Kate (The Dimarco Series Book 5)

by Jennifer Hanks

  I jolted out of the fog I had been in, thinking about my family, when a shadow covered me. My eyes started at large feet in brown boots, up jean covered legs, over a set of thighs that had to be bigger than my waist, each one of them. My eyes continued over a wide chest covered in a dark green t-shirt spanning his muscular frame and biceps. Ink swirled around his bicep and for a moment, I imagined pushing his sleeve up further so I could see the whole tattoo. I was already flushed by the time I made it to his face. And what a face it was. Strong jaw, covered in dark stubble, high cheekbones and golden-brown eyes the color of whiskey.

  I stood slowly, watching his expression morph from one of annoyance to complete and utter disdain. I assumed that was for me. I realized his height was even greater after I stood. I’ve never considered myself short at 5’6 and I was used to giant men, with my brothers all topping out well over 6ft, but this man might just make my brothers look small. I finally understood what people meant when they described someone as being built like a brick wall.

  “Who are you?” His low, rough voice rippled over my skin.

  I blinked a few times and then somehow got myself together enough to answer. “Hi.” I stuck my hand out between us offering to shake his. “My name is Grace.”

  He stared at my hand, making no move to take it, his face hard with displeasure. I slowly dropped it back down. “Mr. Anderson sent me to pick you up.”

  “Why the fuck didn’t he come himself?”

  I smiled sweetly, trying to soften him up a little. It didn’t work. “He had to be in court this morning.”

  “Are you an intern or something?” He narrowed his eyes.

  “No, I’m not.” I wasn’t sure why my position was important to him.

  He scoffed. “One of those legal errand boys he’s got?”

  I tilted my head. “You mean a paralegal?”

  His eyebrows rose. “Is that what you are?”

  I had no idea why we were having this conversation. I mean, if I had spent the night in jail, I’d just want to get the hell out when my ride came, but this guy wanted my freaking resume. He widened his stance and I knew we weren’t leaving until he had my title so I gave it to him.

  “I’m Mr. Anderson’s personal assistant.”

  He wrinkled his brow. “His what?”

  “His personal assistant.” I repeated.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  I sighed. “I take care of his personal stuff for him. Things he doesn’t have time to do.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “So you’re his errand girl.”

  “I’m not…” But stopped talking when he brushed by me, heading for the door. He pushed it open and I was surprised when he stepped aside, gesturing me through in front of him.

  “I’m parked right over there.” I gestured towards the parking lot at the side of the building. He walked beside me, his strides long, long enough that I felt like I was almost jogging to keep up. And I was not a jogger, I hated jogging, running, any type of exercising actually. Honestly, I don’t know if I’d run if someone was chasing me. I’d probably just taser their ass.

  And yes, I do have a taser, courtesy of my older brothers.

  I stopped beside my car and clicked the locks, him standing beside me.

  “What the hell is that?” He pointed to my car.

  “Umm…it’s my car.” I said, uncertain as to why he looked so put out. I love my car. I’d bought it myself, another thing my family didn’t know about or I’d have to tell them how I had the money to pay for it, which would lead into writing, again just “no”. I’d kept the car my parents bought and had my cousin Cole, who owns a garage, fix up before they gave it to me when I left for college. Now that I bought my new baby, the only time I drive it, is when I go home for a visit. “It’s a VW bug.” I said proudly, running my hand over the shiny yellow roof.

  He put his hands on his hips and looked towards the ground. “I know what kind of car it is.” He said through gritted teeth before raising his head to look down at me again. “There’s no fucking way I’m going to fit in that car.”

  I scanned my eyes over his body, starting at his toes and working my way up and then looked at my car. I pursed my lips. He might be right. “What if we put the seat back the whole way?”

  “You could put the backseat down, so I was lying half in the trunk and I still wouldn’t fit.” He scowled. “This shit is what I’m paying that fucker for.”

  I was getting mad. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen and when it did, I usually held on to it for a while. “It’s not my fault or Mr. Anderson’s that you’re a giant.”

  He leaned down, one hand resting on my car, the other on his hip, his shirt straining against the muscles bulging in his biceps. I’d never liked the muscle look, having preferred a man with more subdued looks since I’d started dating. I had always been surrounded by men that were physically fit and muscular and seemed to just sway towards the other side a bit. Lanky was probably the word I’d use.

  “Anderson knows how tall I am because he represented me in court before. Does he know what you drive?”

  I chewed my lip, feeling embarrassed because Mr. Anderson does know what I drive and he sometimes flakes out and forgets little things like how this giant was going to fit in my car.

  “How tall are you?” I asked.

  His face told me he was not impressed that I chose to answer his question with a question and not even an important one. “I’m 6’6. Is there a reason you need that number?”

  I shook my head. “Nope just curious. I have seven brothers and they’re all over 6’, but they seem so much smaller to me now that I’m standing beside you.”

  He rolled his eyes up to the sky. “Good for you. Can you focus for one minute so I can figure out how the hell I’m getting home, out of these clothes and into a shower?” His eyes met mine again. “Then I’m going to have a drink or twenty so I can forget about this conversation.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? I mean, I saw your file and you seem to get yourself into a lot of trouble when you drink. Plus, it’s only,” I looked at my watch, “ten in the morning.”

  He looked incredulous and for the first time since I started this conversation, I thought it might be best if I just shut my mouth and got him home. “Anyway,” I said, smiling and trying to appear cheery when truthfully, he could suck the joy out of a freaking carnival. “Why don’t we try and see if we can make you fit.”

  I walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and bent down so I could get the seat pushed back the whole way. I stood, taking a step back and stumbled right into his hard chest. And it was hard, like a rock, and huge. He was just so big, everywhere. My writers mind started to wonder if that meant he was big, well, down there too. I felt a blush work its way up my neck so I moved away from him and gestured to the front seat. He growled, but lowered himself into the car and sat, his knees pretty close to his chin and his head rubbing the roof.

  I made my voice sound perky. “See, you fit.” I slammed the door and walked around the back so he wouldn’t see me giggling. He looked ridiculous.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TYLER

  I didn’t fucking fit. But in all fairness I didn’t fit in most cars. SUV’s and trucks work for the most part, but at 6’6 anything is a tight squeeze. I’m not just tall either, I’m also big and broad. Interestingly, the qualities that made me feel like an outsider and freak most of my life were the same qualities that made me a good football player. No, not good, fucking great. I was the best damn center in the NFL before a hit ended it all for me.

  Now I’m sitting in a yellow car with probably the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever laid eyes on and I’m being a dick. She should be on billboards selling shit because every red-blooded male would buy anything she wanted to sell them. Her long dark brown hair is pulled up in one of those styles girls do, and all I can think is I’d love to see it down, while she’s naked, knowing if what’s under her c
lothes actually looks half as good as it seems, I’d probably never let her get dressed again.

  “Where to?” Her happy voice filled the car.

  I gave her my address, but then went back to staring out the window. I didn’t bother trying to make conversation because I was shit at it and always had been. If it hadn’t been for football, I would’ve been the kid always alone, never dating, never even socializing. I was completely socially awkward. The good thing in high school and college is when you play football it doesn’t matter if you can talk to women, they’ll fuck you just because you play the game. I don’t play the game anymore so my real world is closing in, which includes being alone with my only friend, whiskey. I’ve kept a few of the friends I’d made in college and the pros, but I’ve been avoiding them. I don’t have a thing to talk about if I don’t play ball anymore. I didn’t apply myself in college, I didn’t have a backup plan, I was going to play football until I retired. I was told that from the time I could hold a ball, by my father who played in the NFL until one too many concussions forced his retirement.

  “So…” I cringed when I heard her smooth voice. She was really going to try and make conversation. It really was my worst fucking nightmare. “Why were you charged with assault?”

  I frowned. Of all the things she could ask, she wants to talk about my assault charges? I stared out the front window knowing if I looked right at her, I wouldn’t be able to talk to her, not sitting this closely anyway. Not to mention, I’ve learned if I’m rude to people, they stop trying to make conversation. “I hit someone.”

  “You really did it?” She asked, her voice higher than it had been.

  “Yep.” And I had. Most guys leave me alone because of my size, but there’s always one who has to prove himself to the group of guys he’s with or a girl he’s trying to impress and taking me down is a good way to do that. It never happens and usually someone calls the cops, leading to an arrest for assault because I’m the only one still standing. I force myself out because I know if I don’t I could easily become a hermit. Besides, sometimes it’s nice to just be in a room with people and not completely alone, even if I rarely speak to anyone while I’m out.

  “So, what do you do, Mr. Morgan?” I guess she had no plans to give up on this conversation as easily as I’d hoped.

  “Nothing.” I admitted. And it wasn’t a lie. Since my injury, I haven’t done anything. At first I convinced myself my neck needed to heal, but it’s been well over a year and I still haven’t done anything.

  That seemed to throw her off her game a little. “Oh…” She muttered. “So what do you do for fun?”

  I shook my head, still staring straight ahead of me. “Nothing.”

  I heard her GPS say the name of the lane I live on and breathed a sigh of relief. I was almost out of this damn car and away from this woman whose perfume alone was making me hard. She pulled up to the front of my house and threw her car in park.

  “Wow.” She said, putting her window down, so she could lean her head out and look at my house. “Your place is beautiful.”

  I grunted, but that was all I had left in me. I needed to get away from her because my only move when I feel nervous around someone is to be mean. I’d learned a long time ago that if you’re mean, they’ll just leave you alone. I really didn’t want to be mean to her, she seems nice, but I needed her to go.

  I threw open my door and lifted myself out, groaning inwardly at what kind of pain a short ride in that small ass car could cause. I’d planned to try and thank her for the ride at least, but when I heard her door slam my temper rose.

  “Do you have horses?” She pointed to the barn situated in the back corner, diagonal from the house.

  “Yep.” I stuffed my hands into my front pockets.

  She came around to stand beside me at the front of her ridiculous car. “I love horses.” She said, her face full of excitement. “My dad used to take me riding when I was little, but then my idiot brothers wanted to come and it kind of ended.” She rolled her eyes. “They were too rowdy to be around the horses. Actually they were jackasses a lot of the time.”

  The words sounded harsh, but she was smiling and I could tell she was really close to them. I tried not to stare at her, but her short skirt and high heels were doing things to muddle my brain, not to mention her shirt that looked like silk and was cut a little low. Not enough to see anything, but enough to make me want to see what’s under it.

  She must’ve gotten used to me already because she didn’t seem to expect an answer, she just kept on talking.

  “Can I see your horses?”

  See them? No fucking way my mind screamed. “No.”

  Her eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline when her eyes widened. “No?”

  I shook my head, staring past her at the front porch on my two-story house, wishing I could be inside right now and end the torment of her.

  Grace.

  Jesus, even her name is beautiful.

  “Okay.” She sounded disappointed and I almost said I changed my mind before I remembered I couldn’t. That would mean spending more time with her and I couldn’t do that.

  She put her hand out. “It was nice to meet you.”

  Don’t shake her hand. Don’t shake her hand, echoed through my mind, but I couldn’t stop myself. The way she looked, the way she smelled, I knew I’d never be close to another woman that was like her so I reached my hand out and wrapped it around her much smaller one. I shouldn’t have fucking done it. I felt my cock harden to the point of pain and pulled away quickly, heading toward the house. I didn’t even look back when she yelled good-bye, knowing if she noticed the bulge in my jeans, I’d have no fucking clue what to say.

  I’m such a fucking coward.

  GRACE — coming soon!

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  http://jenniferhanks.com

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jennifer Hanks is the author of The Dimarco Series as well as The Elite Securities Series. Her stories are contemporary romance and romantic suspense, all with the underlying message of the power and strength in love. She’s also a sucker for a Happily-Ever-After. Her love of reading and books in general started at a very young age and has steadily grown into a love of writing as well. She admits to being addicted to all things romance and has no plans of quitting her habit. Jennifer lives in Pennsylvania with her two children. When she’s not reading or writing, she can be found with her kids at their various activities. Her house is frequently filled with any combination of her children’s friends, nieces, nephews and a variety of pets.

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