Protecting The Billionaire

by Christina Tetreault

  “And what are their positions?”

  “Goalie, center…” She hesitated, trying to remember the rest. Think. She’d just read about the players and their positions last night. “Right and left something.” She cringed. Wow, she sounded real intelligent.

  “Left and right wings,” he said with a smile.

  Right, those position names had made her think of birds. “And two defensemen.” She gave herself a mental pat on the back and hoped he didn’t ask her to go into each player’s responsibilities.

  “You got it. Do ya remember what each one does?”

  Oh well, so much for that wish. “The goalie tries to keep the puck out of the net. The right wing is responsible for the right side of the ice.” She had the goalie part right; as far as the rest, she was grasping at straws.

  “That’s part of it. If ya want, I can give you a quick crash course.”

  If it meant she could listen to his voice, her answer was a resounding yes. “I’m all ears. Go for it.”

  Like an encyclopedia of all things hockey, Rock launched into an easy-to-understand explanation of what each player did before he started on the general rules of the game. From time to time, she interrupted with a question, but truthfully she enjoyed listening to his voice too much to stop him. Only when dinner arrived did their conversation slow down as they ate.

  Her friends didn’t know what they were missing by not eating barbecue. Resisting the urge to lick some sauce from her thumb, she grabbed a napkin. Across from her, Rock finished off the rib in his hand and reached for another one. Much like the rest of him, his hands were large and tanned, making her wonder if he spent a lot of time outside. Right now she wouldn’t mind having a little of his color. Every winter she turned into a pale ghost until the spring rolled around and she could spend time outdoors again. Thanks to the milder temps, she’d started spending more and more time outside this month, but her color had a long way to go. Judging by the color in his hands and face, it didn’t look like the weather kept him stuck inside.

  “Anything else I need to know before the game?” Allison pulled open a wet napkin so she could wipe her sticky fingers. If she ate another bite, she’d explode, and she’d only eaten about a quarter of her meal. Judging by the size of their portions, the restaurant thought they were serving giants.

  “I gave ya the basics, and if ya don’t understand something later, just ask.”

  “Fair enough.” She glanced briefly at her ringing cell, which stuck out of her purse’s front pocket. No phone number was displayed, only the words ‘no caller ID.’ Whoever was calling either had an unlisted number or knew someway to keep it from showing up. Since it wasn’t a relative and she couldn’t think of anyone who would need to talk to her now, she ignored the phone. Tomorrow, when she went through her lazy Sunday morning routine, she’d call whoever it was back.

  Rock dropped the bone he’d cleaned off and reached for a wet napkin too. “Gonna answer that?” he asked, once again replacing a words proper ending with an ‘a’ instead.

  “I’ll call them back tomorrow.” The music from her phone stopped. “If we’re hungry after the game, I thought we could stop at Carolina’s Bakery. Their tiramisu isn’t as good as at your grandfather’s bakery, but it’s a close second.”

  “Customers love his recipe. Between you and me, I hate tiramisu.”

  “Not a very good Italian, are you?”

  “Can’t stand calamari either. When I was a kid and my Nonna served it, I’d give it to my brother, Jon, when she wasn’t looking so I could still get dessert. She had this thing about not getting anything else until you cleared your plate.”

  The image of him passing off his food when his grandmother turned her back made her smile. “I won’t tell her. And everything else at Carolina’s is delicious too.”

  “Whatever you want tonight, I’m up for it.”

  The smartphone she’d ignored moments ago started up again with the same message on the screen.

  Rock plucked the phone from her purse and handed it to her. “Someone wants ya. Take it. I don’t mind.”

  “It’s probably some reporter trying to get information about Jake and Charlie’s son. They’ve refused to give out any pictures or details about Garret, and the media doesn’t like being left out.” Without answering it, she turned off the phone and stuck it back into her purse. “I’m not ruining our night by talking to them. Let them leave a message.” Grabbing his hand, she gave it a squeeze. “Come on, let’s see how much I learned from you so far tonight.”

  ***

  On a scale of one to ten with a one being a “I’d rather being sorting my sock drawer than out with this guy” and a ten being “Please don’t let this night end,” the evening ranked at a nine. If not for the permanent chill that had seeped into her body, she would’ve given the night a ten. And the chill was her fault. She’d bought tickets to an ice hockey game. Ice, the keyword in the sentence. She should’ve considered it would be chilly inside the arena when she’d picked her clothes for the night. Instead she’d been more concerned with looking nice. Next time she’d know better. And there would be a next time if she had anything to say about it.

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been on a date and just been herself. Not once during dinner or the ride into DC had she worried Rock was with her because of some personal ambitions. When he asked questions, she hadn’t worried a wrong answer would somehow find its way into the media. Although he hadn’t asked a ton of questions, the ones he had asked had been direct and personal without being intrusive. While she had nothing to hide, some information she’d rather not share on a first date. A lot of men she went out with didn’t understand that. Perhaps they thought, since the media butted into her family’s life so much, they could too. Men like that didn’t get a second date. And already she was planning out a second date with Rock, assuming he was open to the idea. She got the definite impression he would be.

  On the ice, player number ten got possession of the puck and skated down the rink toward the net. Allison scooted to the edge of her seat, unable to look away. If the player made the goal, it would put the Capitals up and she wanted them to win. After all, they were the home team, since she now lived in the area.

  She cringed when a player from the other team checked number ten, and then she almost laughed. She’d expected to hate hockey and find it as boring as soccer, a sport both her and Derek had tried as kids. While Derek had loved it and gone on to play for several years, she’d begged her parents to let her quit before the season hit the halfway point. Despite her pleas, they’d made her finish out the season, insisting she’d made a commitment to the team. After that experience, she’d avoided traditional team sports and stuck with dancing and tennis.

  Oddly though, she didn’t hate hockey or find it boring. Actually, if she’d known she was going to enjoy the game this much, she would’ve given it a try a long time ago. Of course some of her enjoyment might be due to her company for the evening.

  Throughout the first half of the game, Rock continued his lessons. As soon as the players took the ice, he pointed out which player was in what position. If a penalty got called and it wasn’t obvious why, he explained it. Once or twice she almost asked him questions just to hear his voice. With a voice like his, the man should be doing television commercials and narrating books or something.

  Down on the ice, number thirteen went into the boards and dropped like a stone to the ice as the referee blew his whistle. Allison held her breath and watched, waiting for the player to move as whom she guessed was a team trainer and the coach came out to him.

  “He’s not moving, is he?” Suddenly the game wasn’t as much fun anymore.

  “Doesn’t look like it. Guys get knocked out sometimes.” He said it as if they were discussing the weather rather than another human’s well-being.

  A stretcher appeared and the player was moved onto it. Before he could be rolled away though, the player gave the crowd a thumbs up, letting ev
eryone know he was at least awake.

  “I hope he’s okay.” Almost as soon as the stretcher left, a player came off the bench and took number thirteen’s place.

  “The guy probably has a concussion. Happens a lot in hockey and football.”

  Football was another game she didn’t know much about, but she could see how concussions would be common. The game did involve grown men routinely banging heads. Even if they did wear helmets, that couldn’t be good for you. In fact, her parents had forbid any of her brothers from playing football in school.

  Less than a minute later, the buzzer sounded, signaling intermission, and “Rock You Like A Hurricane” filled the arena as people headed for food or the restrooms.

  Unable to stop herself, she sang along with the chorus until she looked over and saw Rock staring, not just looking, at her. “What? My singing isn’t that bad, is it?” She realized she’d never land a recording contract, but she hadn’t thought her singing was terrible either, despite what Derek said.

  “No. Just surprised you know this. Guessed you’d be more into whatever’s hot on the radio.”

  They hadn’t discussed music, so his assumption made sense. “Usually I am, but I like the Scorpions. I have ever since I danced to a version of this song in a recital one year.”

  “That’s wrong.”

  Was he teasing her? She couldn’t tell. “The recital had an 80’s theme to it. All the dance numbers, even the ballet ones, were done to songs from the 1980s. I danced to four different 80’s songs that year. I only liked this one though and bought some of their best hits CDs. I think I still have them somewhere.” She wouldn’t admit to anyone, but she hated to throw things out.

  “There’s a local tribute band that plays their music. I’ve seen them play a few times. They’re not bad.”

  “I didn’t know that. What’s their name?”

  “Trance.”

  “I’ll look them up. If they have a show soon, let’s go.”

  “Their concerts get rowdy sometimes.”

  Okay, she thought he was interested in getting to know her and spending time with her. Had she read him wrong? Had he agreed to this date to be nice? Allison dismissed her thoughts right away. If he’d only said yes to be nice, he sure as heck wouldn’t have brought her flowers and kissed her the way he had. So how should she interpret his statement? “All concerts get a little crazy sometimes. It doesn’t bother me.” She’d attended tons of concerts as a teenager and in college. This band’s couldn’t be that much different.

  “The last one I went to, three fights broke out inside and the cops arrested a few drunks in the parking lot.”

  That sounded a little rowdier than she was accustomed to, but nothing she couldn’t handle, assuming she wasn’t alone. “I’d be fine.”

  Down on the ice, the players took their positions, but Rock didn’t seem to notice as he leaned closer. “You’re serious.”

  It hadn’t sounded like a question, but she couldn’t stop herself from nodding anyway.

  He smiled and whatever chill she’d had before disappeared, replaced with enough heat to melt the entire rink.

  “Okay.” He moved closer still and kissed her lips, making her wish she hadn’t pulled her jacket on.

  Before she got the chance to really get into the kiss and enjoy it, he pulled away. Rather than turn his attention to the game, he scanned the crowd. “Someone’s watching us.”

  The man with the camera pointed in their direction was difficult to miss, and she mentally kicked herself. She should’ve warned him that going on a date or anywhere else with her meant your picture might end up on the Internet or some magazine cover. Especially lately. In the past, the media had been content to shadow her cousins and brothers. Now though with Jake and Trent happily married and both Sara and Gray engaged, the media needed new blood. Hence they’d turned their sights and camera lens on her.

  “Sorry. I should’ve warned you that might happen.” Please don’t let it bother you. With the exception of one guy she’d dated a few times in college, the men she went out with were not bothered by the media attention that sometimes found her. A few even clamored for it. However, she could see it annoying Rock. She just didn’t know if it would annoy him enough to say adios or not.

  Rock’s eyes darted in the direction of the photographer again before he met her gaze. “Dude didn’t get much of a pic, did he? What do ya say we give him a better one?”

  She swore his eyes twinkled as he spoke. “Let’s.”

  Chapter 7

  Looked like he needed to change his plans. Up until now, he’d held off, unsure if it was necessary or not. Instead, he’d watched and waited, dividing his time between here and Dumfries so he could keep an eye on Rocco Raimono, which turned out to be a surprisingly easy thing to do. The guy was predictable. Every morning that week he’d gone for a run before the damn sun even came up. Two of the days, he ran with a friend but the other four he went alone. Then, except for this morning, he drove to the Marine base in Quantico where he spent the bulk of the day. He’d considered trying to get on base to learn more but decided it would only bring attention his way. Attention he didn’t want. Besides, it didn’t really matter what the SOB did on base. He only cared about what he did off. Once Raimono left the base, he returned home where he stayed until the next morning. The only night he’d done anything differently had been Wednesday. He’d gone straight from the base to Shooters Pub where he’d spent a couple of hours before leaving alone.

  He’d been confidant Raimono didn’t pose any threat and ready to leave Dumfries for good. Then tonight he saw the guy’s pickup pull out of his apartment’s parking lot and something told him to follow the SOB one last time. Sure enough, he’d headed north toward Alexandria.

  He’d gotten good at following and not being noticed. Something snapped though when he saw Raimono walk out of Arrangements By Gertrude with a huge bouquet. Rage had burned in his chest and he’d gotten sloppy. Raimono had noticed him behind him. Even after he’d backed off and parked, the guy had been vigilant, checking his surroundings, which was why he was sitting at home with no idea where his love was. Following the couple again once they left her townhouse had been too risky. Right now, Raimono didn’t know for certain he’d been followed. If he spotted the same car behind him again tonight, however, it would raise his suspicions. He couldn’t allow that to happen, especially when he was this close to having the woman he loved. No, until he figured out the best way to get Raimono out of the equation, he needed to back off a little.

  Chapter 8

  A week ago, he hadn’t even known there was a Botanic Garden in DC let alone cared to visit it. Yet, he was now heading down Maryland Avenue toward what the Internet described as a living plant museum. As if plants needed a museum of their own. But if he was bored to death for the next few hours, it was his own damn fault. Since Allison had planned their last outing with his preferences in mind, he’d wanted to return the favor. A flower-loving woman like Allison should love an afternoon gaping at flowers from around the world followed by a picnic lunch in Bartholdi Park. A picnic lunch he’d already ordered but they’d need to pick up once Allison either got bored of flower gazing or he passed out from hunger. Judging by the way her face lit up when he announced their destination, he suspected the second would happen long before the first. And damn but her expression was still alive and well in his mind. Any suffering he experienced today looking at friggin’ plants was worth the smile she’d given him. That smile had made his heart jump, and he’d been unable to resist kissing her. Then again, no matter what her expression, he found it difficult to not kiss her. Any straight guy with eyes would suffer from the same problem.

  “Do ya want a guide?” Rock asked when they entered the building and passed by a display containing visitor guides in every language imaginable.

  She gave his hand a little squeeze. “I think I could write the guide myself, I’ve been here so many times. Do you care where we start?”

  �
��I’m following you.”

  “This way then. I love checking out the orchids. Every time I come, there are different ones in bloom.”

  Orchids, those were the big white flowers his mom bought his Nonna every Easter, right? Did a museum need to dedicate a whole section to them? Wouldn’t a shelf or two do?

  “My mom tried growing orchids in her greenhouse, but she never had much success. She even traveled to the Philippines and handpicked the ones she wanted. They still didn’t survive. Her roses and gardenias were breathtaking.”

  Trees and rocks filled the glass room she led him into. Flowers like he’d never seen before clung to the branches and sprouted from the vegetation growing close to the floor. Humid air filled the space, reminding him of the rainforest in South America—a place he didn’t have particularly good memories of and no wish to spend time in again.

  “Aren’t they beautiful?” Allison released his hand as she bent to examine a light purple flower. “These are dendrobium orchids. Mom should’ve tried growing these. They tend to be easier than some of the others.”

  “When you said orchid, I pictured the white flowers the stores sell around Easter.” He looked around the room but didn’t see anything that resembled those.

  “You’re thinking of lilies. Those are pretty too, but I likes these more.”

  To him a flower was a flower.

  “Let’s see what else is out today. Usually there are a few hundred different orchids blooming at the same time in here.”

  That explained the unique smell. It was like someone had taken a few bottles of perfume and mixed it with some damp soil before spreading it around the room. While not unpleasant, he wouldn’t want it inside his apartment either. “How many do they grow in here?” There was so much vegetation in the room, it was impossible to even estimate.