His Kind of Trouble

by Samantha Hunter

  “Perishable or non-perishable?” a voice asked, verifying the security question.

  “Perishable,” he confirmed.

  Judd listened as a series of locks disengaged, then the door opened to reveal a rangy officer with more hair on his face than his head. His eyes were guarded, a little regretful and mildly relieved. No doubt keeping this key witness out of harm’s way was the most exciting bit of police work Officer ZZ Top had ever done, Judd thought, following him inside the house.

  In keeping with the generally shabby appearance of the outside, the interior was equally depressed. Stained brown carpet covered the floors, dated brown paneling lined the walls and bare bulbs hung from the dingy water-stained—okay, fine, brown—ceiling. Wearing uniforms the color of ditch water, the three officers matched the bleak decor.

  Which was probably what made the woman standing in the middle of them all the more remarkable.

  She stood out like a flamingo in a flock of cowbirds.

  His heart began to pound, pushing the blood through his veins so fast that his mouth parched. A peculiar feeling fluttered through his chest, not altogether unpleasant, and the centers of his palms tingled with heat. He couldn’t have been any more surprised if fireballs emerged from them. Though he knew it hadn’t, the floor felt like it shifted beneath his feet and his stomach suddenly floated inside his belly with breathless anticipation, the same way it did the instant he jumped out of a plane. He swallowed, shaken.

  It was...disconcerting.

  Tall and willowy with long, blazing red hair that gleamed with vitality despite the lack of proper lighting, she practically glowed from within, bathing the rest of the world around her with her illumination. Her skin was pale and peachy-looking, her mouth a small but ripe raspberry pink that immediately put him in mind of sex, and delicate brows arched over a pair of particularly startling green eyes. They were light, the color of antique glass, and heavily fringed with dark auburn lashes. She wore a long multi-

  colored skirt which clung to an especially nice ass, a white tunic with billowy sleeves, lots of noisy jewelry—it jingled with every move she made—and a pair of fuzzy pink bunny slippers on her feet. The scent of meat loaf and apple pie hung in the air and a small candle burned on the battered coffee table.

  What was more startling was what she was doing—cutting one of the officers’ hair, of all things. While she worked, she did a lot of humming under her breath, biting her distracting lips and frowning critically. She didn’t look the least bit concerned that someone was trying to kill her. In fact, she just looked...busy. A quick glance revealed that everyone but ZZ Top had gotten a fresh trim and shave.

  “I’m almost done,” she said, without looking up. Snip, snip, snip. Frown. Snip, snip, snip. “See, Roy, the trick is to condition regularly. Hair is hair. Just because you’re a man doesn’t mean your hair doesn’t need a decent moisturizer, especially with all this curl,” she said, pushing her hands through it with a little groan of delight that made his balls tighten.

  Roy’s, too, by the look of him.

  A fair baby-faced blonde with more than a spare tire hanging over his belt, dear old Roy blushed to the roots of the hair she presently worked on.

  “I bet the girls just can’t get enough of those curls, can they?” she continued, smiling as she tweaked a few more strands. “It’s a good thing you don’t have any dimples, Roy, because dimples and curls would have made you downright irresistible, and that’s hardly fair to any of the rest of the men in this town, is it?”

  “Right,” one of the men drawled. “’Cause he beats them off with a stick now, doesn’t he?”

  She looked up and sent the offender a scowl that managed to be as quelling as it was disappointed. “Clark.”

  Clark’s smug smile instantly fell and he reached down and popped a rubber band against his wrist. “Sarcasm isn’t a weapon,” he said, seemingly by rote. “I can be clever without being cruel.”

  Judd blinked, stunned. What the hell...?

  She beamed approvingly at Clark, her pale green eyes lighting with pleasure. “Intelligence is attractive, but only when it’s put to good use. Wouldn’t it be a shame to waste that fine mind, Clark? Have you given any more thought to going back to school, pursuing that dream of architecture we talked about?”

  Clark glanced at the floor and sheepishly shuffled his feet. “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “Thinking is good, but taking action is better. Make the choice and commit to it.” She smiled indulgently. “You know you can do it.”

  What was she? Judd wondered. Some sort of life coach? A daytime TV junkie? Both?

  “You’re determined to make sure that I’m an officer short on my police force, aren’t you?” ZZ Top scolded with a good-natured grimace.

  She rolled her eyes as she continued to work on Roy’s curly hair. “As if you couldn’t handle the whole thing by yourself,” she said fondly. “You’re so efficient, you’ve shaved all the hair right off your head to keep from having to fix it. I hope Mossy Ridge appreciates you, Les. You do a fine job. Just like that lovely wife of yours, this community is lucky to have you.”

  Les’s chest puffed with pride and he ran a hand over his bald head, which had turned decidedly pink.

  Any minute now Judd fully expected all three men to jump up, start dancing in circles around her and break into “Whistle While You Work.” But she wasn’t Snow White, they weren’t dwarves and he sure as hell wasn’t Prince Charming, though he had been accused of being the Prince of Darkness a time or two.

  “Ms. Montgomery, I’m Judd Anderson, your security specialist. I’m here to escort you to your permanent location while you await the trial. Please collect your things. We need to go.”

  There, Judd thought. Firm but polite, the equivalent of Move your ass, please.

  She stilled and finally, very slowly, looked up at him. Though he was too well-trained to betray an inkling of unease, the force of that droll green gaze when it met his was nothing short of...cataclysmic. Like a tsunami meeting a hurricane, an earthquake in the middle of a tornado, planets colliding in space. He felt like he’d been sucked into the resulting vacuum, powerless as a whole new galaxy formed around him...and he was staring directly at its princess.

  Predictably, his cell phone vibrated from his front pocket—Jeb, no doubt, because there was no way in hell he wasn’t picking up on that little emotional anomaly. He didn’t know when he’d ever been so affected, when he’d ever simply looked into a pair of eyes—admittedly, very pretty ones—and felt the earth move. An inexplicable coil of heat spiraled into his loins, curling around his dick, and his fingers twitched with the urge to touch her, to run the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip.

  “I understand that you’ve recently left the military,” she said, her tone conciliatory, as though she were speaking to a sullen teenager, “and adjusting your demeanor to your new civilian life might be a bit of a struggle. But your transition would be a lot smoother if you were to remember that you’re no longer at liberty to issue orders and no one you speak to is obliged to follow them.” The barest hint of irritation flashed in her gaze. “Most particularly me,” she added.

  Clark, Les and Roy all chuckled, then quickly turned their amusement into fake coughs when she shot them another one of those mysterious glances that somehow, to his utter astonishment, turned the three into awkward ball-less wonders.

  Evidently she figured she was going to be able to do the same thing with him, Judd thought, feeling his jaw involuntarily clench. Perfect. Now all of him was hard. But if she thought she was going to be able to dress him down and wrap him around her little finger as easily as she had these hapless fools, then she’d better think again.

  Oh, hell, no.

  Better to disabuse her of that notion toute suite.

  He smiled at her, twisted his lips just enough to be patronizing. “Since we both speak English and understand the language, communication, obviously, isn’t an issue. This is more of a comp
rehension problem. I apologize,” he said with a small nod. “Where I stated the facts, you heard an order. In future, I’ll make sure you understand the difference.”

  He straightened, going into Obedience or Death mode, and looked at each of the men in turn. “Les, check the perimeter. Roy, call your lookouts for an update. Clark, sweep the street. There were twelve vehicles and a motorcycle when I arrived. One minivan, six sedans, two trucks, three SUVs and a Harley Davidson. If there’s a change in any status quo, I want to know it. Move.”

  They all scattered and bolted into action. Satisfied, Judd turned to look at her. “Those were orders,” he explained patiently, in the same condescending tone she’d used. “They followed them because it’s their job, just like it’s my job to keep you safe. Any directive I issue is for your protection, Ms. Montgomery, not for my amusement or due to my lack of understanding the difference between military and civilian cultures. I’m not obliged to say please or ask nicely and, so we’re clear, I don’t work for you. I work for Ranger Security. Ranger Security works for the client, Ed Johnson, who hired the company to protect you at all costs.” He lifted a brow. “With me so far?”

  Her lips curled into a smile that more resembled a snarl and her entire body seemed to vibrate with anger. For whatever reason, Judd got the impression that he’d just awakened a dormant volcano. Perversely, he looked forward to the eruption. “Oh, I think I can grasp the concept. You’re in charge.”

  He nodded and grinned at her, enjoying this much more than he should have. “See?” he said, rocking back on his heels. “Not too difficult. Now get your things,” he repeated. “We need to leave.”

  Her eyes narrowed fractionally. “Right.”

  Imagining he could see the steam billowing from the top of her head, she turned abruptly on her heel and left the room.

  He released a pent-up breath, one he didn’t even realize he’d been holding. Four days, he thought as a blaze of heat kindled in his loins, the memory of her mouth making his own water.

  Four days. Alone. With her.

  God help him.

  ISBN: 9781460300473

  Copyright © 2013 by Samantha Hunter

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