Last First Kiss

by Sidney Halston

  He stood and walked outside, turning on the grill. “Hello? Earth to Rock.”

  “She is a fucking enigma, man. She’s just . . . there.”

  “Who?”

  “Annabelle.”

  “Your new bodyguard?” Then he looked around. “She’s here?”

  “Exactly, you didn’t even know, did you? You’ve been here almost two hours and not a single word from her. That’s the problem. She won’t come hang out. She’s all about keeping things professional.”

  “That’s good.”

  “If we’re going to be in each other’s faces for months shouldn’t she try to be . . . I don’t know, friendly?”

  Paul picked up a beer and drank, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “She wasn’t friendly?”

  “She was.” Not at first. But eventually, in her own awkward babbling sort of way.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Frustrated, Rocco shook his head and placed the two steaks on the grill.

  “Forget it. I’m just being . . . I don’t know, just forget it.” He flipped the steaks over.

  “I’m thinking that your definition of friendly is not the same as mine,” Paul teased.

  A small delicate knock from the glass doors startled Rocco just as he was about to glare at Paul.

  “Guess your enigma’s here,” Paul whispered as he signaled for her to join them.

  “Shut your mouth,” Rocco whispered before Annie stepped out.

  “Sorry to interrupt. You think I can borrow your blender now?”

  “Cabinet next to the microwave.”

  “Thanks,” she said, tucking some hair behind her ear.

  “Err . . . hi. You must be Annabelle Clad. I’m Paul Allen.”

  “Hi,” she replied sweetly, taking a step outside to shake his friend’s hand. “Annie, please.”

  “Well, Annie. My buddy here can be a pampered prima donna. So let me be the one with manners and invite you to have dinner with us.”

  She looked up at Rocco and smiled and then back at Paul. “Actually, he did invite me earlier. I’m good, though. Nice to meet you. Enjoy your dinner,” she said, glancing up at Rocco. When their eyes met, she quickly averted them and walked back into the house.

  “Dude. She’s hot. No wonder you’re all fucked up in the head.”

  A low snarl came out of Rocco’s chest and a possessiveness he’d never felt before burned through his body. Never had he fought for a woman before, especially not with his best friend, but he would if he had to.

  “Relax,” he chuckled. “You need to get your shit together. Hot or not, interested or not, it’s out of the question.”

  Rocco had turned around and was flipping the steak over. “And why’s that?”

  “Because the shit with the studio is real, man. The threats are happening. You may not be getting them directly here in the form of a courier, but people are pissed off. She needs to protect you.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Rock,” his friend warned. “If she quits and you’re left without a tail, not only will the studio fine you or maybe even fire you, but she could get fired too.”

  He looked at her through the glass doors. Loose cotton shorts, the bottom of her ass unintentionally hanging out when she bent forward to get the blender. His dick tightened. Paul was right, he had to keep things professional. At least for now. Otherwise she’d quit and he’d either get fired or a Neanderthal for a bodyguard. Neither sounded pleasant.

  “Fuuuuck.” The next four months were going to suck.

  * * *

  Annie woke up startled. The complete lack of light that slipped through the sheer billowy curtains told her it was still dark out. Not even a hint of dawn.

  Her heart pounded as she sat up and wiped sweat from her forehead. Like the VA therapist had taught her, she closed her eyes and counted backwards from one hundred while taking in deep breaths and exhaling slowly, focusing all of her energy on her breathing and not the nightmare that haunted her day in and day out.

  After eight years, the death of Yagana, the barefoot, wide-eyed, little seven-year-old Afghan girl who’d died in Annabelle’s arms, still haunted her. It had been the first time she’d discharged her firearm with the intent to kill, but she hadn’t been on time, and Yagana’s screams echoed in her dreams together with her own. In her dreams she rocked the little girl in her arms while mayhem swirled all around, together with all the bloodshed.

  So much blood.

  It had taken her so many showers, hours and hours of scrubbing her skin raw, to get all the blood off of her hands. All these years later, she still felt the film of blood on her every time she looked down at them.

  To this day, she didn’t know how she’d gotten from the alleyway in Kandahar, between two street vendors—both dead from the explosion—back to the nearest FOB, one of many operating bases in Afghanistan. It had been explained to her numerous times, but she could not remember it.

  Her pulse would not settle down. If she went back to sleep, there’d be more of the same and she wasn’t ready to see those big brown lifeless eyes again. She moved her arm to wake up her Fitbit, and it showed her pulse was at one hundred and five. She also saw that it was four in the morning.

  With a yawn she stood up and did her morning stretches. Stretching helped her feel centered, got her blood moving, and more important, cleared her mind. Twenty minutes later her pulse was down to almost normal at seventy-six when she stepped into the shower. She began to wash her skin, and when she felt a tinge of pain from scrubbing the same area over and over again, she let go of the sponge, remembering that the pain it caused her, the self-inflicted pain, wouldn’t bring Derek or Yagana back, nor would it make her feel any better. No one knew of her nightmares or her constant self-loathing, and she couldn’t let it affect this job. Her first real job.

  For a brief moment, she had been tempted to fill up the extravagantly huge Jacuzzi and take a long hot bath and try to forget the nightmare that haunted her constantly. But she quickly remembered where she was.

  At work.

  She wasn’t at a spa. She was at a job. She needed to remember that.

  * * *

  “It’s not even seven in the morning,” she heard the gruff, half-asleep voice from behind her say. Refusing to turn around, frightened by what she would find, she pressed the button on the blender, which was clearly annoying him, again. Long fingers with surprisingly callused hands gripped her wrist, pushed her hand aside, and stopped the blender. “Jesus, Annie. Turn that shit off.”

  Unable to continue to look away, she turned her head and it was worse than she feared. He had on low-hanging black cotton pants and no shirt. His lean body, with a light splay of dark chest hair she wanted to touch, was a foot away from her. Would it be coarse or soft against her palms? She swallowed and moved her eyes up his tanned body to his scruffy face and disheveled hair. A snicker jolted her out of her gawking.

  “Annie?” He smiled at her with a knowing look, and she quickly turned her head back to her protein shake. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. What time do you normally wake up? I was hoping you’d give me a tour of the house. Do you have the architectural plans? And how—”

  Those same strong hands were on her again, this time on her shoulder. “Take a breath, Tiger.”

  Her heart beat wildly. She was notorious for acting hysterically when embarrassed. Funny thing, she could be in the middle of a desert with insurgents creeping around, and she was in full control. A handsome man called her a silly pet name and touched her shoulder and she became a lunatic.

  “I, uh . . .”

  “Are you okay?” He bent a little, cupped her chin, and moved her face so that she was forced to look at him.

  “Yeah, fine.” She pulled away and busied herself pouring the drink into a glass.

  “Wendy will be here soon, she can make you some breakfast.”

  She tipped her glass up. “I’m good.”

  “So, we’re doing the seven in th
e morning wake-up call every day? And you don’t eat solids? Got it.”

  “I’ve been up since four. Went running, took a shower already. And I do eat solids. But I like to try and eat healthy when I can. I’m a terrible cook, so trust me, you’ll know when I cook. I’ll try my best not to burn down your house.”

  “I’m offering you non-burnt food, you know?”

  “I don’t want to impose, really, it’s okay. I lived off worse things when I was in Iraq and these really aren’t bad. They’re organic and this one’s chocolate. And I’ll grab some fruit too, so don’t worry. I’m good.”

  “If you say so.” He shrugged as if not believing for one second that the shakes were tasty. But they really were. “Why have you been up since four?”

  Her internal clock didn’t allow for her to have lazy mornings, although this particular morning had her up an hour earlier than usual. “Dunno. At five my eyes just open. But today, I guess since I’m not used to being here, I just woke up a little earlier,” she lied.

  “Wow, well, something you should know about me. My eyes never just open. I need alarms, snooze buttons, and sometimes a good kick in the ass . . .”

  “ . . . or a loud blender.”

  He chuckled. “Or a loud blender.”

  “I’ll try to keep it down from now on.”

  “It’s fine. Really. I want you to make yourself at home. If waking up at the crack of dawn and drinking all your meals makes you feel comfortable, then do that.”

  “Rocco, this isn’t my home. I’m not on vacation. I do appreciate you making all these efforts to make me feel welcomed, but I’m here for a job. We’re not friends.”

  And there it was, she’d crushed his sweet spirit. The truth was, so far, she hadn’t seen the diva she’d expected from the first meeting they’d had and from all the research she’d done on him. Yes, he’d worn what seemed like excessively expensive clothes on the initial meeting, but since then he’d been casual, nothing formal in his style or demeanor. Even his house was underwhelming . . . in a good way. And, he’d been kind and hospitable. But she’d just crushed it. Stepped on it and spit on it. His demeanor changed before her eyes and she felt sick to her stomach at having hurt him. She couldn’t understand how her words could have any impact whatsoever on him, since they’d just met, but they had. Instantly he locked himself up and his eyes became cold.

  “Heads up, Wendy’ll be here soon. She’s chatty but harmless. Try to be nice, if it’s possible. She’s a good woman who’s been through a lot.” He turned and went back upstairs.

  God, didn’t she feel like a world-class bitch.

  * * *

  It turned out that Wendy was a talker but a sweet and excited talker. A rotund woman in her late fifties who clearly loved Rocco, she wouldn’t let Annie wash the blender or even make her own bed. She followed her all over the house, yapping sweetly the entire time. She reminded Annie of her mother. Which reminded her that she’d missed two Sunday dinners in the last month that she needed to make up to her mom soon. As overbearing as they could be, Annie still missed the hell out of her family, especially now that her brothers were all in town, a very rare occurrence.

  When Rocco finally emerged from his room, his hair was wet and slicked back. He wore loose-fitting jeans that looked ancient and a plain black T-shirt, and his face was cleanly shaven. Not once did his eyes meet Annie’s.

  “Wendy, my love, how I’ve missed you,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  Wendy waved him off. “I just saw you yesterday.” But her smile was huge and genuine. “I hope he’s being a good boy. Polite?”

  “Oh . . . uh yes. Very much so.”

  Wendy patted him sweetly on the shoulder. “Never doubted it. I’ll get out of your hair. I’ll see you tomorrow. It was lovely to meet you, Annie.”

  “It was a pleasure, Wendy.”

  Alone again, they stood on the upstairs landing, awkwardly.

  “Good time as any to give you a tour,” he said. “Come on. We can start upstairs and work our way down.”

  “Sure. One sec.” She ran to her room, grabbed a notepad, and came back. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  “So you’ve already seen your room,” he said, pointing to where she’d been staying. Again, she couldn’t help but eye the way the house was decorated. It was so simple yet beautiful. It’s how she would decorate if she lived there.

  “Did you decorate?” It was an odd question, but she couldn’t help asking. She’d wondered since the moment she stepped inside.

  “Some of the things I purchased through the years, but I also had a decorator help.” He held the door open to her as he spoke. “Why? You don’t like it?”

  He was close to her as she walked through the door and she noticed he was very careful not to touch her. Even when they walked through the narrow hall he stepped away. “No. No, I love it. It’s just not what I imagined.”

  “What did you imagine?”

  “I don’t know. Something more pretentious or gaudy, I suppose.”

  “It seems like you made a lot of assumptions about me.”

  Ouch.

  He was right.

  She had come here with certain expectations. She ticked them off in her head. First, he’d only hired her because he was physically attracted to her. But other than a few stares and heated moments, he hadn’t been inappropriate. Second, he was a womanizing asshole, but so far he’d been sweet and chivalrous and there hadn’t been any signs of him gallivanting. Third, he was wealthy and lived ostentatiously. That was the completely wrong assumption. He had a lovely home but it wasn’t what a millionaire of his caliber would own. She’d seen him on that first meeting wearing expensive designer clothes, but since then she’d seen him dress casually in much the same style and brand names as her brothers. So, yeah . . . she’d been a judgmental cow and she felt terrible about it now.

  There was no difference between what she had done and what men did to her all the time. They assumed that she couldn’t handle something just because she was a woman.

  “I’m sorry, you’re right. I did come here with certain assumptions, but you’ve pretty much squashed them. I expected solid gold toilets and jewel-encrusted staircases.”

  He chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “No.” This time it was her who laughed. “No. This is perfect. Your house . . . it’s perfect.”

  “Doesn’t like gold toilet or jewels. Noted. I learn something interesting about you every time you open your mouth.” He smiled at her and they stood there for a moment, neither of them moving.

  Something shifted a little and she knew what it was, she was thawing. Her hesitance wasn’t about Rocco and it wasn’t fair that she was being so standoffish to him. He had easily admitted yesterday that he’d been wrong about her and he hadn’t done or said anything to show he didn’t trust in her abilities. She was making an already awkward situation worse by being so bitchy. He’d repeatedly extended an olive branch; it was on her to take it. It would ultimately make her job easier and it was time to focus on work.

  “Well, I didn’t say I didn’t like jewels.”

  “I’ll put that in my Annie-log.”

  She smiled and then walked past him. “Shall we continue on the tour?” She pointed. “How about this room?”

  “This is one of the guest rooms.”

  “There’s three rooms upstairs, right?”

  “Yes, three rooms, two baths upstairs. Downstairs there’s another guest room with an en-suite bathroom and there is another bathroom by the living room.”

  Annie made notes and looked around at the windows and where they faced. “I want to take a more thorough look at the security system later too.” She would tell Joey to do a full check and upgrade.

  “Sure.”

  The first room they walked into was beautiful, but not as lovely as the one she was staying in. This one had a smaller bed and didn’t have a balcony. It seemed as if it had never been used. “What’s through there?” she aske
d when she saw a door.

  “The Jack and Jill bathroom. It leads to the other bedroom.” He opened the door and she walked through it to the other room. This one looked lived in; the bed was still unmade. It was also not as big as the one she was staying in, but the bed was big like the one she was using. The color palette was a little darker and the furniture a little more masculine.

  “Why don’t you use the big room for yourself?” she asked, running her hand against the dark wood armoire.

  “I do. I thought you’d like that one better, so I moved rooms.”

  She stopped and turned.

  He switched rooms?

  “It has a balcony and a nice view. I thought you’d like it,” he added, his brows furrowed and his lips turned down. Was he insecure?

  “It’s beautiful. I mean . . . who wouldn’t love it? But you didn’t have to do that; I would’ve been perfectly fine in any of the rooms.”

  “I wanted you to feel comfortable here.”

  Gah! She couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like such a horrible person for having been so callous before. “I don’t want you to be put out. Did you change furniture and clothes and . . .”

  “No, I just moved my clothes. The furniture was already there. It’s a little soft for my taste anyway. I’m okay being here. You are not putting me out,” he said, softening a little.

  “If you say—” A loud noise, like a window being shattered, boomed. She had her Glock out before she took her next breath. “Stay here. Do not move. Call nine-one-one.”

  “No!” He pulled her behind him and began to walk out of the room.

  “Monroe. Goddamn it.” When he didn’t listen, she yanked his arm up high on his back, causing him to squeal, and pushed him away. Slamming the door shut, she quickly pulled the decorative chair from the hall against the door, locking him in, and silently moved toward the noise, which had come from the master bedroom where she was staying.