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"What?"
"Most murders don't involve kidnapping first. Too much work." I slip a hand around her waist, gently shifting her out of the way. Within seconds, I'm standing in her living room, looking around while she splutters behind me. Her house is cute. I don't know how the fuck women do it, but everything they touch turns to magic. Her place is an old farmhouse with an open floorplan, but the damn thing looks like a million bucks. Bright colors mix with soft fabrics and plush rugs giving it a welcoming, comforting vibe.
"You need an invitation before you just come inside, Zion."
"I'm your bodyguard, baby. Not a vampire."
She mumbles something that I don't catch.
"What was that?"
"I said I can't tell the difference," she repeats, batting her lashes at me as she pushes the back door closed. "No cameras in my house."
"No cameras in the house," I agree. I intend to fuck her on every flat surface in this place. There's no goddamn way I'm risking one of my brother's watching that footage. Aside from the fact that I don't want either of those assholes seeing her naked, we have a rule about dating clients. It's the first one in the handbook, matter of fact. I have every intention of breaking it six ways to Sunday. But I'd prefer they didn't know that just yet.
They can't bitch about what they don't know. By the time they find out, she won't be a client anymore.
"Then please, Zion, come on in," she says with false enthusiasm, making me grin.
Fuck, I love her sarcastic little attitude.
I watch as she takes a big sip of coffee.
"Oh! Manners, Kenzie. Jeez. Do you want some?" She holds the mug out toward me to indicate what she means.
I know damn well that she isn't offering me her cup, but I take it anyway. She stares with wide eyes as I turn it, planting my lips in the same place hers just touched. I take a sip, my eyes locked with hers the whole time.
"Delicious," I state, gently placing the cup back in her hands.
"I'm not nearly…" Her voice fades out.
I pull my hearing aid out to adjust the volume before replacing it.
"That's a hearing aid."
I tense as soon as she utters the words. "I can do this job, angel baby."
"What?"
"I may wear a hearing aid, but I can do the job," I growl. This isn't the first time my hearing has been a problem for a client. Hell, if I'm being honest, it's a problem for me. I don't trust myself or my instincts the way I used to trust them. In this line of work, that can be dangerous. That's precisely why Zayne and Gideon do most of the heavy lifting while I handle shit behind the scenes. It's just easier for everyone that way. Doesn't mean I can't do the job, though. Just means it's more of a challenge for me than it is for most people in this line of work.
"What?" Her brows furrow, her expression morphing to one of confusion. "You think I'm judging your abilities because you wear a hearing aid?"
"Wouldn't be the first time, Makenzie. It won't be the last, either. No one wants a partially deaf bodyguard." I shrug.
"Well, first of all, I'm not any of your other clients. I don't want a bodyguard at all," she protests, making me smile despite myself. "Secondly, the fact that you wear a hearing aid isn't an issue for me, Zion. I was just surprised. I saw it outside and thought it was an earpiece." She gives me a sheepish grin. "I'm honestly a little relieved it's just a hearing aid. It's way too freaking early to deal with the level of professionalism that comes with you wearing an earpiece."
The tension slides from my shoulders. "You think an earpiece makes me a professional?"
"No, but it makes you way more of one than I'm prepared to deal with this early in the morning."
"So you aren't a morning person, your hearing is worse than mine, you don't want a bodyguard, and you make my cock hard enough to pound steel. Anything else I need to know about you?"
She chokes on her coffee.
I take a step toward her, invading her personal space. I want her off balance. I think rattling her is the only way to keep her from overthinking this shit and throwing up walls. I'll plow through them if I have to do it, but I'd rather not have to do it. Her honesty is refreshing, and turnabout is fair place. If she's going to say what's on her mind, I fully intend to give her the same in return.
"I'll hold the line no matter who or what comes at you. If they're looking for a target, it'll be on my back, not yours. But I have no intention of being a professional with you. If that's what you're looking for, you're going to be sorely disappointed." I tip her chin up with a crook of my finger. "But one thing you won't be is unsatisfied."
