“I’m all right,” Brooke said, her voice muffled in Grace’s cleavage.
Grace let her go and stepped back. “Sorry.”
Grace linked her hand with Brooke’s and faced the glowering beast in her kitchen. The handsome glowering beast.
Oh dear God.
He’d removed his jacket and tie. His sleeves were rolled up, and he’d unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of his shirt. She saw ink. Lots of colorful ink. And a scowl that made her gulp when she raised her gaze to his again.
“You didn’t tell me you were expecting company,” Garrett growled at her. He slipped the pistol into his shoulder holster and glared at her.
“She has a key, for God’s sake. I didn’t think you’d attack someone with a key!”
“Unless I know they’re coming, I’m stopping anyone from getting to you. That’s the job, cupcake.”
Grace felt Brooke stiffen at the ridiculous nickname. Grace had decided to ignore it since she was pretty sure he did it to get under her skin. Brooke laughed softly, which Grace found a little shocking. Brooke was supposed to be offended on her behalf, but she broke free from Grace’s grip and walked over to Garrett.
“I’m sorry I surprised you like that, but I didn’t know you were here. I’m Brooke Sullivan, Grace’s best friend.”
Garrett took her hand in his, and Grace felt a little twinge of something she couldn’t name. Irritation perhaps?
“Nice to meet you, Brooke. I’m Garrett. And I apologize for putting a gun to your head.”
Brooke laughed that sweet tinkle of a laugh she had that meant she was putting on the flirty. Or maybe Grace just imagined the flirty. But she thought Garrett probably liked Brooke a whole lot more than he liked her.
For one thing, he was smiling now. And it transformed his face from handsome to oh-em-gee panty-melting. Since when did she like big tough guys with tattoos anyway? She was all about refined men. Men who wore suits but who didn’t talk like a sailor on shore leave. Men with educations and prospects, not men who wielded guns for a living.
Snob.
Grace sniffed. She wasn’t a snob, dammit. She just knew what kind of man she liked. Not that men had been thick on the ground in her life lately, but there was always hope.
Not for the first time, she wished she was little and cute like Brooke. If she looked like Brooke, she might get more attention. Instead, she was tall and plain, and that just didn’t excite many men.
She thought of Tim and his newfound interest in her and grimaced. Maybe she should have accepted his invitation after all. Who cared if it was because of her father’s announcement?
“So, Grace didn’t tell me she was getting a bodyguard.” Brooke threw her a look over her cute little shoulder. Grace resisted the urge to stick out her tongue, but only barely.
“Daddy sprung him on me. I couldn’t say no.”
“And why would you want to?” Brooke practically purred.
Grace folded her arms. “Trust me, I wanted to. He’s mean, for one thing. And he has a dirty mouth.”
“Dirty mouths are the best.” Brooke’s voice had dropped an octave.
Grace rolled her eyes. “Oh for heaven’s sake, stop that.”
Brooke laughed. Garrett was looking at her with interest now, a mischievous smile still on his face.
“Both of you,” Grace added with a twinge of something very like jealousy.
Garrett’s eyes snapped to hers, cooling marginally as they did so. His expression settled into something much less friendly when he looked at her.
“Whatever you say, ma’am,” he drawled in that Southern voice of his. But then he turned back to Brooke, and his expression softened. “I’m sorry I scared you. I only hope I wasn’t too rough.”
The way he said the word rough sent liquid heat sliding through Grace’s bones.
“Not at all,” Brooke said. “You weren’t rough at all.”
“Brooke,” Grace snapped, and her friend jerked toward her. “Help me pick out something for tonight, okay?”
The sunny smile was back on Brooke’s perky face. “Of course.”
She sauntered toward Grace, her attention off of Mr. Dirty Mouth for now.
“I’m thinking the LBD with pearls. Classic!” Brooke sailed right past Grace and continued toward the stairs.
Grace turned to follow—but not before she gave Garrett her best “stay away from my friend” glare. And not before he put his hand to his lips and blew her a kiss. She was certain it was a kiss off—but it still made her heart pound in ways she wished it wouldn’t. She ran up the stairs after Brooke, determined to shut Mr. Tall, Dark, and Sexy out of her head for a while.
When she got upstairs, however, Brooke was standing in front of her closet, bouncing up and down.
“Oh my God, Grace, where did your father find him? Wow, that man is smoking hot! Lucky girl.”
Grace frowned. “I don’t feel so lucky. I feel caged.”
“Aw, honey, I’m sorry.” Brooke came over and tugged her down on the edge of the bed. “I know you hate crowds and strangers, but really, this one is so fine. Oh, those tattoos—that chest! Wouldn’t it be nice to have a little fun for a change?”
Grace blinked at her. “Fun? I thought you wanted him! Are you really suggesting that I should…”
She couldn’t finish the sentence. Brooke’s eyes were twinkling. “I can’t remember the last time you had a date, and now you’ve got a man in your house for what I can only assume is around-the-clock protection.” She frowned. “There won’t be another one coming to take his place, will there? Shift work?”
Grace shook her head. “He’s staying here, in the house with me.”
“Hot damn!”
“Brooke, for heaven’s sake, he had a gun to your temple! Shouldn’t you be a little less understanding about all this?”
“Oh, that wasn’t pleasant, I’ll grant you that—but it’s over now, and he’s here to protect you.” Brooke’s expression turned stern. “Which I am glad for, Grace. You don’t have any idea who tried to grab you—or why—and what if they return? Your father is very high profile right now—and you’re a target.”
“So are my sisters.”
“Not like you, sweetie. Your sisters live in different states, but you’re right here.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It wouldn’t if a man hadn’t accosted you in a parking lot a few nights ago. And he called you by name. That’s not a random mugging.”
“No, I know it’s not.”
Brooke giggled suddenly. “You ever see The Bodyguard? Whitney Houston, Kevin Costner? So romantic!”
Grace gave her a light slap on the arm. “No, I haven’t. And this isn’t romantic!”
Brooke fell back on the bed and put an arm over her forehead. “Girl, you have to see that movie—when he carries her off stage, oh… swoon.”
“Brooke, this is not a movie. That man down there is ill-tempered and foulmouthed. And he doesn’t like me at all!”
Oh dear. That last had sounded like a wail. Brooke sat up, blinking.
“He doesn’t like you? How is that possible? He doesn’t even know you!”
“He thinks he does. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m a spoiled daddy’s girl—and God knows what else he thinks.”
“Oh.” Brooke frowned. And then she got a gleam in her eyes that Grace recognized. “You used the Helena Voice on him, didn’t you?”
Grace groaned. “Yes, God help me, I used my mother’s voice on him. He didn’t take it very well.”
“I’ve told you that Helena Campbell is the only person on earth who can pull that off. You shouldn’t even try it.”
“I didn’t mean to! It just came out. And he deserved it, by the way. He was high-handed and arrogant.”
Brooke burst out laughing. “You’re doing it again, sweetie. So prim and scandalized.”
Grace wanted to punch something. “I can only be me, Brooke. I’m doing the best I can.”
B
rooke got up and patted her on the shoulder before heading for the closet. “Well, let’s find something that will showcase some of your more appealing assets.”
Grace followed her. She knew what Brooke was up to, and she wasn’t sure she approved. “There’s nothing in this closet that’s going to turn that man’s head. Nor do I want to, I should add. He’s not my type. At all.”
Brooke stopped and stared at her. Then she laughed. “Not your type? Tall, hot, and handsome? Packing heat and muscle on a fine body and willing to use all of it to protect you? Oh, sweetie, if that’s not your type, you need to get yourself checked out.”
Grace’s heart thumped. “He’s pretty to look at, I’ll grant you that. But he’s here to do a job—and he’s not interested in me any more than I’m interested in him.”
“Ye of little faith. Let’s see what’s in this closet, shall we?”
“Nothing that magical, I promise.”
Brooke pointed at her. “And you’re wearing your contacts tonight, like it or not. No arguments, chica. Those baby blues are going to shine.”
“Bossy today, aren’t you?”
“I’m PMSing. Don’t mess with me.”
Grace couldn’t help but laugh as her friend started flipping through dresses. An hour later, they had the perfect outfit.
Brooke dusted her hands as if she’d just performed magic. “I have to get to the shop, but I’ll come back and do your makeup later. What time is this thing?”
“Cocktails at six.”
“Then I’ll get here at four thirty. That will give us an hour before your sexy bodyguard has to get you in the car.”
*
His clothes were delivered later that afternoon by a grinning Flash. Garrett only frowned as the man walked into the foyer and dropped his suitcase.
Garrett took the bag with his tux and hung it on a hook by the door. “What’s got you so amused?”
“You. Playing house with a senator’s daughter.”
Garrett walked back toward the media room where he’d been following the news. Flash followed.
“Not playing house,” Garrett said, sinking down and grabbing the remote. “Just making sure our princess doesn’t get grabbed by the baddies.”
Flash flopped into a silk chair, legs sprawling. “Man, since when do we have to play bodyguard for Washington power brokers and their kids? Our place is in the field, taking care of business, not here.”
Garrett thought the same damn thing. “Agreed. But the boss wants this done, it’s getting done.”
Flash sighed. “We’ll have your back tonight. I think it’s a whole lot of effort for nothing, but whatever.”
“Who’s driving us?” Because he’d discussed it with his guys, and they agreed that one of them should play chauffeur while he rode in the back with Grace. Just in case something happened, he needed to be able to react—and he couldn’t do that if he was driving Miss Daisy around town.
“I am.”
Garrett nodded. “Good.”
They chatted a bit more, about tonight and then about nothing much, and Flash left. Garrett put on ESPN and watched a rehash of a football game from last week. He scrolled through his messages—nothing from his ex, thank God, and nothing from Cammie. That last bothered him, but Cammie was in school and she wasn’t allowed to text during class.
Eventually, he went to the guest room he’d commandeered—Grace hadn’t reappeared since she’d taken her cute friend and gone upstairs a few hours ago. The friend—Brooke, she’d said—had left a while ago now. She’d been flirting with him after the misunderstanding in the kitchen—shit, he could still wring Grace’s neck for not informing him she had a friend with a key to the house—but when she left, she hadn’t said anything other than she’d be back at four thirty to help Grace get ready.
He wasn’t disappointed she’d stopped flirting. She was cute, no doubt about it, but he found himself strangely uninterested. Not to mention he had no time for distractions right now. And she would be a distraction. If he bedded her, it would get awkward, because these days he was a one-and-done kind of guy. Not a lot of women appreciated that, he’d come to find out.
But he just couldn’t maintain interest. After his disastrous marriage with Melissa, it was no doubt a gut reaction to anything that smacked of a relationship. He had too much going on in his life to deal with yet another woman in it.
He took a shower and put on his tux, then went down the hall to Grace’s room—he knew it was hers because of the locked door and the classical music in the background—and knocked.
“Yes?” she called.
Her voice slid down his spine like whisky-infused honey. “You okay in there?”
“Fine, thanks.”
“Your friend come back yet?”
The doorknob twisted, and then she was standing there, most of her body hiding behind the door. Because she was wearing a silky robe and probably nothing else. His groin took that moment to decide to spark to life.
Her blue eyes were wide, and she wasn’t wearing glasses for once. Her dark hair was piled on top of her head, and her neck was long and graceful. He wished he could see what kind of curves she had. She’d been wearing some kind of stretchy pants earlier, but she’d had on a billowy T-shirt and he couldn’t quite tell what was going on with her body.
He hadn’t forgotten that flash of her panties earlier or the long legs as they’d climbed the stairs. At first glance, Grace Campbell seemed a little ordinary. But the more you looked at her, the more interesting she got.
“She’s on her way. I’d appreciate it if you don’t accost her this time.”
She sounded so prim. It grated on him—and thrilled him in some ridiculously odd way as well. He had a sudden urge to slant his mouth over hers and knock the starch right out of her.
“Not planning on it, cupcake.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why do you insist on calling me names like that? It’s insulting. I have an MD—and I graduated near the top of my class, by the way.”
“I like the way your nose wrinkles when you’re pissed. Makes the job more interesting.”
She blinked at him, and then her throat moved as she swallowed. “Well, stop. I don’t like it.”
Garrett laughed. “Not happening… cupcake.”
She actually stomped her foot. Her face turned a delightful shade of pink. “You are… a…an ass!”
“You aren’t the first woman to think so,” he told her very seriously. And then he gave her a little salute before turning and strolling down the hall and back down the stairs. He didn’t know why it amused him to irritate her, but it did.
Her friend arrived a short while later, and the two of them stayed in her room. Flash arrived about fifteen minutes before it was time to leave.
“Did you see the news?” he asked as he came inside.
“No, why?” He’d been watching football because he loved it and because it made him think of when he’d been younger and the world had seemed to be his for the taking.
Flash picked up the remote and switched it to a news channel. Helicopter footage of a building was on the screen. There were people gathering at the gates of the building and security barricading the entry. The headline was sensational—and sent a chill down Garrett’s spine.
Presidential Candidate’s Daughter Works at Top-Secret Lab; Are They Creating Bioweapons?
The reporter talked about Magnolia Laboratories, how they were a private company focusing on research, and how they’d received grants and private money to experiment with viruses. And then there was a picture of Grace, but not a white-coated lab picture. In this one, she was with her parents—and the president of the United States. It had clearly been chosen for the sensational nature of the story—a candidate’s daughter with connections in high places who also worked in a research laboratory that just might be on the verge of killing off the entire planet.
The reporter went on to speculate—along with her experts—as to the nature of the work the lab was reall
y doing and how quickly a virus could spread out of control if accidentally released.
Then someone suggested this was why they couldn’t elect Senator Campbell to the presidency, because he would have control of a dangerous bioweapon through his daughter. The conversation disintegrated from there.
“It’s not true!”
Garrett spun around to find Grace standing just inside the room, her pale skin flushed and her hands clenched into fists at her side. Garrett felt as if someone had slammed him over the head with a two-by-four.
Grace Campbell was wearing a black dress that hugged her breasts and flared into a full skirt over her hips. The dress was strapless, and she wore a pearl choker. Her hair was piled on her head, curls escaping to drape artfully over her shoulder.
She walked into the room, her tiny purse clutched in both hands, her long legs eating up ground as she moved. Her ankles were slender and sexy in a pair of shoes with black straps that wrapped around them and buckled right over the bone.
He had a sudden urge to remove those straps with his teeth. And then spread her legs wide and lick his way up to the center.
Shit.
“My father has nothing to do with my research—and I’m not a monster!” She was staring at the screen, her eyes filled with anger and hurt. Her friend came up beside her and put her arms around her.
“You know what these people are like, Grace. This isn’t the first time your father’s been in the lion’s den, and it won’t be the last. They’re going to harass him—and your family—for the next few months. And if he wins the nomination? Look out.”
Grace turned to her pint-sized friend. “I know. Dammit!”
Garrett’s eyes widened. He didn’t think Grace Campbell cussed, but he rather liked it that she did.
Flash coughed. “I’ll go get the car.”
Grace’s gaze landed on him as if she’d just now realized he was there. Which she probably had. She looked confused and a little wary.
Hot Ice (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 7) Page 4
