Christmas in Quincy (The Edens)

by Devney Perry

  The only response was a string of muffled noises from the other side of the door.

  I dug the phone from my pocket and pulled up Ray’s name, ready to dial. But before I could bring myself to call and give him an update, I shut the screen off and tucked the phone away.

  Ray’s primary concern was his family’s safety. I didn’t fault the guy for it. After what had happened to his wife, I understood why he went overboard.

  His first wife and Cleo’s mother, Janet, had been murdered.

  Ray had amassed a fortune while Cleo had been a baby. Though according to his long-time assistant, Ray and Janet had lived humbly. Apparently, it was night and day compared to the lavish lifestyle Ray had bestowed upon his second wife, Selene.

  Years ago, when Cleo had just been a little girl, Ray had fired a guy for misconduct. That employee had then made threats not only against Ray, but also against Janet and Cleo as well. Ray hadn’t thought much of it, chalking it up to a disgruntled former employee who was mouthing off and would eventually disappear.

  He’d been wrong. Terribly wrong. And his wife had paid for it with her life.

  Janet had left home to run an errand one day. Ray had been at work. Cleo had been in preschool. The guy had stopped Janet six blocks from home and shot her twice in the heart.

  Since, Ray had taken security to the extreme.

  What man in his shoes wouldn’t? I understood the motives for his over-the-top measures. Hell, many famous singers and actors and sports stars didn’t have the level of security Ray required for Cleo. But at the same time, I understood Cleo’s need for freedom. There had to be a balance. A compromise. Only it wasn’t my job to broker the arrangement.

  My job was simply to get Cleo home.

  The door to the bathroom opened and she walked out, her chin held high. She carried her champagne to the nightstand and set it down beside the empty bottle, then swiped up a binder near the lamp, flipping it open as she plopped onto the edge of the bed.

  I blinked. Twice. Not because she was ignoring me. But because my mind was blank. My tongue was three sizes too big and my eyes didn’t know where to look first.

  Her legs? No, her arms. Her chest. No, definitely her legs.

  There was a lot of skin on display, from the scalloped hem of her sleep shorts all the way down toned thighs and trim calves to her dainty ankles. Her delectable feet were hidden by those slippers.

  I forced my eyes up and they landed on the smooth line of her neck. She’d twisted her hair up and a dark tendril curled behind the shell of her ear. She wore no jewelry, not even the diamond studs that were her favorite because they’d been Janet’s. I’d overheard her tell that to Brynne at the bakery one day, two years ago.

  I stared at the lobes of her naked ears, refusing to let my gaze drop beyond her neck. Because below her collarbones, her top was nothing more than a scrap of silk. A cropped top that showed a hint of midriff. The spaghetti straps left her arms and shoulders bare. And the wide V-neck plunged much, much too low.

  Leave. Get out. My mind screamed for me to walk out the door because this was my client’s daughter, but my body was fighting for the other team. The team that wanted me to cross the room, pull Cleo into my arms and find out if she tasted as sweet as her confections.

  I had to get the fuck out of this room.

  Cleo had twenty-four-seven security, but there was a reason why I always assigned her to a member of my team, why I didn’t monitor her personally. I didn’t trust myself. When she was in the room, I wasn’t aware of my surroundings. I was aware of her. Only her.

  At thirty-three years old, I’d never met a person who could block out the world.

  Until Cleo.

  And damn it, I couldn’t exactly haul her out of here wearing those skimpy pajamas. “I’ll give you one night. One. Then we’re leaving in the morning.”

  “Whatever.” She sipped her champagne and studied the room service menu. She flipped the page and leaned forward to study the text. The gap at the front of her top loosened, barely covering those gorgeous breasts. Her nipples peaked through the thin fabric.

  Fuck me.

  Without another word, I strode to the door, flinging it open at the same time I swiped my backpack from the floor. The echo of the door’s slam followed me as I marched down the hallway to the elevator. I punched the down arrow three times, practically jumping in once it arrived.

  When I reached the lobby, I found a quiet corner beside the Christmas tree and called the pilot, giving him the go-ahead to return to California alone. He offered to spend the night, but there was no reason for us all to be stuck in Montana before Christmas. I’d get a ticket with Cleo and we’d fly back commercial in the morning.

  I slumped forward in the chair, my backpack resting at my feet, and closed my eyes before pinching the bridge of my nose. Goddamn it. Goddamn this trip. Goddamn Ray. Avoiding him was futile so I dialed his number.

  He didn’t answer.

  Why would he? He and Selene were hosting one of their annual Christmas-week soirees and had a house full of rich people. All he cared about was that Cleo was safe and would be home promptly. What he didn’t know tonight wouldn’t kill him.

  I stood and took in the lobby, assessing exits and entrances. Casing a place had become habit over my career. The inn was cozy and classy without being stuffy. If not for the snow, it would be the perfect holiday getaway. A big improvement over the party Cleo was avoiding at her father’s house.

  If I were wearing her slippers, I would have skipped town too. Not that I’d admit that to her.

  I was the hired help and no one, especially Ray, gave a shit about my opinion.

  Tomorrow, I’d get Cleo to California. She’d be fully clothed and those pajamas a distant memory. Then I’d go back to my life and she’d go back to hers. The only contact I’d have with Cleo would be the weekly report that crossed my desk from the team assigned to her detail.

  Maybe one of these days she’d get a serious boyfriend who lasted longer than a month and this attraction I had for her would fizzle out. I mean, it hadn’t in four years, but eventually it had to fade, right?

  I raked a hand through my hair and crossed the lobby for the front desk. At least I’d thought to bring a bag, not that it had much other than my laptop, charging cords and a bottle of aspirin.

  The young woman standing behind the counter smiled as I approached. She hadn’t been at the desk earlier when I’d entered the lobby. I’d been prepared to deliver some bullshit line about being Cleo’s boyfriend here to surprise her for Christmas, but then I’d seen the bellboy set down a tray with one glass and a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice.

  Cleo loved champagne so on a hunch, I’d stolen a glance at the room receipt. Sure enough, her name had been on the ticket beside the room number 410.

  “Good evening, sir,” Eloise, her name tag read, greeted. “How can I help you?”

  I dug my wallet from my jeans pocket. “I’d like a room, please.”

  Her smile fell.

  My stomach plummeted. Oh hell.

  “I’m so sorry, sir, but we’re sold out for the week. Christmas and all.”

  “Of course,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

  Fucking Montana.

  Chapter 3

  Cleo

  “He can go to hell,” I muttered to the empty room.

  Who the hell did he think he was, following me here and ordering me around like I was a child? I was an adult and didn’t need a babysitter.

  “One night?” I scoffed. “I’m not leaving. This is my vacation. Mine. This is my Christmas.”

  I flew off the bed, too antsy to sit still, and paced the room.

  After Austin had left, I’d made considerable progress drinking the second bottle of champagne. Half a flute and it would be gone. My head was fuzzy. My limbs were loose and warm. My stomach growled and I hiccupped, staring at the door, willing my room service to appear. I was starving, having only eaten airplane pretzels for lunch, and
food would help soak up some of the alcohol.

  I didn’t need a raging hangover if I had to travel home tomorrow, and it was very likely I would be traveling.

  Austin Myles usually got his way.

  I wouldn’t put it past him to toss me over his shoulder and cart me out of here if he so desired.

  Once upon a time, I’d dreamed of being carried off by Austin, willingly, without a kick or a scream. When my father had hired his company to provide physical security for the family, I’d taken one look at Austin—at his midnight hair and hypnotic eyes—and boom. Hello, crush. That’s all it was. A teensy, tiny, enormous crush.

  But I’d hid it well. Not a soul on earth knew how I felt about Austin and I’d take my itty-bitty crush to the grave.

  When he’d first started working for us, my father had insisted Austin personally see to my protection. Dad had been paranoid that I was at risk ever since I’d opened Crumbs. From who was a mystery, but Dad wasn’t much for reason when it came to his daughter.

  So Austin had done a full assessment of my life. He’d been all business, focusing on assessing security at the bakery and at my home. It had been cute, the way he’d carried a notebook around, jotting down notes about access points and breach potential—if one could call a six foot three, muscled heartthrob cute.

  After Austin’s inspection, he’d deemed my home and workplace safe enough but in need of improvement. I’d owned the bakery for a year by that point and had never had a problem, but that hadn’t stopped him from installing a new locking system on the rear entrance as well as an entire video surveillance system. There was an alarm fob on my keychain. A can of pepper spray in my nightstand.

  The system and safeguards should have been enough, but Dad had still insisted on a bodyguard. It had been Austin in the early days. He’d sit at a corner table in the bakery, working on his laptop in silence, paying me next to no attention. Though I had no doubt that if a customer had so much as raised a voice he would have come to my rescue.

  Apparently, the only person allowed to criticize me or my baked goods was Austin himself.

  Then one day, it hadn’t been Austin who’d shown up at my house at five in the morning to escort me to work. It had been one of his team members. And the days when I’d glimpsed Austin had become fewer and farther between.

  At first, I’d worried that he suspected my crush. That he thought of me as that silly girl six years his junior. Then his true colors had shown. The reason Austin avoided me like the mall on Black Friday was because he didn’t like me.

  He’d made that perfectly clear three months ago when he’d come to the bakery and insulted me.

  That was the day I’d called my father and said enough. No more bodyguards. No more Austin. My foolish heart had been bruised one too many times.

  Dad had promised to lighten up security. How stupid was I to have believed him?

  Where had Austin and his team been lurking? Had they stayed outside the bakery all day long? Did he have someone stationed undercover? I had plenty of regulars at the bakery, a couple in particular that might fit in Austin’s crew. Tall. Broad. Muscled. Brynne always made sure to alert me whenever there was a hot guy on the premises.

  So how had they been watching me? Had they hacked my surveillance system? How had they known I’d come to Montana? The assholes were probably monitoring my credit cards. Bastards. I wouldn’t put it past my father. Or Austin. With his resources, I doubted there was much I could hide.

  Garrison, Austin’s firm, wasn’t the biggest private security company in Los Angeles, not by a long shot. But his was one of the fastest-growing firms with the best reputation.

  Austin was known for his risk-assessment skills. Word on the street was—because heaven forbid the man actually talk to me—Austin preferred to take jobs with the entrepreneurial wealthy. He didn’t like the drama and spotlight that came with celebrities. His clientele consisted of people like my father, those who stayed under the radar but who made enough money that some whacko might try to kidnap their kids and ask for ransom.

  Or kill their loved ones.

  Dad’s motives, though ridiculous at times, were coming from a good place. He was terrified to lose me, like he had Mom.

  But there had to be a limit, right? My father’s fears wouldn’t hold me prisoner any longer. I was perfectly safe in Montana for three days. When Austin showed up in the morning to escort me home, I was telling him no.

  “No.” I practiced the word. Easy.

  “No.” Super easy. I could definitely tell Austin no, with or without liquid courage flooding my veins. I’d done it tonight. I’d do it again tomorrow.

  My stomach churned and not from the champagne. Today’s show of stubbornness had been an anomaly. And who was I kidding? Telling Austin no was nearly impossible. It was a miracle I’d managed to delay him tonight.

  It was his eyes. Those coffee-brown eyes swallowed me whole. I was powerless against them. Maybe tomorrow I’d just avoid eye contact. It would probably be best if I avoided all of his face, period. There wasn’t a feature I didn’t adore, from the strong line of his nose to his supple lips to his square jaw and high cheekbones.

  At least he’d shaved the beard he’d grown last year. Had he shown up in Montana with the beard, I’d be on an airplane instead of waiting for room service.

  I’d only seen it once but the image of his sculpted jaw covered in perfectly groomed, dark hair was committed to memory. Austin had walked into the bakery after I’d gotten into an, erm . . . altercation with the guy on duty. The weather had been unseasonably warm and the air conditioner had quit, so I’d propped the back door open to get some air circulating and combat the heat from the ovens.

  Well, the guy on duty hadn’t liked having the door open. I’d told him tough luck. He’d called in his boss.

  In true Austin fashion, he’d gotten his way. I’d closed the door, blaming my moment of weakness on the beard.

  Thankfully, it was gone now. Austin was back to his usual clean-cut self. Dark jeans, polished boots and a starched, long-sleeved button-up. Though today, he’d rolled the sleeves up his forearms, revealing the dusting of dark hair.

  Just once, I wanted to see him smile. I couldn’t think of a time I’d seen his teeth. But why would he smile at me? He hated me as much as I pretended to hate him.

  My minuscule, insignificant, harmless crush was surprisingly resilient. No matter how many times he flustered or frustrated me, the damn thing wouldn’t die.

  Because Austin Myles was a dream.

  He was a good man. He loved his mother—I’d overheard him talking to her on the phone twice and the adoration and love in his voice had brought tears to my eyes. His employees looked up to him, respected and appreciated his steady leadership. He carried an air of authority and confidence, but he didn’t use his charisma to intimidate or make others feel insecure. He was levelheaded. Smart. He held the door open for others and let the elderly cut in line.

  My life would be easier if I hated him like he hated me.

  Why did he dislike me so? Did he really think I was spoiled and selfish? Austin wasn’t rude to anyone except me. What was it about my personality that put him on edge?

  Well, screw him. I was nice. I was likable. I was a good baker. And he was ruining my Christmas.

  A surge of anger raced through my body and I closed my eyes, holding it tight. I’d need it tomorrow because I wasn’t going home. Call me selfish. Call me spoiled. Call me a brat. I was staying in Montana for three days, whether Austin liked it or not.

  “So there.” I stomped my slippered foot.

  I’d have to call and explain to my father that it wasn’t Austin’s fault. Dad would probably fire him otherwise. But no matter how much they pushed, I wasn’t backing down. If I did, I’d lose a lot more than this getaway.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Yessss. Food.” I didn’t bother checking the peephole. Again. I was really going to have to work on that. Because there he was, the s
tar of my fantasies, here to ruin Christmas once more. “You said I got one night. Go away.”

  Austin pushed his way past me, sending a waft of his sexy, spicy cologne straight to my nostrils.

  I inhaled and held it in. God, I was pathetic.

  “They’re out of rooms,” he said, walking around the end of the bed to the side closest to the window, barely giving me a glance as he set his backpack beside the dresser. He took the phone from his pocket and deposited it on the nightstand. Next came the wallet from his jeans pocket.

  As he moved, my gaze wandered down his spine, past his belt and to his scrumptious behind—when a man had an ass that perfect, any woman two bottles of champagne into the night would look.

  Austin gripped the sides of his shirt and yanked it free from the waist of his jeans.

  My mouth watered. Then the two brain cells still functioning in my hazy stupor tuned into what was happening here. Austin was making himself comfortable. “Oh, no. No. No. No. No. No. You can’t stay in here.”

  “They’re out of rooms,” he repeated.

  “Then find another hotel!” My hands flew in the air as I shrieked. There was no way I could sleep in the same room—and bed—as Austin Myles.

  “There is one other hotel in Quincy, Montana, and a bed-and-breakfast. And they’re all sold out.”

  “Then go to another town.”

  He scowled. “The nearest town is fifty miles away. Trust me, I asked.”

  Oh, God. This wasn’t happening. We could not share a bed. What if I fell asleep and tried to cuddle with him? Or worse, what if my hands wandered and I groped him while unconscious?

  “Then go home. Take the plane. I’ll call my father and tell him I refused to come home. I’ll make sure he knows that it was my decision and—”

  “Cleo, calm down.” Austin held up a hand. “It’s one night. Would you mind just putting something on?”

  I glanced down at myself and a crimson wave of shame spread across my skin. I imagined the color was about the same as my silk pajamas.

  I’d put them on earlier to scare Austin off. It had worked. Except now it was painfully obvious that my nipples were pebbled and there was a lot of skin showing.