He interpreted her fingertips curling against his as a scream for help. Maybe, just maybe, he was figuring out a way to answer.
“That’s it. Hold my hands. Hold on. You’re safe.”
Her hands stretched open, then pressed against his. The tone of her screams changed, to more of a mewl of fear, like someone in a deep, deep sleep, unable to awaken from a nightmare. Her unfocused eyes were now looking straight through him.
Keeping his voice low, he said, “Stevens. I’m staying with her for a while—”
“Sir, I know you’re my superior. But with this job, there are lines we don’t cross.”
“Not interested in that right now.”
“She’ll fire you if she wakes up and you’re right there. Contract says—”
“Fuck the contract. My mic will be open. I’ll be listening for you, but I’m muting my audio. I’m going to help her. Not listen to you tell me how not to help her.”
Loosening his right hand from hers, he touched his watchband to mute the mic, then covered her hand again. She didn’t reject it. “Andi, you’re going to be okay. You’re fine. You’re safe. Nothing bad’s going to happen. You’re in your home, in your studio. I’m here. Gabe. Agent Hernandez. You’re safe with me. Do you understand that? Safe. Sleep easy now.”
She turned her wrists, threading her fingers through his. Whimpering. No longer screaming. Her gaze shifted downwards. If she’d been looking at him, he’d have thought she was looking at his chest. But she wasn’t focused on him. Her eyes were heavy, the lids half-closing. He drew a deep breath of relief as even her whimpers quieted.
She inhaled deeply. Exhaled. Once. Twice. Then she tightened her fingerlock on his, yawned, rolled her shoulders, and did a slow head rotation.
Oh. Hell. She’s waking up.
She gripped his hands tightly, as though he offered a steel-clad lifeline capable of pulling her from a fiery hell. He tried to ease his hands from hers, but she held on tighter. She had strong fingers, and her nails, clipped short, dug into the back of his hands. Even if he could get her to let go of his hands, he was a solid fifteen feet away from the door.
No way I’m getting out of here without her seeing me. And she’s going to be pissed as hell. Fuck me to hell and back.
Wide-open, forest-green eyes looked at him. She shifted her head to the side, and yawned again. “Wh-what are you doing here?” Her voice was sweet and gentle. Nothing like the curt tone she’d used throughout the day—when she didn’t whisper. “Did—did I fall asleep?”
Relief coursed through him when he realized she wasn’t pissed. Rather, she seemed confused.
Thank God.
“Checking on you,” he whispered. “You were having a nightmare.”
Goddamn understatement of the year.
Heavy eyelids closed in slow motion over her gorgeous, forest-green eyes.
Slipping back to sleep? I can only hope.
He knew that night terrors resulted in a confused fog upon awakening. The person usually had no memory of the terrors, or coming out of them. Chances were, she wouldn’t remember this moment.
Hope she doesn’t, buddy, because if she remembers that you hovered over her when she was having her night terrors—breaking the explicit terms of the contract—Stevens will be a prophet, and your sorry ass will be fired.
As her eyes remained closed, she took a few deep breaths. He breathed with her, loving the hell out of her lavender scent, the way her choppy hair fell every which way, and the small bit of cleavage that he couldn’t help but spot at the top of her tank top.
She half-opened her eyes again, studying him, but seemed to have a hard time keeping them open. Gripping his hands even tighter, she tried to stand, but fell back onto the couch. “I’m so, so tired. And cold. I want to go to my room. Need a blanket there. But I can’t even st-stand.”
“Let me help you.”
Nodding, she shocked the hell out of him when she lifted her arms to him. Frozen in place, he almost choked when her forearms came to rest on his shoulders and she leaned forward. Eyes shut, with a deep breath, her head fell forward. She seemed to fall into a dead sleep as she rested her forehead on his chest.
Gabe scooped Andi up, his left arm at her shoulder blades, his right under her knees. Her head flopped to his chest as he stood. She weighed one twenty to one twenty five, at most. Too little for her muscular, five seven frame. Easy to carry. Glancing down, he edged his left arm up a bit, making the angle of her neck more comfortable as she rested against his chest.
Not waking up. Thank you, God.
He carried her out of the studio and down the stairs. Pausing at her bedroom door, he managed to open it with his right hand without waking her. At her bed, he bent with her, then used his right hand to gently pull the covers down. Once she was on the bed, he pulled the covers up over her shoulders. Pausing for a second, he watched her breathe in and out. Slow and even. She looked too small to be in the large king-size bed alone.
He hoped that there wouldn’t be that many more instances that he’d be standing at the side of her bed, looking down at her. A passing glance—he could handle. This, though, was something different entirely. Staring at her while his arms remembered the weight of her and his chest remembered the feel of her leaning into him, made him ache to hold her. To comfort her even more. And not just comfort her. With her dark hair framing her heart-shaped face, with the memory of her nestled against his chest as he carried her, his body was telling him in a classic way that her bed was made for more than just sleeping.
Move on. Idiot.
The bedside lamps had been on when he entered the room. He left them on for her. Hopeful that her night terrors wouldn’t return that night, he turned to leave, despite the compulsion to linger.
“Agent Hernandez.” Her soft voice, a bit louder than a whisper, stopped him when he was ten feet from the door.
Oh, damn. Not as asleep as I thought.
He made a slow, hesitant turn back to her, grateful that what had been the beginning of an erection wasn’t yet at full force. A telltale bulge in his pants wouldn’t be well received. “Yes, ma’am?”
She sat up, the covers dropping to her waist as she leaned against the headboard, and folded her arms. As building irritation in her eyes replaced the grogginess, she seemed to grow larger in stature. “How the hell did I get here?”
Thanking any lucky stars that were shining in his direction for the fact that her night-terror-induced-confusion seemed to prevent her from remembering what had transpired in the last few minutes, he was nonetheless at a loss for a cover story. By the fire building in her eyes, the flare of pink in her cheeks, and the flush crawling up her neck, he knew the cold hard truth of ‘I carried you’ wouldn’t be well received. Not being a good liar, or even any kind of a liar, Gabe settled for a non-answer. “What do you mean, ma’am?”
“I don’t usually awaken in rooms where I didn’t fall asleep and I damn well didn’t fall asleep here.” She kicked aside the covers, stood, and walked over to her closet. She opened the door, but didn’t walk in. Instead, she turned to him and, with her voice almost a snarl, said, “Sleep walking isn’t a symptom of my night terrors.”
“I’m aware, ma’am.”
“Well?” Folding her arms against her chest, the steady tap-tap-tap of her left foot produced a soft, ominous thud on the hardwood floor. She glared at him as she waited for an answer. “Well? You’re going to stand there and not explain? The question is simple, Agent. How the goddamn hell did I get here?”
“I can’t really say, ma’am—”
“Let’s get one thing straight, Agent Hernandez. You can stop the overly polite ‘ma’am’ bullshit right now.”
Oh hell. Hell. HELL. “Standard protocol is we’re supposed to be polite to clients. It isn’t an age thing that’s getting to you, is it, because—”
“Seriously? No. I’m not that old. It’s—”
“Just saying. We refer to females under eighteen as Miss. Ma’am is
for females over eighteen. The other agents say ma’am when they address you. Would you like us all to stop ma’am-ing you?”
“No. The other agents are fine.” She shook her head in exasperation, then turned from him and disappeared into the closet. As he reached the doorway, she emerged from the closet, a red sweatshirt over her tank top, carrying a neatly-folded electric blanket. The third floor was drafty, but not that drafty. And last he checked, the temperature outside was a balmy sixty-six. Inside, seventy-two. A cold front was forecasted, but it hadn’t arrived yet.
“Stupid try, by the way. Don’t use typical male deflection techniques with me to avoid the issue—”
“Wasn’t trying to, ma’am.”
“Are you even listening? I don’t want to hear ma’am again from you. Let that be your last and final one. The other agents can say it twenty times in one sentence, for all I care. I don’t want to hear it once more from you. My problem, Agent Hernandez, is with you and the way you say it. Are you understanding that my problem is with you?”
“Um, since you’re being personal about it, can you be just a bit more specific in why I’m such a problem for you?”
“Seriously?”
“I believe in knowing all issues up front so I can address them.”
She gave him a cool nod. “Sure. For one, you’ve got to stop being so…” She ran a hand through her hair, standing an arms-length from him as he stood in the doorway of her bedroom, looking up at him. Her arms were around the blanket, clutching it to her chest. “So goddamn present.”
“Present? My job is to be present. I asked for specifics, Ms. Hutchenson.” Too dumbfounded to be irritated, with just a small amount of frustration simmering in his gut, he realized she’d been whispering. Like it had throughout the day, her whisper got to him. She was being a royal bitch, but she was whispering, and that made her seem vulnerable, no matter how bitchy her words.
Question: What is it right now that has her so goddamn bothered that she’s whispering? Answer: Me. That’s what she’s saying, so listen up, dumbass. Figure it out. Make it work.
He gave her a nod, drew a deep breath, and started over in a tone that was as businesslike and non-threatening as he could make it. “Look. I’m really not trying to be obtuse—”
“Well, perhaps you should look up that word and think about what it means, because you obviously don’t know the meaning of it. O-B-T—”
“I know how to spell obtuse. Also, know what it means. For future reference, I only use words when I know their meaning.” Oh dear God, please don’t let me start laughing. I know this is serious, but I could stand here and argue with this beautiful woman all night.
Keeping a straight face, he continued, “You’re paying me to be your guard and I’m doing it the only way I know how. If I’m annoying you so badly, it might help if I have a better understanding why.”
Still clutching the blanket, but keeping her chin up, she met his gaze with a firm glance. “Look, I appreciate that you went to Esplanade Avenue with me this afternoon. I also appreciate the workout. Even appreciated the dinner that you ordered. But you’re…too much. I know I’m paying for security, but I don’t want to notice you every time I look up. It starts with the way you say, ma’am. With that look in your eyes.” There was no whispering. She spoke loud and clear, in a tone that matched the fire in her eyes. “That smile that you have that never quite seems to disappear. All that sincerity is either way too goddamn fake, or…”
Damn curious to hear her complete thought, he folded his arms and waited in the extended silence that followed her trailing words. In her anger, or whatever the hell he was witnessing, she was goddamn adorably sexy. When it became clear she wasn’t going to finish her statement, he suggested, “Perhaps real?”
Eyes flashing with irritation, she lifted one hand and waved it in a dismissive gesture. “You’re blocking the doorway. See? A perfect example of being too present.”
Biting his tongue, he stifled a laugh. A mere chuckle would be a lethal spark in the gunpowder he’d inadvertently lit. Plus, given the precariousness of the job, and the importance of the client to the powers that be, the situation wasn’t funny. “I apologize, Ms. Hutchenson. Thought we were having a conversation.”
As he stepped out of the doorway, she glared at him, walked past him, and paused on the first stair that led to the third floor. He met her on the other side of the banister, careful to keep some distance from her. “Here’s your conversation, Agent Smart-Ass. Reread the damn contract. The American Sleep Association calls the disorder night terrors.” He leaned closer as her voice fell to a whisper. Her cheeks became flushed with the prettiest shade of pink he’d ever seen.
“I call it a living hell. But it’s my private hell. You agents aren’t invited to the freak show. No one is. The contract provides the protocol, and I’m pretty damn certain—” She lifted her hand and jabbed her index finger into his chest. “—you didn’t follow it. When I start screaming, you’re supposed to make sure Victor Morrissey hasn’t returned from the dead, or some other freak hasn’t hijacked my lame excuse for a life, then leave me the hell alone. Understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Oh fuck!
As angry spitfire lit her eyes, any amusement he’d felt, and if he was honest, there’d been way too much, evaporated. He’d been so caught up in her raw pain as she’d said, ‘freak show,’ he hadn’t put any thought into his habitual agent-to-female-client response.
Dropping her hands to her side, hands and fingers fisting into tight balls of frustration, she said, “If you say ma’am one more time, you and Black Raven are fired. Understand?”
Get a grip. If she tried, once again, to fire the entire goddamn company, he’d be disappointing Zeus, Brandon, Sebastian, and Ragno, and creating a steaming, shitload of a mess. Totally unacceptable. Failing at anything—and disappointing others—wasn’t his goddamn style.
Shit. Make it right. NOW, numb nuts. But how?
“Agent Hernandez, I asked if you understand you’re just one overly polite, overly effusive, annoying as hell, ma’am, away from having this entire Black Raven job terminated. I’d prefer to go it alone than deal with you. Do you understand me?”
“I understand perfectly. You won’t hear that again from my lips. Can you offer a suggestion for what I should call you in its place, because I’d like to have something a little more shorthand than Hutchenson.”
Head tilted, she studied him with eyes that held so much pain and frustration, his own chest ached. “Make something up. And while you’re at it, stop being such a smart ass. This job won’t get better, you know. To be one hundred percent honest, there’s something about you that grates on my nerves.”
Well, that’s a breath of fresh air. At least I’m getting to you. Because you’re certainly getting under my skin.
He stood in silence as she continued. “The other agents have all managed to blend into the background while they do their jobs. The ones I’ve fired had issues with doing their job. You, on the other hand,” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t think blending into the background is your style.”
“Not quite sure how to answer that one.”
“That wasn’t a question. And you’re smiling again.” She stamped her bare foot on the carpeted stair. “As though I’m joking. Goddammit! I haven’t had to fire an agent simply because I didn’t like him, but…I have the option to terminate due to personality conflict.” Lifting her hand to shoo him away, she climbed a few steps, giving her a couple of inches of a height advantage on him. She lifted her left hand again and gave him a firm push on his right shoulder. “Get the hell out of my personal space.”
“But you were whispering again.”
“I’m not now,” she said, glaring at him as she ran her fingers through her hair only for it to fall back exactly as it had been, curling softly over her cheek. “Am I?”
“No,” he said, his tongue almost twisting with the urge to say ma’am. “Yelling’s more like it
.”
She glared at him. “Because you’re more than a little obtuse. Your word. Not mine. You’re on duty a while longer tonight?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Read the contract. Top to bottom. Especially the part about night terrors. If you can’t follow it, leave before daybreak. You’re the brother of a partner. Taylor said you’re one of Black Raven’s best, recently on duty with the President, for God’s sake. I don’t know what the hell you did to deserve my job, but surely you have sway if you’re that good. I bet they’d let you off the hook. Now that you’ve gotten a full dose of what my security entails,” she continued, giving him a curt nod, “you may leave at your earliest opportunity.”
Stunned into silent stillness, he watched her climb the stairs, slowly, her back erect, without a backward glance. Maybe he’d accept her invitation to leave—if she hadn’t held onto him as she’d come out of her night terrors. If there hadn’t been those moments during the day when she’d thanked him with so much sincerity, she’d torqued every protective instinct in his body. If she hadn’t captivated him from the moment he first saw her photo in the file. If he’d been the type to quit anything.
I really should leave. Because this job is destined for failure. I should be gone by morning, as she’s suggesting.
In his world, where things always worked out, this seemed impossible. He hadn’t one single clue how this job was going to possibly work out. He was here to make the client feel safe and be happier with Black Raven. Given the actual threat level, and the fact that people tended to really like him, the Hutchenson job should be simple. Yet, she almost fired him for being too present? For saying, ma’am?
When lost in her night terrors, she’d held onto him as though she was drowning and he was a lifeline. But when fully awake, she’d delivered a message that she perceived him as a threat. To what? Her peace of mind?
He couldn’t reconcile the contradictions she presented. Maybe the best thing was for him to leave the job—if he truly did irritate her that badly.
Concierge (Black Raven Book 3) Page 12