Last First Kiss

by Sidney Halston

From behind she could vaguely hear Rocco pounding and cursing, but all her senses were honed on the threat. All the years of training made her hyperaware of her surroundings, the sounds, the smells, the feel . . . everything. She was sure no one was in the house, but she wasn’t taking a risk. With her back against the wall, she used the heel of her shoe to slowly open the door, and when she didn’t hear a noise she moved inside, her gun cocked and ready.

  The sheer curtain by the balcony was billowing in the wind, torn in a few areas from the shards of glass caused by the shattered balcony window. She looked right then left, slowly making her way to the nearest door, which was the huge walk-in closet. Again, after a quick sweep, it was empty. As she made her way to the bathroom, she could hear the sound of sirens from afar.

  “Don’t you ever—” It was Rocco yelling breathlessly from the bedroom door, which now had a hole from where he’d kicked it open.

  “Don’t move,” she yelled, quickly assessing that the bathroom was safe and then walking out to the balcony. “There’s glass everywhere. Room’s empty, but stay put.”

  She barely noticed his flaring nostrils or ticking jaw as she put her back against the wall closest to the balcony and carefully peeked out. It was impossible for her to go outside without chancing being shot at if the perp was watching. With her chin, she signaled for Rocco to follow her out of the room.

  Once they were both out of the room he grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her. “What the fuck, Annie. Are you crazy?”

  “What the fuck, what?” She pushed him away.

  “You don’t go running into fucking danger. You don’t lock me in a goddamn room,” he barked, his hair sticking out all over the place and his nostrils flared, as he heaved in a breath.

  “Yes, I do. I do go running into danger. It’s my job!” she yelled back, walking past him to the door to let in the police.

  At least he’d managed to do that.

  “We’ll finish this talk later,” he growled.

  There was no talk to be had. Not now. Not later. It was her job. And somehow she’d managed to royally piss off the client in a matter of forty-eight hours.

  This was going to be an interesting four months.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BREAKING NEWS: Rocco Monroe’s home was vandalized by angry protestors of his upcoming film El Traficante. Shooting is set to begin next week in an undisclosed location. Monroe was not hurt in the incident. More information to follow on the eleven o’clock news.

  The exasperating woman who was currently talking to the cops had pushed him inside his own motherfucking room and locked him in. He thought she’d been slightly off her rocker when they’d first met, but this was an entirely new level of crazy. Rocco wasn’t sure whether to strangle her or kiss her. Apparently he liked her level of crazy. With all the anger surging through his veins, though, he still had an inexplicable urge to make sure she was okay and then make sure she never did anything that stupid again. And then possibly strangle her.

  He took a step toward her. Any other woman would at the very least flinch. She didn’t even blink. He was practically touching her when he spoke through clenched teeth. “Listen, crazy, if you ever—”

  “We found this.” One of the officers interrupted him, holding a brick in a sealed Ziploc bag.

  Annabelle moved away from him and toward the officer. Careful not to open the bag, she leaned in and read the unrefined chicken scratch that was written in black marker: Viva Mendoza. Muerte al Americano.

  “Death to the American.” Rocco said the second part out loud. “I’m assuming I’m the American in this scenario.”

  “We have black-and-whites searching the area. We think they came on foot since there’s no tire marks on the gravel out front.” The officer’s phone rang at that moment, and he excused himself.

  Rocco wasn’t done, by far. “I can’t believe you locked me in my own room!”

  She looked up at him, rolled her eyes, and began to walk. She wasn’t listening. Maddening fucking woman.

  Completely brushing him off, she pulled out her phone and began to type as she followed the officer up the stairs. Impulsively, Rocco moved quickly past her like a raging bull and turned, causing her to collide with his chest, her phone flying out of her hand. “What the—”

  Rocco’s arms flew out to her waist to balance her before she fell back. She felt so small and fragile pressed close against him like that and a bolt of heat and protective spark shot straight up his spine. How could she run into danger when she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds? Fine, she was skilled, but she wasn’t fucking indestructible. And yes, she was there to do a job, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to get hurt.

  Her cheeks reddened and she averted her eyes. But he wasn’t going to let her get away this time. He’d already noticed her two defense mechanisms. Either she’d look away and tuck her hair behind her ear or she’d cop a major attitude and fight him. Once he paid close attention, she actually wasn’t too difficult to read. He wanted to understand why she became nervous around him so often, but this wasn’t the time to delve into that. This was the time to make absolutely certain she paid attention and felt his words, his anger, his absolute seriousness. And for that moment, she was quiet. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t sass. She didn’t look away. Instead, she looked up at him as he pulled her in closer, until she was flush against his chest. Those big hazel eyes awestruck and nervous. A hint of vulnerability seeping out from behind that damn brick wall she had built around her. The fact that she had just pushed him into his own room and locked him inside was the only thing keeping him from bending down and kissing her. And with that thought, his stirring cock stopped stirring, and his anger quickly returned.

  “Whether I like it or not, you and I are going to become very close,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse even to his ears. Which was probably due to her breast smushed against his chest, and the way she smelled of his soap. He couldn’t even regret the choice of words, laced with innuendo. Her mouth opened a little—those thick lips with the pronounced cupid’s bow—forming an ‘o’. The tip of her pink tongue was right there. Right there. “I hired you because you impressed me, and yeah, you can blend in, but you will not handle me. Never again. You make sure I’m aware of danger and that I stay away from that danger. But you don’t lock me in a room and then go find danger. That’s crazy. You’re fucking crazy. Next time, you stay in the room with me and wait for the police . . . together!”

  “Handling you is my job. You may play the big, tough action hero on screen, but Rocco, when I tell you to do something, you do it. This is serious. Death to the American, Rocco? Death. Some people want you dead.” But she said it in his arms, he noted. She hadn’t moved away.

  He shook his head, unconcerned. “They’re just trying to scare me.”

  She let out a sigh. “You need to be scared. You should never underestimate the enemy.”

  “We’re not at war. Just dealing with some pissed-off fans.”

  “Yeah, and pissed-off fans can’t be dangerous? Selena, John Lennon? Hell, ICS was called in to protect Megan Cruz just last year.”

  Rocco wanted to argue, but what did he say to that? Yes, fans could be crazy sometimes, but watching her push him aside to run into danger was unacceptable.

  Annie continued. “I’m here to do a job. Did you really pick me because you thought I could do the job or because you thought the pretending game would turn into a little fling while keeping the studio happy? I’m not some chick who will let my emotions get in the way of my job. And my job is to protect you. Even if it means protecting you against yourself by locking you in your room.”

  “Oh, so you admit to having emotions.” He squeezed tighter, a little lighter at her admission that there was something between them—or could be. “And you’re not exactly moving away from me, Tiger.”

  She smirked and pushed his shoulders and tried to step away. “You know what I mean. And stop calling me Tiger.”

&nb
sp; Before she had a chance to pull her hand away, he grabbed her wrist. “I’m going to lay it all out. This isn’t the right time, but I’m going to anyway. I have never, not my whole life, been more attracted to a woman than I am to you.”

  She looked away.

  “No, stop that and listen to me. This isn’t a line. You scared the fuck out of me. What if something happened to you?”

  “I’m perfectly capa—”

  He put a finger on her lips. “I know you are. You’re perfectly capable. You run into danger. You kick my ass. I get all of that. What you don’t get is that I don’t care. Maybe I am sexist, but none of it matters to me, because I still don’t like it. I don’t like that I like a woman who doesn’t need me, like me, or want me. I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s fine, but for my sanity, just please . . . don’t do that again.” This time, he said it softly.

  She swallowed. “Let me do my job, listen to me, don’t push me behind you in situations like these, and I won’t physically lock you in again, so long as you listen to me when I ask you to do something. I only do it to keep you safe.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.” They were still close, not as close as they were a minute ago, but close enough that her stance about professionalism was teetering on a thin line. She could pretend all she wanted, but there was an attraction, a spark, that couldn’t be denied.

  A torrid affair for the next four months would be explosive. Every reason he’d given himself the night before flew away, every cautious word from Paul, her own reasons why mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea. The simple truth was that being around Annie was exhilarating.

  She was still looking at him, her hair, that blonde that could look red when she was by the window, the sun shining in, or golden when the light was a certain way, like right now. The way her face reddened a little when he spoke with her, but not with anyone else.

  Fuck this.

  He took a step closer, ready to tempt her into an affair . . . with his lips and tongue.

  But the talking from downstairs grew louder and there seemed to be someone arguing. “Mr. Monroe, Ms. Clad. Please come down here,” a voice hollered.

  They looked at each other, flummoxed, and hurried downstairs, the moment essentially ruined. He was humiliated, mad, and turned on all at the same fucking time. He didn’t even know where to begin when it came to Annie. Except that damn, he wanted her. Badly.

  * * *

  They’d almost kissed. Who was she kidding? She almost kissed him. She had been this close to pressing her lips against his, she hadn’t even tried to step away from his very inappropriate grip. With one hand, she could have had him with his face against the floor and her knee on his spine crying for her to let go. Instead, she’d pushed her breasts against his chest and savored his strong arms wrapped around her. It was girly and stupid, and so not like her, but it made her feel so good. The way he’d worried about her . . . no one had ever done that before and it made her heart do strange things. Things she hadn’t felt in far too long.

  As soon as they reached the bottom step, she saw two officers struggling to hold two men. Both were in their early twenties. One was five-ten, 140 pounds, with a crew cut. The other had a low ponytail coming apart by the ears, about five-eleven, maybe 130 pounds. They wore black jeans and black shirts and were Hispanic, not only by their looks but by the way they were arguing in Spanish to the officers who were now firmly pushing their cuffed bodies down onto kitchen chairs. It was inherent in her to notice all the details she could.

  “Found these two geniuses running down Coral Way, looking back as if they’d just committed a crime. When we tried to stop them, they ran faster until we had to go on foot to get them. Searched their backpack and found two Sharpies and a brick, as well as . . .” The officer pulled out Mapquest instructions to Rocco’s house. “ . . . directions to your house. I told you they were geniuses.”

  In heavily accented English one said, “That doesn’t prove anything.” Annie noticed a tattoo on his wrist of a yellow, blue, and red circle.

  “Do they look familiar?” one of the officers asked.

  “No. Not at all,” Rocco answered.

  “Okay. Take them down to the station and book them.” One officer lifted the two perps by the plastic flex cuffs and led them out. The other officer then took a few more statements from Rocco and Annie before leaving. “You have my info, officer.” She had given him her card earlier. “Please call me and keep me updated.”

  “Will do,” he said, closing the door behind him. It was late afternoon by the time the cops left.

  “So, guess that’s that.” Rocco shrugged and walked to the fridge and snagged a bottle of water and some bread and cheese. “I’m starving. You want a grilled cheese or you gonna stick to your shake?”

  Grilled cheese . . . yum. With all the events of the day they’d skipped lunch and she was famished. “Grilled cheese, please.”

  She sat down and watched him work comfortably in his kitchen. “Do you want help?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he said, slathering butter into a pan.

  There goes my attempt at healthy, she thought.

  He put two delicious looking sandwiches on the table along with a bag of potato chips. “Smells great.” She took a bite and groaned.

  “Turned out to be a good day, right?” he said between bites.

  Her mouth hung open. What? Good day?

  “Uh . . . two men threw a brick through your window, did you forget?”

  “No, obviously I didn’t forget.” He stuffed the last piece of sandwich in his mouth. “Boarding up the window tonight is going to be a pain in the ass, but at least those guys were caught, right?”

  Too much to process in that one statement.

  She’d always been a person who reasoned and analyzed everything. This wasn’t exactly computing. Did he think that was it? Those two kids were the be all and end all of the scare tactics trying to stop a multimillion-dollar movie production? She’d bet all her money that they had nothing to do with the letters or riots. They were just two stupid kids who either wanted to join the bandwagon of Rocco-bashing or they really did feel strongly about him being in the movie and just took it upon themselves to do a little homemade vandalism. They weren’t part of a larger organization. This wasn’t going to just stop.

  And did he say he was going to board up the window?

  Himself?

  “Wait.” She shook her head as he stood and put their plates into the sink. “What?”

  “What what? I’m going to go to the shed out back and see if I have plywood. I’m sure I do from the last hurricane scare.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, looking confused about her question. A rational normal question, unlike the irrational man who was about to go outside and board up a window.

  “No. Back up. You don’t think that’s it, right? Like, all the threats are now gone? That the studio’s going to say you’re good to go without a bodyguard? Do you?”

  “No. Probably not. They do like the overkill. Sells tickets. Make it this highly controversial movie or whatever. But yeah, that’s about as crazy as it’s gonna get.” He washed the plates and she took them from his hands and wiped them dry.

  “You know you could’ve been in that room. If that brick would’ve hit your head, you’d be dead right now or, at the very least, really hurt.”

  “But I’m not. So, it’s all good.”

  She was shocked. How dense was this guy?

  He turned to her and leaned his hip against the counter. “Look, you’re in military mode. I get it. But not everything is all-out war, Tiger. Sometimes, it’s just . . .” He shrugged. “I dunno, people wanting attention.”

  “Argh, you’re so exasperating. How jaded are you?” She dried her hands and threw the wet dishrag into the sink.

  “Pretty jaded, actually. It’s rare that I’m in a situation that hasn’t somehow been manipulated by the studio or my PR people.”

  “Are you saying thi
s is a PR stunt? And you call me crazy?”

  “No, I’m not saying that, necessarily. Although I bet it’s all over the news already, which is free press for El Traficante. Maybe those kids thought this would be their fifteen minutes of fame. Who knows?” He shrugged.

  “Or maybe they wanted to kill you.”

  He pushed himself off the counter and said, “You’re cute when you get all worried.” Then he walked away.

  She shouted incoherently, her hands in tight fists by her sides.

  “Loosen up. Today was a win. We caught your bad guys.”

  “We caught two idiots, that’s all we did.” She said, jogging after him.

  “I know you want to be the badass warrior, but enjoy this downtime. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for some clothes for the events coming up.”

  Annie groaned in frustration when he smiled that stupid dimpled, no-worry smile and turned. “You are such a sexist pig. You think you can calm me down by offering to take me shopping?”

  “Relax. That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying tomorrow is a new day. There’s no need to think the sky’s falling right now.”

  He was so thick-skulled she wondered if a dent from that brick would’ve done him some good. “Wait . . . and what did you mean you’re going to fix the window? You have a bazillion dollars. Can’t you like, I don’t know, call someone to do that.”

  “I guess I could,” he said over his shoulder.

  “But you’re going to do it yourself, aren’t you?”

  “You’re quick, Tiger.” It was dark out as he walked over to a large shed he had out back, and she was following behind him. He opened the lock and opened the doors and fumbled around. “You don’t have to help. It’s late, go to bed.”

  “After you were attacked? I don’t think so. You’re so far removed from reality you think there’s no real threat. I, on the other hand, am still treating this as real and present danger so just get whatever you need and let’s go.”

  He turned back around and handed her a hammer and some nails. “Hold this.” Then he found a big piece of plywood and walked out with it.