Last First Kiss

by Sidney Halston

  She moved back, her eyes closed, as he worked the sponge down her neck and then under the water between her breasts and then lower to her abdomen and belly. She didn’t move much while he washed her. Careful not to make it too uncomfortable for her, because she was after all hurt and naked, he moved down to her feet. Her cute nails were painted a pale pink. For some reason, he expected her to have bloodred nail polish or none at all. Pale pink was completely unexpected. He lathered more soap into the sponge and rubbed her feet, eliciting a moan from her.

  Her eyes were closed and her head back against the tub, her lips parted, just like in the photo from last night. What the fuck was wrong with him? What was he doing?

  When he got to the apex of her thighs he stopped. The bubbles were beginning to dissipate and he didn’t want to take advantage. “You better?” His voice came out hoarse and his cock was straining against his jeans.

  “Not at all,” she lulled. “I hurt and I’m tired.”

  “Let’s get you to bed. Maybe with a little rest you can still make it to the gala tonight.”

  “You didn’t finish,” she said, parting her legs slightly. Very slightly but enough for him to see the very light splay of blonde hair and definitely the hint of what she wanted—needed—coming across loud and clear.

  His cock almost exploded.

  “Either the pain is making you delirious or you’re so tired you’re not lucid.” He reached for the glass of water and the pain pill.

  “Drugs.” She shook her head.

  “I had knee surgery last year and never took the Percocet, just take one.”

  “This is ridiculous. I don’t need you to worry—”

  “Goddamn it, Annabelle. Shut your fucking mouth, take the pain meds, and relax.”

  Grumbling, she took the pill, popped it in her mouth, and gulped the water. “There. Happy?” She shoved the glass back at him.

  “No, actually. Not even a little.” He stood up.

  With the cutest pout she said, “You don’t want to touch me?”

  He groaned. “I do. God, do I ever. But you’re hurt and about to pass out. Another time.” He grabbed a towel. Then he bent down and carried her out of the tub, soaking his own clothes in the process. He tried not to look. God did he try. But she was there, completely naked. Smelling of him. And completely open and sweet.

  “I want you too,” she admitted. “I was going to tell you this morning but then I had to go.” Her voice was a slow drawl.

  ”Time for bed, Tiger.” Once the towel was securely wrapped around her, he lifted her up again and walked to the bedroom with her.

  He tugged gently on her lower lip. “Why are you pouting?”

  She tucked her head into his neck, completely vulnerable and soft, and God, his heart swelled in a way he’d never thought possible. “It makes me sad when you call me Tiger. But it also makes me feel gooey and nice.”

  “Sad?”

  She didn’t answer, instead she yawned. Sitting her on the bed, he went searching for clothes. When he found a T-shirt, he slid it over her head and down her body, then reached under the shirt and undid the towel.

  “Maybe one day you can tell me why it makes you sad.”

  “It’s a secret.” Her eyes closed and she pressed her cheek against the pillow. The pill was starting to kick in.

  “Maybe I want you to tell me all your secrets,” he admitted, but he wasn’t sure if she was even awake anymore.

  He pulled the covers over her and looked at her for a moment. For such a tall, sexy woman, she looked years younger and so sweet on his oversized bed surrounded by pillows and blankets. He turned off the light and was walking out when she mumbled, “I’ll tell you one secret.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good—”

  “You promise not to laugh?”

  “I promise.”

  There was a long moment of silence and he chuckled. She must’ve fallen asleep.

  Just as he stepped out the room he heard, “I’m a virgin.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Our sources tell us that shooting for El Traficante is set to start tomorrow amid major turmoil. It is believed that Gabriel Mendoza supporters have waged a small war against the government, opening up old wounds, as officials try to stop the protestors. During Mendoza’s heyday, it is reported that at least three flights filled to capacity with cocaine flew into the United States every day. For every million he made, he rewarded his employees and supporters, keeping them housed and fed. During this same time, the rest of Colombia was barely making ends meet, most living in poverty . . .

  Annie’s shoulder burned and her face ached when she yawned.

  How long had she been asleep?

  Oh, fuck! The gala. She jumped upright, and then stopped moving when she felt her head spin from the fast movement and a sharp sting on her shoulder. Damn, Joey. Her pride had taken a nosedive and she was questioning her ability to do a good job guarding Rocco.

  Slowly, this time, she moved off the bed. Shit, she looked down and realized that she was in just a T-shirt and had no recollection on how she got that way. Flashes of a bathtub, his rough strong hands washing her body, then him carrying her to bed. She could feel her face warm. He’d seen her naked.

  Reaching for her phone, she slid off the bed and padded to the bathroom, looking at the time. Damn it, they had to leave in forty-five minutes.

  Her hair was a rat’s nest, still damp. She leaned close to the bathroom mirror and touched the black and blue mark on her cheek, then looked at her shoulder and the angry red mark she was going to need to cover up.

  Letting out a breath, she decided to start with her hair. Fumbling with a comb, she untangled the knots and then blow-dried it. She didn’t have any hair product, not that she had the first clue how to do any fancy styles, so leaving it in long waves was the best she could do.

  Then she got to the real work. She took out all the makeup she’d bought the other day when they’d gone shopping and began applying it, making sure to pay special attention to her cheek. It took a while, but by the time she was finished, her face didn’t look puffy or bruised, and if it did, the red lipstick she put on distracted from it.

  The dress Rocco had purchased for her yesterday hung in the closet, likely having been delivered earlier in the day. She unzipped the bag and hoped the alteration had gone flawlessly, because she didn’t have any time now to fix it.

  She slid on her thigh holster and then tucked her ASEK, an army-issued knife, on the inside of her thigh, the Glock on the outside. Then she slipped on the long elegant black dress. She looked at herself in the mirror, surprised at how she looked.

  Other than the director’s dinner party, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d dressed up. Too many years, and even then perhaps never this fancy. When she’d started sneaking around with Derek, she had dreams of evenings where she’d dress up and go out in public. Maybe not this formal, but . . .

  She shook her head, it was time to work. Time to get all the distracting thoughts and memories out and turn her laser focus on. If there was a night where shit could go wrong, it would be tonight. The event was in an open space and most of the cast would be there. Things could get bad real fast.

  As she applied a touch of lipstick she tried to ignore the tingle on her lips from the kiss she’d shared with Rocco last night. It had been a mistake. Something that couldn’t happen again. A mistake that couldn’t be repeated. The bruise on her face and shoulder should be a constant reminder.

  With one final breath, she put her second Glock in her clutch, turned off the lights, and headed out to meet Rocco.

  * * *

  Rocco had checked up on Annabelle at least a dozen times in the last four hours, and she’d been completely passed out. He was so pissed at her brother he could barely contain himself. But then those last words she said kept replaying in his head over and over.

  Maybe he’d misunderstood her. A virgin?

  There was just no possible way. She was, by far, the
sexiest woman he’d ever met. She oozed sex appeal. And the way she kissed, a virgin didn’t kiss that way, right?

  Jesus, the way he’d spoken to her, eye-fucked her, propositioned her . . . he felt like a complete asshole now. If she was, in fact, telling the truth.

  How could a woman who looked like that be a virgin? Things weren’t adding up.

  He turned the television off, tired of hearing all the reports about Mendoza that were now in the forefront of the news. It was great publicity, and surely NHN was thrilled about it, but it was overkill. Mendoza had been the most famous drug lord of the early eighties but he probably hadn’t received as much publicity then as he had now.

  As he was about to walk into the room to check up on Annie one last time, his phone rang.

  “Hello.”

  “Monroe, it’s Josef Clad.”

  His anger rose again. He closed his bedroom door, not wanting Annie to overhear any of the conversation. “Monroe? You there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I’m trying to reach Annie. Is everything okay? She left upset, but it’s not like her to—”

  “You sonofabitch,” he snarled into the phone.

  “Pardon?”

  “How could you do that to your sister?”

  “I didn’t do anything to her.” The man was practically growling. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Monroe.”

  “I know more than you think. I know she’s hurt and you hurt her.”

  “I’m not discussing this with you. You and I have other shit to hash out, like your paws all over my sister.”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “You’re my client and she’s my sister, it most certainly is my business. It didn’t look like a pretend kiss to me.”

  “Once she came home all banged up, it became my business,” Rocco answered, ignoring the other part of the statement. He didn’t want to explain the kiss to Joey or anyone.

  Annie’s brother let out a deep sigh. “Is she okay?”

  “She’s asleep, I gave her some pain meds and it knocked her out.”

  “Pain meds?” There was silence on the line. “There was . . . I mean, I know the guys took hits from her, but I thought she was okay. Pain meds? Annie doesn’t take pain meds.”

  “Well, she has a black-and-blue face and what looks like a bullet wound on her shoulder. She says her ribs aren’t broken, but . . .”

  “What?” Joey asked, softly, in shock. “Annie’s my baby sister—maybe I overdid it with the Gridiron, but I did it with good intentions. God, I would never intentionally hurt her. I want to talk to her, apologize.”

  “She’s asleep, and I will not wake her up and neither will you.”

  The silence was deafening. “I’ll send backup. You shouldn’t be—“

  “No. You will not. And you will leave Annabelle alone. When she wakes up, I’ll give her the message and if she wants to call you, she will. Otherwise, if you set one foot on my property I will call the police.” With that, he hung up the phone.

  No, Annabelle had had enough for one day. He refused for her to have to endure one more thing. Instead of checking on her again, he took a shower and got dressed, contemplating whether or not he should he even go to the event.

  After he finished dressing, he sat on his couch to wait for the limo which would be there in about twenty minutes. He felt uncomfortable leaving her there sleeping, though. It was making him restless. What if she had a concussion, or needed more pain meds. With a huff, he stood to go check up on her again. As he rounded the corner, he saw her walk down the stairs.

  It was a punch to the gut.

  Every time he saw this woman something happened to him. It was as if all the air left his lungs.

  “You look . . .” He couldn’t put the right words together. His mind was blown and his tongue was stuck. Annie had on a long, form-fitting dress. It was simple and . . . of course, black. Except for the yellow dress she wore to the dinner party, everything she wore was black. But it showcased her entire body, hugging her small waist and pushing up her breasts. Her hair was down and had some waves he’d never seen on her before. The only thing that had color was her bloodred lips. How he wanted to see those plump red lips wrapped around his hardening cock.

  “Looking very dapper, Mr. Monroe.”

  “You are breathtaking.” The blush that slowly built from the swell of her breast up her neck to her cheeks was a thing of beauty. He’d never get enough of seeing her shy and vulnerable. It was as if no one had ever complimented her . . . and it was odd because she was gorgeous. And, not just gorgeous to him, but gorgeous in a standard of beauty kind of way. Her facial features and her body . . . she was made to be looked at. Gawked at. Worshipped. But instead, compliments made her look a little uncomfortable so he went back to what she knew best. Humor. “Where could you possibly keep a weapon in that dress?”

  A slow, cheeky smile spread across her face. She lifted her dress up to her thighs, and he thought he would pass out. He needed those thighs squeezing his head as he licked her. He’d never fantasized so hard about anything before in his life. Her pale lean legs went on and on and the muscle on her thigh was fucking winking at him with that deep indent of muscle. She pulled out her black weapon from a strap.

  “Nice,” he croaked. Then she tucked it back in and shifted her leg and pulled an impressive knife from her inner thigh. “Well, I guess you’re ready.” He swallowed, hard.

  “Always,” she said, dropping the dress back down to the floor.

  For some reason it bothered him that she was ready to fight for him. To protect him. It was archaic, and if he voiced it she’d surely kick his ass and never speak to him again. But he wanted to be the one to protect her, not vice versa. And also, if she was carrying, that meant she was on his arm only as a ruse. She was just his bodyguard. It was, after all, what they had discussed, why they were living together, why she was going to the gala with him. But for some reason, somewhere deep inside, he wished it was different.

  He caressed her cheek with his thumb. “You’re good with makeup.”

  She smiled and shrugged. “Who knew?”

  Did she remember what she had confessed? He wanted to ask, to pry. To understand.

  “You okay?” she asked, her eyebrows furrowing together as she righted her dress. He had been unintentionally staring.

  “Yeah, fine,” he said, shaking his head out of its stupor.

  “Are you worried that I won’t have it under control? I’m fine, really. Sleeping it off helped. If anyone tries anything, I’m ready.” And damn, that just added to his thoughts. She didn’t get it, and she never would. He wasn’t worried about her ability to do her job, he was worried about her. But all her thoughts always came back to her work, and she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see that what they had was starting to become a lot more than just work.

  “I’m sure you’re ready for anything, Tiger,” he said, grabbing his coat. “Let’s go.”

  Something passed over her face but before he had a chance to ask, she began to walk.

  He opened the door, but before she walked through she stopped and turned. “Thank you. For today, I mean. You were very sweet, taking care of me. Thank you.”

  “Not even a thing, Annie.”

  She smiled shyly and got into his car. The car ride over to the gala was quiet. She was on her phone typing away the entire time.

  “Joey called while you were asleep.”

  She shook her phone in his direction. “Yeah, I saw that. He texted me a dozen times and the last one says something about you being an asshole.”

  Rocco chuckled.

  If they ever decided to go for it, even if it was just a four-month arrangement, would he be able to handle her job? How could any man allow his woman to do this kind of work? How could he allow her to live with another man if she ever had a job with another male client? All of this was whirling in his mind and by the time the limo parked he was all worked up. But then his thoug
hts kept coming back to the “virgin” thing.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Is that really a good idea? I’m on bodyguard duty right now.”

  He turned his body so that he was closer to her, almost caging her in. “Your tongue was in my mouth less than twenty-four hours ago. Do you do that with all your clients, Annabelle?”

  Her eyes were saucers and he could see her swallowing before she narrowed them and shoved him away. “What do you want to know, Monroe?”

  “This isn’t exactly the kind of job someone in a relationship can have.”

  She turned her head, and looked out the window. “No, I suppose it’s not. But that’s not really a question.”

  “Yeah, you’re right, it’s not. How would the man in your life fit into your lifestyle?”

  “Hmm . . .” She thought it out. “I’m not really sure.”

  “Okay, fair enough. How come you left the Army?”

  “That’s a second question.”

  “Yes, you’re good with numbers.”

  She turned her head. “Ha ha. Listen, today is going to be important. Our first real public outing. You need to stay near me at all times.”

  Obviously she was not going to tell him about the Army since she completely changed the subject.

  “And you have to remember that today you have to pretend to be mine the entire time.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious, Annabelle. If we’re doing the professional thing right now, then let me remind you, I hired you because I wanted you to blend in, not stick out. You are my date, not my bodyguard. You do whatever you want to keep me safe, but you do it subtly. Remember, everything you do is being scrutinized. There’s paparazzi everywhere.”

  “I wanted to do a quick sweep,” she said, in a cute way, almost whining. There even seemed to be a pout.

  He laughed humorlessly, opening the door and stepping out. No fucking way was that happening. “Rocco,” she grunted as she stepped out of the car, his hand extended to her.