attracted to the guy who signs my paychecks.

That's the problem I want to solve. That's the riddle I must solve. Because, dammit, I need to find a way to stop this irresistible pull towards my boss. The tall tempting man who pays my bills. The guy with the sexy-as-sin stubble, the athletic build, and the magnetic smile.

I would like to find a way out of this desire that doesn't involve pinning him up against the wall, kissing the breath out of him, and having my way with him.

Anything.

The golden rule of my profession is this---never ever fall for your client.

I never have. And I don't even plan to.

Because any kind of physical connection between us could push me to my breaking point.

And then, it happens.

One night in the hotel when he fans my jealousy. Then the push comes.

 And I have to decide if I'm going to let go of the attraction.

Or if the attraction is going to take a hold of me.

                                                                                      ____

                                                                                     TAE

I like to indulge. I could say it comes with the territory. As a rock star, the excess is a daily item on the menu, and it's one I love to order du jour.

It's a course I'm quite fond of.

And my indulgences are highly specific.

I don't eat meat, I don't do drugs. And I have zero interest in fast cars.

But I do like one particular thing more than anything else. Or, really, one particular..... everything.

Bodies.

Skin.

Beauty.

and what comes with them.

Sex.

Sex is my jam. It's like my oxygen. It's life. Sex is my all-time preference, with music being the only thing that's in close contention.

My appetite is voracious for both. I'm up for any genre of song. I'm down for any position, and any person, in the bedroom.

I'm an omnivore. There's an open-door policy at casa de tae.

And I aim to make it good for everyone involved. Like tonight.

This most epic night starts with a killer show at the MGM Las Vegas. One where I play my heart our on my strat and where I sing like it's all I've ever wanted to do.

It's a dope concert. The crowd is magnetic. There are all sorts of magic in the audience.

and it only gets better with the after-party.

The kind in the penthouse suite as orgasms abound.

There are orgasms for everyone.

A good time indeed for all.

 A necessary one, since my longtime BFF asked me to do him a solid of playing second banana in a trio with his woman.

Lexi wanted this three's-a-charm combo. It's her fantasy---to be serviced by two men at the same time. Honestly, it's a fantasy for a lot of women, and it's one I've been damn lucky to dabble in and deliver on a few times over the years.

At tonight's fiesta of fucking, no words cross, and that's fine by me because I'm there to please her.

That's what my friend's woman wants---to be lavished with cocks and tongues all over her body. We give that to her, and I know she's falling deeper in love with my buddy for being man enough to serve up all her dirty fantasies on a silver platter of sex and love.

Everyone leaves the suite happy.

Now here I am, the clock ticking close to midnight, stretched out in a swank booth at a plush The Great Gatsby-- Era speakeasy on the main floor of this luxury hotel smack dab in the middle of Sin City.

With my hot-as-hell bodyguard by my side and the two lovers across from us. Jimin and Lexi are googly-eyed and lovey-dovey. They can't take their eyes off each other.

It's nauseatingly wonderful, and I love it.

I nudge Jungkook with my elbow. "I'm a wizard. I am motherfucking magic," I say, pleased as punch and proud of my work here tonight. I'm dirty cupid, firing arrows of true love dipped in fiery sec.

"Yes, I'm sure it was your wand that did it," Jungkook retorts in that deadpan tone of his. He is a master of the deadpan.

I wiggle my brows. " My wand nows all sorts of spells. I mean, just look at them," I say under my breath as Lexi tangles her fingers in her bodyguard's hair, tugging Callum closer for a smooth.

"Hard to look elsewhere when they're literally across from us."

"C'mon. Even you, Mr I Don't Blink, can't resist the sight of true love. I bet it's melting your cold heart."

He shoots me a chilling stare. We're talking freezer-burner levels. "Do you want me to blink?"

He makes a fair point.

"Maybe not," I admit.

"Good. That's what I thought."

"But I dare you to admit your heart is turning into a puddle in that steel-encased chest of yours," I say, goading him.

The tiniest laugh escapes from his lips, but the stoic man shakes his head in denial. Still, I catch the sliver of amusement in the slight of his lips.

I'm grinning too, since my peeps are on their path to happily ever after, and they sure look like they need to be alone. Maybe they need permission too---the reminder that the double-**** party is over and that it's more than okay for them to be by themselves.

I cleared my throat. Loudly. Dramatically. Lexi and Jimin look at me, a little chagrined. "Yoo-hoo. Your suite is upstairs. Time to get your pretty asses out of here," I wave toward the exit, shooing them. "Be on your merry way, lovebirds."

Lexi gives me an are you sure look. "You don't mind?"

"I'm all good, Lexi. One hundred per cent. Go do your thing," I say, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder to show just how good I am without them. "I'm going to grab a nightcap with Jk. If he'll have one."

My gaze drifts to the man next to me. Jeon Jungkook.

Everything about his smoking hot, even his last name. He sounds like an action man. Like he has a TV adventure series. But then, everything about him is surface-of-Mercury temperature.

Figures he'd be straight.

So many of the hottest ones are. But I'll never lament that when I was born with the good fortune to be able to consider all the offerings at any table.

Jimin rises, patting me on the back. "Thanks again, man."

I slice a hand through the air. "Say nothing of it. That's what friends are for."

"I owe you," Jimin adds serious and intense.

Out of the corner of my eye, I register that Jungkook's jaw ticks. Like he's the slightest bit peeved.

Which is pretty weird.

Why would he be ticked by Jimin's words?

But then, my bodyguard has no patience for my antics some nights.

Most nights.

No biggie. that only makes me want to give Jk more antics.

Especially since I'm not in the mood whatsoever for this night to end. Sure, I'm ready to say sayonara to my buds, but bedtime doesn't interest me. Talking, chilling, chatting---that absolutely does, since I'm still buzzing from the high of the concert.

After Lexi and Jimin leave. Jungkook shifts to a chair across from me, probably so he can get a better view of the exit now that the others are gone.

"Just you and me, Jk. Should we get some Ben and Jerry's and have a gabfest? Or play Would You Rather?"

He snorts, rolling his eyes. "You don't like Ben and Jerry's."

"Figures that's what you'd home in on. Trying to catch me on a technicality. But I do lIke ice cream in general."

"Everyone likes ice cream in general," he counters. "Do you? I've never seen you eat it."

"Is that important to you when it comes to your security detail? That you have visual proof of me licking an ice cream cone?"

I linger on that image for a few seconds, though I shouldn't. But in my defence, he planted it in my head.

The tempter that he is.

I'm picturing Jungkook's tongue licking mint chip cone, and that's not so fair.

"Yes, I would like proof very much," I say, then return to the immediate issue---what comes next. "So, the way I see it is this---we could go out for cones or have another drink. After all, we had an epic show tonight. We need to celebrate."

He cocks his head, arches a brow, and, after a second, asks, "Isn't that what you've been doing? Celebrating?"

An edge slices his voice, reminding me of his jaw ticking a few moments ago, but I don't let either deter me. "Why stop, then?" I stretch my arms out wide across the back of the booth.

He's stoic, as he often is. then, after a few seconds, Jungkook nods, neat and crisp. "I'm on the job, but I'll take a seltzer water."

"Let's get this man a seltzer, then," I call the server over and order another bubbly water for my favourite bodyguard, then a Macallan for me.

"Glad to see you're not trying to slip away," I tease when the server takes off.

Jungkook barely cracks a grin. "I believe the job entails me not slipping away."

I slam my hand on my chest like I'm mortally wounded. "You're only here for the job?"

He raises a brow, his expression amused. "Did you think I was here for the bubbly water?"

"The company man. The goddamn company.Moi."

He smirks. "And the company pays well, so thank you for not hiring volunteer bodyguards."

I reach out an arm and smack him on the shoulder.

The rock-hard shoulder.

That's my guy.

He's a solid mass of a man.

Jungkook is that kind of guy. When his picture shows up, comments flood the page. Peeps weigh in saying if he were protecting them, they'd arrange trouble so he'd have to wrap his arms around them.

Understandably.

And the uniform? It's pure porn. Black slacks. A tight button-down that stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled up and showing off the veins of his forearms. He's everything you could want in a protector.

He's a perma-take dude, You can't stop looking at him.

And yet....

I won't get caught up in what I can't have. I might like everything, but I respect the hell of boundaries.

I like women who like men and I like men who like men, but I do not ever try to turn a guy who's straight. What would be the point? The way I see it, there's a whole wide world out there teeming with men and women who like to play, who like to have fun. same as I do.

Fun should never come with shame. Or regret. or doubt.

When I'm with Jungkook, I focus on having a good time with my employee. Though "employee" feels like such a weird term for the person who's by my side all day long.

The person I do everything with.

When the waiter brings the next round, Jungkook thanks him and then lasers on me. "So what's on your mind tonight, boss? You are going to give me a hard time about whether the Beatles are better than the Stones, if mustard is harder to live without than ketchup, or whether California is a cooler state than New York?"

Out of habit. I answer, "Stones, mustard, Cali."

But then I tilt my head, latching onto something in his voice.

A note. A sound.

Almost like he doesn't want to leave this scene either.

Almost like he wants to stay, for reasons I can't quite figure out.

 But I want to. Oh hell, do I want to.

                                                                     Jungkook

Just to be clear, this is all I'll allow.

Surface talk. Nothing deeper. Nothing more.

These random debates we engage in keep my mind off the white-hot lust that's camped out in my chest.

Shooting the breeze in a bar won't get under my skin.

Well, no more than anything with him does. No more than any talk.

any moment.

Any night with my client, the sexy-as-sin rock star to who I hate being attracted.

The guy with the long, lean body.

I have seen him with his shirt off. The whole world has. It's his thing. He rips off his T-shirt at the end of the occasional show and tosses it into the audience.

I've seen those damn shirts go up for sale online for a thousand bucks or more. I've told him he should donate them to charity. He says they're for the fans, and he wants the fans to be happy.

It's yet another topic we don't see eye to eye on. We disagree on nearly everything.

That helps my keep-my-hands-off-him cause.

So, when he tosses the Beatles versus Stones, mustard versus ketchup, and California versus New York questions back at me, I deliberately pick the opposites.

"Beatles, ketchup, New York," I say, and take a drink of the seltzer.

He huffs as if mortally wounded by my different tastes. "The next thing I know You are going to tell me you prefer Santana's cover of 'Black Magic Woman' to the Fleetwood Mac classic," Tae says.

I give my most serious stare. "Everyone does. That's up to there on the list of cover songs that are better than the original.

He curses. "Dammit."

I grin. "I'm right and you know it."

His eyes narrow---those intense brown eyes that are so gorgeous, that I hate that I love looking at them. "You're right," he grumbles.

I wag a finger. "Don't make me prove you wrong, man. Maybe you want to try another music debate."

"I'm always game for a musical debate."

"Hit me up, then," I say. I'm a glutton for punishment.

"Fine, how's this?" Tae sets his empty glass on the table at Speakeasy and pierces me with those eyes.

"You can't possibly count Imagine Dragons as alt."

I shrug with a smirk. "I can, and I do."

He stabs the table with his finger. "That's sacrilege, man. That's what my teenage sister listens to."

I laugh. Like he thinks I don't know that's a big fat lie.

"Tae, come on. What do you take me for? You don't have a teenage sister."

"Exactly. That's my point." He leans back in the booth, stretching his long legs in front of him.

I narrow my brows. "You invented a sister to make a point? That makes zero sense."

"That's who listens to Imagine Dragons. Teenage girls. I'm not saying they aren't a cool band. I'm not saying their music isn't dope. But my point is they're not alt-rock, even if they started on college stations. Teens love them. alt-rock isn't for teens. Ergo..."

That's my opening, my way to needle him, since needling Tae is how I handle the gallons of lust I feel for him. I nod like I'm absorbing his point. "What you're saying is you don't like music that teenagers enjoy. You're saying that if a teenager likes it, it's not quality music," I say, having fun winding him up.

It takes my mind off this absolutely inconvenient attraction.

His voice rises, full of conversation fury. "That's not what I said at all, and you know it. you're just twisting my words to suit yourself."

I crack up. "You think that's what I'm doing? I'm twisting everything the great Kim Taehyung says to win my argument?"

"Maybe you are. Does it suit your agenda?" He finishes that question by edging up on the last word like it means something else.

Maybe it does. That's the crux of my problem.

Determined to overcome this weakness, I focus on the subject of music, only music. " Seems you're the only twisting logic to support your argument that teens don't have a musical taste. Did you know I have a sixteen-year-old sister?"

I wait for his answer. I'm confident he doesn't know this detail about me because I don't share shit with him and my life is not lived on the internet. I'm not the open book he is. the book of me is closed, and there is no social media to scroll through.

For reasons. for necessary reasons--namely self-preservation.

He huffs. "No. Thanks a lot for trusting me with your innermost secrets about your siblings."

I laugh. "Thanks for never asking." "Would you have answered if I had?

I cross my arms over my chest. "Why don't you ask and find out?"

He takes a deep breath like he's settling himself.

"Jeon Jungkook, do you have a sixteen-year-old sister? And while we are doing the family tree thing, do you have any other siblings?"

I grin. " I have a twenty-six-year-old sister who's a high school teacher. She's also good at chess, and she and her boyfriend do competitive couples kayaking together. My sixteen-year-old sister likes all kinds of music. She likes Imagine Dragons and Nirvana, the Beatles and Alanis Morissette, show tunes and Greyson Chance. she also likes Beethoven. her taste is wide and varied and electric. Also, Imagine Dragons 'Radioactive' was first released on alt radio before major labels picked it up.

That musical debate mic drop leaves Tae speechless for a minute. He drags a hand through his hair, lingering through the strands, making me think of the briefest pf seconds what it would feel like to run my hands through those strands.

How it would be to tighten a fist around it. Tug it.

Yank his head back.

I tell myself to settle down. What I really ought to be telling myself is to walk away. I should not sit here at this bar with him where we're simply talking.

Talking leads to feelings.

I have to stop believing this kind of talking is okay at its surface level.

None of these feelings for him is okay. Especially not tonight.

Especially knowing he was in a suite with Lexi and Jimin, her bodyguard. That's what's driving me crazy---the thought of what he might have been doing in there with everyone.

But maybe especially with Jimin. Especially with another guy.

My muscles tense all over at the reminder, like someone turned the crank inside me.

Tae sets his elbow on the table. "But why do I have to ask? Why don't you ever share?"

His question pierces me as if he can poke through the protective layer I wear when I'm around him. The one to keep him away because I can't stand how I feel.

I pick up my glass, drain the rest of the drink, and set it down. Then sidestep the messy truth. I don't share, because I don't want to let him in. It's easier to make him think he's keeping me out.

I give a casual shrug. "Because you don't really talk about anything besides yourself."

Tae points at me, incensed. "That's not true. You know that's a bald-faced lie. We talk all the time. We talk as we walk. I don't walk ten feet in front of you. I walk next to you all the time, brother," he says, his words piling on top of each other. The man is worked up, and it's kind of hot, kind of sexy.

Wait. Better revise that to all hot, all sexy.

"Yeah, you do?" I ask, just to keep him going, to hear him talk because I'm a masochist.

"I walk next to you every day and we discuss restaurants, clubs, the cities we go to...We talk about shit all the time.

He's not wrong. But tonight is different. the late hour possesses its own kind of energy, and so does this place, this bar, this conversation. It all feels dangerously close to not work. It feels too personal. And I'm simmering with my own latent jealousy, an emotion that's starting to make its way to the front burner. Nighttime tempts you to cross lines you shouldn't cross. So, once more, I deflect. "And yet I know you have a little brother and you didn't know I had any sisters."

He slams a palm against the table. "That does not count. None of that counts. You do not get to say that about me, because the world knows about Soobin. The world knows I have a little brother. Hell, he joined me on a concert tour a few years ago, doing the lights. Everyone knows everything about me. I am all over the internet. and you? You're nowhere. You exist in this bubble of no one knows anything about."

I lean across the table, closer to him, in his space. Maybe a sick part of me likes doling out crumbs. Maybe that part likes it because it gives me some semblance of control over this desire. "Fine. So, since we supposedly talk, do you any idea where I grew up?"

He pauses like he's cycling through options on a multiple-choice question.

I laugh. "I guess that's a no."

"Just tell me, man---where did you grow up? Don't play these little information games."

But games are a necessity with him. "I bet you'd like to know."

"Oh, so that's how we're doing it? You giveth, then you taketh away."

And I crack up. The man makes me crazy. He makes me laugh, and he makes me feel sometimes like this isn't a job. Hell, he makes me feel that way often.

I toss his a bone. "I'm from Maine."

The grin that crosses Tae's face is epic. "Jeon Jungkook is from Maine. It's all coming together. I'm picturing you at a lake house. Some gorgeous views. Your dad was a fisherman. am I right? Tell me I'm right. I know I'm right."

I stare at him straight. "My dad is a firefighter." "That tracks."

I look at my watch. My shift ends soon.

I need to cut this conversation off; it's too much fun.

This can't last all night. his friends went back to their suite, and that's my reminder that he has places to be. That this attraction I feel for him is going nowhere. time is put in not just on the back burner, but in the ice chest.

"Don't you need to return to your private party?" I bite out.

"No," he says, all casual. "I'm done there."

 I see the inside, black tar roiling through my veins. I try, I try so damn hard not to picture him at his private party, not to see what he might have been doing a few hours ago.

"Where do you want to go, then?" I ask, aiming to keep my tone even.

But failing miserably.

I can hear the jealousy in it.

All I can do is hope he doesn't pick up on it.