Page 22 of Last First Kiss
This was going to be an interesting four months.
CHAPTER FIVE
BREAKING NEWS: Rocco Monroe’s home was vandalized by angry protestors of his upcoming film El Traficante. Shooting is set to begin next week in an undisclosed location. Monroe was not hurt in the incident. More information to follow on the eleven o’clock news.
The exasperating woman who was currently talking to the cops had pushed him inside his own motherfucking room and locked him in. He thought she’d been slightly off her rocker when they’d first met, but this was an entirely new level of crazy. Rocco wasn’t sure whether to strangle her or kiss her. Apparently he liked her level of crazy. With all the anger surging through his veins, though, he still had an inexplicable urge to make sure she was okay and then make sure she never did anything that stupid again. And then possibly strangle her.
He took a step toward her. Any other woman would at the very least flinch. She didn’t even blink. He was practically touching her when he spoke through clenched teeth. “Listen, crazy, if you ever—”
“We found this.” One of the officers interrupted him, holding a brick in a sealed Ziploc bag.
Annabelle moved away from him and toward the officer. Careful not to open the bag, she leaned in and read the unrefined chicken scratch that was written in black marker: Viva Mendoza. Muerte al Americano.
“Death to the American.” Rocco said the second part out loud. “I’m assuming I’m the American in this scenario.”
“We have black-and-whites searching the area. We think they came on foot since there’s no tire marks on the gravel out front.” The officer’s phone rang at that moment, and he excused himself.
Rocco wasn’t done, by far. “I can’t believe you locked me in my own room!”
She looked up at him, rolled her eyes, and began to walk. She wasn’t listening. Maddening fucking woman.
Completely brushing him off, she pulled out her phone and began to type as she followed the officer up the stairs. Impulsively, Rocco moved quickly past her like a raging bull and turned, causing her to collide with his chest, her phone flying out of her hand. “What the—”
Rocco’s arms flew out to her waist to balance her before she fell back. She felt so small and fragile pressed close against him like that and a bolt of heat and protective spark shot straight up his spine. How could she run into danger when she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds? Fine, she was skilled, but she wasn’t fucking indestructible. And yes, she was there to do a job, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to get hurt.
Her cheeks reddened and she averted her eyes. But he wasn’t going to let her get away this time. He’d already noticed her two defense mechanisms. Either she’d look away and tuck her hair behind her ear or she’d cop a major attitude and fight him. Once he paid close attention, she actually wasn’t too difficult to read. He wanted to understand why she became nervous around him so often, but this wasn’t the time to delve into that. This was the time to make absolutely certain she paid attention and felt his words, his anger, his absolute seriousness. And for that moment, she was quiet. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t sass. She didn’t look away. Instead, she looked up at him as he pulled her in closer, until she was flush against his chest. Those big hazel eyes awestruck and nervous. A hint of vulnerability seeping out from behind that damn brick wall she had built around her. The fact that she had just pushed him into his own room and locked him inside was the only thing keeping him from bending down and kissing her. And with that thought, his stirring cock stopped stirring, and his anger quickly returned.
“Whether I like it or not, you and I are going to become very close,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse even to his ears. Which was probably due to her breast smushed against his chest, and the way she smelled of his soap. He couldn’t even regret the choice of words, laced with innuendo. Her mouth opened a little—those thick lips with the pronounced cupid’s bow—forming an ‘o’. The tip of her pink tongue was right there. Right there. “I hired you because you impressed me, and yeah, you can blend in, but you will not handle me. Never again. You make sure I’m aware of danger and that I stay away from that danger. But you don’t lock me in a room and then go find danger. That’s crazy. You’re fucking crazy. Next time, you stay in the room with me and wait for the police . . . together!”
“Handling you is my job. You may play the big, tough action hero on screen, but Rocco, when I tell you to do something, you do it. This is serious. Death to the American, Rocco? Death. Some people want you dead.” But she said it in his arms, he noted. She hadn’t moved away.
He shook his head, unconcerned. “They’re just trying to scare me.”
She let out a sigh. “You need to be scared. You should never underestimate the enemy.”
“We’re not at war. Just dealing with some pissed-off fans.”
“Yeah, and pissed-off fans can’t be dangerous? Selena, John Lennon? Hell, ICS was called in to protect Megan Cruz just last year.”
Rocco wanted to argue, but what did he say to that? Yes, fans could be crazy sometimes, but watching her push him aside to run into danger was unacceptable.
Annie continued. “I’m here to do a job. Did you really pick me because you thought I could do the job or because you thought the pretending game would turn into a little fling while keeping the studio happy? I’m not some chick who will let my emotions get in the way of my job. And my job is to protect you. Even if it means protecting you against yourself by locking you in your room.”
“Oh, so you admit to having emotions.” He squeezed tighter, a little lighter at her admission that there was something between them—or could be. “And you’re not exactly moving away from me, Tiger.”
She smirked and pushed his shoulders and tried to step away. “You know what I mean. And stop calling me Tiger.”
Before she had a chance to pull her hand away, he grabbed her wrist. “I’m going to lay it all out. This isn’t the right time, but I’m going to anyway. I have never, not my whole life, been more attracted to a woman than I am to you.”
She looked away.
“No, stop that and listen to me. This isn’t a line. You scared the fuck out of me. What if something happened to you?”
“I’m perfectly capa—”
He put a finger on her lips. “I know you are. You’re perfectly capable. You run into danger. You kick my ass. I get all of that. What you don’t get is that I don’t care. Maybe I am sexist, but none of it matters to me, because I still don’t like it. I don’t like that I like a woman who doesn’t need me, like me, or want me. I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s fine, but for my sanity, just please . . . don’t do that again.” This time, he said it softly.
She swallowed. “Let me do my job, listen to me, don’t push me behind you in situations like these, and I won’t physically lock you in again, so long as you listen to me when I ask you to do something. I only do it to keep you safe.”
