Hideaway Heart: Chapter 3

THE GIRL HAD SOME PIPES.

Her scream was so loud, you’d have thought I came after her with an axe. (Did I mention I know how to throw an axe?)

She also had a smokin’ hot body with plenty of curves, and her long wet hair was clinging to her bare skin like vines. As quickly as I could react, I turned around and held up my hands so she wouldn’t think I was there to harm her.

But the high-pitched shrieking continued as she ran back into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Then silence.

Except that my ears were ringing.

Tentatively, I turned around and called out. “Kelly Jo Sullivan?”

“Go away!”

“My name is Xander Buckley, I’m—”

“I know who you are—the bodyguard! And I already fired you, so go away!”

I moved closer to the bathroom door, so I wouldn’t have to yell. “I can’t do that.”

Kelly, on the other hand, continued to shout. “Why not?”

“I made your brother a promise.”

“What promise?”

“That I wouldn’t leave no matter how hard you tried to make me.”

“Damn him,” she muttered quietly. Then louder, “What’s he paying you to be here? I’ll pay you double to leave!”

“He’s not paying me.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I owe him a favor.” I paused. “Actually, I owe him my life.”

A few seconds of silence passed. “What?”

“Six years ago, he saved my life in Afghanistan, and I’ve been waiting for the chance to repay the debt.”

The bathroom door flew open. She’d wrapped one white towel around her head and a second around her body, which she held in place with stiff wooden-soldier arms. It struck me how much prettier she was without any makeup on. I noticed the ginger lashes and the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, like cinnamon on whipped cream.

“Well, I am not that chance,” she declared, lifting her chin. “So you can just march yourself right on out of here and wait for the next one.” She pointed a finger toward the front door. Her nails were unpainted and trimmed short.

Exhaling, I shook my head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“Then I’m calling the cops,” she announced imperiously.

“How? This place has no phone, and you left yours sitting over there on the couch.” I jerked my thumb over one shoulder. “If I was a real threat, you’d be in big trouble.”

Her emerald eyes blazed with fury. “This is breaking and entering!”

“I didn’t break anything,” I informed her calmly. “The door was unlocked, and every window in the place is open. You couldn’t get any less secure if you tried.”

She pursed her lips together and drew herself up with a deep inhale. “The fact remains. I don’t want you here.”

“Here’s another fact that remains.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not leaving.”

We stood there in a stalemate for a solid twenty seconds, neither one of us willing to budge.

Finally, she shook her head. “I can’t believe my brother would do this to me.”

“What, try to keep you safe?”

“No! Stick me with a big, hairy jerk on my vacation!”

“I’m not a jerk,” I told her. “I’m not even that hairy. And if you’d just give me a chance, I think you’ll like me.” I gave her my most winning smile, with just a hint of smolder. “Most people do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Look, I appreciate that you want to repay my brother and all, but he’s overreacting. I’m not Taylor Swift. I don’t need you.”

“And I appreciate that you’d rather not have me around, but I gave my word to your brother, and I intend to keep it.”

“Just because my brother trusts you doesn’t mean I do!” She stamped her bare foot. “I am in a no-trust zone right now.”

“I heard about the breach with your former security team. And that one of them is trying to sue you. All the more reason you need protection.”

“It’s not just that. I’m sick and tired of being pushed around and treated like my feelings don’t matter.” She was so worked up, her towel came loose, and she struggled to keep it in place.

I held up my hands. “I’m not here to push you around.”

“Ha! Just the sight of you is nothing but a giant, tattooed reminder that I can’t call the shots in my own life.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But for the next two weeks, you’re stuck with me.”

She took a breath and tried a different tactic. “Well, you’ll have to sleep in your car, because there’s only one bed.”

“What about the couch?”

“Out of the question. This place is too small to share.”

“Do I get bathroom privileges?”

“No. Find a tree.”

I shrugged, pretty sure she was bluffing.

“And I don’t want to see you creeping at the windows either. No spying on me.”

“I’m not a spy, Kelly.”

“Whatever. For my brother’s sake, I will attempt to tolerate your presence as a sort of guard dog,” she said, making it clear that was not a compliment, “but you will be an outdoor dog, is that clear?”

“Perfectly.” Never in my life had I wanted to walk out on a job so badly, but I’d given Sully my word. Turning around, I pushed open the front door. “I’ll be outside.”

“Get used to it.”

Jesus. This was country music’s sweetheart?

I went out the door and assessed the outside of the place, noting all the doors and windows. I’d already looked up the address on Google maps and knew there were no close neighbors on any side. Then I looked over the gray minivan parked next to the house. When I’d seen it, I couldn’t believe that was what Pixie Hart was driving. I’d been expecting a cute little convertible or some kind of pricey foreign car. Peering into the back, I wondered if it would be more comfortable to sleep in than my SUV. Had I known there wouldn’t even be a couch to crash on, I’d have at least brought a tent.

For now, I decided to park myself on one of the rocking chairs next to the front door and try not to think about the fact that I’d seen her naked.

Wet and naked.

I shoved the image from my mind and dropped into a chair. As the sun began to sink behind the trees, I stretched out my legs and clasped my hands on my chest, running through my task list for the bar. I’d emailed everything to Veronica earlier, given her all the contact info, let her know when the beer and liquor distributors were coming, when the A/V guys would be there, when the final inspection would happen.

Thankfully, I already had bartenders, servers, and a chef lined up, but I was still going over applications for barbacks and other kitchen staff. It could probably wait until after the soft opening, but maybe I’d ask Veronica to look over the applications just in case there was anyone with awesome experience we didn’t want to lose.

From inside, I heard a hair dryer running for a few minutes. After that, I heard the pop of a cork from a wine bottle, pots and pans clanking in the kitchen, and then music. Pretty soon, the smell of something good began wafting through the screens—something Italian maybe, with tomatoes and garlic and basil. I’d eaten a late lunch but no dinner, and my stomach started to growl. Dammit, why hadn’t I brought a snack?

This whole thing had been so rushed, I hadn’t been able to think straight while I was packing. To distract myself from hunger pangs, I went to my car and grabbed my laptop. Back in my rocking chair, I opened up my computer and realized I needed to ask her if this cabin had Wi-Fi.

Setting my computer aside, I stood up and peered through the screen door. She stood at the stove with her back to me, and the music was so loud, she didn’t hear my knock. Opening the door, I poked my head inside. “Excuse me,” I called.

She turned around and shrieked. “You scared me!”

“Sorry.” Whatever she was making smelled so good, my mouth watered. “I knocked, but you didn’t hear it. I just wondered if this place had Wi-Fi.”

“Oh.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I think so. Hang on.”

I closed the door and sat down in the rocking chair again, pulling my laptop onto my thighs. A moment later she came out onto the porch. “It’s this,” she said, holding her cell phone so I could see the screen.

I found the network and typed in the password. “Thanks.”

For a moment, she just stood there, watching me. She was barefoot, wearing very short shorts and a black tank top with some writing on the front, which I didn’t read because I did not want to be caught spying on her breasts.

(But for the record, they were a good size for someone so small—I’d even say pleasantly plump—and since I’d seen her naked, I knew her nipples were pale pink.)

“Do you need something?” I asked, without looking up from my screen.

“No.” She remained where she stood, fidgeting a little. “Are you emailing my brother to tattle on me?”

If I’d have been in a better mood, I might have laughed. “No. I’m working.”

“Oh yeah?” She sounded interested. “What do you do when you’re not invading other people’s vacation space and calling it security?”

“I’m not even in private security anymore. I own a bar. But it’s not open yet.”

“What kind of bar is it?”

“A sports bar.”

“Of course it is.”

I finally looked up at her. The dying sun lit her from behind, giving her red hair a hazy golden halo. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “You just look like the sports bar type.”

“And what type is that?”

“Tall, muscular, varsity jacket in your closet. You know . . . sporty.” A smile played on her lips. “I bet you really like playing with your balls.”

I focused on my screen again.

She laughed, and it was a nice sound. Deeper and rustier than you’d expect from someone her size. “Oh, come on, I’m teasing. Are you hungry?” she asked.

“No,” I said, pride talking over my ravenous stomach. Right away, my stomach chose revenge by groaning very loudly.

“I think your belly disagrees.” She gestured toward the house. “Do you want to come in and eat with me?”

“And invade your vacation space? I wouldn’t dare.”

She held up her hands. “Let’s call a truce so you don’t waste away out here.”

“No, thanks.”

For a second, she seemed startled that I’d turned her down. Then she shrugged. “Okay. Suit yourself.”

An apology was on the tip of my tongue—why was I letting her get to me like this?—but she went back into the house without another word.

So it surprised me when, a few minutes later, she came out with a bowl heaped with pasta in red sauce, topped with Parmesan cheese and a sprig of basil. She set the bowl at my feet along with a napkin and fork. “Here.”

I glanced down at it. “Is that my doggie bowl?”

“You don’t want it?” She bent down and picked it up again.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it.”

“So you do want it?”

“Yes.”

She tilted her head, like something had just occurred to her. “How bad?”

“What?”

“How bad do you want it?”

I swallowed hard. So bad. “I don’t know.”

“Does it look good to you?”

“Yes.”

“Does it smell good?” She sort of swung the bowl past my face, so the aroma of tomatoes and garlic and basil wafted toward me.

“Yes.”

“It tastes good too,” she said, almost flirtatiously. “I bet you haven’t eaten in a while.”

I was starting to sweat. Were we still talking about food? “What do you want me to say, Kelly? Please?”

“Hmm. Please is nice, but I was thinking maybe you could beg.”

“Beg? Like, on my knees?”

“Oh, good idea.” Smiling, she brandished the pasta again. “You want this, you get on your knees and beg.”

She had a huge grin on her face, and yet I couldn’t tell if she was joking. “I’m not getting on my knees for spaghetti, Kelly. Is this some kind of game?”

“What, you don’t like being told that you can’t have what you want unless you do it on someone else’s terms?” Her eyes pinned mine, driving home her point.

I opened my mouth to argue, then snapped it shut. Focused on my screen again. “Forget it. I’m not hungry.”

She stood there for another moment, saying nothing. Then she bent down, put the bowl at my feet again, and went into the house.

I thought about not eating it to make a point, but after precisely five seconds, I picked it up and scarfed down every single bite.

It was delicious.

I decided I would have begged.