Page 37 of Last First Kiss
“Where’s Annabelle?”
“She had to leave.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. I just follow orders.”
Suddenly, that giddy feeling he’d had a moment ago whooshed out of his system. Trying to school his emotions, he walked straight to the kitchen. Leave? Forever? Why didn’t she say anything last night? Maybe she really didn’t like the kiss.
He felt like a fool but he was also angry. At the very least he deserved some sort of explanation or good-bye.
“There’s coffee, sir. But it’s been hours since Annabelle made it.”
She made him coffee? She didn’t drink coffee, so it was something she’d done for him. His emotions were all over the place.
He took out a mug, and when he went to pour himself a cup, he noticed a note against the coffeemaker.
I was called into ICS. Didn’t want to wake you. Clark will be here a few hours until I get back. Behave. I gave Clark instructions to use physical force to subdue you, if need be.
Annie
He let out a big breath. Okay, so, she hadn’t just left him. The relief he experienced was an unfamiliar feeling.
The phone vibrated in his pocket with an incoming text. It was Paul.
I guess you finally charmed her into sleeping with you.
Attached was a photo of a couple lost in a kiss. So much so, they looked ready to rip off their clothes, irrespective of who was watching. It wasn’t a “pretend” embrace. It was real and raw and way too intimate to be splattered across the media. He wanted to be the only one who got to see that look in her eyes. He did not want that photo on display. He almost flung his phone across the room.
Damn. Did she know about this? Is that why she’d been summoned to ICS? He thought about the warning Paul had given him when he’d first told him about hiring Annie. Sleeping with him could ruin her reputation and credibility. Plus, she’d said time and time again that she needed to be professional and do her job and she was trying really hard to make a name for herself. Making out with him had the exact opposite effect, and maybe right this second she was getting fired or reprimanded.
He didn’t want to disturb her by calling, but he was worried. He paced around his house hoping to get some answers from Clark, but the bodyguard said he had no idea what they needed Annie back at ICS for.
When he couldn’t concentrate on anything else, Rocco spent the next two hours in his home gym. At some point, Annie’s dress was delivered and Clark gave the delivery man a hard time until Rocco had to interfere and assure him that it was just a dress. Around midday, as he was ending a call, he heard the gate to the front of the house open.
Thank God. He’d been anxious to talk to her about those photos from last night.
He hardly even knew this woman, yet he’d missed her those hours she wasn’t there.
In jeans and a plain white tee, Rocco leaned against the front door as Clark and Annie switched cars and then Annie walked inside. Her head was down and she was tucking some of her hair behind her ear.
Hm? Something was off. He felt it the instant she stepped closer, still looking down at her feet.
“You okay? Glad you’re back. How did—holy shit, Annabelle. What the hell happened?”
“Nothing,” she replied, passing right by him. “Clark said everything’s fine here. Going to shower.”
“Goddammit, Annie.” He followed her up the stairs and took her arm, causing her to wince. Her face, her beautiful face, was black and blue. Her blue eyes were rimmed red, her hair was mangled, and she had a cut on her lip. He didn’t even know where to touch her that wouldn’t cause her pain. “What happened?”
She pulled her arm free. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?” he roared. An anger he didn’t even know he had in him tore through his body as he guided her to the hallway mirror. Gently cupping her chin he faced her forward. “Nothing? Look at yourself!” He softly ran his thumb against the bruise that was already forming on her cheek.
She looked as surprised as he was when she looked at herself in the mirror. “Who did this to you?” His voice was icy and his eyes flicked over the injury. He was trying to be soft and compassionate, but he also wanted to ram his fist through a wall when she didn’t say anything. Instead, she stepped closer to the mirror.
“Damn,” she whispered to herself, and then she turned and pulled the collar of her shirt a little, and looked at her shoulder. It was raw and bruised and looked infinitely worse than her face.
“Jesus Christ, were you shot?”
