Necessary Risk (Bodyguard) (7 page)

“I don’t think I need to tell you that having this here is a terrible idea, right?”

She blushed slightly, looking sheepish. “I actually kinda forgot that was there.”

He handed her the key and the plastic rock with an impatient grunt. “Ditch the hide-a-key.”

He turned his attention to her front door, studying the handle and hinges. “We can upgrade this too. I’ve got some reinforcements I can install that will make it more resistant to being kicked in. New hinges and screws, a thicker dead bolt.”

Her eyes widened, and she clutched the plastic rock to her chest. “You think someone would try to kick in my door?”

“It’s not likely, but to keep you safe, I need to be prepared for anything this protest group might throw at you.”

Her brow furrowed, tension written across her pretty face. Shit. He hadn’t meant to scare her. Before he could stop himself, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the delicate skin there. “Chances are, no one’s going to try to kick down your door. And if they do, that’s what I’m here for. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I get that you’re scared, but I promise, I’ve got you.”

She closed her eyes for a second and pressed her cheek into his palm. She was so small, so sweet, so undeserving of any of this shit that his heart ached a little for her while the rest of his body roared to life, heat pulsing low in his gut and tightening the muscles there.

Fucking hell. One touch, and he was ready to pin her up against the wall.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, sighing heavily. Reluctantly he pulled his hand away, struggling to maintain any semblance of professionalism.

“Let’s go inside. I want to take a look at that alarm system.”

She unlocked the front door and he followed her in, turning his attention to the small panel on the wall beside the door.

“I assume this came with the house, considering it looks like it’s about twenty-five years old,” he said, once again tamping down the tiny surge of anger pushing up through his chest. Her security was mediocre at best.

“Yeah. It’s active, though.”

“Right, but these are easy to tamper with. All you have to do is take the battery out to bypass having to put the code in.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “Who knows both your code and that you had a key hidden on your front porch?”

She crossed her arms. “No one who’d write ‘baby killer’ on my wall, I can promise you that.”

“This all needs to be upgraded. I have a system we can install for you. It connects with the security cameras, locks on every window and door, and the motion-detecting lights I’m going to install for you. I’ll show you how to use it once it’s set up. And don’t give your code to anyone.”

“Right, but I—”

He didn’t give her the chance to finish. “Sierra. Do not give out your code. Ever.”

She studied him, her lips slightly parted. After a second she nodded.

“Show me where the vandalism happened.”

She tipped her head and led him through a sunken living room, the height of the ceiling accented with dark crisscrossed wooden beams. Two worn, comfortable-looking chocolate-brown leather couches sat at right angles to each other, orange and tan throw pillows scattered over them. Dark wooden wainscoting, matching the ceiling beams, came halfway up the wall before meeting wallpaper that looked like thick linen. It was warm, and welcoming. Nicely furnished without being pretentious. Comfortable and lived in—it was neat enough without looking like a showroom. The art on the walls and the books lining the shelves in the living room confirmed that she was smart and had good taste.

They crossed the living room and went into the kitchen, which was a large, open space with gray granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, and white cabinets. A massive island dominated the middle of the room. As they walked, Sean made a mental note to make sure the windows in the living room and kitchen all had functioning locks and to discuss the possibility of upgrading all the windows on the main level to laminated glass, which was much more difficult to smash.

He followed her into the dining room and sucked in a sharp breath. Even though he’d known it would be there, seeing the words
BABY
KILLER
scrawled across the wall in red paint, the color eerily bloody, had him grinding his teeth. His heart punched at his ribs, anger once again taking over. As he looked at the damage, anger didn’t seem to be a big enough word to encompass everything he was feeling. He could barely breathe around it, it was so suffocating. He paced, shoving a hand through his hair, trying to stay calm, rational.

Easier said than done, because it pissed him the fuck off that someone had done this to her. When he got his hands on these assholes, there’d be hell to pay. In the meantime Sierra was his to protect, and he’d make damn sure she stayed safe.

*  *  *

Sierra’s shoulders slumped as she surveyed the damage to the dining room a second time. She didn’t even care about the vandalism. She could repaint. But repainting wouldn’t erase the sickening sensation that her home had been violated. Her sense of sanctuary had been shattered, and the comfort she’d once associated with her home was gone. She wasn’t sure if that feeling could ever be restored.

She knew that she wouldn’t have been able to come back here so soon if it hadn’t been for Sean. She’d been too chicken to come back by herself, and now she was grateful she didn’t have to face the damage alone. A muscle ticced in his jaw as he looked around the room, his hands on his hips. He turned to look at her, and something in his expression softened, just slightly.

He reached out, as though maybe he was going to lay his hands on her shoulders, but then shoved his hands into his pockets instead. “We don’t need to stay in here. Let’s go back to the kitchen and talk.”

She poured them each a glass of iced tea and they settled on opposite sides of the island. His phone buzzed and he shot her an apologetic smile as he reached to check it, scrolling quickly through an e-mail or a text. She watched his hands as he worked, riveted. She was quickly becoming obsessed with his hands. How they looked. How they felt. She wanted to learn a lot more about his hands, but he kept taking them away. She didn’t know how to read him. She knew there were sparks between them, and was positive he’d felt that almost magnetic pull too. And yet she could tell he was holding himself back.

Still reading, he absently rubbed a hand over his mouth, and her stomach clenched and swirled. It was almost unfair how gorgeous he was. She’d never experienced such raw lust for someone before. But she knew that it already went deeper than lust, because his appeal was more than skin-deep.

He looked up and their eyes locked. Oh, God, this man was doing stupid things to her insides, turning her inside out and tying her into knots while her stomach dipped and swirled as though she were on a roller coaster.

Needing something to do, she reached for her glass, but instead of closing her fingers around it, she managed to knock it over. She braced, waiting for it to smash onto the tile floor, but the crash never came. Lightning-fast, Sean shot out a hand and rescued it without even spilling a drop. With that lopsided smile, he set it down on the island.

Those goddamn
hands
. So much strength and power, and so much control. A hot thrill worked its way down her spine as she imagined them on her, touching her, taking off her—

“Someone from our tech team is going to come by shortly to help me get your security cameras and alarms set up. And as soon as Zack gets here, I’ll go grab my stuff from my place, and then I’ll install your new lighting.”

She took a sip from her rescued glass, listening, unable to take her eyes off him.

“I’ll be staying in your guesthouse, and as I said, there will always be someone in the house with you. If you need to go somewhere, I’ll go with you, and we may take another member of the team as well, depending on what’s going on. Even for mundane stuff like groceries or running errands, we need to have a security plan. I know it sounds excessive, but until the cops are able to arrest whoever’s doing this, I’m not taking any risks with your safety.”

“I don’t think it sounds excessive at all,” she said, shaking her head. “Given what’s happened, it makes me feel better.” She felt safe with him around, with his obvious security expertise. She knew, without a doubt, that he could protect her from Sacrosanct.

“Good. If you have any questions, or need anything, just let me know.”

She had questions and unfulfilled needs that she’d be willing to bet good money he could help her with, but she had the feeling her rapidly growing crush on him wasn’t what he was talking about.

“I’m going to read over both police reports from yesterday, see if anything jumps out at me,” he said, setting his phone back down on the island and taking a sip of his iced tea.

“I can get you a copy of the first one.”

“I’ve got a connection at the LAPD. He already pulled it and e-mailed it to me. I’ve also got him doing some digging on Sacrosanct to see what we can find out.”

“The cops seem fairly certain that’s who’s behind this.” She traced the tip of her finger through the ring of condensation from her glass.

He nodded slowly. “Can you think of anyone else who’d target you like this?”

“No. I think the cops are probably right about this being Sacrosanct, and if not them, then some kind of copycat protest group.”

“If you think of anyone else we can look into, let me know. We’ve got a private investigator on contract who can dig into places the cops sometimes can’t.”

“I will. Thanks.” They sipped their iced teas in silence for a moment, but there was an easy comfort to it, which was crazy, given that she’d known him for less than twenty-four hours. At this time yesterday, she hadn’t even known he existed. Today she couldn’t imagine not having him around.

He pointed to a framed photograph on the shelf that held her stained and dog-eared cookbooks. “Is that you?” he asked, pushing away from the island to examine the picture up close. She leaned an elbow on the island, appreciating the chance to watch him unnoticed.

“Yeah, me and my dad. I was fifteen in that picture.” In the photo, she and her dad wore matching aprons, flour streaked across her cheek and his forehead. He had an arm around her, and she was laughing. “It was Christmas Eve. We were making gingerbread cookies.”

He picked it up and studied it, that lopsided smile making another appearance. “It’s a great picture. You look really happy.”

“I was. That was a few months before he got sick.” She moved around the island, coming up beside him. She glanced at the picture she’d looked at thousands of times, trying to see it through fresh eyes.

The smile dropped away, and he set the picture back down. “Sick?”

A heaviness she’d long grown used to settled over her like dense fog. “Yeah. Pancreatic cancer. He died when I was seventeen.”

His eyebrows drew together and he looked at the picture again. “I’m sorry.” He paused for a second before continuing, tension pulling at his features. “I know how hard that is. I lost my mom about ten years ago.”

She reached out and laid a hand on his arm, loving the feel of the hard muscle there, taking a small measure of comfort in the solid strength beneath her fingers. “I’m sorry. Was she sick?”

The corners of his mouth pulled down. “No. It was a car accident.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

He laid a hand over hers, his thumb tracing lightly over her knuckles, sparks arcing out over her skin at his touch. “Thanks.”

“You know, people say that time heals, but I’m not so sure, because I’m always finding new ways to miss him.” She swallowed, the small black knot right in the center of her chest squeezing tight. “And then it hurts all over again.”

“I don’t think it ever gets easier.” He glanced away, his eyes soft and sad. “It’s something you carry with you everywhere. Always.”

She could almost feel the pain shimmering off him and she squeezed his arm again, knowing how much it helped to have an anchor against the grief that still rose up occasionally and caught her completely off guard. She raised her hand and laid it flat against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart beating against her palm. The light in his eyes shifted from sadness to something dark and hot, and he dipped his head slightly, moving the tiniest bit closer. With him so close, every one of her nerve endings uncurled and stretched toward him. He was so tall, so
big
, that she wanted to lose herself in the shelter of his gorgeous body, to wrap herself around every part of him.

The doorbell rang, the chimes echoing through her silent house, and Sean pulled away.

“That’s probably Zack,” he said over his shoulder as he moved away and through the house.

Sierra spun and braced herself against the counter, trying to catch her breath. Trying to quell the fear that while this man could be very good for her, he could also be very, very bad. She’d spent months rebuilding the walls around her heart that Jack had managed to tear down, and now in less than a day, Sean had already started chipping away at them.

Chapter 6