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But we only have one life. I want to spend every moment of mine forging my own destiny…even if I mess it up a thousand times along the way.
"Who did he hire?" I ask, giving in as gracefully as possible. I appreciate Madden for caring, even if I don't want to be saddled with a bodyguard. I'll just have to do what I do best. Fake it until I make it…or until I drive the man so crazy he quits.
Huh. Now, that's a plan with merit.
"Um, I think someone from Carmichael Security," Olive says. "Zayne? Gideon? Zion? I don't know which brother it is, but one of them."
I don't know any of them, but Carmichael Security is one of the most highly respected firms in Nashville. They've guarded some of the most important people in the state. Which means they're probably going to be annoyingly professional. That's one thing I'm not. What you see is what you get, and my mouthnevergets the memo.
This is going to go so well.
Yay for me.
My prison guard…I mean, bodyguard…puts in an appearance first thing the following morning. And byputs in an appearance, I mean I run face first into his stupid hard chest on my back porch. Precisely where no one is supposed to be at six in the morning.
"What the heck?" I jerk out of his arms before he gets them around me, my hands on my hips as I glare up and up and—seriously, how tall is this man?! –up at him. And then I gulp. The Bible left out the part about Goliath being hot as hell.
This man is gorgeous in a way that should be illegal in all fifty states. A prominent brow line slashes over piercing green eyes that bore into me. There's a haunted hardness there, as if he's seen things no one should and lived to talk about it. The stubble on his sharp jawline softens him a little. He can't be older than twenty-nine or thirty, but his eyes make him seem older.
He watches me intently, those eyes seemingly rooting all the way into my soul. He barely even breathes as he takes me apart and puts me back together from the inside out, but every little move he does make brings his muscles into screaming focus. The black suit encasing them hides nothing.
Does he live at the gym?
"Who are you, and what are you doing on my porch?" I gasp, trying to calm my racing heart. The questions are redundant, but I can't help but ask them anyway. Madden didn't send a bodyguard. He sent freaking Thor, God of my panties.
"Been here for half an hour already." His slow Southern drawl is sexy as hell. His eyes prowl down my body. Only then do I remember that I'm in a tiny pair of shorts, a tank top, and basically nothing else. He can see everything…and he doesn't seem to mind the show.
Embarrassment stains my cheeks, but I plant my feet, refusing to turn and flee back into the house. This is my porch, dang it.
Focus, Kenzie, Focus!
"You have not."
He points at the far side of the porch, where a new security camera now hangs. "Put that up already." His expression is completely level as it shifts back to my face. "Put one up around front too."
"That…does not answer any of my questions," I mutter, refusing to admit that I heard nothing. I doubt he'd be impressed by the admission, and I really don't want a lecture from Thor about safety when my ass is hanging out of my sleep shorts.
"Zion Carmichael. Upgrading your security. Yours is shit." He reaches for the camera overhead again, twisting it into place. He doesn't even have to extend his arm fully to reach it.
He says about as much as I'd expect a bodyguard to say…which isn't a whole lot, frankly. He gives me exactly the info I wanted and nothing more.
"Aren't you supposed to, oh, I don't know, introduce yourself or ask before you just start changing stuff?"
"Would you have said yes?"
"I don't know." Probably not. I rent this place. The landlord complains every time I do anything, even though the value of the property has only climbed since I moved in. I don't think he has an issue with money. I think it's an issue with smart-ass, independent women. Who would have thought?
"Then, no."
"I see Madden sent me the pain in the butt brother," I sigh, scraping my hair back into a messy bun so I can verbally kick his butt. "How do I request an exchange?"
"Sorry. All hires are final. No returns, refunds, or exchanges."
"Oh, so youdohave a sense of humor."
"Mmhmm." He twists to look at me over his shoulder. The earpiece in his ear glints in the early morning sunlight. "But cracking jokes isn't easy when you can't fucking think straight, angel baby." The heat in his eyes as they climb down my body makes no secret of what he's talking about. I'm making it hard for him to think.Me.
I shiver, wrapping my arms around myself, though I'm not cold. I feel rooted to the ground, frozen like a frightened little deer as he stares at me. Only, I don't thinkfearhas my stomach quivering with nervous excitement. Or my nipples hard enough to cut glass.
