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I ran down the large spiral staircase, lightly gripping the handrail along the way. I reached the front door in what was probably record time, spurred on by the anticipation of unwrapping an expensive item or four.
When I opened the door, I found myself staring chest-level at a hulking figure that almost filled the whole doorway, muscles bulging visibly beneath a black t-shirt that was clearly too tight. I raised my gaze, passing well-muscled arms and shoulders on the way up. My visitor was standing with his arms politely held behind his back in an almost military-like pose. I wasn’t too short at 5’6”, but this guy was a good foot taller than me.
My girlish glee evaporated in an instant and I froze like a wide-eyed deer in the headlights.
Slowly, my brain unfroze.
Ah…so this must be the bodyguard, I thought. But then it occurred to me that the guards at the gate wouldn’t have had a chance against this guy, so there was really no telling who he was.
Well, I thought absurdly, if I’m being kidnapped, at least he’s hot. Massive and slightly scary, but super hot…
“Ma’am,” the figure nodded, his calm and softly spoken deep voice oddly hypnotic. “You must be Alexandra. Sorry if I, ah, got you at a bad time. Your father… Well, he said you’d be in. So, here I am.” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and I could tell by his posture that he was favoring his left knee. I then noticed a scar running down one side of his face as he frowned. “Shit. Sorry,” he continued. “I’m going to be your bodyguard. Guess I should have started with that.” His frown softened. “Ain’t too good at this bit. The protecting part, though—that’s the part I excel at, ma’am.”
No shit. You look like you could shrug off bullets.
I did my best to regain my composure, remembering that this guy was going to be working for me effectively. I looked at his arms again, thinking about him carrying my suitcases…
“First of all, stop calling me ma’am,” I said, putting on a face and crossing my arms, the gesture slightly parting my dressing gown and partially exposing my cleavage. “My name’s Alexandra, as you well know. I’m not sure why my dad sent you here already. I’m not nearly ready. I haven’t even booked a flight yet.”
His hand was suddenly in front of me, held out in greeting. How such a big man moved so quickly was astounding.
“Pleased to meet you, Alexandra. I’m Cruz. Cruz Miller.” I shook his huge hand briefly, the exchange slightly awkward due to the size difference. “And that’s fine. I’m on retainer, fixed fee. I’m ready whenever you are. Need anything done, just ask. Or you need me to fuck off into the shadows, same goes. Any sign of trouble though, you won’t need to shout. It’ll be over before you even know it.”
I looked again at the figure standing awkwardly in front of me. A brief moment before the handshake, I’d thought I’d seen a flash of softness in his eyes—a glimpse behind his well-rehearsed ‘I’m a fucking badass’ facade. But now it was completely gone, leaving me to assume I might have imagined it. Still, I suspected there was a normal guy in there somewhere.
Besides, I couldn’t blame him for looking, seeing that I wasn’t wearing much.
Well, if the trip went to shit, I’d have my own personal project to work on.
Cruz
I shifted awkwardly again, the decade old bullet-wound in my right knee causing me grief. I could never fucking tell when it was going to hurt. The pain may have been related to the fucking weather, for all I knew.
Christ, I’m getting old. Only 37 and I know when it’s going to fucking rain before CNN, I thought, annoyed. At least the sneaky Russian who shot me is swimming with the fishes. Well, a guy ain’t got much choice with concrete boots on…
I suppressed a smile. The mere memory seemed to have alleviated the gnawing pain somewhat.
Fucking hell, she was beautiful. Not like a dolled-up bar girl or stripper. This girl had almost nothing on except a dressing gown. Not even a speck of makeup, and she was still stunning. From what my eyes had briefly seen on their foray down her body, I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Big boobs, big hips. Slim waist. Not too short, not too tall. Long blonde hair…
Fuck, keep it together, Cruz, I inwardly chastised myself.
Shaking these thoughts away, I reverted back to my military pose. “You got it, Lex.”
She frowned at the shortening of her name. It would probably piss her off, but I bet she was even fucking hotter when she was angry. Not to mention it would be funny, to boot. “Tell you what? How about I come back here in a couple days? I got shit to do, favors to call in, and whiskey to drink. You know, the usual. I’ll bring a car and we can arrange a plan, okay?”
Her eyebrows raised. “How about I just call you?” she said.
How about your phone is probably fucking tapped, beautiful? I smirked. “Okay. But look, just do me a favor. No names on the phone. No locations. Just tell me what time to bring a car to get you and your pretty friends to meet you here, all right? Now, I’m guessing you’ll need a big car. Yeah?”
She giggled. “You got that right. And by the looks of you, you won’t struggle getting my suitcases.” She raised her hand in a mock salute, her expression slightly patronizing as she pretended to look serious. “I just need your phone number.”
“Oh, right. Sure.” I handed her my card, which simply read ‘C. MILLER’ with a cell number written beneath it in blue ink.
Alexandra didn’t look impressed.
“Say someone taps that number,” I said. “I break the phone, throw the SIM, and fuck off. Damn well ain’t payin’ for new business cards. So I just write the new number on the next card. Genius, ain’t it?”
