“Whoa.” I throw up a hand. “Okay, stop right there. Your job is to keep theeggsafe.”
“The egg and its owner. You.”
“That doesn’t involve interfering with my life. Or my choices. Just so we’re clear.”
There’s a faint, almost imperceptible scar slashing through his left eyebrow. I wonder if it helped make him the biggest dick alive.
“As long as you’re not making choices that jeopardize your safety, knock yourself out, Miss Blackthorn. However, let’s get one thing straight—we’re both here for Leonidas. For some unholy reason, your grandfather wanted us to work together.”
Flippingouch.
The guilt trip stings.
The sad part is, I don’t disagree. It makes sense.
Just like it makes perfect sense that PopPop would leave me Holden when he was his head of security for so long. I never understood why he learned to trust this guy so much, but that’s not what matters.
Gramps did, and now I’m stuck with this asshole.
A sign from the universe that I should give him a tiny chance.
I exhale through my nose slowly, trying to be reasonable.Trying.
Logically, having someone like Holden around to help with this should be a relief. We get along like oil and water, but he can organize stuff I know nothing about.
He can also watch for threats I’m blind to. I’m not exactly used to looking behind my back at all.
Also, having someone else sharing the weirdness of this inheritance makes me feel a smidge less alone. It’s not like Dad would ever understand.
He’ll want me to pawn the Hera Egg off on one of his rich art collector friends ASAP.
Absolutely not.
Holden keeps watching me with those fierce desert dark eyes, still leaning against the table.
Age hasn’t softened him a bit. If anything, it’s only made him harder and meaner.
His giant arms stay folded over that Spartan shield of a chest.
When I look at him like this, if I tilt my head and squint really hard, I can see how some unlucky lady tolerated his existence just long enough to produce a kid with him.
Shame he doesn’t have a personality to match the whole Hercules vibe.
There’s also something oddly magnetic in his eyes, the intensity of his irritation.
I look away from the hard line of his chin and back to his dark-brown eyes, a satellite hell frozen over.
I can’t imagine his love life.
I shouldn’t imagine his love life.
If he isn’t married anymore, he probably has his pick of hookups. Some poor girl who hasn’t experienced his riveting conversation skills might be tempted by the scary-hot look, assuming she doesn’t have to stick around for pillow talk.
That air of danger is tempting.
The aura of a man who’s seen some things. I know he’s former military, and no one can take that away from him.
His eyes narrow slightly.
