Darn it.
Chapter Three
Nick
I’m running on fumes and so ready to have two weeks of rest and relaxation that I can almost smell the creek and the fishing trip I’ve been anticipating for the last three months.
As I deactivate the alarm and do a thorough sweep of my house, it becomes all the clearer to me that, instead of being happy about my life, the very life I consciously built after leaving the Army, I am tired, pissed off, and goddamn bored out of my skull.
Starting The Watchers Agency with my pals was supposed to be my retirement plan, a way to rake in the big bucks and still do the shit I enjoyed doing. Like going into hostage situations and shooting up a few lowlifes. Planting explosives and watching them tear shit up.
You know, the usual military stuff that is all perk, despite having Uncle Sam shoved up my ass and reaming me on a daily basis. It should have been my defining moment knowing that the Agency is not only successful, but making us all rich in a time when the economy is kicking everyone else’s asses.
Instead, I’m just plain pissed off and jaded after pulling an op that should have been thrilling, but ended with me babysitting some asshole senator’s spoiled little princess.
Goddamn civilians chap my ass, what with the way they think the smallest things are life and death. One princess almost had a meltdown when she lost her lip gloss and I refused to take her shopping for another. While across the world, there are young girls being kidnapped and used as slave labor and sexual freaking slaves!
“Stop complaining, Storm. You wanted to retire. Cap warned you that adjusting would suck balls.”
Yeah, I just never thought that living a “normal” life would entail wanting to take out friendlies on a daily basis just to shake up some of the monotony of my days.
That last woman, for instance, I was this close to shoving her ass in the trunk and leaving her there when she started whining about my job putting a cramp in her style.
What an asshole.
My phone rings just as I complete my sweep and grab a beer, heading to the closed porch for some unwinding and stargazing.
“Storm.”
“Thank God you finally answered, asshole. I thought I’d have to call Jericho to get hold of you, man.”
“Hey, Rich. What’s up, man?” I sigh, glugging at my brew as my childhood friend starts rambling about some case he’s been working for the better part of six months.
“No.”
“Come on, Storm, please? You still owe me for Rachel, and I really need a favor on this one, man. That little doctor looked like hell after that scumbag was done with her, and my gut is screaming on this one. Whatever is going on with this case, I just know that they’ll make a play for her before she remembers that guy’s face.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and feel the old resentments returning full force as Rachel’s face swims into my mind’s eye. To have Rich remind me of that dark period in my life is like pouring acid onto wounds that haven’t so much as healed as scabbed over a little, just waiting to ooze whenever anything reminds me of her.
“Rich, I just got back from a two-month stint on Senator Evans’s kid. I need some off time before I take another case on.”
Yeah, what a fucking crock. I’ll be climbing the walls after the third day spent fishing and doing nothing but thinking, and I know it. It’s not even like I need to relax really, since I’m the guy who is the antithesis of relaxed and laid back. Shit, I’d have to be in a goddamn coma to sleep more than five hours a night.
“Please? She won’t be any trouble, I swear. All you have to do is shadow her for a few weeks until she remembers the guy and can ID him. And then you can go on that great fishing trip you’ve been spouting off about for years. Just a few weeks. A month, tops.”
Goddammit.
“What’s her name?”
“Yeah! Coleman, Leonora Coleman, age thirty. Works at Tennessee Memorial in General Medicine.”
I’m up and pulling up her info on my laptop before he’s done with his spiel and I feel my heart take a nosedive the minute her face pops up. Dammit! The woman is hot! Hotter than any woman I’ve seen in a long time, and the goofball way she’s grinning into the camera for her driver’s license photo is so cute, it sets alarm bells ringing instantaneously.
This is why I only take jobs with men or minors, because I don’t want to get involved with another chick. Especially not one who’s a job. That way lies trouble, and I know it. Fuck, my track record thus far ain’t at all good, what with the way I fell for Rachel …
“Hell, she’s a goddamn knockout, Rich. Call Jericho and get him on this one,” I snarl, slamming the laptop closed before those blue eyes and oddball grin can steal into my heart.
“I want you on this one, Storm. You’re closer, and you have a strict policy about the women you choose to guard. Anyway, you owe me this favor, not Jericho.”
I want to snort because I know the only reason he refuses to even breathe near Jericho is that he’s shit-scared of his brother-in-law after he got caught almost cheating on Jericho’s sister two years ago.
I still haven’t forgiven Rich for that shit; having the big gorilla known as Jericho Evans breathing down his neck would be like putting a keg of gunpowder next to a lit fuse.
“Fine. But it’s two weeks, tops, and then I’m out. You got me?”
“Sure. Fine. Just don’t bail when you meet her. She’s a little ornery about this whole thing and determined that she doesn’t need help.”
Just what I need.
***
This place is a freaking dump, and I can’t believe I’m voluntarily spending more than a minute here, never mind intending to live with this woman. Her apartment is housed inside a house that’s been converted into four units and looks like it hasn’t seen a repair or paint brush in years.
Christ, this chick is a doctor? Thought those shits earned a truckload of money. As I scan the area again and take in the sagging porch and overgrown yard, it makes me long for the days when sand in my ass and IEDs were all I had to worry about.
“Well, Storm, no use just sitting here thinking of the myriad excuses to bail. Get our ass in there, chump.”
My muttered curses singe my ears as I slam my truck door closed and click the alarm, glaring at the hoodlums checking out my wheels in a way that makes them scatter like vermin before running up and vaulting over the dilapidated steps and onto the porch.
I lean on the doorbell for long minutes before shrugging and trying the door. My lip curls when it swings open without any effort to reveal a gloomy interior and stairs that look just as old and decrepit as the porch.
“Christ, what a shithole.”
“Hey!”
Something hard lands on my head, back, and neck, and I’m forced to drop and roll, coming to my feet in a fighting stance as an old, wrinkled, lippy raisin wheels herself into view, her cane swinging around like a weapon. She’s wheelchair-bound and sporting a scowl that makes my nuts quiver as she stares up at me from a mocha-lined face that would seem adorable if not for the malice I see there.
“If you’re here to hurt my Lenny, I’d think again, shithead!”
That cane comes up again and I take another step back when she starts eyeing my crotch.
“Whoa, lady. I’m not here to hurt anyone. Detective Harris called had asked me to come on out here and keep her safe until she can ID her attacker.”
Although why he thinks that’s necessary with Wheelchair on Steroids watching over her is anyone’s guess. The woman could probably take out a troop of gorillas, what with the way she’s waving that fucking cane around.
Her eyes narrow on me, and I see her sniff before her gummy mouth opens wide.
“Lenny! Lenny, baby, get your cute ass out here and come talk to this tall drink of handsome before I beat his head in with my stick!”
She’s got zero teeth, I see, as I keep my eye on her and listen for movement from the other parts of the house. It’s only wh
en I hear shuffling and muttered curses, followed by barking, that I take my eyes off the old bat and look to the left where one of the floor unit’s doors opens.
It’s then I get a good look at the goofball I’ve been dreaming about for the last twelve hours, and damn does the sight of her piss me off.
The right side of her face is one big shiner, starting from her green eyes and ending just above her jaw. Her wrist is in a cast and the bandage circling her head is so stark against her mahogany hair that it makes every protective instinct in me rise to the fore.
I’m going to beat the fuck out of the animal that did this to her. After I kick his balls back into his throat. Seeing her height on her driver’s license as five two is one thing; seeing her height in person and knowing she’s barely big enough to top my nipples is another.
Someone took a look at this little bitty woman and punched her in the face? It’s on, motherfucker.
“Er, hi?”
I drag my mind back to the task at hand, as I stop trying to see her nipples through the white threadbare cotton of her worn t-shirt and look into her eyes. She’s wearing a pair of big dorky glasses that, for some reason, make my dick hard. Don’t fucking ask me why, and her legs are unshaven.
I should be disgusted. Instead I look at this woman and feel my chest turn to mush at the thought of some asshole laying a hand on her. And the legs? Yeah, I get a woody thinking about shaving those golden beauties while she lies back in the tub and gives me a peek at her pu—
Stop it! This is a job, asshole, not a moment in fantasy land.
“Leonora Coleman?”
Her hands are shaking as she pushes her glasses up her nose, and I want to kick my own ass for the fear I see in her eyes.
“Erm.”
“My name is Nicholas Storm. Detective Rich Harris called me this morning about your case.”
“My…I don’t understand.”
Her face is deathly pale, making her bruises stand out all the more, and I have the urge to sweep her up and shield her in my arms when I see her sway on her feet, her hand reaching out for the wall.
“I’m here to look after you and keep you safe, Miss Coleman. Rich says you may be in danger.”
Her eyes widen for a second before a vicious frown covers her face. I want to lick the lines on her forehead—Christ, calm the hell down Storm—and kiss at the puckered beauty of her lips before—
Now y’all know why I refuse to guard hot chicks of legal age. I have a damned soft spot for damsels in distress, as proven by my epic failure with Rachel three years ago.
“I don’t need protection. I have an attack dog.”
But I wanna give it to you, baby. All day. All night. Hell, for as long as I can stay and look at your fine ass, I think, as I take in the fatigue and tension she’s carrying.
“Too bad; you got it. Let’s go, sugar. You need some sleep, and I need to see what I can do about security for this shithole.”
“Hey!”
“Sorry, lady, but this place is a shithole. You ever heard about paint? And new wood for those porch steps?” I mutter, taking Leonora’s arm and turning for her door.
“You ever heard of traction and anal probing, you little shit!”
A snort is all I get out before the little kitten beside me starts struggling and hissing at me, but I ignore it all, as I pull her into her apartment and come to a dead halt.
Hell, no.
The place looks like the inside of a beaver; pink, freaking everywhere. I’m almost certain I’ve just suffered retinal scarring when she hisses a curse and shoves away from my hold before stomping on my foot.
“That’s not nice! I do not live inside a vagina.”
I go to answer, but instead look down when I hear deep growling. What she’s got here is not a dog. Nuh uh, this thing is more like one of those foaming wild dingoes you see on the animal channels.
I see her lips twitch when Fido starts snarling and baring his teeth.
“Shut the fuck up and scram, Tinkerbelle, or I’ll be cooking your carcass for dinner.”
Her sniff of outrage makes me smile when the dog whimpers and slinks off, tail tucked between his legs.
“Attack dog?”
“Chaser! Get back here and bite his nuts off, you little wimp!”
Chaser, the clever varmint that he is, ignores her threats and stays wherever the heck he slunk off to, recognizing my Alpha status and choosing his battles. Smart.
I turn to Leonora with a grin and shrug as if to say “I know I’m the shit”…and earn myself a glare that is hot enough to strip skin.
“I told Detective Harris not to bother. This is so ridiculous. Why would anyone come after me when they’re after Kerns? It’s silly. You can just—”
“First of all, I don’t care what it is you do or do not think, sugar. I’m here, and I’m staying. Secondly, you can ID a suspect in an attempted murder case, so don’t stand there and give me that bullshit. You’re in danger until such a time as I deem you safe. Now, I need to take a look around and beef up security…fuck, what the hell am I saying! This place is a hole in the underbelly of a rabid dog. Go pack your shit, sugar. Looks like you and Tinkerbelle are coming home with me.”
Yes, I just said that, and no, I am not regretting it. I’d rather have this hairy-legged vixen and her rabid animal all up in my space than stay here another minute.
Literally, pussy. This place screams pussy.
Chapter Four
Lenny
I’m a tongue’s breath away from making a complete fool of myself as Nicholas Storm, the hunk, my bodyguard, the most amazingly beautiful man I have ever seen, starts stalking around my apartment, growling beneath his breath when he pulls open drawers and sees the poor state of my drawers.
Both kinds, just by the way.
Honestly? Who has time to go shopping or care about fashion when more than half my life is spent in either scrubs or yoga pants or threadbare sleep shorts?
Not me. Hence the fact that I blush clear to my roots when he picks up a pair of my panties, gets a gander at the grandma style and holey condition, and just drops them without so much as going for another look. Which is insulting, because I know there is at least one pair of sexies in there, if he’d just look.
“This your grandma’s room or something?” he growls, stalking for the closet and walking straight back out with a snarl.
“Sure?”
“This is all yours?”
I’m freaking blood red, as I effect a casual shrug and inspect my fingernails, going for nonchalance instead of the mortification I’m feeling right now.
You all have got to understand that I am not in a good place at the moment. The man, this Nicholas Storm, is so freaking hot I could fry ovary eggs on him and die happy for the blessing. He’s all dark brown eyes and dark hair, and I can see his freaking abs through the weave of his black shirt.
I’m so tempted to inspect him further to see whether or not the rest of him is this perfect, but I stop myself because I’ve just recently incurred a head injury and I’m not altogether certain I’d survive if he’s got nice legs and an even better ass.
It’s a distinct possibility that my vagina may overrule my head and break the pact and, as far as I know, violating a defenseless man is still a crime in Tennessee.
I’ll have to check up on that law, since I do not see myself surviving days with this man without tying him to a bed and licking him like a lollipop.
“Leonora?”
“Er, um. Lenny,” I squeak, bringing my eyes up to his chin as embarrassment engulfs me.
“You need to pack…something and get that mutt of yours so we can pull out. Please.”
Pack? I don’t need to pack! I don’t need clothes after i—
Pack a bag, pervert, and let’s get going.
But, but, I can’t! I can’t leave home right now and go traipsing off to God-knows-where. I have yoga tomorrow, and two shifts to earn the last money for my washer, and I promised Mrs. T I’d cle
an out the gutters and take a look at the porch steps.
Plus, going with this man will not be a good idea. No matter how hard my woman parts are screaming for me to do just that.
“Uh, listen, Mr. Storm, was it? Yeah, uh, I can’t leave. I have a job and responsibilities to take care of right now. I can’t just drop it all because you don’t like my apartment.”
That sneer is back, and I cringe when he looks around again and shudders. I know exactly what this place looks like, trust me, but it beats the shit out of the yellow stains and mold that used to be here before, and the paint was for free when my mom’s boyfriend Pete heard that my place was a hellhole.
I’m fine with what little I have, even if the inside of my apartment does look like the inside of an eighty-year-old female. I’m not home nearly enough for it to take my eyes out at least.
“This is not an apartment. It’s the inside of—”
“Whoa there, buddy, just whoa, okay! No need to get nasty. Besides, it’s a moot point whether or not you like my place, since I already told you I do not need protection. Tell Detective Harris that I appreciate his concern, but I will be just fine. I have Chaser and Mrs. T to look out for me, and I have a panic button, besides.”
That last one is technically a lie. I have one; it just doesn’t work after Chaser swallowed it and pooped it back out.
“Christ. Tell me you have a guest room that doesn’t look like the rest of this dump,” he snarls, dropping what I now see is duffel from his left paw.
“What? No. You can’t stay.”
Please, sweet Jesus, he can’t stay! I’ve been on a man strike for four years, with a dog and a sex toy that scares me to death!
“I’m staying.”
“No.”
“Yep. So let’s talk about this guy while you’re still up and conscious,” he says in that no nonsense way the reminds me of my late father and his military ways.
I like, love, slobber over a man in uniform, and something about the way Storm carries himself has all my balls, I mean bells, a jingling. This is not a good idea. At all. I know it, and from the way he’s glaring at me, he knows it too, and when I hear a whine and look over to where Chaser is sneaking from beneath the sofa, so does he. Dagnabbit!
THE WATCHERS: 6 Military Romance Bundle Page 3