Page 25 of Last First Kiss
He chuckled. “Come on, crazy girl, open the door for me. I’m going to put it on from the inside.”
“You’re going to nail a piece of plywood into your wall. Inside?” She thought about the pretty room, marred by an ugly piece of wood.
“Tomorrow I’ll use my bazillion dollars and have it fixed, get a new curtain, touch up the paint. But for now, this’ll have to do. It’s late and I don’t want to leave it open. I’m sure my bodyguard would agree.”
Of course he couldn’t have a hole in the room where anyone, or anything, could come inside. They’d have to bypass that security code tonight in order to arm the alarm, which meant she needed to be vigilant, even more so than usual.
They trekked back into the house, maneuvering the piece of wood up the stairs and into the bedroom. “Hold this and I’ll hammer it,” he said, gesturing to the plywood. She couldn’t help notice the way the muscles around his neck and biceps bunched up as he worked. Why a man with so much money was doing this himself was beyond her. He really wasn’t anything like she’d expected him to be. He was exactly the opposite, actually. She swept all the glass from around the floor as he worked.
“I don’t get you. Your house is beautiful, but it’s not a multimillion-dollar house, and you’re hammering a piece of plywood into your home, yourself. You don’t have an assistant, you grill your own steaks, yet you were wearing an outfit that cost more than my yearly rent to our initial meeting. What’s your deal?”
Without looking back, still hammering, he answered. “I was running late to our meeting and left with the clothes from the shoot. That’s not something I’d wear normally. I don’t like ostentatious things because I didn’t grow up that way. I have a weird need to save for in-case-of-emergency situations. And I think my house is nice.”
“I wasn’t implying it wasn’t. It’s . . . I love it, actually. It’s just not what I expected.”
“Neither are you, Tiger. Neither are you.”
Once the wood was secured, he took a step back. “Good enough.”
“I’m going to do a sweep of the house and lock up before heading to bed.”
“You can use the other guest room tonight.”
“Okay. And I hope we’re okay, you and I. I just want to do my job and do it well.”
“I understand. And I’ll try to keep it professional.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
“But even professionals have friends, or at least friendly colleagues. You don’t have to go out of your way to avoid me. You can have dinner, your shake, whatever, in the same room as me. The grilled cheese was good, but I can make a mean steak. You don’t have to disappear when I’m here. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”
She’d been trying to make sure he was comfortable by getting out of his way, and had accomplished the exact opposite. The truth was, he was an interesting man and very charming, being around him wasn’t going to be a hardship at all. “Okay, sounds fair. I’ll try to loosen up.”
“Good night, Annie.”
“’Night, Monroe.”
* * *
The next morning, Rocco padded down the stairs and into the kitchen around ten, surprised to see it empty. The blender wasn’t even out. There’s no way Annie was still sleeping; the woman woke up at hours that should be illegal. He pressed the button on his coffeemaker to get it started and walked back up the stairs to find her. Her bedroom door was open, bed made perfectly, everything where it should be. He made a mental note to call a handyman, as soon as he had his morning caffeine, to have the window repaired. “Hello? Annie?”
He took a tentative step inside and then another. The bathroom door was slightly open and he could hear murmuring coming from inside. Was she on the phone?
Damn, it hadn’t occurred to him—did she have a boyfriend? With another tentative step forward he turned his ear toward the door but couldn’t quite make out the conversation. This was creeper territory. He shouldn’t be in her space. This was all kinds of wrong. As he straightened to leave, Annie walked out, steam from her shower trailing behind, and slammed right into his chest. Annie—who was wet and soft and smelled like heaven—immediately turned and shifted and in a second, had a knife to his throat.
He put his hands up in surrender. “It’s me. Jesus, Annie, it’s just me.”
She plucked buds from her ears. “Don’t ever sneak up on me. I could’ve killed you.”
Her chest was heaving up and down and so was his. She put down the knife and picked up the towel she had somehow dropped, but not before his eyes raked her long, well-defined body. Trying to be a gentleman, he quickly looked away. “I’m sorry. I knocked.”
“I didn’t hear you,” she said, her voice shaky and slightly breathless. He could hear her opening and closing drawers, but he was determined to give her privacy. Well, as much privacy as he could without leaving the room.
“God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
“You?” He laughed humorlessly. “You almost sliced my throat. Do you shower with a knife?”
“I had it right there, tucked behind the lamp.” She pointed to the night table that was within arm’s reach. “I told you, I’m here to protect you.”
