Chapter 6
Chase
Istay and watch her for over an hour. Long past the point where her breathing is stable and her shoulders rise and fall in a slow, predictable rhythm.
Something she said is bothering me. The fact that this stalker’s been able to breach her security team doesn’t sit right with me. It sent a chill down my spine, because it sounds like an inside job.
Maybe it’s none of my business. Maybe I ought to stay in my lane—do what I’ve been asked to do and not go getting a bunch of wild ideas about what may or may not be going on with her protection detail.
But there’s something about her I’m drawn to. I can’t shake it. She’s got this bold energy, but she’s honest and kindhearted. Somehow, even though she was so tired today, I felt energized just being around her.
I’ve never met anyone like her. Especially not someone with her level of fame. She’s the opposite of everything I expected.
When she came downstairs in that skimpy nightgown earlier, it was all I could do to keep from staring straight at her beautiful breasts. I wanted to peel that thing right off her, and I had the distinct impression she would’ve let me.
But she’s a pop megastar, for Christ’s sake. I spent years clawing my way out of that hellhole she’s a part of: the money, the greed, the egos, the control. Even if she does have a good heart, she’s the last person I need to be getting involved with.
That’s why I’d better get my feelings reined in. Focus on the job I’ve been hired to do.
I can’t keep her safe if I let myself get distracted.
She wasn’t kidding when she said she was exhausted. She slept all afternoon, straight through the night, and halfway through the next day.
I hear the water run when she hops in the shower.
I take the opportunity to give Lexie a call to check in, and she somehow cajoles me into revealing who I’m on assignment with. My sister knows I can’t say no to her, but I also trust her completely.
Of course, she’s over the moon about this whole arrangement, pointing out the myriad ways Harper and I would make a good couple. I assure her that’s never going to happen, then listen to some of the crazy things she’s got going on before we hang up.
It’s past noon when Harper’s door opens and her footsteps pad past my room and down the stairs.
“You get some sleep?” I call after her, only half joking.
“Yeah, thanks.” Her voice echoes through the wide stairwell. “I feel better.”
“Good.” I step to lean over the railing to catch a glimpse of her, but she’s already out of view. “I’m gonna hop in the shower.”
“All right,” she hollers up.
I wash in the lavish bathroom. But the moment I turn off the faucet, a shrill wailing sound fills the house.
The alarm system!
I leap from the shower and sling a towel around my hips, then reach for my firearm before I sprint downstairs. My wet feet slip on the hardwood treads, and I scramble to grab hold of the railing. “Harper!” I’m shouting for her, but there’s no response.
An acrid smell reaches my nose as I reach the bottom of the stairs, and I hold my weapon steady, clearing the house room by room.
Wisps of smoke curl along the ceiling. It’s coming from the kitchen.
“Harper!”
“I’m OK!” she calls out as I round the corner. She’s standing at the stove, all by herself, waving her hands in the air to dissipate the smoke. “I accidentally started a fire, but I put it out.”
Oh. It’s not the security alarm. It’s the fucking fire alarm.
I drop my gun hand down by my side, exhaling sharply to try to bring my heart rate back down.
Two blackened pieces of toast rest in a large saucepan on one burner, and something that looks like black scrambled eggs with large bits of shell sits in the other. I’m shaking my head. “What did you do?”
“I was trying to make lunch for us, but the bread lit on fire, and when I was trying to put that out, I wasn’t watching the eggs.” She shrugs in an apologetic gesture, and she looks…radiant.
Soft green eyes peer up at me, and her lips are pink and full. Even with her long red hair damp from the shower, she’s gorgeous.
Her lovely little birthmark is right there, tracing over her cheekbone on one side. Just a tiny pink blotch—in the shape of a strawberry—and I’m tempted to reach out and touch her smooth skin.
Her gaze slides to my scar—where the shrapnel from an IED tore into my left shoulder, ending my career in the military. I see concern in her eyes, but she doesn’t ask, and I’m not about to tell her. She doesn’t need to know about things like that.
I clear my throat. “Tell you what. How about I do the cooking from now on?”
She glares back at me. “No way. I want to do it. Normal people cook, but I’ve never cooked anything in my life. Except this.” She lifts the pan of burnt eggs off the stove.
Her expression is serious, and I stifle a grin. I admire her initiative. That, and the fact she was trying to make food for both of us, not just herself. It was thoughtful.
She carries the pan to the garbage and scrapes it out, and my eyes drift down to her ass in the jeans she picked out yesterday. They’re a little snug, and I can make out every curve. I’m getting hard under my towel just watching her.
She pops back up, catching me looking, and her cheeks flush the palest shade of pink.
Watch it.
I turn away. “Let me throw on some clothes, then I’ll help you start over.”
But when I glance back, she’s shooting me a flirty little grin. “Why? I like the towel.”
Damn. Apparently she’s bold in other areas of her life too. That’s not gonna make things any easier.
“I’ll be right back.”
She pouts in fun, and it’s all I can do not to reach out and stroke those pouty lips with my thumb. “Mind if I use your phone while you’re upstairs?”
“Go ahead.”
I get dressed, then roll up my sleeves and get to work showing her how to chop a potato and some mini sweet peppers. She didn’t even know to use a cutting board. It’s like teaching a child. Makes me wonder how young she was when her life veered off course.
I hand her the last pepper. “How long did you live here? In Cupid City?”
She’s slowly and deliberately working her way through the vegetable, slice by slice. “Until I was eight.”
“Where did you move after that?”
“Los Angeles. My mom knew I was talented, so she wanted to get me into show business.”
“When you were eight?”
“Yeah. We didn’t have a lot of money, so she did everything she could to put me on a good path. I started doing bit parts in movies and things like that, but pretty soon the producers figured out I could sing, and that’s when they put me on the Disney Channel.”
“Hmm.” I pull out a pan and some oil, and we set the veggies up to sauté. “When did you start performing under your own name?”
“You mean Harper Slade?”
“Oh. That’s not your legal name?”
She shakes her head, but she doesn’t offer up her real name, and I don’t press her. I understand about keeping things private.
“I started as Harper Slade when I was twelve.”
“Twelve?” I spin to face her.
She laughs. “Yes, twelve. Why is all of this shocking to you?”
I shrug. “It’s young, that’s all. To have to deal with that whole shit show.”
She squints. “What shit show?”
“You know, show business. Everybody wanting something from you. All those assholes telling you what to do and how to dress and walk and what magazines you need to be on the cover of.”
Her eyes widen. “How would you know about all that?”
I stiffen. “Just guessing.”
I didn’t mean to let that slip. I don’t like people to know about my past. It’s embarrassing.
I was just a scrawny teenager at the time—a late bloomer.
Thankfully I filled out since then. I look nothing like I did when I was in the spotlight.
I don’t even remember the last time someone recognized me in public.
Cass knows because he did a thorough background check, but he keeps it to himself, which I appreciate.
But now she’s studying my face like she knows I’m not being straight with her. She’s perceptive.
I change the subject, helping her locate a proper pan for the eggs, then showing her how to crack them and scramble them with a whisk. She sets the heat on medium-low, melts a pat of butter in the pan, then pours in the eggs.
“It’s not actually that hard.” She grins.
I chuckle. “Nope, it’s not.”
I demonstrate how to use the spatula to push the eggs toward the center of the pan.
“OK, help me get the feel for it?” She slides between my body and the stove, her round ass brushing against my thighs, and my dick throbs inside my jeans.
Her red curls are tickling my arms, and the clean lilac scent of the shampoo she used is inviting.
I know it’s a bad idea, but I let my hand slide over the curve of her hip as she takes the spatula in her hand.
Then I wrap my fingers around her wrist to guide her in cooking the eggs.
Her skin feels soft and warm under my touch, and she tips her head back against my body. She’s making me hard all over again.
Fuck.
What is it about this woman? I don’t normally have a tough time saying no. To anybody.
I move away to break the spell, but when she glances over her shoulder and smiles, it’s drawing me in all over again. She’s like a goddamned magnet. My mind flashes to what it might feel like to be between her legs, and I blink to snap myself out of it.
“They cook fast,” I remind her. “Keep your eye on ’em.”
“Actually, are they done?” She stirs them with the spatula as I take a peek.
“Yeah, they look great, and the veggies are done too. Turn off the stove and move everything off the burners.”
She nods, following my instructions as I grab us a couple of plates from the cupboard.
“What’s that?” She’s facing the large bay window overlooking the river, but I don’t see anything out of the ordinary.
“What?”
“I thought I saw something. Right outside the window.”
My muscles tense, goose bumps prickling over my skin as I draw my weapon.
“Stay down,” I instruct her, and she crouches behind the kitchen island as I ease toward the window.
But when I reach it, there’s no one there.
I have her wait in a safe location as I secure the perimeter, checking for footprints or any other sign of trespassing, but there’s nothing. No sign anyone’s been here.
Even so, I don’t like it. Harper was wound up yesterday, and the noise from the floorboard scared her. But this is the first time she’s indicated that something she saw spooked her. I don’t take that lightly.
“Everything’s secure,” I tell her as I step back inside, and she sighs with relief.
“Maybe it was the trees blowing in the wind?” she offers.
Yeah. Maybe.
We’re just finishing lunch when she announces we’ll be heading to the Winter Festival in town and going dancing later.
I nearly choke on my eggs. “Say what?”
“You heard me. There’s a festival and a ball, and I want to go.” She smiles, and my eyes gravitate to that cute little birthmark over her cheekbone. But her plan’s not sensible.
“No way.” I spear a pepper with my fork. “It’s one thing to do a little shopping in a department store. It’s another thing entirely to throw yourself into the middle of a crowd at some big, showy event.”
“Hmm. Guess that’s your problem, seeing as you’re my bodyguard.” She grins, and I blink.
“No. That’s your problem. You’re the one who needs to stay alive and fly under the radar.”
“Gosh. Too bad I’m the customer and what I say goes.” She gives me a wide smile, and I frown back at her.
“Harper, I can’t guarantee your safety at an open event like that.”
She pauses as if she’s considering the reality of the situation for the first time, but then she nods. “I understand, and I still want to go.”
I turn my hands out in disbelief, my eyes wide. “It’s too dangerous.”
She rests a hand on her hip. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Besides, this is the whole reason I came here. To do life, right? To live like other people for a while, and other people don’t hide away in houses all day trying not to be seen.”
Fair point.
“Fine. I’ll make Cassian aware of the situation in case he wants to send in backup.”
“Good,” she chirps, her green eyes sparkling with excitement, and my pulse picks up like I’m feeding off of her energy.
Even if her adventurous spirit goes against my professional judgement in this case, I like that she’s a little wild—that she’s willing to push for the things she cares about. That she stands her ground.
Actually, I like a lot of things about her. Maybe I even like everything about her. But she’s only here for one more day. I don’t need to go imagining this is something it’s not, and I definitely don’t need any distractions when I’m working to protect her in a chaotic, public environment.
Stick to the plan.
I’m here to do one thing: keep her safe. And that’s all I’m going to do.