Triple-Duty Bodyguards : A Reverse Harem Romance

TWO YEARS LATER

Hands slide down my body, cupping the curve of my bare hip. I gasp and tilt my neck back as warm lips press gently against my throat. “God,” I whisper, rocking my hips slightly. “Baby… please.”

“Please what?” A low voice grumbles. The light sea breeze drifts between our joined bodies, ruffling my hair and trailing goosebumps over my skin. In the corners of my vision, camera lenses flash, but I ignore them, focussing on the man in front of me.

“I need you,” I murmur, grabbing ahold of his jaw and yanking his mouth to mine. I close my eyes and part my lips, waiting for a kiss.

Nothing happens.

My eyes flutter open.

“CUT!” Our director calls.

I frown at Thom Petty, who’s gone stiff underneath me. “You’re supposed to kiss me, you knob. Is it really that hard?”

He doesn’t respond. He’s looking over my shoulder, wide-eyed. I sigh, slipping off his lap and brushing my thighs clean as I look around.

We’ve been filming this beach sex scene since dawn this morning. I’ve still not gotten over how pretty the location is. The sea is churning in and out just a few metres away, and the morning sky is marbled pale pink and baby blue. A white pavilion is pitched in the sand nearby, where various crew members are sitting in folding chairs, watching the action unfold through the screens.

As I watch, our director Gina storms out of the tent towards us. She looks haggard and tired, her hair falling out of its sloppy ponytail and her glasses slipping down her nose. The last few days of filming are always gruelling, as we reshoot all of the scenes that we somehow messed up. None of us have slept much this week.

“Briar,” she practically begs. “Please.”

“Please what?” I blink up at her. “Am I doing something wrong?” I thought Petty was the problem.

“You’re not,” Gina mutters. “But we want the audience to root for you and Thom to be together. And I doubt they’re going to be able to do that when he looks like he’s about to wet himself.”

I look down at Thom, sprawled under me. “Are you about to wet yourself?” I ask. “I’ll sue you.”

He blinks up at me stupidly. “F-for what?”

“Being gross.” We’re both almost completely naked. I’m wearing a flesh-coloured thong and no bra, and he’s just wearing a very strategically placed sock. I look at it suspiciously for signs of pee. He covers it with his hand. I flick his cheek, making him yelp.

I didn’t know when I booked this role that Thom would be playing my love interest. When I found out, I considered dropping out of the movie, but the role was too good to pass up on. During the three-month shoot, Thom and I have, weirdly enough, become friends again. I felt pretty bad when I found out that his house had been blown up because of me. We’ve had a lot of time to hash out our issues. It’s nice, having my very first showbiz friend back.

Still. If he pees on me, I will be calling my lawyer.

Gina rubs the bridge of her nose. “This is the last day of filming. We all want to get this wrapped so we can go home. So for the love of God, just tell your boyfriends to leave, so we can get this shot done and catch our flights.”

Oh.

I turn, looking over my shoulder. The Angels are all standing in one corner of the pavilion, staring Thom down like they’re a gang about to beat him up. I try not to laugh.

We’ve been filming my movie Sunstruck for over three months now. We did most of it in London studios, using sets built specially for the film, but some of the shots required a beach setting, so the cast and crew have spent the last two weeks shooting on-location on a little private island just off Sardinia. It’s a beautiful place: icy-white beaches, palm trees, tropical blue oceans. When I told the guys that I’d be travelling abroad, they offered to come with me as my security detail.

I was thrilled. They only recently got back from a stint in America, protecting a politician in a very tumultuous swing state. What with my busy filming schedule, and their back-to-back assignments, it’s been hard to get any time with them recently. That’s why it’s so perfect that they came with me to Italy.

Still. If they keep pulling stunts like this, it’s unlikely that they’ll ever be invited on another shoot again. I narrow my eyes at the three men. I only need one security guard on set with me at a time, but it’s funny; whenever I’m shooting an intimate scene, they all suddenly seem to have nothing better to do than come and observe.

As I watch, Kenta’s cold eyes flick from Thom to me. His expression relaxes, and he smiles, waving.

I turn back to Thom. “Pull yourself together,” I tell him. “They won’t do anything to you.”

He bites his lip. “You won’t let them, right, B?”

Jesus. “I’ll have a word with them,” I tell Gina.

She nods. “Take ten, everyone!” She calls.

An assistant runs up and offers me a robe, and I stand, draping it over my body. None of the boys look even remotely embarrassed as I march up to them.

“Briar,” Kenta smiles, running his eyes down the gap in my silk robe. “You’re doing great, sweetheart.”

“Unlike him,” Glen mutters. “Any man sleeping with you should look a Hell of a lot more enthusiastic.”

I bat away his hand as he reaches for me. “The director has politely asked that you all leave the premises.”

They have the audacity to look surprised.

“Why?” Glen demands.

“Because you’re scaring my co-star so much he can’t remember his lines.”

“He can’t be a very good actor, then,” Kenta says peaceably.

“He can’t be expected to perform well under the threat of castration.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’re just watching, love.” He tilts his head, taking in my wig. “You look so pretty with brown hair.”

“You need security,” Glen adds, tossing a scowl over my shoulder.

“From what?” I cast my arm around the beach. “Literally everything is getting recorded!”

“He has your naked breasts in his face,” Kenta murmurs, reaching out to carefully re-adjust my robe. The movement looks innocent enough, but as the soft fabric slides over my skin, tingles skitter over my nerve endings. I fight the urge to shiver in pleasure. “We just want to make sure he doesn’t step out of line. It would kill us if he got handsy with you.”

I snort. “Trust me, he knows better than that. With the fuss I’d kick up, he’d never work again. Or regain the use of his fingers.”

“Better safe than sorry, love.”

I roll my eyes, turning to Matt. He hasn’t said anything yet. He’s still looking over at Thom, his expression troubled. “Matt?”

He swallows and reaches for me. I usually have a no-PDA rule on set. It’s unprofessional, and the men are supposed to be here as my guards, not my boyfriends. But I can tell when Matt’s being a grumpy git who just needs a cup of coffee, and when he’s genuinely unsettled, and this time, it’s the latter. So I let him press me close.

“You okay?” I ask quietly.

He nods into my hair.

“Neanderthal instincts kicking in?” He pulls back and scowls at me.

“They’re changing the scene. This isn’t what you rehearsed.”

I shrug. “So?” Gina delivered me the revised script last night, after she decided that the sex on the beach scene wasn’t raunchy enough.

Matt sighs, cupping my cheek. “I know you’ve signed contracts, but if you ever change your mind, you know you can back out, right? I don’t give a shit if they sue you. No amount of money is worth you getting hurt.”

Oh. My insides warm.

It’s been two years since X kidnapped me. He got a full life sentence, as predicted. Even so, it took me a long time to feel safe again. This is the first role I’ve taken since the attack which shows any kind of skin. I’ve been so scared of somebody else ‘falling in love with me’ that I’ve flat-out refused to play love interests at all.

But I’m over it now. I’m ready to face the world again. What happened wasn’t my fault, and I’m not going to hide myself away just because some creep got hung up on a fantasy years ago.

“I really am okay.” I stroke my thumb over Matt’s cheekbone. “I love you.”

Matt surges forward and presses his mouth to mine. I think I hear the makeup artist groan a few metres away, but I don’t care. I kiss him back. His hand curves down over my waist, sliding over the silky fabric of the robe and finally landing on my ass. He gives it a little possessive pat, and I snort against his lips.

“Okay. I think Thom gets the message.” He nips my top lip then steps back.

“Go,” I tell the other two. “We’ll be able to finish a lot quicker without you scaring the shit out of my hero. And then I’m all yours.”

Glen and Kenta both nod, dropping to press a kiss to either side of my neck—they, at least, care about my poor makeup artist—then the three men finally turn to leave.

When I walk back to my spot in the sand, Gina is watching them with red cheeks. “How the Hell did you land that deal?” She mutters.

I shrug, dropping my robe. “I must have done something good in a past life, I guess.”

“You must have been a damn angel.”

I laugh, tilting my head back so the continuity supervisor can rearrange my hair. “I guess I must.”

Hair and makeup flutter over me, fixing me back up, then I sit down again, resettling my weight on Thom’s hips.

“Better?” I ask him.

“Uh.” He glances over my shoulder. I turn to see Glen loitering behind one of the cameras, giving him one last cold look.

I sigh. “Glen.”

He flashes me a bright grin and turns to leave. I look down, feeling warmth bloom in my chest.

“Hurry up,” Gina calls to the cameraman. “Let’s get the shot, before she stops blushing.”

Shooting ends at about five in the evening, and after a quick glass of champagne, everyone scatters, grabbing their bags and heading for the pier. The last boat to mainland Italy leaves at six PM, but most of the cast and crew left earlier in the day. I’m the only one staying behind; now that shooting is over, me and the guys have arranged to stay on the island for the next two weeks, taking advantage of the sun and the sea.

Thom catches up with me as I’m grabbing my stuff. He’s now changed out of his penis sock, and is dressed much more appropriately in jeans and a t-shirt.

“Hey, B. Walk me to the pier?” He asks.

I shrug, falling into step with him as he drags his suitcase across the white sand. I look out over the view, taking in the slopes of the sand dunes and the brilliant turquoise sea.

“You know,” he says, “when you told me you were seeing all three of them, I really didn’t believe you.”

I laugh. “You’re not the only one. I think half the tabloids are convinced they’re just hookers I’ve hired.”

“It’s brave,” he says earnestly. “Having a relationship that society doesn’t approve of.”

I think about it. I suppose it is. We’ve certainly taken Hollywood by storm. Every time I leave the house with the guys, it’s front page news. The tabloids are always full of made-up stories about our love life: stuff like ‘MATTHEW VS KENTA—THE BOYFRIENDS’ SECRET FEUD’ or ‘BRIAR REVEALS HER FAVOURITE BEAU’. It’s all BS, but I actually don’t mind that so many people are invested in the relationship. I think bringing awareness to different kinds of love can only ever be a good thing.

“Society hasn’t approved of me since I was sixteen. I’ve had to get brave.” I tilt my head, looking at him sideways. “Maybe I should thank you for that. It was unbelievably shitty, but I guess it worked out alright in the end.” I can’t even imagine the kind of person I would be if the cheating scandal had never happened. Would I still be that anxious, polite girl, always terrified of offending anybody, completely unable to assert herself? Perhaps this is the best thing that ever could have happened to me.

He nods, rubbing the back of his head. The big white ferry pulls up to the pier, and people start climbing aboard. Thom turns to look at me. “I’m happy for you,” he says. “Honestly.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t get sappy. Call me when you get in.”

He gives me a quick hug and grabs his suitcase, climbing onto the boat. The director, Gina, is next, and she tugs me in for a hug before I know what’s happening.

“Lock them down,” she hisses in my ear, tossing me a wink. I laugh, waving as the ferry unmoors and starts cutting through the water, back to Italy. I wait until it’s completely faded into the distance, then turn and head back to find the guys.

“You are all terrible,” I announce, as I open the door to our beach hut. During filming, the studio put the cast and crew up in small chalets on one side of the island. Naturally, me and the guys are all sharing one. It’s adorable. Nautical-themed, with sea-foam coloured linen and furniture made of driftwood and shells. The cabin is pretty small, just big enough for us all to fit in. Then again, we don’t need much room. Just one very, very big bed.

Excitement hums in my stomach as I kick off my flip-flops. My schedule has been pretty unpredictable since we came to the island: some days, I’m working from five AM to the middle of the night. Others, I’m not needed at all. Me and the guys have squeezed in as many activities as we can, snorkelling and wakeboarding and windsurfing. On my evenings off, we stay in and cook together, eating fresh food and wine under the sunset. And then at night—

We keep ourselves busy. I think we’ve shagged in every room of this house. I’m so excited to finally be able to fully relax, instead of worrying about call times or last-minute script changes. The next two weeks are going to be amazing.

As I step into the lounge, I’m expecting all three guys to be there. Weirdly, the only one I see right away is Kenta, standing in the little kitchen by the stove. He looks up and smiles at me. He looks incredible; tanned and relaxed, wearing just a pair of swimming trunks and a white linen shirt that he’s left open. His hair has been pulled back into a loose plait, tendrils falling out around his face.

“Finally wrapped?” He asks. I nod, crossing the room to him. He’s got the wok going, and is tossing chunks of sweet potato into a creamy-looking coconut curry sauce. I lean against his arm, watching as he gives the pan a stir, then bends to check something in the oven. The mouth-watering scent of chocolate and nuts pours out of the oven door.

“What’s this? You’re making dinner?”

He nods, straightening to give me a lingering kiss. “Thought we’d celebrate.”

“The end of the shoot?”

His eyes flash down to mine. He hums noncommittally, slicing a tomato in half and popping it into my mouth. “Among other things,” he says, tapping under my chin to make me chew. “Maybe. Or maybe I just want to feed you back up again.”

I had to lose ten pounds for this role. The men are convinced that if I don’t gain the weight back immediately, I’ll just collapse and spontaneously die.

I smile, licking his fingers. “I think I’ll like that a lot.”

There’s a sudden crash from outside. I turn. The doors to the patio are open, and Glen is in the little garden area out back, dragging all of the kitchen furniture onto the sand. I watch as he swears, picking up the chair that’s fallen over.

“Don’t break anything,” Kenta calls. The wok spits, and he lunges to turn down the knob on the stove. I give his cheek one last kiss, then go to join Glen outside, squinting against the bright sun. I think he must have just come in from swimming; his hair is still darkened by sea water, and he’s only wearing a pair of damp trunks.

“Hey, hottie,” I call, leaning in the doorway. It’s my new favourite nickname for him. Has been, ever since Hello listed him as one of this year’s ‘Top Ten Red Carpet Hotties’. It makes him blush every time.

He glances up, and a smile swipes across his face. “Hey, love. All done shooting?”

I nod. “It went a lot quicker when Thom wasn’t afraid of getting disembowelled.” I look across the table settings. He’s gone all out, filling glasses of wine and folding napkins onto each plate. A bouquet of expensive-looking tropical flowers is sitting in a glass vase in the middle of the table, tied up in a pink ribbon.

I point. “For me?”

“I picked them up at the market after you kicked us off set.”

I smile. “They’re beautiful.”

He picks out a hot pink lily, tucking it behind my ear. “Not as much as you, lass.”

I roll my eyes, letting him pull me in for a kiss, then look around. There’s only one thing missing from this perfect scene. “Where’s Matt?”

“He had a call with his therapist about an hour ago,” Kenta says, coming out of the kitchen and pressing a fruity-looking mixed drink into my hand. The rim of the glass is decorated with chunks of pineapple and a pink paper umbrella. “We thought he’d be back by now.”

I take a sip of the drink, my insides warming at the taste of coconuts and rum. “He’s not due an appointment, is he?” I lick sugar off my lips. “I thought that was Saturdays.”

Kenta shakes his head. “It was… impromptu.”

I frown. Matt’s doing much better now. Much better. He still has nightmares sometimes, but I don’t remember the last time I saw him have a flashback. I guess this must mean he broke his streak. “Is he okay?”

“Shaken.”

I put my drink down. “I should go find him before we eat.”

He nods. “Be quick. Food’s almost done. We’re having bruschetta for starters.”

“Have I mentioned I love you?”

He laughs. “I’m not sure.” He curls a knuckle under my chin, tilting my mouth to his. “You could always tell me again.”

I find Matt about a minute’s walk away, sitting near the sea. He’s slumped down in the shade of a couple of palm trees, staring out at the ocean. He’s holding something small in his hand, flipping it over and over between his fingers.

“Hey.” I approach him slowly. “You okay?”

He nods jerkily.

“Can I sit with you?”

Another nod. I slide down next to him, curling my legs under me. He dips his head, not meeting my eyes. I put my hand in his lap, and after a moment, he takes it, lacing our fingers together.

“Freak out?” I guess.

He nods.

“Why? Did something happen?” I rub my thumb into his palm. “You seem stressed.”

He huffs a laugh. “Not stressed. Nervous.” He looks at me sideways. The ocean air breezes over us, ruffling his thick black curls. “I love you so much.”

A smile spreads over my face. “I love you, too.”

He swallows thickly. “So much,” he repeats.

“And… that makes you nervous? Have I told you recently that you’re the most emotionally constipated man I’ve ever met?”

“Yes,” he says. “I just…” he looks down at our joined hands. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

“Screw what up?”

He hesitates, then shows me the object in his other hand. My mouth drops open. It’s a ring box covered in black velvet. As I watch, he flips it open with his thumb, revealing a silver ring, inset with a square-shaped white stone that glitters in the sunlight.

It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning. I swallow. “Matt…”

“The guys are going to kill me for giving this to you now,” he mutters. “We said we’d all do it together.”

I stare at him. “We?”

“All three of us. We all wanted to propose together.” He frowns, rubbing his thumb against the hinge of the ring box. “But of course, I fucked it up.”

I study his face. He still looks hesitant, like he’s not sure he actually wants to give me the ring.

“What is it?” I whisper.

“What?”

“There’s something holding you back from giving that to me.” I curl up against his side. “I really want it,” I tell him. “So please get over it fast.”

He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “I just—” The words die in his mouth. A few agonising seconds pass, as he visibly struggles to find the words.

“Was it the flashback?” I guess. “Was it really bad?”

His shoulders slump. “Worst one I’ve had in a while. I honestly couldn’t tell what was happening.”

I put my chin in the crook of his neck, my heart hurting.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Matt’s PTSD, it’s that the flashbacks don’t end as soon as he gets out of them. The effects linger. Even though he tries to hide it, every single one scares the absolute shit out of him. He’s usually a bit weird and snappy and shaky the whole rest of the day. I’ve found that cuddles work wonders to make him feel better, though, so I climb into his lap, plopping myself down between his knees. “I’m sorry.”

He grunts, his strong arms banding around my waist. “I don’t know why,” he mumbles into my hair. “It came out of nowhere.”

“Is that what’s upsetting you?” I run my fingers across his tanned forearms, scratching his skin lightly with my nails.

“I’ve spent all this bloody time trying to work through my shit. I thought I was ready.” He looks down at the ring in his hand.

“Ready for what?”

“For you. I don’t want you to tie yourself to a man who wakes you up screaming every other night.” A frustrated grumble shakes his chest. “How the Hell can I ask you to devote the rest of your life to me—to start a family with me, to one day have kids with me—when I can’t even control my own damn brain?” He takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “I can’t ask that of you. It’s completely unfair.”

“Are you done?” I ask. He cuts me a glare. I sigh. “Matt, I don’t want to demean your emotions, or anything. But the soldier denying himself relationships because of his PTSD is, like, so overdone.”

He snorts. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Like, if I saw it in a script, I’d toss the whole thing into the trash. It’s a cliché. And not even a good one. It always annoys the audience.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it’s dumb. Dummy.” I twist in his lap so we’re face to face. “Me loving you is not dependent on you ‘getting better’. It never was. I didn’t want you to go to therapy for me, dipshit. I wanted it for you.” I lift my hand, running my fingers over his stubbly cheek. “Because I want you to be happy. You deserve happiness. You deserve love. And,” I press my lips to his neck, feeling his pulse thrum under his skin, “you deserve a really hot, talented, smart wife. So gimme the ring, please.”

He takes a deep breath, letting it gust out of him. “You’re sure you want me?”

“Jesus, Matt. Yes. Forever.”

The last syllable hasn’t even left my lips before he pulls me into a kiss. I sigh, melting under him as he holds me close, his hot tongue swirling against mine.

I hear footsteps crunching through the sand towards us, and look up to see Glen and Kenta. Glen scowls when he sees the ring box in Matt’s hand.

“I knew it. I bloody knew it,” he mutters, throwing himself down onto one knee next to us and fumbling for a ring box in his own pocket. Without ceremony, he flips it open, showing me a silver ring with a pink heart-shaped stone set in the centre. I press a hand to my chest as my own heart flutters.

“Glen…”

“Figured it would go with all of your outfits,” he mumbles, his entire face flushing red.

I laugh. He’s right. Pink and sparkly. It matches my style to a tee.

I reach out and touch the stone lightly with the pad of my finger. “It’s beautiful.” I glance up to meet his eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

He blinks hard, reaching up to trace the thin scar on my cheek. It’s barely noticeable—I had a couple of surgeries to fix it, and now it’s just a faint white line down the side of my face, easily hidden by makeup when I’m on set. He leans forward and kisses it very gently. “Not as beautiful as you, lass.”

I know he’s not talking about the way I look. I lean forward, still in Matt’s lap, and touch my mouth to his. His lips part, and I inhale his soft, pleased sigh.

There’s another crunching footstep, and then Kenta kneels down next to me, offering me his own ring; a delicate silver band with a sparkling pink rose, matching the rose necklace currently hanging around my neck. I close my eyes as he cups my face gently.

“You’re the most incredible person I’ve ever met,” he says quietly.

“You’re in my top three,” I whisper back. He laughs and pulls me in for a kiss. When I re-emerge, my head is spinning. He offers me a hand, helping me upright. I stand there in the sand, with the sea glimmering to my right and palm leaves ruffling over my head.

And then they all propose.

I feel like I’m in a dream as they take turns to clasp me to them. They all have their own little speeches, but I can’t keep up with them. I get the gist of the words. We need you. We love you. We never want to have to live without you.

It’s too much. My heart is beating out of my chest. I can’t get a full breath in. I lean my cheek against the trunk of the palm tree, overwhelmed.

Kenta frowns. “Briar—”

“I’m fine.” I blink, tears pooling in my eyes. “You’re all sure? You’ll never live a normal life again.”

“The only life we want is a life with you in it, lass,” Glen says quietly.

I take a shaky breath, nodding. “Me, too.”

“Nin is dying to work on the wedding,” Kenta adds. “We can do it however you want. Private or public, we don’t care.”

“That would be perfect.” It’s more than I ever even dreamed. “I love you. All. So much.”

“Then say yes,” Matt says.

“Yes.” I hold out my hand, and each of them slides on their ring. They’ve sized them so they all fit on different fingers; my pinkie, my ring finger, and my index finger. The men huddle around me, and I close my eyes, savouring the moment. The scene is so perfect, it almost feels like the end of a movie. Except, out here, with nothing around us except the sand and the sky and the waves, I’m not an actress anymore. I’m not playing a part. I’m just being me.

Roll credits.

A tear slides down my cheek. Then another, and another. “I really thought I would always be alone,” I whisper, watching the three stones catch the light and scatter rainbows all over my skin. “It’s all I ever planned for.”

Kenta smiles softly. “You’re not alone anymore.”

“You never will be,” Glen adds.

“We promise,” Matt finishes, pressing a kiss to each of my rings. I fist a hand in his collar and pull him in for a real kiss, delving my tongue deep into his mouth. I feel a hand on my back and turn to Glen, pressing my lips to his, before pulling away to kiss Kenta as well. I share myself between them, kissing them all in turn as six hands stroke over my skin, squeezing and caressing. And as we sit there, kissing, curled up on the sand as the evening sun streaks the sky, I feel the very last wall I once built around my heart crumble away to nothing.

And I don’t die. I don’t get weak. I don’t fall apart.

I feel stronger than ever.