Guarding Jess

by Shannon Curtis

  Things were happening. She put her mug of milk in the microwave and waited while it warmed. She should call her aunt. Let her know what was happening. Jessica grimaced at the thought of her aunt’s reaction. The woman’s disappointment at unwanted attention could be crippling. She’d put it off, but if she had a bodyguard then she guessed it would be appropriate, and respectful, to let her aunt know why.

  Her thoughts turned to Noah. He was certainly a very capable man. She’d known him for less than a day, but already she felt safer and more relaxed, just with him sleeping in the next room. She’d enjoyed their shared meal, too. The microwave pinged. The milk was ready. Her lips pulled up at the corners. He wasn’t normally one for chitchat, she’d gathered, but he’d still surprised her at dinner with his stories of life in the army. A quiet man, he spoke briefly and succinctly, with an economy of language she secretly envied. There was no pausing while framing words in a diplomatic manner. There was no skirting tactfully around issues. Noah was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of guy, so different to the usual men of her acquaintance. No primping or posturing, just an in-your-face honesty that she was sure some people would find confronting, but she found quite refreshing.

  She blew on her milk. He could certainly move fast. She’d barely registered the danger at the office when the letter bomb had exploded, but he’d already whisked her out of its path. Her hands clenched briefly around her mug at the memory of the bomb. And even though the threat at the luncheon had turned out not to be a threat at all, he’d still put his body on the line in order to save her.

  Tom jumped up to the windowsill over the sink and shot her a disgruntled look. He wasn’t happy about staying indoors.

  She gave him another scratch on the ears and took a sip of her milk as she turned to leave the kitchen.

  Noah stood in the doorway, pajama pants slung low on his hips. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  The sight of a half-naked man in her kitchen surprised Jessica. She coughed and spluttered, milk spraying in all directions.

  Noah closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again and glancing down. Droplets of milk covered his face and chest.

  “Oh, I am sorry,” gasped Jessica. She put the mug down on the bench with a soft clunk, and grabbed at the tea towel hanging from the oven door. She wiped his chin and started to pat at his chest.

  “I didn’t know you were there. You startled me. What are you doing up?” she asked, talking fast to cover her horror at her actions. She’d spat up milk all over the poor man. Talk about rude.

  She brushed the towel over a dusky nipple, dark chest hair springing back under her touch. Her actions slowed. She was rubbing down a very well-defined chest. She swallowed. His eyes watched her movements. They were standing close. His chest rose and fell, the muscles rippling as he breathed. A deep round scar marred the smooth skin of his left arm. She found herself mesmerized by those very manly muscles.

  His hand rose to cover hers, stilling her movements. “I think I can take it from here,” he said roughly.

  Jessica’s mouth dropped open. She was practically caressing him.

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” She withdrew her hand quickly. His skin was warm. Well, hot. Firm. She took a step back toward the bench. She looked down. Milk. In a mug. That’s right! She grabbed the mug and held it to her chest. She tried to look like she was warming her hands around the mug, and not like she was fighting the urge to reach out and grope him again.

  Noah nodded at the mug. “Can’t sleep?”

  Jessica shook her head.

  “Bad dream?”

  She nodded.

  She gestured to him. Well, to his chest. It was so hard to look away from all that hot naked skin. “What, er—” She cleared her throat and tried again. “What about yourself?”

  He put the towel down. “I heard someone creeping around.”

  “Oh.” She winced. “That would be me. Sorry.” She felt guilty for interrupting his sleep.

  He shrugged. “It’s fine.” The brown gaze was direct, but sympathetic. “Does it happen often?”

  “Only since someone started stalking me,” she muttered. She lifted her mug. “Can I fix you some warm milk?”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Does it work?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  They stood there for a moment, silent. Tom moved on the windowsill, stretching his legs before settling down again to peer out of the cold glass.

  The silence was beginning to feel awkward. Jessica straightened. She’d skip checking her email tonight, and just go straight to yoga. She could do that in her room, though. Noah could then go back to that big bed and sprawl half-naked across the sheets. All sexy six-foot plus of him. Lying there. Practically naked. Down the hall from her room. She sighed. At least one of them would get some sleep.

  “Well, I’ll say good night,” she said, stepping forward. Noah remained where he was, his enigmatic brown gaze meeting hers. She could see the dark bristles of his beard shadowing his jaw.

  “I might be able to help you with your sleeping problem,” he murmured. His voice was low and deep, heating her inside in ways the warm milk never would.

  “Really? I usually try yoga,” she said hoarsely, eyeing his chest before looking up. Good grief, had she just uttered some inane remark about yoga?

  Noah’s lips twitched, and her eyes followed the movement. He had bedroom lips. She’d heard of bedroom eyes, but Noah had bedroom lips. Full lips with a sensual curve, and a hint of a pout. A mouth that had her thinking of the bedroom, and things to do in it. With him.

  “My alternative would be a little more, uh, physical,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to her lips. She couldn’t help it. She licked her lips. Her eyes widened. Was he—? Did he mean—? Her brain stuttered to a stop.

  “Uh-huh.”

  He stepped a little closer. He was a big man. His bulk towered over her. Around her. Broad muscled chest filled her vision. “I could show you some moves,” he suggested.

  If she swayed just a little closer, her hands holding the mug between them would brush against his chest.

  “Uh-huh.”

  A splintering crash echoed down the hallway. Jessica jumped. Noah spun on his heels, pulling a pistol from the elastic waistband at his back. “Get down,” he growled.

  Chapter Six

  “You’ve got a gun?” Jessica whispered, shocked, as she hunkered down behind the counter.

  “I’ve always got a gun,” he told her.

  He glanced around the kitchen. Tom had jumped from the windowsill. Noah shook his head.

  “Go to the living room. Close the door, stay away from the windows.” His voice was low, but entirely different from the warm tones he’d just used with her. His words came out in a guttural growl. The muscles in his shoulders and abdomen clenched. His eyes had lost all the friendly warmth of a moment ago. She watched in awe as he transformed from the sexy half-naked man making suggestive comments to a hard-assed determined warrior, all in the blink of an eye.

  She scuttled to the living room door. Tomcat streaked in past her and under the couch. She left the door open just a crack to peer out, and watched as Noah moved quickly and silently down the hall.

  * * *

  Noah padded down the hall, pausing at doors before flinging them open, gun at the ready. He checked each room carefully, combing the darkness for any sign of a threat, his finger poised on the trigger. He breathed slowly, quietly.

  Silence.

  He thought of the woman in the living room. He hated being away from her. He’d told her to use the living room because the lighting he’d rigged up before dinner was on motion sensors, and would pick up any movement along the front of the building. Any approach from the street would be illuminated.

  He slid along the
wall. The door to Jessica’s room loomed open, like the entrance to a dark cave. Gun raised, he entered her room swiftly, leading with his gun.

  He breathed deeply. A floral scent teased his nose. Jessica’s scent. He’d been trying to ignore it since he tackled her at the office.

  Her room was immaculate. The phone by her bedside was off the hook. Her sheets were tangled, but they were the only things at odds in her room. The floor was clear. He checked under the bed. Clear. He advanced to her closet and flung open the door. The damn thing was bigger than the tent he and his unit had slept in during their tour of Afghanistan. Lots of hanging space. Lots of opportunities to hide. He quickly rifled through the hanging garments, ignoring the swish of silk and linen. The wardrobe was clear.

  He checked the bathroom. He swept the shower curtain back. Clear.

  He entered Jessica’s room again. He was sure the noise had come from this room. A breeze stirred the curtains above her bed. He walked over and pulled the curtains aside. Jagged pieces of glass clung to the window frame.

  He looked down. More glass littered her bed. A large rock lay just below her pillow. A white rectangle was taped to it. He leaned closer. It was a photo of Jessica. She was sleeping, but even in sleep she looked troubled. He glanced up at the window again. The shot had been taken from there. Someone had photographed Jessica through the window while she slept.

  And then had taped the image to a large, heavy rock and hurled it at her bed.

  Whoever had thrown the rock in the darkness had made a pretty good guess. If Jessica had been in her bed, she could have been killed, or at the very least, badly injured.

  He glanced out the window. There were bushes around the perimeter that would give plenty of opportunity for someone to hide. The muscles clenched in his jaw. If that sick bastard was out there, he’d find him.

  Noah strode to the back door, unlocked it and stepped outside. Bright light blazed through the backyard. He’d set off the motion sensors on the security lights he’d installed before dinner. It lit up the backyard like a high-school football field on Friday night. He scanned the yard, checking behind bushes and in and around the garden shed, and peering over fences. Clear.

  Whoever had thrown that rock was long gone.

  * * *

  Back in the living room, Jessica was relieved to see him. He ignored the shot of pleasant surprise at her worried greeting.

  “Are you okay?” she asked as she approached him, concern lighting her eyes.

  Noah nodded. “Fine. But your bedroom window isn’t. Someone hurled a rock through it.”

  Jessica’s eyes closed as she sank down onto her couch. Tom’s head stuck out from underneath the furniture, and he blinked his golden eyes. Noah wanted to go to her, hold her, tell her it would be all right. He planted his feet, determined not to take that step closer.

  She sat on the sofa wearing that frothy pink thing that didn’t conceal enough for his peace of mind. Her hair was mussed, she wore no makeup, and no damned pearl necklace. She was all warm woman and vulnerable vixen. She was beautiful, and out of bounds.

  “Pack a bag. We’re going to a hotel.” He had to move her to a safer location.

  Jessica’s eyes opened slowly. “No.” The word was quiet, but succinctly stated.

  Noah’s eyebrow rose. “What?”

  Jessica shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Why not? This place is compromised. You’re at risk here.”

  Noah watched as Jessica’s hand rose to her throat. It fluttered for a moment, before dropping to toy with the belt of her sexy see-through robe.

  “This place,” she began slowly, her voice low, “is my home. I won’t let him take it away from me.”

  “The guy threw a rock through your window. If you weren’t up making milk, it would have hit you. Possibly killed you.”

  She flinched, but her features remained stiff.

  “I won’t let him run me out of my own home,” she said. Noah had to step closer to hear her properly.

  “Pride? You’re staying here because of pride? Isn’t it time you started to take this threat to your life seriously, instead of presenting this false face to the world?” The danger she was putting herself in had him pacing away from her in frustration before turning back to her.

  “Don’t you think putting more stock into how others see you than in your own safety is a little foolish? Get over yourself.”

  She blinked rapidly, as though trying not to cry. She rose slowly from the cream leather couch, her chin up.

  “You don’t think I take this seriously?” she said hoarsely. “I have lived with this for four months. I look at every man I meet, and think, is it you? I have to steel myself to shake hands with people, to get into an elevator with someone. I’m scared to walk to my car every night. I’m scared to open my mailbox. Any time a man walks behind me I want to run. Every time the phone rings, I freeze. What if it’s him on the other end of the line? I can’t sleep through the night. Every noise startles me. I know I’m paranoid, but I can’t seem to do anything about it. You’re wrong if you think I don’t take this seriously. This man is stealing my sleep. He’s stealing my peace of mind. I will not let him steal my home away from me, too, damn it. I’m not doing this because of what others might think! I’m doing it to save my sanity. I thought you, of all—” She bit off the rest of what she was about to say, leaving the sentence, and her frustration, dangling between them.

  Noah stared at her, his mouth open. He couldn’t ignore the thread of hurt underlying her words, as though his remarks had cut her deeply. Her eyes were flashing and the color was high on her cheeks. Her chin was up, her shoulders back. She was defiant. She was scared, and she’d just undone him completely with her impassioned argument.

  She stalked up to him. “You are my bodyguard, but this is my life. So far, everything this man has done has been outside my home. He’s left letters—outside. Even throwing the rock, he was outside. I’m still safe in here, with you. I’ll stay away from the windows, but I will not run from my home because of him.” Her gaze dropped to his chest, and he saw the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed.

  “I think it’s best if we keep this, er, relationship, purely professional from now on,” she muttered.

  What did she mean by that? Was she putting him in his place? Miss Prissy dealing with the hired help. His hands moved to his hips.

  “If I think there is a risk, I will act,” he warned her.

  She nodded. “Of course. Just no more, uh, warm milk,” she said, her eyes moving past him to the direction of the kitchen.

  Huh? Had he missed something? “Warm milk?” He thought back to what had passed between them in the kitchen. She’d been unable to sleep. He’d offered to show her some moves. “I meant self-defense moves,” he gritted.

  Her brow wrinkled as she looked up at him in confusion. “What?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting more ‘warm milk.’” He wiggled his fingers to frame his words. “I meant I could show you some self-defense moves. Maybe then you’d feel a little more confident about the situation, and you might be able to sleep better.”

  She winced.

  “Oh. I thought—of course.”

  Noah got her message, loud and clear. She didn’t want to mix with the hired help. It wouldn’t look good.

  Her chin lifted, and she tried to smile. “Well, we understand each other then. No, uh, ‘warm milk.’”

  He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  He paused. They still had a broken window in her bedroom to worry about, and a stalker fully intent on doing bodily harm.

  “To cover the damn window. Then I’ll call that detective, let her know what happened. They might send someone out to check the house and the yard.”

  “Thank you,”
she said meekly as he left the room. He didn’t acknowledge it. His feet thumped along the hallway. This was what she wanted, right? Him servant, she high lady.

  He boarded up the window and took another quick tour around the property before calling the police. He reassured them that there was no immediate threat and Detective Carmichael promised to send a team over in the morning.

  It wasn’t until he’d returned to the living room to find her curled up on the sofa with a sleepy Tom that the implication of her words hit him. She’d thought he was coming on to her, suggesting an entirely wicked alternative for warm milk.

  And at the time she hadn’t backed away.

  He went back to his room and got the comforter off the bed and his cards off the bureau and returned to the living room. He draped the comforter over her on the sofa, and settled himself into an armchair.

  He wondered what would have happened if they weren’t interrupted.

  “Great,” he muttered to himself as he tried to get comfortable in a chair built for an elf. Now he couldn’t stop thinking of other moves he’d like to show her. All those “warm milk” moves she’d just told him that weren’t going to happen. All those moves he now wanted to do, over and over again.

  He started shuffling his cards. It was going to be a long night.

  * * *

  Several days after the rock-throwing incident, Jessica sat in the passenger seat of her car. She’d given up trying to get the keys off Noah. He insisted he was the one with the defensive driving skills, hence he was the logical choice of driver.

  Noah’s phone rang, and he pulled over to the curb to answer it.

  “Yeah?” His chin lowered, and he made the occasional grunt as he listened. He hung up, and slid the phone back inside his jacket pocket.

  He pulled away from the curb. “That was Detective Carmichael. Forensics found a fingerprint on some of the debris from the letter bomb.”