Guardian For Hire
Page 4
“It’s the only way to stop the bleeding. Give it here.” She didn’t hand over the tissues, and rather than forcing them from her, he laid his hand over hers, pressing firmly. “There. Like this.”
She sucked in a breath, but didn’t fight him. Her hand was even softer than he’d expected. Warmer, too. With her being so damn chilly toward him, he’d half expected some kind of arctic blast from her touch. Instead, the skin he found was silky and inviting. The bones felt so small and delicate in his giant mitt and for an instant, he was almost afraid of breaking her.
You’ve already done that, you big oaf, he reminded himself.
Exactly why he shouldn’t be around women like her. A long moment passed before she murmured, “That, um, feels better actually. Thank you.”
Her gaze locked with his and a bolt of heat sizzled through him. No fucking way. Not that. Not now.
Not with her.
He pulled his hand away and straightened. There was no question that she’d been pretty before, in that cool, untouchable sort of way. But the shorter, darker hair combined with those seafoam eyes hit him like a one-two punch.
It was only because it was so different from what she’d looked like earlier that day, he assured himself. Once he got used to it, this attraction would pass.
He straightened and stepped back from the bed. “Yeah, well, it’s the air, you know. That makes it sting. You should be all right now.”
She mopped her tear-dampened cheeks and sat up. “Thanks.” A yawn seemed to creep up on her, and she covered her mouth. “Ugh, I think all this action is taking its toll.” She raised her hands above her head in a stretch, and her new shirt lifted to bare the expanse of her smooth, flat stomach. He stared down, caught, unable to look away. Did the rest of her feel as soft as her hands? His cock bucked at the thought.
Shit.
In the fight against himself, he’d already lost the first round. He cleared his throat and headed back to his corner, sprawling back onto his bed with a grunt.
She stood and glanced down at him, but quickly averted her gaze. Whether it was because she’d recalled the embarrassment of the whole fake phone situation or because she could tell he had a boner, he wasn’t sure. Either way, she kept her eyes glued to the still-muted TV, and he was grateful for it.
“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’m going to get ready for bed.” She hesitated and gave him a hopeful smile. “I hate to ask, but did you, uh, happen to get me pajamas?”
“Everything should be in the bag.”
“’Kay, thanks.”
She made her way toward the bathroom, and he couldn’t stop himself from watching as her pert ass swayed with every movement. She could say what she wanted about his clothing choices for her, but she was looking fit in those jeans.
He squeezed his eyes closed and stripped down to his boxers with a curse. As he settled himself underneath the paper-thin comforter, he made a mental note to sleep on his stomach just in case Sarabeth was an early riser, because his dick sure as hell was, and the last thing he needed was to offend her delicate sensibilities more than he already had.
He was just about to shut off the light when a guttural noise that sounded like it had come from a half hyena, half human came from behind the bathroom door.
“Everything okay in there?” he called.
“Where’s the bottom half of these?” The bathroom door swung open to reveal Sarabeth, pulling at the hem of the nightshirt he’d bought her. The white cotton came down to her mid-thigh. Perfectly respectable. Until she scurried toward the bed like her ass was on fire, flashing him quick glances of her light-pink underwear. Even more alluring, he caught a glimpse of a small birthmark on the inside of her thigh. It was the shape of a tiny heart, and the need to cover it with his mouth battered at him like a storm.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The ogling was an invasion of her privacy, however unintentional, and he had to cut the shit. He tried to think of something else. Anything. The score of the game. The job. The number of countries that began with the letter M. But nothing worked.
Luckily, Sarabeth’s screech as she passed by the mirror against the wall distracted him from wondering if her bra matched those panties. Or if she had taken it off altogether.
“Do you even know what these letters mean?”
She gestured toward the pink, bedazzled letters across her chest, “DTF,” also drawing attention to the very prominent answer to his question. Teacup breasts with small, tight nipples straining against the thin cotton. His throat went dry and he shrugged, tearing his gaze away to meet her incredulous stare.
“DTF? I dunno. I thought it was like a college acronym or an association of some kind or something. Like MADD or DARE.”
She flopped onto the bed and threw the covers over her bare legs with a groan. “Right. I’m sure you did.”
Her cheeks blazed and he found himself biting back a grin. He’d gotten her riled again and he hadn’t even meant to this time. At least she wasn’t crying. “What does it mean, then?”
“I’m not going to justify that question with an answer. Good night.” She turned her back to him, but now that she’d stopped crying, the devil in him couldn’t help but bait her one more time. There was something about her outrage that was strangely endearing.
“That’s a nice birthmark you’ve got.”
When she turned to face him, her face was blank. But when realization dawned, her eyes flashed, and she threw her entire body in the other direction, bouncing so hard against the mattress that the springs squealed for release. “We’re not speaking.”
“Aw, come on.”
She snapped off the light on her nightstand and five seconds later, started making soft snoring sounds.
“Nobody falls asleep that quickly.”
The snoring got louder, and he decided to give up the fight. Still, despite everything, he found himself smiling. Yep, the doc was tougher than she looked, but in order to keep her safe, he was going to have to watch her like a hawk. Not only did her bravery make her a danger to herself, but it was becoming more and more clear that if he didn’t look out for her, nobody else was going to.
His anger toward her grandparents burned hot again. He knew better than anyone how deep that kind of rejection cut, and it bothered him more than it should that Sarabeth had had to suffer it. That part couldn’t be helped. You couldn’t pick your family. But he had been picked to take care of her, and that’s what he was going to do. He’d protect her. From the enemy. From herself.
And who’s going to protect her from you? his conscience bleated.
He lay awake for a few minutes until Sarabeth’s fake snores turned to even, soft breaths. Then, he got up and grabbed his satphone from the nightstand. Silently, he edged across the room and outside the door, dialing the phone as he went.
It only rang once before the line picked up.
“Yeah.” Maddy, his partner, sounded even more impatient than usual.
“Not even a hello?”
“Car blown up, hotel heiress, and suspected kidnapping? I’ve been expecting this call for too long to waste time on the pleasantries. But hey, how’s it hanging?”
He snorted a laugh. “Fine, thanks.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Set her up with a new name, fake documents, the works.”
“Already done. She’s Sarah Lockwood now. God, you act like this is my first rodeo.”
“Well, how about this for a loop? Get her a badge and uniform. She’ll be coming into the office with me for the time being.”
“What do you mean?” Maddy’s tone was a decibel short of a screech, and he winced. He’d known she wasn’t going to be thrilled about having Sarabeth underfoot, but after the day he’d had, he’d been hoping that maybe one thing would go his way.
She groaned. “Come on, Gav. Just leave her at the house. We’ll send a guy over to sit outside. I’ll see if we can spare Tate.”
An ex-Special Forces ext
raction operative, Tate Boyd was the best security specialist they had at McClintock and Saunders, with the exception of himself and Maddy. If Gavin was going to trust anyone else with Sarabeth, it would be Tate.
But he wasn’t.
“No can do. You think Nico didn’t have top-of-the-line security and guards? She’s a walking bull’s-eye, and the only way to protect her is to keep her close until we figure out who’s behind this.”
“Walking bull’s-eye. Nice,” she said with a snort. “I hope you tell her that way. Your little debutante will probably fall into a fit of the vapors at that description.”
You’d be surprised. “I’ll deal with her, you just get the documents together.” He was about to disconnect but then remembered something else. “Oh, and Maddy?”
“What?”
“What’s DTF mean?” He waited for her to answer, but the she was silent on the other end. “Hello?”
His partner blew out a sigh. “Sorry, I was debating whether to ask you why you wanted to know, but then I realized I probably don’t want to hear the answer. It’s sort of Internet shorthand for ‘down to fuck.’ Annnnd, on that note, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
She hung up, leaving him staring dumbly at the flashing vacancy sign.
Fuck all.
Chapter Five
“Sarabeth?”
The low, gruff voice teased at her consciousness even as an unfamiliar scent tickled her nose. Clove…and something woodsy. Cold droplets of water splattered her feet and ankles and, for a moment, panic skittered through her as she wondered if she’d been caught. Was she out in the woods somewhere, tied to a tree and left for dead? After a night of dreams filled with chase scenes that ended with her falling off cliffs, it seemed about right. But no. She could still feel the sheets all around her, thank God. She was in the motel and safe. There was just something dripping on her feet, forcing her to face a day she was not at all ready to face yet.
Reluctantly, she blinked her eyes open to stare at the ceiling. No leaks. It didn’t even sound like it was raining. So where was the wa—
She scrubbed a hand over her face and sat up to find Gavin at the foot of her bed with a tiny motel towel hitched precariously around his lean hips. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as she stared. His tattoo stood out in bold relief against his swarthy skin. The shoulders that had looked broad with a shirt on were even more spectacular unclothed. Thickly muscled and gorgeous. Don’t look down. Don’t look—
It was no use, though. Her gaze tripped lower as if magnetized, and she took in the contours of his chest, the ropy muscles of his abs, the tight vee right about that thin, white towel…
She swallowed hard and shook her head to clear it. It was way too early for this. Too early to tamp down her reaction to his brutish but undeniable sexuality. He’d already gotten her feet wet and the condition seemed to be spreading upward. But as hard as she tried to tear her gaze away, it seemed as though she always found herself in the exact same spot. Staring at the droplets of water clinging to his pecs, inanely jealous she wasn’t one of them.
Not that she’d ever tell him that. She worked up some saliva and met his eyes with a frown. “Ugh, will you put it away? It’s sort of early for stripper-robics, I think.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Sorry, sleeping beauty, but we’ve got to get going. The shower’s free if you want in.”
She was surprised by how easy his smile looked. As if he hadn’t just obliterated her insides by flashing around his mostly naked body all over the place.
“I just forgot to grab my clothes. I’ll only be another minute and then it’s all you.” He flexed over his suitcase, and she caught a glimpse of that tattoo again, 8-28-02. Curiosity tugged at her. First, at what it meant, and second at why she couldn’t seem to look away.
And as she stared, she noticed there was more than just the tattoo. A long, thin line extended from the center of his chest to just above his right nipple. The lower left section of his stomach was peppered with long-healed pink reminders of previous wounds.
Until that moment, she’d sort of thought of him as a hired hand. He did his job and got out. His body told a different story. He’d sacrificed. He’d suffered. He was a warrior. And while that should have comforted her considering their situation, it only managed to make her that much more afraid. She wasn’t the only one at risk here. Her unwitting actions had also put someone else in danger.
She cleared her throat, trying to wrap her head around the turn her life had taken. She had to get her mind off of the situation… to focus on the future because the now was just too damned scary.
“Where are we going, exactly?”
“Breakfast.” He tossed the word over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.
“Funny. But really, where?”
“Denny’s probably. Delicious food. Plus, it’s five a.m., and they have a great early-bird discount.”
She sighed. Maybe the best course of action was to stay mute. Trying to make conversation with this confounding man was a one-way path to insanity. “Awesome. We’re on the lam from a hit man, and your plan is to hit the Denny’s,” she mumbled.
Clearly not as quietly as she’d hoped because he shouted through the door a second later. “Man’s gotta eat.”
She grumbled under her breath some more, this time more softly. He was the expert, so she’d do what he said, but it went against the grain. Still, if he was half as good as Owen said he was, following his directives could make this whole thing go away a lot faster, so she’d make the best of it.
She quickly packed up the few things she’d brought, and he emerged from the bathroom a minute later fully clothed, thank the baby Jesus. She pushed past him into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. After a quick hosing off in the surprisingly not filthy shower, and a mirror pep talk full of affirmations about how she was strong, confident, and not a victim, she was feeling marginally better and refreshed. She applied a dab of lip gloss and some mascara just for the illusion of normalcy and pulled on the next outfit she’d found in the plastic bag of horrors—another pair of jeans that were a size smaller than they should’ve been and a tight purple scoop-neck shirt. She was lucky that her breasts weren’t big enough to pour over the top of the collar. The same couldn’t be said for the bottom half of the shirt. No matter how she turned, it wouldn’t meet the top of her jeans. Instead, it clung to her stomach, exposing a three-inch swath of skin almost to her belly button. She shot a glance down at the balled-up, bedazzled DTF shirt and sighed. Not a whole lot of options.
So much for feeling refreshed and confident. She wiped her suddenly damp palms on her second-skin jeans and threw her shoulders back. If she was going to wear it, there was no point in skulking around. What was that Lindy was always muttering to herself when she got stressed?
Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine.
She swung open the bathroom door to find Gavin sitting on the bed, waiting for her. He leaned back on his elbows, and the motion made his biceps bulge in a way that made her want to test one with her fingers.
“Good, you’re all set. Right then, let’s go.” He pushed himself up and crossed the room without looking at her twice, which may have been a blessing. Tight as her clothes were, his pants were far more distracting. The dark wash skimmed his bottom, and she couldn’t keep herself from watching every tantalizing movement as he strode ahead of her. He might be the kind of guy who liked to push buttons, but clearly Mother Nature had doled out a little extra in the “Fine” department to even it all out.
Once they were settled in the car and safely on their way, she decided it was probably time to get real and figure out what came next. “So what’s going to happen to me now?”
“Breakfast. Like I said.” His gaze stayed locked on the road.
“After breakfast. What then?” She tried to sound brave, but her voice cracked on the last word. Luckily, he seemed so focused on driving that he probably didn’t even notice.
“Like, ‘safe’ as in locked in some kind of panic room, or what?” Her skin prickled with goose bumps and her hands went icy cold. Panic room was the perfect name for those things. Tiny space plus four walls and no windows certainly equaled panic to her.
“No, no, of course not. You’ll have your run of the house.”
She unclenched her fists and nodded. At least that was somewhat better. “So I’m just going to hang out there?”
“Not all the time, no. I’ll be taking you to work with me so I can keep an eye on you. We’re going to call you my apprentice. And while we’re at it, I might as well use some of our time to teach you some basic self-defense moves. Not that I think you’ll need to use them, but it can’t hurt.”
Visions of being sprawled on her back in a leg lock or some such with him plastered over her ran through her head and she shifted in her seat. Suddenly the panic room didn’t sound so bad.
“You’ll be fine,” he assured her. “There’s nothing to worry about.” He parked the car and got out without sparing her a glance. She fumbled with her belt, and just when she thought he would have kept going without her, her door swung open and he was on the other side, hand outstretched.
“Come on.”
He didn’t strike her as the kind of guy who opened a door for a girl, and it took her aback for a second. Then his brows rose impatiently and she swallowed a grin. That was more like it. She took his hand, amazed again by how huge it was. Like a bear paw. Warm. Strong. Capable. And with such a simple touch, her fears ebbed again. If Gavin said it was going to be all right, something deep inside told her she should believe him.
He led her into the diner up to the hostess station, and she glanced around. The early-morning crowd at the restaurant was exactly what she would have expected. Bleary-eyed men in construction uniforms on their way to work, bleary-eyed college kids who hadn’t gone home from their night at the bar yet, and bleary-eyed octogenarians taking advantage of the early-bird specials.
The fluorescent lights in the place were few and far between, and she wondered whether it was to hide the grime or in deference to all their customers who got the short end of the sleep stick.
A tall, bouffant-coiffed waitress sauntered over with laminated menus in hand, a bored expression etched on her face. Between the bright-blue eye shadow and shock of red lipstick, it was really an achievement that the most notable thing about her was still that look of perpetual distaste.
“Two then?” She glanced up at them for the first time, and the irritation that had been so prominent wore away, quickly replaced by an almost giddy excitement.
“Yes, please,” Gavin said.
“Right this way.” She led them to a booth in the back of the diner, secluded from the rest of the clientele. “You can sit in my section.” Her eyes were locked on Gavin and somehow the innocuous phrase came out sounding like a line from a porno.
“This is perfect, thank you, uh—” Gavin searched for the name tag on her chest, and the woman thrust her breasts forward obligingly. “Ashlee.”
Her full lips curved into a smile, but just as an irrational kernel of jealousy lodged itself in Sarabeth’s gullet, Ashlee wheeled around and stared at her with curious, appraising eyes.
Sarabeth looked away quickly, obscuring her features with the curtain of her hair. This was her first time out in public since the whole car-explosion thing, and suddenly she felt very vulnerable.
“Thanks, Ashlee,” she murmured, trying to disguise her voice for some inane reason. It came out sounding like a bad Marilyn Monroe impression and she winced. Now Gavin and server Ashlee were both staring at her funny. Not cool when she was trying for inconspicuous.
The waitress hung there a few seconds longer, before stepping back. “Okay, well, I’ll be over in a jiff to take your order.”
She sauntered away, and Sarabeth slid into the booth. Once Gavin was seated across from her, she took a furtive glance around and leaned in. “I don’t like this,” she hissed.
“What, the hotel heiress has never been to a Denny’s before?” His eyebrows rose in faux surprise. “I highly recommend the Grand Slam.”
She blew out a breath and scowled at him. “Oh, stop, I’ve been to a…well, no, actually, I’ve never been here before,” she admitted, her cheeks warming. “But keep your voice down about that h-o-t-e-l stuff, okay?”
His slow grin only ramped up her anxiety. For a security expert, he sure wasn’t taking this very seriously, and all the warm fuzzies she’d felt five minutes before disappeared.
“Look, I know the early morning crew looks rough, but I’m pretty sure they can spell ‘hotel,’ Doc.”
“Whatever,” she muttered, smacking the scarred Formica table with her hand to get him back on task. “That’s not the point.”
His lips kicked up again and he shrugged. “What is the point, exactly?”
“The waitress is up to something. She’s using her…assets to distract you. She’s looking at me funny. You’re the one who’s supposed to be the expert. I’d have thought you’d have noticed too,” she said with a sniff.
He held the menu up to his face, but his voice seemed choked when he responded. “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll be extra careful.”