by Eve Langlais
The fact that Darren even wanted someone else to help do his job pissed Marcus off. Sharing his responsibility with a girl he could tuck under one arm really stuck in his craw.
And, yeah, he didn’t care how fucking sexist that sounded. In his life, he’d only met a few women who could handle themselves when shit hit the fan. His own mother couldn’t even handle raising a kid, claimed caring for Marcus was the reason she’d turned to drugs and alcohol.
Weak. She was weak and irresponsible. But Marcus knew that didn’t describe all women. Back in his Army days, Jess had used to muck around in the dirt and kick ass as hard as any boy. She was also six-foot and built like a brick wall.
This little thing in front of him? Sure, she could squeeze a man below the belt, but what else could she do?
Bat her thick and dark eyelashes. Pout with those full lips. And this is who the boss wants me to partner with?
At least the girl was cute because Marcus’s retort on the way over to the restaurant of, “What if she’s dog ugly?” was met by Darren’s calmly stated, “Harry wouldn’t send me someone unsuitable.”
No, instead, he’d sent a munchkin-sized Latina with attitude. And a firm grip. His aching balls could attest to that.
While Darren and the lady exchanged banalities, Marcus scanned the restaurant’s occupants, looking for anyone spending an inordinate amount of time eyeballing Darren.
The place chosen for this meeting, the Hidden Cuisine, would serve their purpose well. For one thing, guests enjoyed their fine dining in booths with high backs and thick padding. Low music piped through the restaurant aided the privacy, along with the dim lighting.
Cell phones found it hard to get reception inside—unless a person knew the owner and had a special network key. It wasn’t the walls of the building that blocked signals but rather a dampener kept in the basement.
Welcome to the restaurant for the rich and private.
It no longer surprised Marcus that the maître d’ knew Darren by name and face, not that he ever presumed to use it or stare overlong. Despite their arrival via the back entrance, the maître d’, elegantly dressed in a suit, had been there to lead him and Darren to their table.
A table that already had an occupant.
A woman they knew little about. Just her name—Kacy—and the fact that she was academy trained.
As part of the charade, Harry had told them on the phone, in a voice too jovial, “You have got to meet Kacy. She’s been working here for years, and she’s going to be in your neck of the woods doing some recon on a property for me.”
And that was how the fake blind date had gotten arranged.
Given his height advantage, Marcus had been able to see the booth and the top of the head of the woman who appeared to study the weave of the tablecloth on the table. A wineglass sat by her hand. The picture of relaxation and someone waiting for her date. A sham, he realized.
As she’d taken a sip from her glass, her eyes did a quick scan before she dropped her gaze again. She’d watched the front of the restaurant. But their surprise approach hadn’t daunted her in the least.
His size hadn’t caused her to flinch.
She touched me.
What a pity she’d touched him only to hurt because, as a man, he couldn’t help but notice how well she filled out her dress.
Shoot me now.
The mention of his name drew Marcus’s attention. “…my full-time bodyguard. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Goodness. Do you have enemies?” Kacy batted her lashes, and Marcus held in a smirk because he could see the fakeness of her gushy query.
Darren hastened to reassure. “No danger with Marcus here to guard me.”
He might have grunted in reply.
Darren gestured to the table, and Kacy slid in first, perching herself on the left. Darren slid in and moved to the opposite side, and then Marcus pushed in beside him, forcing Darren over until Marcus sat across from his date.
Kacy cocked her head. “Is it normal for your bodyguard to join you for dinner? Shouldn’t he be sitting with the help?”
“Someone’s got to keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t stab my boss with a steak knife.”
“Well, if I do, I’ll make sure to wait until dessert. I’m famished.”
Flummoxed described Marcus’s state of mind. The more he stared at the woman and listened to her flighty talk and husky laughter, the more he wondered if Harry fucked with them.
How could this vibrant woman possibly have the skills needed to protect?
Look at her, tasting off the boss’s plate. Sipping from his glass, claiming it was good luck on a first date.
Let her try and touch the yummy things on his. He’d jab her with his fork. Marcus didn’t share his food. But he eschewed the wine. On the job meant staying clear-headed, especially since the woman obviously wouldn’t be much help.
Look at her tossing back the wine from the bottle she’d special-ordered before their arrival. Smiling brightly. Surely no one believed her fake chatter about the property she’d supposedly inspected. This woman with her fancy dress and big earrings clearly lied about crawling around in a basement with rats.
And he said so. “Do you scream and climb a chair when you see rodents?”
“Actually, I bring a gun with me when I go into derelict buildings. Never know what vermin you’ll find.” She smiled at him, and in her gaze, he saw a challenge.
It sparked something in him—below the belt.
Oh, hell no. He would not lust after her.
He shoveled more food into his mouth, but that didn’t entirely quell his semi-erection.
A good thing he wouldn’t act on it. Marcus had only a few rules in life when it came to women. No sisters of guys he knew. No staff. And nobody who dated his friends. Even fake dates.
Still, though, as the dinner progressed and Kacy revealed little bits of herself, nothing truly revealing but enough for him to grasp a less-than-stellar childhood, he couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel if some of that fake smile was aimed his way.
What would it take for a genuine grin?
And why the fuck did she keep kicking him under the table?
Chapter Four
Right about the time the dessert arrived, Kacy had had enough of the bodyguard. Apparently, he couldn’t take a hint; either that, or he didn’t mind bruised shins.
She leaned close to Darren, whispering in his ear. “He’s going to wreck our cover if he doesn’t stop staring.”
Turning to her so that his lips almost touched her ear, he muttered back, “You don’t have to whisper. No one can hear us.”
“How can you be sure?” she asked.
“It’s a safe place. You can speak freely.”
“Very well. Your bodyguard is going to blow this operation if he doesn’t stop ogling me.”
“Can you blame him? You’re attractive.”
Somehow, she doubted that was why he stared. She got the distinct impression that he didn’t like her.
Marcus proved it a moment later. “You’re passable. And where else would I look? You’re sitting right across from me.”
“Which brings me to my second point. Won’t people think it’s weird he’s hanging with us? We’re supposed to be on a date.”
“Indeed, we are.” Darren reached over and held her hand, the hand of a man who’d never done true manual labor. The pads were too soft for that. She resisted an urge to yank her palm back. “Ignore him. I do.”
“You do realize I’m sitting right here,” Marcus rumbled.
“Exactly the problem. If I’m going to make people believe your boss and me are an item, then it would stand to reason we’d want privacy. Unless…” She turned a suspicious look Darren’s way. “Are you the type of freak who gets off on people watching him? Not that I care. But Harry’d better have made it clear that I am not here to fulfill any perverted fantasies.”
“I assure you, my desires are normal and containable. While you are an
attractive young lady, I have no interest in you.”
Kacy relaxed a little. “In the future, I would suggest your bodyguard stand apart, that is if you expect this to work.”
“I’m sorry, would you like me to stand three feet behind and become mute? That can be arranged, princess pint.”
Tossing his napkin on the table, the big guy slid out of the booth and stood about a pace away, back to them, shoulders and back rigid.
“Now you’ve done it,” Darren murmured.
“If meathead can’t stand the truth, then maybe he’s in the wrong business.” She glared at his back.
“You’ll have to cut him some slack. While he’s been my bodyguard for years, the most he’s had to do up until now is rough up the paparazzi and cock block the mothers looking to marry their daughters to me.”
Great. A bodyguard with no actual experience killing or protecting against a real threat. It now made the second part of her mission much clearer. “You’re both going to have to make some adjustments.” She held her tongue as the waiter stepped around Marcus to ask them if they required anything else.
They were done, which was why, a few minutes later, with Kacy once again pretending to be a vapid Latina out on a hot date, they weaved their way through the restaurant to the front.
Stepping outside, she tried to keep from gritting her teeth as Darren placed his hand in the middle of her back to guide her. Ladies didn’t need help walking, but tell that to the man who insisted on taking this pretense to a gentlemanly level that she’d never seen outside the movies. In her world, the men let the girls work, and even fight, without interfering.
“Would you care to join me for a nightcap at my place?” he asked.
Real Kacy, the one who went on a first date and insisted on paying her own way, would have said a very emphatic, “No.” Despite what people thought, Latina girls, especially this one, weren’t easy. But this was a mission, not real life, and in order to make her mission look real, she had to pretend.
Just like she’d pretended at dinner that she actually cared that Darren enjoyed horseback riding, playing squash, and romantic comedies.
Blech.
“A drink at your place sounds”—awesome, cool, um—“lovely,” she finally spat out.
From behind, she could have sworn she heard the big guy laugh. If they weren’t on the street, she’d have punched him. Below the belt. And then claimed it was his fault for being too tall for her fist.
As they waited off to the side for the valet to bring the car around, Kacy smiled mirthlessly at Darren, who, for his part, seemed stuck between wry amusement and discomfort.
He wasn’t what she’d expected. Far from the spoiled and pampered, soft, rich hombre, he appeared to have a hard quality to him and intelligence in those eyes.
Were he not a client, and out of her league, she might have found him attractive.
Much more attractive than the walking tree, who—
A sharp crack split the air, the muffler of a car letting go, and yet, the meathead jumped as if gang bangers were opening fire, his arm sweeping her into Darren. Darren himself was shoved against the wall, pinning Kacy between the men.
It meant her face was smooshed into Darren’s chest, and the big guy was plastered against her back, using himself as a shield. At least he had good reflexes, even if the action was worthless. Seriously, bullets would have ripped through him like butter and killed those he protected anyway.
“I think we’re safe,” she mumbled against the fabric of the shirt she face planted. “Unless you’re worried the fumes from that muffler are gonna kill us.”
“A thank you would have sufficed,” Marcus rumbled, still pressing into her, making her all too aware of how large he truly was once again.
“Thank you for trying to make me the salami in your manwich.” She couldn’t help herself. It was doubtful anyone could hear her mumbled words, and Harry had only told her to be nice to the rich dude, not his lackey.
“Manwich?” Darren sounded choked.
“See if I cover you next time,” snapped Marcus.
“Next time, try looking before acting,” she retorted. Amateur.
“The car is here.” Marcus moved away from them, and she paused a moment before following, mostly because Darren held her for a moment and whispered, “Be nice. He’s not used to sharing me.”
Was that a hint that things were a little more personal than Harry had suspected?
“Don’t worry,” she said in a low voice. “I promise not to walk in if I hear the springs bouncing.”
“Wait, that’s not what I meant.”
A genuine smile curving her lips, Kacy turned away from Darren and caught the big guy staring at her. His brow creased as he held open the door to a luxury town car.
Her smile widened. With a saucy swish of her hips, she entered the car and sat primly with her hands on her lap.
Perhaps she’d find a way to make this job fun, after all.
But first, she needed to lay down some ground rules.
Chapter Five
What’s up with that smirk?
It curved her lips and brought a mischievousness quality to her face, an expression completely at odds with her acerbic tone. Marcus only wished her body matched her attitude, yet while her tongue might be rapier sharp, her body was smoking.
But Marcus had ignored hot chicks before.
Settling himself into the driver’s seat, he started the car and had his hand on the shifter when she said, “Do you mind not driving yet.”
Yeah, he minded. But acting like a dick and pulling away wouldn’t solve shit. “Are we waiting for something?”
“Does your driver always question his orders?”
He did when they came from a pint-sized little dictator, who didn’t explain why. Worse, his boss expected him to obey. “Hold off for a minute, Marcus.”
The command caused him to simmer, mostly because Darren had deferred to Kacy. A newcomer and a woman.
Not even on the job a day and already she’s pissing me off.
Everything about Kacy irritated Marcus, from her diminutive size—I could do arm curls with her, using just one hand—to her sassy attitude—doesn’t she know ladies are gracious?—to her curvy body. Hello, bodyguards weren’t supposed to be attractive. She should cover it up.
Yes, cover up, because she was distracting the fuck out of him.
She’d caught him staring in the restaurant. Dammit, what else could he do? The way she looked, dressed, smelled…everything drew the eye and attention.
Yet, oddly enough, Darren didn’t seem affected.
So why did she plague him?
Acting as chauffeur meant Marcus got to sit behind the wheel, tapping his fingers on it, wondering about the hold-up. What was the girl doing back there? Why did they wait? He peeked into the rearview mirror.
“Are you seriously making us wait so you can do your makeup?” Marcus snapped.
Ignoring him, she held up her compact and lipstick, angling this way and that before snapping it shut and tucking the items into her purse.
“We’re clear,” she announced.
“Clear of what? A mishap with your mascara?”
Her gaze met his in the mirror. “Clear of any listening or recording devices.”
The reply caused him to laugh. “Do you seriously think someone bugged the car while we were eating?”
“Yes, and you should have thought of it, too,” she said in clear chastisement. “Any operative worth his or her salt who is targeting someone would plant bugs anywhere they could. Car, house, even the restaurant if they knew of your reservation ahead of time.”
“The car was secured. No one tampered with it.”
“Says you. But you’re still going to drive really slow, take your first right, and stop at the next street over.”
“What for?” Marcus asked, putting the car in gear and moving it away from the curb slowly, obeying her, but mostly because taking off in a scream of tires would see
m childish. He was still tempted, though.
“We need to stop because you’re going to get out and use this”—she leaned forward and held something out—“to check for bombs.”
“Bombs?” The word expelled from him, and yet Marcus no sooner turned onto the next block than he screeched the car to a halt. “Listen, little pint, this isn’t some third world country where terrorists are blowing shit up left and right.”
“You’re right. This is America, where criminal elements have access to extremely sophisticated gadgetry for spying and devices that can create a spark in the gas tank to blow us up.”
“Are you going to sit there listening to this crazy shit?” Marcus asked his boss.
“She doesn’t know that the gas tank on this car is almost impenetrable,” Darren replied. “But she is right. While the parking lot for the restaurant is enclosed and guarded, a determined assassin could get in and place a bomb.”
“If you’re so worried about a bomb, then why did you get in the car before checking?” Marcus said with heavy sarcasm.
“Because a bomb tied to the ignition would have gone off once the valet started the engine. Those types of devices tend to be used mostly on vehicles parked in unsecured driveways, not secured valet locations.”
“I still don’t get why we moved instead of checking it out first if you’re so paranoid.”
“For one thing, I needed to ensure that the car wasn’t bugged. Unlike you, I am trying to stay undercover.”
“No one bugged the car.”
“Yet. As for pulling away, if you got out in view of someone watching and they had the device set on a remote, they would have activated it.”
“Who says they won’t do it now that we’re out of sight?” Marcus arched a brow.
Darren jumped in. “Actually, remote-activated bombs are going out of style. Too many things can jam the signal.”