by Cat Johnson
Mostly, they were assholes.
Her personal guard dog had a cocky aura blaring off him like a bad stink.
One thing she hated was a man who acted like a know-it-all. And worse than that was one who was a dummy and still acted superior to her, all because he was bigger and stronger because he had more muscles than she did.
She wasn’t going to put up with it. Not in her own home—or her home away from home for the remainder of this shoot.
“I’ll call now and see about getting that equipment over here.” Mr. Mann, who was so obviously overfilled with testosterone even his name reiterated his masculinity, moved to the other side of the room to make a call on his cell phone.
Sierra moved closer to Roger. “Where did you get this guy?”
“Guardian Angel Protection. They’re a local company.”
Local. That figured. She scowled. “No doubt.”
“They have excellent references.”
“You checked?” she asked.
“Of course, I checked.” A deep furrow creased Roger’s brow. “I even spoke to someone in Senator Greenwood’s office in Washington just to be sure. This is your safety we’re talking about here, Sierra. I’m taking it very seriously. And so is the owner of the security company, which is why he agreed to get someone here tonight, rather than tomorrow.”
She shrugged. “It’s not like we needed him here tonight. I’m just going to go to bed early.”
“And won’t you sleep better knowing he’s out here, on watch? I know I sure will.”
“He’s going to be right here in my living room all night long?” Outside in the hallway would be fine, but a stranger inside her suite was too close for comfort.
“Yes, Sierra. That’s what round the clock protection entails. Day and night. I thought you understood that.”
“I guess I didn’t consider all the implications.”
Roger shook his head, before he drew her to him in a hug. “You don’t have to. That’s why I’m here.”
“You, and now my own personal Ken doll on steroids with an attitude.”
Roger’s eyes widened. “I know, right? He is Ken doll cute but with a GI Joe kind of edge to him.”
Sierra let out a laugh. “Then maybe you should stay here all night too. You know, to supervise his performance.”
“I wish.” Roger glanced at the brute on the phone and then sighed. “Unfortunately, I don’t think he’s interested in me.”
“The only thing he does seem interested in is surveillance equipment, so don’t feel bad. In fact, he’s so damn perfect, maybe he’s a cyborg or something.”
Roger chuckled. “Hey, if this drought in my love life continues for much longer, a cyborg might be an option.”
“You work too hard. That’s your problem.”
He lifted a brow. “Sorry. Can’t help that. My boss is a slave driver.”
Sierra snorted. “If I was in charge around here, GI Joe wouldn’t currently be inspecting my heating unit while on the phone ordering a delivery of bug detection equipment like it’s a pizza.”
Roger turned to her. “You had to say that? Now I want pizza. We never got around to having dinner.”
She laughed. “Might as well order one. Or better make it two. I bet Mr. Manly-Man eats a lot.”
That was the only way to get muscles that large. Lots of food, in addition to pumping iron for hours a day. The bastard could probably eat all the carbs he wanted and not gain an ounce of fat.
Sierra resented the massive intrusion in her life for a whole new reason now.
The thought of having him outside her door all night long while she was trying to sleep had her craving comfort food in massive amounts. But the knowledge of what carbs did to her body had her saying to Roger, “Order me a salad along with that pizza.”
“You got it.” Roger whipped out his cell phone while Sierra watched the new man in her life continue to hold a conversation she couldn’t hear with someone on his cell phone.
He was a fine specimen. Probably nothing between the ears, but from the neck down his muscles were enough to have her remembering keenly how long it had been since she’d had a steady boyfriend. And in her position, one-night stands were out of the question.
Nope. Her life in the public spotlight meant she couldn’t gain even an ounce without speculation in the tabloids that she had a baby bump.
Sierra sighed with frustration. No good food. No sex. No life.
She did have some really great shoes though. That counted for something. Right?
CHAPTER 7
Rick listened to the ringing through the earpiece of his cell until he heard Jon, when he finally answered, say, “Hey, Rick. You at the hotel?”
“I am.” Rick heard the ambient noise on the other end of the line. “The guys still at your place?”
“Yup. Unfortunately, we seem to have moved on from planning our presentation in HOA to plotting how to get more beer over here without any of us having to go out and get it.”
He knew these guys, as well as if they were his blood brothers, and that sounded about right to him.
A discussion about Jon and Zane’s presentation in Djibouti would naturally lead to memories of when they’d all been stationed on the Horn of Africa in the SEAL encampment on Camp Lemonier. And memories inevitably were accompanied by a cold one—or six.
Rick laughed. “You know, one call to Darci and she’ll deliver it to you.”
“You think?” Jon asked.
“I don’t just think, I know. She was dying to get over to your place for that GAPS meeting.”
“Really? Why?” Jon sounded surprised.
He shouldn’t be. He’d been the one to approve Darci going on that mission with Chris. He should have known after one she’d want another. Action was addicting—an obsession Rick knew too well.
Rick would happily remind his friend whose fault this was. “This one’s all on you, bro. Since you sent her on that one job, she thinks she’s an operative now. But hey, you tell her you need supplies for the planning meeting and she’ll be in her car so fast your head’ll spin.”
Jon let out a chuckle. “Okay, thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. How’s it going there with you?”
How to answer that? Rick was there. He’d met the clients. He liked Roger well enough. But Sierra “Diva” Cox—she was another story altogether.
“It’s . . . uh, going.”
There was a silent pause from Jon’s end of the line in response to Rick’s skirted honesty. “You do realize that answer doesn’t exactly instill confidence, right?”
Time to tap dance and reassure his boss things were fine. Which they were, even if Ms. Cox kept shooting daggers at him with those angry emerald-colored eyes of hers.
Rick’s first GAPS assignment was not going to get derailed by a diva, even if she was centerfold-worthy. He didn’t care what he had to do. Hell, he’d spit shine her shoes if it made her happy but he was not failing and letting Jon or GAPS down.
“Nah. It’s fine. I’m good. Just never been in a hotel suite this fancy before. I guess I’m a little tongue tied. The living room in this place is bigger than mine and Darci’s whole house.”
Jon snorted. “Yeah, well it probably costs more a night than your mortgage every month so don’t be too jealous.”
He hadn’t considered that but, of course, Jon was probably right about that. Diva was hella rich.
No wonder she was so stuck up. She couldn’t help it.
Rick allowed himself to digest that for just a second before work-mode took over. “So how is GAPS set up as far as surveillance-detection equipment goes?”
“Oh, well let me just take a look at our latest equipment warehouse inventory.“ Jon paused, no doubt for dramatic effect to complement his sarcasm. “Rick, right now we’re buying equipment as we need it. I mean we got the essentials necessary for a QRF kit—weapons, ammo, vests and plates, but specialty stuff, like what you’re asking about, we’ll have to go buy.”
; “Oh. That’s okay. I guess I don’t need—“
“Rick. No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t stockpile this stuff, but if you need it, I’ll happily get it.”
“You sure? I can make do with a manual sweep.” Rick knew GAPS hadn’t scored a whole lot of work in its brief history. He felt bad asking Jon to spend any of their initial investment that could go toward more important needs, such as beefing up their Quick Reaction Force kits. Or buying those four-tube NVGs he’d been jonesing for Jon to get for the team.
“The client is paying us a nice sum for this gig and we’ve got money in the bank. Besides, a bug detector is probably something we’ll get a lot of use out of. It’s all good. I’ll call around. If I can’t find any place open tonight, I’ll get it in the morning and run it over to you.”
“That would be great. Thanks, Jon.”
“No problem. I’d like to meet the client in person anyway.”
“Yup. You probably should.” Rick tempered his reply and didn’t issue the warning that was on the tip of his tongue.
He glanced across the room as Ms. Cox, with her chestnut hair piled up on top of her head.
A fluffy white robe dwarfed her, its color a stark contrast to the heightened hue of her cheeks.
Crap, she was looking too sexy for her to be a client. Why couldn’t he have gotten some old governmental dude to guard instead?
This was his first big assignment for GAPS. He needed his head in the game, not on wondering what was under that robe.
If he hadn’t taken the time to look her up online before coming over, the image of her in a bikini wouldn’t be flashing through his sex-deprived brain.
That was sad recompense for doing his due diligence. He should have just driven over unprepared. He would have been better off blissfully ignorant to what Sierra Cox’s smooth lean limbs looked like, bronzed and oiled in that photo spread.
He had to stop thinking like that or he’d embarrass himself and probably get GAPS fired from what was a pretty primo job.
Meanwhile, any fantasies on Rick’s part would remain just that. Fantasy.
Mainly because he had to be professional but also because there was no way Sierra Cox wanted anything to do with him. Not professionally or personally.
That was clear by the attitude radiating off her from across the room. She might be swaddled in fluff, but she sure as hell had a demeanor that was hard as nails.
Sierra was like an overwhelming spitfire compressed in a deceivingly small and sweet-looking package. Kind of like that chocolate-covered fire ant he ate on a dare when they’d all been in HOA.
That had been the easiest fifty bucks he’d ever made. Unfortunately, Rick had a feeling conquering Sierra Cox would not be so easy.
CHAPTER 8
For what had to be the dozenth time Sierra glanced at the clock.
Sleep eluded her, and it wasn’t because of the potentially deadly, camera-wielding stalker, or the possibility of a bug being planted in her suite to monitor her every move. It was without a doubt the fact that even her unconscious brain was very aware of—not to mention disturbed by—the presence of the bruiser in her living room.
The ceiling was too boring to stare at any longer so Sierra closed her eyes and prayed for sleep. Sleep that didn’t come.
She should have taken a sleeping pill. Unfortunately she needed a full eight, and ideally nine hours of sleep to not feel like a zombie in the morning. She had to be at the studio at nine a.m. for hair and makeup.
One glance at the numbers glowing on the bedside clock told her it was far too late to take anything now. Anything other than a shot of alcohol, that is.
Maybe she should raid the minibar. Drink enough to put her in a drunken coma for the next—how many hours? She did a quick calculation in her head. The answer wasn’t good.
To shower, dress and get to the lot in time, she’d have to get up in two and a half hours. Three if she really rushed her morning routine and ate breakfast in the makeup chair.
But if she was going to be sleep deprived because of this Rick person thrust upon her, she certainly hoped he would be too. Not that it mattered. He didn’t have to look fresh and pretty on camera tomorrow. He didn’t have to remember lines and blocking cues.
Was he even awake out there? Was he sitting up, watching the door and windows with an eagle eye, ready to pounce at any sign of an intruder? Or, and this was far more likely in her opinion, was he stretched out, sleeping on the sofa that would no doubt be too short for him?
The curiosity ate at her until she was more awake than before. There was no freaking way she had any hope of dozing now. Not until she had an answer to her question.
She flipped the covers back and swung her legs over the side of the mattress. Bare-footed, Sierra padded across the plush carpet, guided by the light from the living room that slipped through the crack between the door and the frame.
Foiled by the fact the space was too small for her to peek through, she turned the knob, slowly in an attempt to be silent and sneak up on him.
It didn’t work. The moment the door opened, he glanced up from his seat on the sofa and smiled. “Good morning.”
Sierra couldn’t have frowned any deeper. “Morning? How is this morning?”
His cell phone was already in his hand. He hit a button and turned it to face her to display the time. “It’s five. That’s morning.”
“How can you consider five a.m. morning? The sun isn’t even up. Is it?” She generally made it to about closing time of whatever club she happened to be partying at, and then went straight to bed. So five in the morning was uncharted territory for her.
The bastard managed to look handsome even at this ungodly hour as he grinned at her. “The sun doesn’t necessarily dictate when morning starts. There were days I’d get in my run, shower, and eat breakfast all before the sun came up.”
That confirmed her suspicions. He was a health nut.
“That’s very admirable.” She complimented him, but the sarcasm was clear in her tone.
She should probably be more careful how she spoke, given he was in possession of a gun. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there it was, on the table next to him.
“Coffee?” He stood and grabbed the gun, sliding it into a hidden ankle holster before letting his pant leg slide back into place.
After witnessing that disturbing move, she somehow found the words to ask, “You made coffee?”
“Yup. Brewed a fresh pot about half an hour ago. Should still be plenty fresh, even for your taste buds.”
There was an insult in there but she was too flabbergasted to respond to it.
She shouldn’t be standing in front of him in what she was wearing at all, never mind having coffee with this guy. She glanced down at her attire. She was wearing men’s style silk pajamas so she was covered, technically. But the fabric was so thin and clingy she might as well have been wearing gauze. He’d be able to see every jiggle, every pucker . . . and damn why were her nipples hard?
“I didn’t think it was that hard of a question.” His comment brought her back to the issue at hand—his offer of coffee.
Crossing her arms over her chest, she glanced up to see him watching her, coffee pot in hand. She needed to answer him. She also needed to go put on a bra. “Um, yeah. Sure. I’ll be right back.”
He reached for another cup. “Okay. Cream? Sugar?”
She’d already gone in the bedroom, but his words followed her inside. Poking her head out through the doorway, she called back, “I’ll fix it myself. Just leave it there.”
“All right. I probably couldn’t have gotten it right anyway.”
Another dig from the brute, thinly veiled as him trying to be helpful. Unable to let this one go, even as she wrestled to get her bra on, she called through the closed door, “Probably not.”
By the time she got her pajama top back on, over the bra this time, and emerged from the bedroom, he was back on the sofa. This time, there was a coffee mug in one hand
and his cell phone in the other.
She headed toward the coffee maker. “What is so interesting on that phone of yours? You updating the Guardian Angels With Guns Facebook page?”
Guardian Angels, her ass. Fallen Angels more like, judging by the looks of him. She smiled at her own cleverness as she reached for the artificial sweetener Roger had stocked in the kitchenette for her. Maybe she’d hold on to that Fallen Angel dig and use it the next time he insulted her.
“No. Jon’s girlfriend Ali handles our social media. He’s the founder. You’ll meet him today. He’s supposed to be dropping off the equipment I asked for sometime this morning.” He shot her a glance as she wandered over to the seating area with her coffee mug. “And you can call it GAPS for short. Guardian Angels with Guns is such a mouthful. I do like it though.”
His grin deflated her whole dig. It was no fun when the subject of her mocking enjoyed it. He even chuckled at the name, before he lifted his phone again.
“What are you reading on there?”
“Sun Tzu.”
“Sun Tzu, as in The Art of War?” Her eyes widened, but her shock at his reading at all, and something without pictures in it, didn’t last long. It was soon replaced by her anger when he acted more surprised than she had.
His sandy colored brows rose above his blue eyes. “You’ve heard of it?”
“Of course I’ve heard of it. What’s shocking is that you’re reading it.”
“Eh, you don’t know me very well, so I’ll give you a pass for acting ignorant.”
Again, the insult had rolled off the blond brute like water off a duck’s back. Amusing him rather than pissing him off, which was rapidly becoming her goal—to make him as angry as he made her, seemingly without much effort at all.
He lowered the phone again, probably after realizing she was sitting there scowling at him.
What else could he expect her to do at five in the frigging morning besides sit there like a zombie barely able to hold her coffee mug?
Maybe he thought she’d go for a run like he bragged about doing before sun up daily.
