Chapter Three
Gideon
"Are you still not talking to me, Sparrow?"
"Yes. I mean, no." Kenna turns a dirty glare on me from the passenger seat of my truck. "I mean, we have nothing to talk about, Gideon."
"It's going to be a long few weeks if we have nothing to talk about," I murmur, trying like hell not to smile. She's cute when she's annoyed. And she's been annoyed as fuck with me all day. Ever since I told her I was moving in with her, as a matter of fact. I guess she didn't get the memo that private security isn't a nine-to-five gig.
Until her stalker is no longer an issue, I'm on her like white on rice.
It's not a hardship on my part. Bryant forgot to mention that Kenna Maxwell is fucking gorgeous. She dyed her hair blonde at some point, but her dark roots have begun to show through. It doesn't look bad on her. It looks intentional, like that complicated shit women pay a fortune at the salon to achieve.
Her hazel eyes shine, and her skin glows. Not to wax poetic, but when she smiles, she lights up like the sun. It'll be that smile that brings me to my goddamn knees, I already know it.
Don't get me started on her curves. It's a helluva thing to be hard as a rock for a girl with her brother sitting right next to you, but there I sat, dick singing her anthem. Kane sitting to the left. It's a good thing I'm in a suit. Had he seen it, there would have been no explaining it away. Especially when she was reading me the Riot Act.
I didn't know I had a type, but apparently, it's a woman who isn't afraid to bust my balls when she thinks I'm talking over or around her. There's something sexy as hell about Kenna when she's standing up for herself. She looks like an innocent little kitten, but the claws come out when she needs to use them. I love that.
I wasn't built for a soft woman. One wouldn't know what to do with me. But Kenna? I'm thinking she might know exactly how to handle my big ass.
I just need to convince her that she wants to try.
"Do you annoy all of your clients this much?" she asks.
"No. You're special."
"Lucky me."
I chuckle, reaching across the console to run my hand down her arm. She immediately startles, whipping her head around to look at me. "Relax, Sparrow. I'm not going to bite you. If we're going to pretend that we're dating, it has to seem natural."
"I didn't agree to this!" she cries.
"It was your idea."
"No. It was Kane's stupid idea. I just mentioned it, and you decided to run with it." She glares at me again, her expression rife with accusation. "I was going to tell John that you're my long-lost cousin."
"Oops. My bad," I say, deadpan. I know damn well she was going to tell him that we were cousins. That wasn't going to work for me. Especially with the way he looked at her. Kane warned me that he's a skeevy prick. All I had to do was see the way he stared at her to know I agreed.
He said all the right things and smiled in all the right places, but he was pissed the moment he saw me sitting beside her. He wants to be more than her manager. The prick wants to fuck her. Too bad for him. That's not ever going to happen. Even if he wasn't her manager, she wouldn't sleep with him. I know because I saw the way she looked at him. She likes him. She respects him. But she feels nothing for him. The truth was right there in her eyes for anyone smart enough to read her.
"Oh my gosh," she says through laughter. "You are a terrible liar, Gideon. You did it on purpose, didn't you?"
"He wants to fuck you, Sparrow."
"Not you, too." She groans, covering her face. "What did Kane say to you?"
"Nothing much. Just that your manager is a prick. I happen to agree." I pull to a stop at a redlight. "I don't like the way he looks at you."
"He just looks at me, Gideon. There's nothing insidious about it." She rolls her eyes. "You really shouldn't listen to Kane so much. He's an overprotective, crazy person. As far as he's concerned, everyone with a penis wants to sleep with me. He doesn't like anyone."
"He likes me."
"Which should tell you that his perception is skewed since you do actually want to sleep with me," she huffs. "You're the one with a penis he shouldn't trust."
"It's a cock, Sparrow. I'm the one with a cock." I don't deny wanting to sleep with her, though. We both know it'd be a lie if I uttered it. She's too smart to fall for that bullshit, and I'm not dumb enough to try to lie to her about it. Besides, I want her to know where we stand.
One way or another, I intend to make her mine. It's a proposition fraught with complications. Zayne and Zion are going to flip shit when they find out that I'm considering breaking our biggest rule. We made it for a reason. Getting tangled up with clients is never a good idea. But I don't intend for this to be a casual hookup. That isn't something I do anyway.
When I take Kenna to bed, it'll mean something. And that's been fucking with my head all damn day. I've never been interested in the white picket fence, a wife, and two-point-five kids. But visions of that future have been swirling through my mind all day.
It's ironic, really, that I'm the one hearing wedding bells while she's ready to run in the opposite direction. Isn't this supposed to go the other way?
Ha. I don't get the impression that Kenna does anything the traditional way. She strikes me as a woman who marches to the beat of her own drum and does things her own way in her own time on her own terms.
I mean, she calls it a penis, for fuck's sake. But she's also more than capable of telling me to go fuck myself when she thinks I'm talking over her. I love that mix of innocent sweetness and ballsy sass. It's sexy as hell.
"Same difference," she sniffs.
"No, it's not," I say with a chuckle. "But I'll let it slide until I teach you the difference."
"Oh, my God," she whispers. "Why did I hire you?"
"Because your brother is an excellent judge of character."
"Or he likes you because you're just like him. He can't dislike himself, so he doesn't dislike you." She smirks at me. "But you're the problem with the penis here, Gideon. Not John."
"Me and my cock aren't a problem, Kenna," I growl.
"Why are we even talking about this?" She presses her hands to her cheeks, shooting me a look that says I'm stressing her the fuck out. "I don't want to talk about you or your penis or what you want to do with it."
"Not yet." I smirk at her. "But you will soon enough."
"I'm so glad I already added killing you to my to-do list. I won't have to do it when I get home." She bats her lashes at me before turning to glance out of the window. "You know the light is green, right?"
I follow her gaze and clock the green light. "Shit," I growl, stomping the gas a little too hard. The engine roars, and we shoot forward into the intersection.
Her evil little laugh does things to me that should be illegal.
"New rule. No talking about my cock while I'm driving, Sparrow."
"You started it," she singsongs.
Ten minutes later, we pull up outside of Kane's to get her car. He drove her to the studio this morning. I think he intended to stay, but opted to head out once he knew I was going to be sticking around.
He's an interesting man. I don't get the impression that he trusts many people with his sister. Actually, I don't think he trusts anyone with his sister. But he's choosing to trust me. Whether that's because he did his homework on me and Carmichael Security or because he trusts Bryant Denver's judgment, I don't know, but he clearly knew who the fuck I was. As soon as Kenna ducked into the studio, he started grilling me. He didn't let up until he was satisfied that I'd be a good fit.
Then and only then did he answer my questions. The dead flowers started showing up two months ago. The poem came three weeks ago. Apparently, she didn't take the threat seriously enough because the bird came two days ago.
The poem itself is fucked up.
You dare not turn, you cannot flee,
For fear of what you cannot see.
A phantom watcher, ever near,
A constant source of lurking fear.
Cowering in the shadows, you remain,
A captive of my deadly reign.
For in the realm of endless night,
The watcher haunts, waiting, just out of sight.
Kane texted a photo of it to me while Kenna was recording. Unless there were fingerprints on the paper it was typed on or the envelope it was tucked into, it didn't provide many other clues. Simple printer paper and a white envelope. Kenna, John, and her band all touched it before anyone thought to try to preserve it, so if there were fingerprints, they were a lost cause three weeks ago.
The fact that the son of a bitch knows where she lives is concerning. But whether that's because he's been watching her as the poem says he has or whether it's because he's closer to her than she wants to believe, I don't know yet. With musicians, it's usually a fan. I can't remember a time when it wasn't a fan, actually. But my gut says it's someone close to her.
Honestly, my gut says it's her fucking manager. I'm just not sure if that's because I don't like the prick or if there's something more to the feeling. It could very well be that I suspect him simply because I don't like him. I don't know enough yet to make that call.
I need to see her place, see her shows, and feel out her audience. Maybe then I'll have a better idea of what the fuck we're dealing with here. But as of right now, I don't trust her manager, her band, or anyone else in her life.
"Do you need to grab anything while we're here, Sparrow?"
"Just a few things," she says, unlatching her belt. "It won't take me long."
"Is your sister-in-law here?"
"Yeah."
I kill the engine and hop out, circling around to her to help her down. She narrows her eyes when I slide her down my body, keeping her close until her feet are on the ground. It's not my fault she's short. Even in her heels, she barely reaches my chin.
"I know what you're doing, Gideon," she says. "It's not working."
"Just helping you down," I lie, feigning innocence. We both know I'm full of shit. I wanted those soft curves pressed up against me. I wanted to be all up in her personal space. And I wanted her thinking about me the whole time she's inside getting her shit together.
I'm not playing fair with her. I'm not playing at all. This is war. And if there's one thing a former Marine knows, it's war. Retreat? Hell.
"Go get your shit. I need to make a few calls, Sparrow."
"I hope one of them is a therapist, Gideon."
"Baby, I was a Marine for years. I've been there, done that." I smirk down at her.
"You were a Marine?" Her expression softens. She squints against the sun. It catches in strands of her hair, turning them from blonde to gold. "I didn't know that."
"I was, but that was a long time ago."
"No wonder you're so stubborn. And so bossy." That blinding smile creeps over her face. "And such a pain in my a "
I slant my mouth down over hers, kissing the insult from her lips before she can finish uttering it. I mean for it to be a quick peck to silence her, but somehow, she ends up pressed up against the side of the truck with me pinning her hands to the window.
We kiss like we're starving for the taste of each other, coming back again and again. Every time we try to break apart, we're drawn right back together, unable to separate. I know damn well it's not what she intends to do, but she can't stop herself. She can't stop the greedy little whine she keeps giving me, either. That sound has me so hard I'm ready to say to hell with getting her stuff.
I want her. Waves of desire roll through me one after the other. They crawl up my spine, sending shockwaves of need right to my cock. Fucking hell. I've never felt anything like it.
I devour her, ravishing her mouth like it's mine to claim.
Fuck it. It is mine.
She can deny it all she wants, but sooner or later, she's going to admit the same thing I realized five minutes after meeting her. This isn't a job. It's personal. Kenna Maxwell is mine to protect. And mine to claim.
"Stop kissing me," she gasps and then kisses me again.
"You stop kissing me, Sparrow."
"Can't." She bites my lip. "You started it."
"Right. That means I have to be a goddamn gentleman and finish it." I draw her tongue into my mouth, sucking on it. "My Ma didn't raise a quitter."
"Neither did mine." She tugs against my hands, trying to free hers. "Let me go so I can pull your hair."
"Fuck," I growl, biting her bottom lip this time. "Keep saying shit like that, and we won't be getting your stuff, Kenna."
"Have to get it. My guitar is in there, Marine."
Shit. I need to let her go.
I kiss her again, long and deep, and then reluctantly drag my mouth from hers. I haul myself away from her, putting distance between us before we end up in the same predicament again. As much as I'd appreciate continuing down that road, I know damn well that she isn't anywhere near ready to go there.
Already, I see the panic growing in her eyes, as if now that she isn't in my arms, she's realizing what just happened between us. For some reason, the fact that she's attracted to me scares the hell out of her. I'm not sure why, but I'd really fucking like to know.
Unfortunately, I don't think now is the time to find out.
"Don't overthink it, Sparrow," I say quietly. "It was just a kiss."
She watches me with wide, stricken eyes, her fingertips pressed to her lips. "That can't happen again, Gideon."
"Kenna."
"It can't happen again," she growls before squeezing past me and scurrying toward the house as fast as she can.
I watch her go, cursing up a blue streak.
I think I just fucked up. And I have a feeling it's going to cost me. Big time.