March Heat: A Firefighter Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Chase Jackson

  Could be those bikinis, I thought excitedly.

  I put on a large fluffy pink dressing gown, leaving it a bit looser than necessary just in case the delivery guy was hot, even though that sort of thing only happened in pornos or crappy movies.

  I ran down the large spiral staircase, lightly gripping the handrail along the way. I reached the front door in what was probably record time, spurred on by the anticipation of unwrapping an expensive item or four.

  When I opened the door, I found myself staring chest-level at a hulking figure that almost filled the whole doorway, muscles bulging visibly beneath a black t-shirt that was clearly too tight. I raised my gaze, passing well-muscled arms and shoulders on the way up. My visitor was standing with his arms politely held behind his back in an almost military-like pose. I wasn’t too short at 5’6”, but this guy was a good foot taller than me.

  My girlish glee evaporated in an instant and I froze like a wide-eyed deer in the headlights.

  Slowly, my brain unfroze.

  Ah…so this must be the bodyguard, I thought. But then it occurred to me that the guards at the gate wouldn’t have had a chance against this guy, so there was really no telling who he was.

  Well, I thought absurdly, if I'm being kidnapped, at least he’s hot. Massive and slightly scary, but super hot…

  “Ma’am,” the figure nodded, his calm and softly spoken deep voice oddly hypnotic. “You must be Alexandra. Sorry if I, ah, got you at a bad time. Your father… Well, he said you’d be in. So, here I am.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and I could tell by his posture that he was favoring his left knee. I then noticed a scar running down one side of his face as he frowned. “Shit. Sorry,” he continued. “I’m going to be your bodyguard. Guess I should have started with that.” His frown softened. “Ain’t too good at this bit. The protecting part, though—that’s the part I excel at, ma’am.”

  No shit. You look like you could shrug off bullets.

  I did my best to regain my composure, remembering that this guy was going to be working for me effectively. I looked at his arms again, thinking about him carrying my suitcases…

  “First of all, stop calling me ma’am,” I said, putting on a face and crossing my arms, the gesture slightly parting my dressing gown and partially exposing my cleavage. “My name’s Alexandra, as you well know. I’m not sure why my dad sent you here already. I’m not nearly ready. I haven’t even booked a flight yet.”

  His hand was suddenly in front of me, held out in greeting. How such a big man moved so quickly was astounding.

  “Pleased to meet you, Alexandra. I’m Cruz. Cruz Miller.” I shook his huge hand briefly, the exchange slightly awkward due to the size difference. “And that’s fine. I’m on retainer, fixed fee. I’m ready whenever you are. Need anything done, just ask. Or you need me to fuck off into the shadows, same goes. Any sign of trouble though, you won’t need to shout. It’ll be over before you even know it.”

  I looked again at the figure standing awkwardly in front of me. A brief moment before the handshake, I’d thought I’d seen a flash of softness in his eyes--a glimpse behind his well-rehearsed ‘I’m a fucking badass’ facade. But now it was completely gone, leaving me to assume I might have imagined it. Still, I suspected there was a normal guy in there somewhere.

  Besides, I couldn’t blame him for looking, seeing that I wasn’t wearing much.

  Well, if the trip went to shit, I’d have my own personal project to work on.

  Cruz

  I shifted awkwardly again, the decade old bullet-wound in my right knee causing me grief. I could never fucking tell when it was going to hurt. The pain may have been related to the fucking weather, for all I knew.

  Christ, I’m getting old. Only 37 and I know when it's going to fucking rain before CNN, I thought, annoyed. At least the sneaky Russian who shot me is swimming with the fishes. Well, a guy ain't got much choice with concrete boots on…

  I suppressed a smile. The mere memory seemed to have alleviated the gnawing pain somewhat.

  Fucking hell, she was beautiful. Not like a dolled-up bar girl or stripper. This girl had almost nothing on except a dressing gown. Not even a speck of makeup, and she was still stunning. From what my eyes had briefly seen on their foray down her body, I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra.

  Big boobs, big hips. Slim waist. Not too short, not too tall. Long blonde hair…

  Fuck, keep it together, Cruz, I inwardly chastised myself.

  Shaking these thoughts away, I reverted back to my military pose. “You got it, Lex.”

  She frowned at the shortening of her name. It would probably piss her off, but I bet she was even fucking hotter when she was angry. Not to mention it would be funny, to boot. “Tell you what? How about I come back here in a couple days? I got shit to do, favors to call in, and whiskey to drink. You know, the usual. I’ll bring a car and we can arrange a plan, okay?”

  Her eyebrows raised. “How about I just call you?” she said.

  How about your phone is probably fucking tapped, beautiful? I smirked. “Okay. But look, just do me a favor. No names on the phone. No locations. Just tell me what time to bring a car to get you and your pretty friends to meet you here, all right? Now, I’m guessing you’ll need a big car. Yeah?”

  She giggled. “You got that right. And by the looks of you, you won't struggle getting my suitcases.” She raised her hand in a mock salute, her expression slightly patronizing as she pretended to look serious. “I just need your phone number.”

  “Oh, right. Sure.” I handed her my card, which simply read ‘C. MILLER’ with a cell number written beneath it in blue ink.

  Alexandra didn’t look impressed.

  “Say someone taps that number,” I said. “I break the phone, throw the SIM, and fuck off. Damn well ain't payin’ for new business cards. So I just write the new number on the next card. Genius, ain't it?”

  “Yeah...” she responded, her expression deadpan. “Genius.”

  All of a sudden, excitement gleamed in her eyes and a slight smile spread across her pretty face. “Okay, I’ll call you. But now, I need to get ready. Oh, and your shoulders are blocking the doorway. I’m expecting a delivery or two.”

  I nodded, guessing that what she really meant was, “Get the fuck off my doorstep and scram.”

  Like father, like daughter.

  I left and strolled along the large driveway to the mansion’s gates. I had known Alexandra wouldn’t be ready, and I wasn’t dumb or old-fashioned enough to think I could just turn up in a couple days’ time and we’d be off on the grand tour.

  No, I’d come here to case the joint. Check security, access, sight lines--that sort of thing. And I wanted to see how this guy lived. Someone who was sending his daughter on a no-expense spared, four-month luxury trip with an expensive bodyguard--an expensive bodyguard who’d had his usual rate almost doubled, no less--was worth checking out a little closer.

  I turned around as I walked, taking in the long winding driveway, as well as the immaculate lawns, large pond, and tennis court. I imagined there was probably a swimming pool out back. And the big fucking mansion in the middle of it all.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if someone ever tried to go after his daughter just for his money.

  The security looked good at face value. There were two guards at the gate, one in a little office which likely had CCTV monitors for the perimeter fence, and probably one each at the front and back door as well. If these guards were worth their salt, the place would be hard to get into, detected or undetected. If not, however, it wouldn’t take much to sneak past or simply take them out one-by-one.

  Leaving Little Miss Beautiful all on her own, wearing nothing but a fluffy pink dressing gown…

  I had to shake myself to clear the image that had started to form in my head of Alexandra slowly opening the gown and letting it drop to the floor.

  I decided it would be best to keep an eye on the place over the next few days, mainly at night w
hen the guards would be half asleep and not paying as much attention. I didn’t want to fail the job before it had even fucking started.

  “Damn, I need a drink,” I said out loud. Even though it was a bit early, I was sure I’d be able to find some seedy bar that would sell me a coarse whiskey in a dirty glass. But first, I had some errands to run and a few logistical issues to iron out.

  I had no fucking clue where the first destination was, which meant I couldn’t plan anything. Besides, you couldn't get away with strolling on a plane with a gun these days; I had to take one with me in my check-in or arrange for one or two to be ‘deposited’ at the intended destination. I had some old contacts in America, Europe, a few in Russia, some in Asia and a couple in the Middle East. Most of them owed me favors.

  It’s surprising how many people run to America, thinking they might be safe here. Well, thing is, they ain’t safe. Not when someone’s hired me to find them…

  As soon as I knew a couple details, I’d stroll on down to the nearest payphone and make some calls. When I knew the destination, I could use the same contacts to check who was operating in the area, and which gangs might be sniffing around. And I could use those same contacts again to scare the living shit out of most of them, which would just leave a few hard bastards remaining.

  It was a good thing that I was harder.

  Chapter Four

  Alexandra

  A few days after Cruz had visited unannounced, I’d managed to finalize the last few details of the trip. I figured we’d start with a first-class flight to somewhere luxurious in Europe for some sightseeing, shopping, good food, and hopefully some partying. Although it was a bit cliché, after hours of internet sleuthing, I’d decided Paris had a bit of everything and would be a great first destination. We’d be there for three nights and would then take an overnight luxury train to Prague.

  After days of excitement bordering on anxiety, and hour upon hour of manic internet searches, I was finally able to relax. And when I did, I found my mind wondering back to my mysterious bodyguard.

  The way he’d just turned up, standing there at the door with his body almost filling the frame

  I had to admit, I was intrigued. For a brief moment when I thought he was checking me out, I could have sworn I saw a hidden softness in his gaze that I sincerely hoped I wasn’t imagining.

  Regardless, one thing was for sure-- I doubted we would get any unwanted trouble on our travels with Cruz around. Seeing him at the door had definitely made me feel safe, and I was now grateful for my dad deciding to send a bodyguard along with me. Granted, I didn’t plan on letting him know that until after the all-expenses paid trip was finished; by no means did I want a sudden drop in his share price scaring him back to his usual over-cautiousness.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the loud ringing of my cell phone, making me jump. I’d been reclining on my bed, my legs stretched out, taking a well-earned break with a glass of champagne in quiet celebration of getting the trip booked.

  I turned over onto my elbows and looked at my phone. It was Olivia, probably calling for details after seeing my recent Facebook post gloating about the impending trip, in which I had tagged both of my traveling companions. I took a gulp of champagne and flicked the green button across the screen of my phone.

  “Well if it isn’t my second favorite slut!” I said, laughing.

  “Second favorite?” Olivia cried in mock indignation. “You brat! I thought I was your favorite?”

  I realized I was on speakerphone when I heard Lucy laughing in the background.

  “No,” I said, “Lucy is my favorite. Sorry!”

  Lucy laughed harder and Olivia gave a mock gasp. I then heard the unmistakable sound of a slap.

  After the mock fight had ended, Olivia returned to the phone. “Right. So, you’ve got everything arranged? Oh, and if you didn’t book first- class flights, I’m not coming. Just putting that out there now.”

  She meant it as a joke, probably because she knew damn well I’d booked first-class. But she’d probably never flown less than first-class in her life due to her dad’s career as a famous baseball player. Apparently, according to Olivia anyway, at the height of his career, he’d made more in indorsements per year alone than most other players earned in salaries, bonuses, and endorsements combined.

  “Of course, I booked first-class, you bimbo. Well, apart from our minder. He’s in business. It’ll be easier to keep an eye on the bad guys from there, I guess.”

  “Well, if he’s as hot as you said he is, he can always bunk up with me. I don’t mind sharing,” Lucy said, in a low, husky voice. “Plus, it’ll give me something to do on the flight…”

  “Yeah, he is hot. Sort of. Big, huge muscles, scary-looking…but handsome at the same time. But hands off. He’s there to look after us, not for you two sex offenders to bait him.”

  “Awww. Little Alexandra wants him all to herself,” teased Olivia. “That’s okay though. You can have him first. From the sounds of it, there’s plenty of him to go around.”

  I could practically hear her winking at Lucy.

  “So, are you two all set?” I asked, deciding to change the course of the discussion from what would probably be a recurring subject over the course of the next few days until they either lost interest in him, or one of them managed to get him into bed. And Cruz didn’t strike me as the type to risk his job for the sake of a quickie with a young slut. He’d probably be too busy looking mean and scaring the shit out of people, anyway. “The flight is in two days. We’re flying at seven, so get to my place at four. If you’re late, I’ll get my bodyguard to rough you up. And I don't mean the good kind either!”

  This garnered a burst of laughter. “Okay, we’ll be there,” they chimed in unison once their laughter died down. They were so alike that people quite often mistook them for sisters. They might as well have been, considering the amount of time they spent together. Lucy practically lived at Olivia’s house.

  “How about we come over to celebrate? I bet your dad’s got some nice champagne on ice that he won’t miss?”

  Before I could respond, Lucy chimed in, “Great idea, Olivia! We’ll be over in an hour.”

  “Okay, okay. Come over then. It doesn’t sound like there’s any way I’m gonna talk you out of it. Oh, and I’ve already cracked open the bubbles, so you’d better get over here quick before I finish it all.”

  They screamed in mock panic and hung up, and I couldn’t help but smile at their antics. They were a pair of pretentious bitches, but they were good fun and actually quite nice to be around when they weren’t trying to egg each other on or wind someone up.

  I lied back and took another sip of champagne.

  Yup, I think this trip is gonna be a whole lot of fun, I thought to myself. Then I figured I’d better get ready if my friends were coming over soon.

  I stood, pausing to grab my glass before heading towards the shower.

  Cruz

  I sat in my apartment, deep in thought. I’d managed to prepare everything for the impending trip, but still had nagging doubts gnawing at the back of my mind.

  It’s normal. Stop worrying about pointless shit and get on with it, I tried to tell myself.

  Thing was, if I had doubts, they were usually about something specific. But this time, I just had a bad feeling I couldn't place. And I fucking hated bad feelings. They gave me indigestion.

  I’d also been watching Alexandra’s house the last few nights, making sure there wasn’t anyone else eyeing the place up for a late-night visit. There were a few things I’d learned I was damn good at when working as a gun for hire. One, I was patient. You had to be when you were waiting for someone paranoid to show themselves or make a mistake. Two, I was quiet and quick for a big guy, and surprisingly good at not being noticed. I seemed to blend into the background, my nonchalant demeanor disarming all but the most intense scrutiny.

  Another thing I was good at was noticing things. I’d learned to go into an almost meditative sta
te where I wasn’t distracted by conscious thought and could keep an eye on the telltale signs that painted a much clearer picture of the world compared to the casual or distracted viewer. I had learned to do this while maintaining a blank expression, looking more like an idiot than a threat.

  Even so, I hadn’t noticed anything at all unusual around Alexandra’s house. No cars parked suspiciously or driving past more than once. No lone figures walking past the fence or gate. No sign at all of any attempted entry.

  Not a fucking peep.

  I checked my gear for the trip for the umpteenth time.

  My guess was that they knew where she lived, so why would they need to keep an eye on it? They’d probably already worked out she’d booked on a flight by now, and they probably even knew what fucking seat she’d be in and what she’d order for dinner.

  I just hoped that the seat booked for Cruz Miller in business-class had passed under the radar. I’d spoken to her dad the day before to discuss a few final details like location and transport. Discussing the risks, basically. We’d agreed it would be good for me to try and avoid suspicion by sitting in business-class. Firstly, if anyone had access to the flight records, first place they’d look was the seats around Alexandra. Secondly, people who could afford first-class wouldn’t be looking to extort money out of their wealthy co-passengers. Finally, I’d be at the front of business and only a quick run from where they’d be sitting.

  I was distracted from mindlessly re-checking my gear when my cell phone ringing loudly in my pocket. I guessed it was probably Alexandra since I couldn’t remember anyone else having the new number.

  “Hey, miss,” I said, putting the cheap and small cell phone to my ear. I held it gingerly with my thumb and forefinger. Big hands weren’t useful for most practical things, I’d learned over the years. Good for fighting, though. And women seemed to like them...