Date Published: April 3, 2026
Dacre Jennings has been given the job of protecting Carley while she’s off at college. The same classmates who make light of her silence also make fun of him, too. He doesn’t care that they think she lives with the old man. He’d rather she lived with him than alone. He sees the real woman, and he’s been in love with her for as long as he’s worked for the family.
With threats on her life, Dacre refuses to let Carley be used or abused. He’ll put his life on the line for her, as long as he knows he’s got her heart as well.
Carley Mathers closed her notebook and put her pen back in the front pocket of her backpack. She wasn’t a fan of taking notes, but the only way she’d keep the dates for all the paintings straight was to write them down.
“Going home to Grandpa?” Selena, one of the girls Carley thought she might become friends with, asked. “Hang around people your own age. Do some gambling. Party or something else that’s normal?”
“Would it kill you to go to the frat party?” Missy snapped. “You like to drink. Guys like you. Might get us some action and we could win some money, since you’ve got tons. You can spare some. Any of that ring a bell?”
Carley rolled her eyes and zipped her backpack. She’d had enough of those vices. It was time to grow up and settle down -- or at least take her education seriously. Growing up the daughter of a politician and influencer was bad enough, but she’d exploited her position for years.
She grabbed her backpack and turned on her heel, ignoring the women. She hadn’t come to the University of Nevada to be sucked into a gambling situation. She’d wanted to further her education.
“God, she’s such a fucking snob,” Missy said. “Won’t talk to anyone.”
“That old man is her boyfriend,” Selena said. “Probably won’t let her go out. Has to keep her on a leash.”
If they only knew… Carley left the lecture hall and met Dacre in the lobby. “Hiya, Grandpa.”
“Grandpa?” Dacre left his post by the doorway and fell in step with her. “That’s a new one.”
“Not all that new.”
“Who said it?”
She stopped near the entrance doors to the art building and nodded over her shoulder. “The two brunettes over there. They wanted me to go to a frat party and make a damn fool of myself. I’ve had it with those days.”
He held the door for her as she stepped into the early October sunshine. “It’s warmer than I thought it would be.”
“I don’t mind. I like the warmth.” She elbowed him as they walked together. “They said I’m a snob.”
“You are.”
She jabbed him again. “Take that back.”
“Sorry, but no.” He kept walking. “You don’t talk to anyone, don’t mix with your peers, and keep to yourself.”
“That doesn’t make me a snob.”
“No,” he said. “But you come to class wearing expensive stuff and not talking much. It allows people to make up their own stories about you. They know what you’ve done and expect you’ll keep doing it.”
She sighed. She’d been such a bad girl in her younger days. Younger days… who was she kidding? She was only nineteen. But in her short years, she’d drunk most everyone under the table. She’d partied more than anyone her age should’ve been doing and tried too many things that should’ve been forbidden for someone underage. Being the child of wealth meant no one kept her in line -- certainly not her parents. As far as she was concerned, her parents used her bad behavior to further their own causes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.”
“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “It’s not like I can hide my past. I can’t hide my name, either. Everyone thinks they know who I am, but no one takes the time to get to know the real me.”
“You don’t exactly open yourself up to it.” He joined her at the truck. “You’re a wonderful person and cute as a button, but no one sees it. All they see is you keeping tight-lipped and away from everyone.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She fell onto the passenger seat. She waited for him to do a quick search of the vehicle before he joined her in the cab. “All clear?”
“Clear.” He closed the driver’s side door. “I don’t blame you for being guarded. I told you, it’s perfectly fine. You’ve had a lot of attention, and I get why you don’t want it.”
She clicked her belt into place. “But?”
“But you’re not going to escape it. Unless you change your name or completely change your face, you’re going to have to put up with the attention.” He put the truck into gear. “The girls said you’re a snob?”
“And wanted me to go to a party to act the fool and get them guys.” She arranged her backpack between her feet, then withdrew her phone. The device buzzed, drawing her attention. “Sorry. I won’t be your circus animal.”
“I’d like to think that’s not the case, but I’m sure it is.” He drove across the student lot. “It doesn’t help that I’m following you around and trying to keep you safe. They see me around and think I’m some kind of old pervert.”
“My grandfather.” She swiped through the screens to her texts. “You don’t look that old.”
“Grandfather?” he asked. “I’m only twenty years older than you. Yes, I could be your father, but grandfather? I’m hurt.”
“You don’t look thirty-nine.”
“Forty, but who’s counting?”
“When did you turn forty?” She put her phone down and stared at him. “Why didn’t I know when you had your birthday?” She’d been oblivious for years, but this was inexcusable.
“Two months ago.” He shrugged and flexed his hands on the wheel. “It’s okay. I try not to remember it.”
“That’s not right. We should’ve had a party.”
“You were moving into school. I had better things to do and you didn’t need to be concerned with me.” He kept driving through campus to the condominiums.
“I don’t care. I would’ve liked to have known so we could’ve had a party, even if it was just you and me.” She would’ve done something nice for him and even bought a present.
“Your father told me to keep it quiet.”
“He’s a jackass.” She wasn’t the biggest fan of her famous father. “I hate that he said that.”
“It’s okay.”
“Stop saying that.” She picked her phone up again. “This stupid thing won’t stop buzzing. I don’t have anything due or reminders set.” She’d been careful to note when she had to turn in projects and if she had tests so she didn’t blow her grade point average. She refused to keep riding her parents’ coattails.
“What’s up?” He parked in the garage of the condo they shared. “Another test?”
“Nope.” She scrolled through the message, then swiped to her email where she read the rest of the information. “Fucking hell.”
“Watch your mouth.” He put the garage door down and took the key from the ignition. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed and scrolled through the mandate again. “It would appear my father is being considered for a role in the president’s cabinet and he -- my father -- has decided to have a party. He’s dictating I show up at said party and that I wear something slinky, he says, so I can attract a husband. The president’s son will be there, as well as the son of a diplomat and some dipshit who has an artificial intelligence startup. Why is he throwing me at these men? What if I don’t like them?”
“You don’t.”
“Duh.” She turned her phone over on her lap. “He’s sending the private jet to come get me.”
“Don’t you have a test on Monday?”
“I do. Art history.” She folded her hands on her phone. “I don’t want to go, but I can’t refuse him.”
“I know.” He opened the driver’s side door. “But it would’ve been nice if he’d have told me.” He rounded the hood to her side of the truck.
“You didn’t know?”
“Nope.” He slid his phone from his back pocket. “Not a word.”
“You’re coming with me.” She insisted on it. “I’m not going if you don’t.”
“I’m not leaving you to those wolves.” He opened her door for her. “Sweets, I’m stuck to you like glue.”
“You’re good glue.” She grasped his hand and squeezed his fingers. She’d had a crush on him for years but kept that to herself. He didn’t see her as a desirable woman. She was “cute as a button.” What young woman wanted to hear that? It was a kiss of death. Like telling her she was one of the guys. She allowed him to help her from the truck, then stumbled forward into his arms.
“Hi.” He crooked his brow. “You okay?”
She’d always felt a tingle when he touched her. Now, that tingle had turned into full electrical jolts. Her pussy throbbed and she longed to kiss him. He didn’t look forty. Hell, he barely looked thirty. What he did look like was sexy enough that she wanted to wrap herself around him. He was just her type -- older, tall, slightly graying at the temples, a weathered look around his eyes and just the right amount of stubble on his cheeks and chin to abrade her skin. Plus, he had killer blue eyes.
“Carley?” He tipped his head. He’d started wearing a baseball cap and zipped hoodie to blend in more with the college students. “You’re staring at me.”
“What’s not to stare at?” She stayed in his arms and sighed. “You’re…” She almost said dreamy, but that wasn’t right. He was dreamy, but he was more than that. With him, she felt safe. Respected. Heard.
“Not me,” he said. “I’m not supposed to be touching you.”
“Do you want to?” She stood and righted herself, trying to look less flustered. “Sorry. I should behave.” She grabbed her backpack before hurrying into the condo. She’d made a fool of herself and hated that she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable, even if only for a second.
“Carley.” He hurried after her. “Wait.”
Megan Slayer, aka Wendi Zwaduk, is a multi-published, award-winning author of more than one-hundred short stories and novels. She’s been writing since 2008 and published since 2009. Her stories range from the contemporary and paranormal to LGBTQ and white hot themes. No matter what the length, her works are always hot, but with a lot of heart. She enjoys giving her characters a second chance at love, no matter what the form. She’s been nominated at the LRC for Best Author, Best Contemporary, Best Ménage, Best BDSM and Best Anthology. Her books have made it to the bestseller lists on various e-tailer sites.
When she’s not writing, Megan spends time with her husband and son as well as three dogs and three cats. She enjoys art, music and racing, but football is her sport of choice. She’s an active member of the Friends of the Keystone-LaGrange Public library.
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