“Please, let me,” Haze said. He stood up to bring the hot pot of coffee around the table to me.
“Is he the butler now, too?” I asked. “You downsizing, Grandfather?”
I tried to ignore the heat of Haze's proximity as he leaned over my chair. He poured the coffee so slowly I thought he must've known I was holding my breath. He smelled the same, a mix of bergamot and cedar, and the sensory memory melted my insides. The only thing missing was the tang of the chlorine we'd both had thanks to our unintentional dip in the pool. At least, unintentional for me. He'd dived in after me on purpose.
I tried looking at his hands, but I could only remember how they'd felt on my body. His arms were covered, but I remembered what they looked like as well. Again, I wondered if he'd added to the ink I'd seen four years ago. Two arrows crossed above a dagger on his upper left arm.
And then the Celtic sun around his right nipple. I could still see it under my hands as I'd pressed my palms against his naked chest...
“Mr. Welch's job description is quite specific,” Grandfather said, again interrupting my trip down memory lane. “I expect you to review it before you leave the table, Leighton.”
I took the packet my grandfather handed me, glad for the distraction. Haze returned to his seat, smiled politely at me, and opened his copy of the packet.
Something about that smile aggravated me. “I have to read all of this before I let some guy I've never met follow me around?” I asked.
“It's good to have specific parameters,” Haze said, without looking at me. “I like knowing what's expected of me.”
His cordial tone burned me, and I dug my nails into the paper as I pretended to read. Did he remember me? I couldn't decide if it was better to be forgotten or remembered. Either way, he was about to become my constant shadow and that idea had my pulse jumping in a way I really didn't like.
“Grandfather's always very specific with the help,” I said. I put the packet back on the table and pulled out my phone. I needed to talk to Paris.
Things had gotten a whole hell of a lot more complicated.
Chapter 13
Haze
Leighton was an ambush in her short sundress and tall heels. Hell, she would've been an ambush in a potato sack and flip-flops.
I remembered every inch of her, from her amazing body to her blazing hair. The black streaks were gone from her curls, and I couldn't take my eyes off her natural color, now an unbroken crown of fiery red. I was afraid if I did, I'd be flooded by the memories of everything else.
Her smooth creamy skin.
Her rosy lips open in a moan of ecstasy.
My hands on her slender waist, pulling her hard against me.
Shit, I could still feel her. My stomach clenched, and I hardened at the vivid memory. Four years. It couldn't have been four years. What surged through my head and body made it feel like it had been only minutes.
Was she the real reason I'd wanted to return to Los Angeles?
As much as I loved my family, I'd wanted to escape them and their damned insistence that I accept what had happened. There was no way I could build my way up to a reevaluation and a return to active duty with them telling me I couldn't do it. So, I'd told myself I wanted the sunny weather and the crowded city. I'd told myself I loved the Pacific Ocean. Still, there'd been a draw to Los Angeles that I couldn't explain. Or maybe I just hadn't wanted to.
My family hadn't understood.
My older sister, Gwen, had put her hand on her pregnant belly and tried not to beg me to stay in Kansas. Her husband, Blake, had been firmly on my side, but even he'd had to admit my choice was unexpected. I'd never been one who'd expressed any desire for sun and sand, celebrities and starlets. And yet, I'd been sure I wanted to move to Los Angeles.
The first time I visited, I'd spent forty-eight hours loving it before I found myself diving into a pool to save a stranger. Then she opened her eyes, and I felt as if I'd been the one who almost drowned. I knew the moment I scooped her up that I was in trouble. I simply hadn't been able to let her go. I knew it'd been a stupid decision to take her back to my hotel room, but everything inside me had been demanding I stay with her. I hadn't intended it to go any further than just being near her, but when she settled across my lap and kissed me, I hadn't been able to resist.
And now I was totally fucked in a different way.
It didn't matter if I couldn't figure out the right silver utensil to eat my salad. I wouldn't be staying past the first course once her grandfather found out what happened, especially since I'd just done the math and realized that Leighton had been only eighteen. Granted, I'd been twenty, but I doubted Mr. Pope would see it that way.
The moment Leighton had said 'hello again,' I'd felt as if I'd stepped on a land mine, and now I was just waiting for it to explode.
Devlin Pope's sharp blue stare moved between us. He wasn't a man who missed much. Not for the first time, I thanked my interrogation training and forced my expression to go blank. My new employer's acute gaze swept over me and then moved on to his grandson. I took a breath and allowed myself to look at Leighton again.
Her laser blue eyes, so like her grandfather's, cut me, but only for a moment before they went flat. Then she looked away and told her family we'd never met. It should have relaxed me, but my chest clenched as I realized she'd forgotten me. Even when I corrected her with the name I'd given her that night, I hadn't seen a flicker of recognition.
I'd known before I closed the hotel room door that morning that I'd never be able to forget her. She had reached through all the expectations of my family, past my intense Special Forces training, and straight through every ounce of willpower and conscious thought I possessed to touch a part of me I'd never realized existed. I realized in that moment that I needed to leave or I'd have gone AWOL, thrown away my entire family military tradition, and years of focused ambition, risked everything, just to touch her again.
From her side of the richly laid table, though, I'd been just another man. Now, I wasn't even that to her. I was 'the help,' a servant foisted on her against her will. What little research I'd done before accepting a position as her bodyguard had described a fashion-obsessed, insanely rich and spoiled party girl. I could see that girl across from me, but I couldn't reconcile any of that with the open and searching redhead who'd seduced me body and soul. Who'd left such a mark on me that I hadn't been able to look at another woman without seeing her.
That woman was gone, I realized suddenly. I'd walked out on her four years ago and she vanished.
The man I'd been back then was gone, too. I'd left as a twenty year-old who'd had his whole life worked out. Special Forces Medical Officer until I was either killed in the line of duty or was too old to do it anymore. Visiting my family in Kansas, but never anyone tying me down.
Then I'd saved Ian and everything, including the man I'd been, was destroyed.
Devlin Pope's voice brought me back. “Mr. Welch, I'm grateful to you for saving Ian's life.” He gave his granddaughter a sharp look. “We are grateful, right, Leighton?”
She rolled her eyes, but I saw the way she looked at her brother. She might've been spoiled and pretending to not care about anything beyond the next party, but there was still one thing she clearly cared about.
Ian.
Mr. Pope tapped the packet that outlined my job description in specific bullet points. Leighton was using her copy as a coaster for her coffee mug at the moment, but I opened mine and followed along as my employer reviewed it.
“Because of my family's wealth, there are security concerns and the occasional direct threat,” he said. “I'm afraid my rather meteoric rise from blue collar worker to wealthy entertainment industry tycoon didn't come without my share of enemies.”
Ian spoke up, his eyes bright, intelligent. “Special Forces training includes the identification of enemy combatants and tactics for neutralization.”
He didn't really look like his sister, I thought. His hair was more auburn, a duller
shade of red than his sister's, and his eyes were a shamrock green rather than blue. Despite the age difference, I could see a lot of his grandfather in the younger man's features.
Including his determination. I'd saved his life and now that his injuries were fading, I could tell how much he wanted to be reinstated to active duty. I knew his grandfather had pulled strings for his honorable discharge and was adamant about the safety of his remaining family. I could understand that desire. Having lost Leighton and Ian's parents five years ago, they were the only family Mr. Pope had left.
“As my grandson just pointed out,” Devlin continued. “Your training applies perfectly to the position of bodyguard. What my granddaughter lacks in common sense, she makes up for in energy.”
I glanced at Leighton to see how she felt about her grandfather's assessment of her, but she appeared to be engrossed in something on her phone.
Devlin didn't look her way as he kept going. “Your job will mostly entail following her through a grueling gauntlet of shopping, eating in restaurants, and dancing at night clubs.”
“I'd rather be in the shit any day,” Ian muttered.
I refused to smile even though I wholeheartedly agreed with the young man. This job was my path back to active duty. If I could prove to everyone, especially the fancy doctor Devlin had first hired to treat my injury, that I could withstand the physicality of this assignment, then I stood a chance of getting a physical reevaluation and a clean bill of health.
Leighton continued to pretend not to be listening and faked a smile at a message on her phone, but I could tell it was in response to her brother's comment. I watched as Ian glanced between his plate and his sister, and I saw sympathy in his eyes. It was possible there was a side to the flippant heiress that very few people, her grandfather included, ever saw. My heart stumbled as I wondered if I had been one of the lucky few.
Not that she remembers, I thought ruefully.
The five-course luncheon concluded with an overview of my expense account. A fucking huge expense account. The astronomical limit was to cover any emergencies that might come up – I assumed that was code for 'bail' – plus a new wardrobe. As I was to blend in with the socially elite LA crowd, it was expected that I wear designer labeled suits. I would also have to expense food, nightclub cover charges, and whatever other costs associated with the exclusive venues Leighton most frequently visited. I was getting the impression this wasn't so much my expense account as it was me curtailing Leighton's spending habits.
“Oh, good,” Leighton said, flicking her eyes up from her phone. “I love doing makeovers.”
“No, dear, I'm sure Rutherford will be able to direct Mr. Welch toward a reputable tailor,” Devlin said, his tone almost dismissive.
Who the hell was Rutherford?
She rolled her eyes and said, “Take the fun out of everything.” She sounded like a child, but I saw a flash of hurt cross her eyes and knew that her grandfather's tone hadn't been lost on her.
Devlin checked his expensive watch and pushed his chair back. “I'm glad you accepted this position, Mr. Welch.”
“Please, call me Haze,” I said, standing to shake his hand. I gave him a smile. “It's what I'm used to answering to.”
The smile he returned didn't tell me if he was going to change what he was calling me. “I trust you can find your way back to your quarters?”
“Yes, thank you, the guest house is more than generous,” I said.
Devlin nodded at me, but his mind was clearly elsewhere as he left the dining room. As soon as he disappeared, Leighton was up from the table, wandering off, her eyes glued to her phone.
“I'm sorry,” Ian said as he stood. “She really isn't like this all the time.”
He hurried after her, and I saw him grab her elbow. He hissed in her ear, but they were too far away for me to hear. It didn't matter though. It wasn't my business.
Before the young soldier had a chance to drag a reluctant Leighton back to the table, I turned and found my way through the kitchen and out past the pool. Behind the Grecian-style pool house was a Wisteria-obscured cottage. The guesthouse had two stories, three bedrooms, and a workout room in the basement. I opened the door and wondered if I would ever use the chef's appointed kitchen, the wide stone fireplace, or the secluded back patio complete with a private hot tub.
Time to unpack.
I went upstairs and into the bedroom I picked out before I'd gone to the house for lunch. I'd chosen the one that overlooked the cobblestone path to the pool and main house since it had the best vantage points. My duffel bag was already on the bed and I unzipped it. I stared down at the contents. How many times had I done this? Put my entire life into a single bag.
I ran my hand through my hair and closed my eyes. What the hell was going on here? My head was starting to pound and my muscles were stiff after the flight. I needed a shower. And a drink. The second wouldn't happen while I was on duty, but I could at least manage the first. I rubbed the back of my head, so distracted by what happened that I leaned too far to the right.
A sickening wave of dizziness rolled over me, and it took all my strength to freeze in place. The world seemed to careen around me as the vertigo struck, but over the last four months, I'd trained myself to withstand the onslaught and not let it force me to my knees.
It was so frustrating, the trade-off I’d made to save Ian’s life. While I hadn’t died saving him, a part of me was gone. The tiniest of tears had ripped my world apart, shredded it into something unrecognizable.I just hoped that this job would prove that the doctors were wrong. Or maybe it would give me the time to fully head so I could go back to active duty.
A few minutes passed and, finally, the disorienting feeling passed, and I opened my eyes. Still stiff and sore, I picked up a pair of jeans, then froze. A sound, so slight that I almost dismissed it. My gut said not to though.
Had someone come in while I was fighting off the BPPV?
For the thousandth time, I cursed my injury and moved soundlessly down the stairs. I refused to believe that my injuries could disqualify me from active duty, but someone had managed to enter the guesthouse without my immediate awareness. I darted a look around the corner, and found Leighton helping herself to a generous drink from the fully-stocked bar in the arched-ceiling dining room.
“Want one?” she asked without looking at me. “Oh, wait. We should probably have these removed. Grandfather doesn't approve of the help drinking alcohol unless they're on vacation.”
The help. I gritted my teeth.
She swirled the vodka and grenadine around and sipped it. I waited for her to say something, but she said nothing and took her time finishing her drink.
“Can I help you, Ms. Machus?” I asked. I kept my face blank and hoped she couldn't hear or see or feel how much it was killing me that she showed absolutely no recognition.
“No,” she said, finally turning toward me. “But Grandfather insisted on hiring you.”
I didn't take the bait. I knew exactly what she was trying to do. She really didn't remember me. If she did, she would've told her grandfather. It was clear she didn't want me anywhere near her and pointing a finger would've been a surefire way to ensure it. She batted her red curls away from her face and rolled her eyes.
“I'm going out. Now,” she said.
I opened the front door and held it for her.
She started toward the door, but stopped when she was directly in front of me. She looked me up and down, stopping just short of eye contact. “Is that what you're wearing?”
Chapter 14
Leighton
I answered my phone as soon as I saw the name on the caller ID. “Hey, Paris. Are you back in town?”
“Got back a couple hours ago. Where are you? We need to go out and have some fun!” Her familiar voice was bubbly and light, exactly what I needed to hear.
I could tell she was in her car, probably trying to shake off the long plane ride with her parents. Having a private jet sounded like a lux
ury, but it was also a way for her parents to contain her long enough to have serious conversations. At least that was one method Grandfather hadn't tried yet.
“What was it this time?” I asked, smiling.
“Oh, you know, the usual. I drink too much, go out too much, and don't do anything but shop and spend money,” Paris said breezily. “Where are you? I'm coming to pick you up.”
“I'm out shopping,” I said. “Maybe later.”
Paris hung up the phone, and I bit my lip. She was probably mad at me, but that was too bad. I didn't want to share right now.
I looked up at the dressing room doorway. Haze scowled at me. Thanks to the tight charcoal t-shirt he was wearing, I could now see at least two new tattoos on his arms. On his right bicep was a sniper rifle, army helmet, and boots with a banner over them that said 'to the fallen' in elegant script. There were a couple other things written that I assumed were names, but I couldn't read them from where I was standing. On his left forearm was a green beret with a knife through it. I assumed it had some sort of military significance.
I handed him an expensive black leather belt and tried to pretend I wasn't ogling his muscles. “It'll do, I guess.”
Haze handed the belt back to me. “I'm not wearing a belt with flowers etched on the buckle.” There was a moment of hesitation before he added, “Ms. Machus.”
“It's ivy,” I said, but turned to select another belt.
Haze came over to the rack and reached around me to pick up a simple black leather belt with a small rectangular buckle. I pretended to consider it and not pay attention to the tall, muscular body towering over me. The new clothes or the colognes for sale in the store didn’t disguise his natural scent of bergamot and cedar. I strained not to lean back against his chest, to not show just how much I wanted to feel him against me one more time.
“Fine,” I said as I ducked under his arm. “You can pick the belt because it'll go with everything else. I get to choose the rest to be your uniform. You're going to need shoes and a jacket as well. Do you have a suit?” I knew my voice sounded brisk, but it was the only way I could keep it from shaking with desire.
Hero - The Assignment: A Military Romance Page 11