“The events have their own security,” Sam replies, “so our focus will be on the crowd when Mitch is traveling from his hotel suite to the conference center or walking from one room to another.”
“But won’t the bad guy, gal, granny, grampa, toddler assassin know that?” I shrug. “I mean, if it were me, and I really wanted to kill Mitch, which I don’t—though I have thought about it—I would be trying to get to him when everyone’s guard is down.”
“Or you just assume no one is safe,” grumbles snowflake Hulk. “Nothing is safe. Everyone has a grenade in their pants.” His eyes go vacant like he’s imagining lots and lots of people with grenades. In their pants.
“Well, that wasn’t weird,” I mumble.
Cray speaks up with his thick brogue. “Let me know if anyone would like to take some of mi special whiskey and Red Bull elixir to steady their nerves and alert their minds…”
Sam gives him a look. “No drinking. No caffeine. Definitely not both together. It will make you have to use the restroom, and we need to be in camel mode.”
“Only tryin’ to help.” Cray sticks out his lower lip.
Sam jumps straight into our positions and roles for each room, including our wardrobe changes. “Cray has everything ready for you, so don’t forget to grab your outfits on the way out.”
“Wait. Why am I going to be dressed in a gross brown jumpsuit?” I ask, staring down at my assignment sheet. It details everything I need to memorize before departure.
Sam’s response comes with a stern warning in his tone. “You’ve been assigned the rolling trash can, so what else would you wear?”
“You mean I’m actually going to be picking up garbage? In Miami. At a glamorous fashion event.”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes.
Sam replies flatly, “I picked you because you’re the only one on the team who wouldn’t rouse suspicion working in maintenance.”
I look around at the beefcakes and pretty boys around the table. “Fine. But I still think it’s super un-PC.”
“As opposed to dressing like a hooker who’s part of Mr. Hofer’s harem, and having to let me grab your ass as part of your cover?” Phil retorts and makes a sour face.
“Stop. I know you enjoyed it, but point taken.” After all, this is the job. We don’t dictate societal norms. We’re not here to teach lessons or make political statements. We’re supposed to blend in with what is. If we’re at the opera with the Queen of England, we curtsy and raise our pinkies. If we’re at the monster truck show, we pump our fists, scratch our nuts, and drink beer. Or pretend to. And if we go to Miami’s swimsuit fashion week, I dress like a janitor.
“And I’m totally fine with my cover. Cleaning is an honest living.” My grandma was a housekeeper and worked part-time cleaning the elementary school.
“Good. Then see you all on Saturday morning at the event—I’ll be arriving late Friday after most of you. Cray will give you your hotel assignments. And since some of you will be traveling with Mitch and leaving early, be sure to tell us now if you need any supplies.” Sam looks at the rock-hard Stay Puft dude. “Work related, Chuck.”
“I need my protein drinks, man.”
“Noted. But yours contain illegal substances, which I cannot help you with.”
I crinkle my nose. Seems like Sam must really be in a pinch if he’s using this guy. I’m guessing that the rest of his crew is assigned to other clients. Otherwise, Sam wouldn’t be going himself.
Actually, he would be. He feels personally obligated to see this through with a positive outcome.
As for me, I’m beginning to feel nervous about this trip. Because if both Mitch and Sam are calling it a suicide mission, then for a newbie like me, it’s…it’s…well, I don’t know what’s worse, but it’s bad.
Miami. Here I come?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mitch
“What the hell, Sam! I told you I didn’t want Abi on this trip. Why did you convince her?” I snarl into my cell as the limo pulls up to the posh hotel smack in the middle of Miami Beach. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Sam waited until I’m already here to break the news.
“She volunteered, Mitch. She insisted.”
“What did you say? Because it must’ve been something.” I’d gotten her to quit. I’d finally driven her away.
“Don’t ask me. I told her it was a mistake asking her to protect you because your life isn’t worth saving.”
“Har bloody har. You’re a fucking riot, mate. But this is no time for jokes. She can’t be a part of this.”
“Then change your mind. Go home. I can get you on a flight back to Houston at noon.”
If I did that, I’d get sued for millions instead of receiving my final paycheck. And the last thing I need is more headaches. My focus needs to be on swimming and winning. “I’m not breaching my contract with Weeno, I’m not going to hide like a coward, and I’m not altering one single day of my life for those greedy Kemmler bastards.”
“Then at this point, we need to stick to the plan. And I need Abi. She’s the only one who can blend into the crowd or look like one of your Weeno girls if I need her to. By the way, for the record, I really hate saying Weeno girls. It makes me feel dirty.”
“Join the club. Which is why after this weekend and my contract is fulfilled, I’m done with them.” And, hopefully soon, I’ll be given the date to testify against Kristoff. As for the Kemmlers, I’ve given that cluster of a situation a lot of thought. I have one and only one option to get them to back down, but it’s a risk.
“I just hope whatever this sponsor is paying you is worth it,” Sam says.
“It is.” But on the inside, I know that’s a lie. There is no amount of money worth someone getting hurt. “What I meant to say was it’s worth it for me. Which is why I’m firing you, Sam. Call back the guys who came with me. Send them home.” As I speak, I look directly at the two men who flew in with me, now sitting in the back of the limo. They’re dressed like a boy band. I have no idea why.
“Excuse me?” Sam grumbles through the phone.
“I’m terminating your services. I thought I could justify having your team on this trip since you’re all ex-commandos, but that’s the asshole I used to be who’s speaking. This new asshole couldn’t live with himself if anyone got hurt. Especially you.” Sam is about to get married. He’s got a little monkey at home. He’s a good man.
“Is this because Abi is coming?”
Yes. And no. “I meant what I said. Your services are no longer needed, mate.” The hotel valet opens the passenger-side door. I draw a deep breath, taking in the winter Miami weather, which is seventy degrees. More like home.
Three women in Hawaiian skirts rush to my limo, holding out floral necklaces. “I gotta go. I’m about to get lei’d.”
“If you die, there’ll be no one to testify, Mitch! Kristoff goes free! Stay in your room! Don’t go outside!” Sam yells through the phone.
Fuck that. My old mate Ash is meeting up with me at a bar just down the street for some pints. He just happens to be in town for business, and I’m not about to miss the opportunity to see him after all these years.
Of course, I’ve got a disguise. I’m not stupid. And no one is dying for me. My life isn’t worth more than someone else’s just because I’m famous.
I say goodbye to my bodyguards in the limo, grab my stuff, and prepare to take my chances. Alone.
Abi
“He did what? And he’s already in Miami?” This is a disaster, and I know it’s because of me. That arrogant, selfish prick! He’d rather die than let a woman guard him? “I swear, Sam, I’m going to make sure that fucker lives so I can tie him up in my basement and spank some sense into him.” Not that I have a basement, but if I did…spanking time! “Please tell me you’re not calling back the boy band and you’re still going on the trip.”
Silence.
“Sam? You are still getting on a plane, aren’t you?”
“
I can’t, Abi. Mitch sent in the termination notice.”
“So?”
“If we’re not under contract, we can’t get into any of the events.”
“Again…so? Show up anyway!”
Sam is slow to respond. “Mitch says he’ll take out a restraining order against me and my company if we get anywhere near him. I can’t afford that kind of bad PR. Not from a celebrity. Definitely not from an ex-client.”
That sneaky bastard. “Well, I quit. Again. Now I don’t work for you, so I can go.”
“Abi, don’t. If something happens, we won’t be there to help you.”
“What about Mitch? Who’s going to help him?”
“I hate to say this, but our chances of keeping him safe were low to start. Without his complete cooperation, it’s zero. And I’m responsible for my people’s safety. I have a four-year-old daughter. I have Georgie.”
And I have my mother. She needs me more now than ever, and I’m not talking about the money to save our house and her business. I’m all she’s got left of my father. But can I really let Mitch go on a suicide mission?
Sam adds, “I have to draw the line somewhere, Abi. Mitch forced my hand.”
I sigh. I know he’s right. “I understand. But seriously, I can’t help feeling like this is my fault.”
“It’s not,” Sam says firmly. “Mitch is a grown man. He makes his own decisions.”
“If I’d walked away, he never would have felt backed into a corner.” He did this because I stayed on the team. I know it.
“None of that matters now. We’re done. Look—I gotta go and tell the team what’s happened.”
We say our goodbyes, but I’m left standing in my kitchen with my weekend duffel bag, ready to catch a one-o’clock flight.
I can’t believe Mitch would do this. I get how he didn’t want me coming to Miami, but I don’t get the why. It’s a question I never stopped to ask. Yes, I know what Mitch said. It’s dangerous. Women can’t be bodyguards. But beneath all that chauvinism and the man-tantrums, what’s the basis of his real objection?
My mind drifts back to the time we first met. It’s the night of his housewarming party here in Houston. Georgie has left with Sam, and I’m standing in Mitch’s bedroom, kissing him. I’ve only had a few beers—nowhere near tipsy—but I feel drunk from his touch and delicious scent—citrus, spices, man. Mitch’s sex-lips move like a sensual poem over my neck and down my collarbone. His strong hands are like a love song, coaxing my body to melt for him. Everything about him is like a drug and gives me a rush.
I knew the moment I saw him in the flesh that he was the most beautiful guy I’d ever seen—way hotter than on all those sports magazine covers. The confident, warm look in his hazel eyes, the tall frame covered in lean muscle that filled out his clothes in a way that screamed pure masculinity, and the devilish smile on his lips. His presence filled a room like some god. More than anything, though, it was the way he made me feel when he looked at me. His house had been full of people, some of them gorgeous female models with the sorts of perfect bodies men can’t resist. But I was the one he wanted to dance with. I was the one he wouldn’t let go of as he mingled. We talked and laughed. We danced to ABBA and had the goofiest, best time. Most surprising was how easy it felt between us. New and exciting, but like we’d known each other for years. Whatever this thing was between us, it felt different than anything I’d ever experienced with a guy.
When he finally kissed me near the pool, under the stars, in front of dozens of people hanging around outside, I swore my heart almost stopped. For sure, my rational thinking did.
“Want to go upstairs?” His accent made his words sound a thousand times sexier. Of course, he could say anything—dirty socks, pond scum, hazardous waste—and make it sound hot.
“And leave your own party?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I hardly know any of these people. They’re all friends of my agent or belong to the university.” I already knew he had one semester left to finish his degree back in Australia, but he’d decided to start over here in the US. Now it makes sense, but at the time, I thought he might be a little on the wild and impulsive side. I mean, who quits school three months before graduation? Even if you’re famous and rich, getting a degree is work. And he started college late due to his swimming schedule, then ended up taking a lighter load. So to quit after working five years for a degree, only to start over in another country? It made me wonder. Is he a flake? Is he just going to sleep with me and then lose my number? Or is he the type of guy who doesn’t waste his time unless he’s serious?
It’s fifty-fifty. But if I didn’t take a leap of faith, I’d never find out.
“Well.” I pushed myself up on my tiptoes and planted a lingering kiss on Mitch’s deliciously sexy lips. “If you really want to go upstairs…”
“I do.” He took my hand and led me to his room, which was bigger than my entire house, with a private living room, kitchenette, enormous bathroom, and a trophy room. Before I knew it, his hands gripped my waist, and he was pulling me snugly against his hard frame. I could feel the part of him that he was so famous for straining against his black pants. The thought of him inside me, filling me, made me instantly wet and sinfully achy.
I reached for his blue oxford and began working the buttons.
“Wait.” He grabbed my hand. “Would you mind if we just…got to know each other a little more?”
A guy who wants to talk? “Are you feeling all right? Is something wrong down there?” I glanced down at his enormous tent.
He chuckled. “No worries in that department. Just trying to turn over a new leaf is all.”
“Wait. Are you, like…a secret nice guy?”
His light eyes lit up with amusement. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”
I laughed, but then it hit me. Him not wanting to fuck me only made me want him more.
A pit formed in my stomach. I could seriously fall in love with this guy.
We spent the next hour talking as the party fizzled. He told me about his first trip to the Olympics and how he almost cried when he got up on that podium for his first gold medal.
“No. You? Cry?”
“I swear it.” He’d raised his hand in oath. “I held it in until I got to the locker room and then I wept like a baby.”
I could only imagine the joy of working so hard for so many years and then seeing your dream come true. What I liked most about him, though, was how he laughed at himself. I think only the most confident people can truly do that.
Then he went downstairs to make a quick, final appearance and let the staff know where he was in case they needed anything. Meanwhile, I tried to keep my head on straight. I couldn’t believe I was about to sleep with Mitch Hofer. Sex god. Closet gentleman. Smart. I didn’t know where this was heading, but I didn’t care. I’d never wanted someone this much.
He burst into the bedroom with a smile. “I think they’re all gone except for the people cleaning up. Want to go for a swim?”
“Hmmm…I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
“No problem.” He took my hand and led me downstairs, through the bustling kitchen filled with servers packing up food.
Once outside at the Olympic-sized pool, Mitch released my hand, faced me, and took two steps back. The look in his caramel-colored eyes made my pulse spike and knees weak. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his firm round pecs and washboard stomach.
“Wow. Okay.” I whooshed out a breath.
“Want to see more?”
I nodded like one of the dashboard dolls with the loosey-goosey bobble heads.
His grin grew wider, and then he stripped off his pants and underwear.
Oh… With the subtle turquoise glow of the pool lights, I could see every inch of his legendary cock hanging low between his muscular thighs.
My throat went dry. “Clearly your size has been exaggerated. We’re going to have to give you a new nickname. How about baby carrot? You know li
ke those cute little ones they serve at fancy restaurants?”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” He laughed and crossed his arms over his chest, shamelessly flaunting what Mother Nature gave him. “Now it’s your turn.”
Oh boy. My body wasn’t nearly as impressive. I had a narrow waist, decent-sized breasts, and a little extra meat on my hips and thighs. A normal woman.
“Turn around,” I commanded.
“What?”
“Sorry, big boy, I’m not as brave as you. Don’t have any gianormously impressive body parts that will blow your mind.”
“I bet you’re lovel—”
“You want to skinny-dip with those lights on in the water? Then turn.”
“Okay. Turning.”
I quickly stripped and jumped into the pool so he couldn’t peek. The water was warm, thank God. I hate being cold.
“Cheater.” He jumped in after me. When his head emerged, our eyes locked, and like two giant magnets, our naked bodies slammed together. My breasts happily smashed against the swells of his smooth, hard pecs, and our tongues lapped in a voracious, hungry kiss. I flung my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist.
To my surprise, he unwound my legs, and when he lowered me, his long hard cock wedged tightly between the apex of my thighs. Oh. Ohhh…
I held back a moan. “I thought you said no sex,” I panted.
He began rocking his hips, allowing his length to gently glide against my entrance and throbbing bud. “This is just very naughty foreplay.”
“Oh. Good to know.” Our lips found each other again, and he slowly brought my back to the wall of the pool. The cool tile felt refreshing on my shoulder blades given how the rest of my body sizzled, starting with the spot where the base of his shaft rubbed against my c-spot. Each soft pump of his hips made my bud ache more. More deliciously. More urgently.
I squeezed my thighs together, wanting more pressure. “Oh, God. I think I’m going to…” A euphoric explosion ignited, and I threw my head back with a moan. He ground his cock harder against me, sliding between the valley of my slick wet folds, but never penetrating me.
Battle of the Bulge Page 10
