Three
Thor
My eyes roam the small, colorful kitchen and dining area while Clover has a whispered conversation with her father. The cabinets are painted a light teal and the mosaic backsplash has various shades of blues, purples, and pinks. Yellow appliances sit on the counters and the barstools and dining room chairs are the same yellow with purple upholstery. A purple vase with blue and yellow flowers sits in the middle of the dining room table.
It’s bright and cheerful, contradicting Clover’s grumpy and sassy attitude. However, it seems to fit the fire I sense she keeps buried deep beneath her crabby exterior.
I’m trying not to eavesdrop, but I still hear her one-sided responses. And I can hear the moment that she caves and agrees to her father’s arrangements.
I don’t want to make her uncomfortable with my presence, but I can’t help the twitch of my lips as I gingerly touch the bridge of my nose—that’s thankfully not bleeding anymore—and replay the scene of her smashing the barrel of her gun into my face. The girl has spark, that’s for sure .
And I like it.
Shaking my head, I remind myself that she is a client, I just met her, and she’s way younger than me. I can’t fall for a client—especially one who isn’t even in her mid-twenties—or anyone I’ve known for all of five minutes. But when she clears her throat delicately and I meet those violet eyes of hers, I’m pierced to the spot.
Who am I kidding? There’s something intriguing about this girl. She’s brave enough to hit an intruder with her gun, but according to Rock, she suffers from crippling anxiety. Which was proven when I got within a foot of her and she almost had a panic attack.
Clover frowns, wrapping her arms around herself. I want to draw closer and reassure her she’s okay. She’s safe. But she’s as skittish as a newborn kitten and I promised I wouldn’t make her uncomfortable.
And she’s a client , I remind myself for the umpteenth time since she busted my nose.
“So . . .” I draw out. “Am I fired?” My lips lift slightly because I already know the answer. I wish I were fired. Then, I’d be free to ask her out, though by the way she’s glaring at me, I doubt she’d be receptive. Not to mention that even if she weren’t a client, she’s still twenty-one, and I’m still thirty-two.
“Unfortunately, no.” Running a hand through her dark curls, she lets out a huff and mutters, “What am I supposed to do now?” I’m not sure if she’s asking me or herself .
I shrug. “Whatever you normally do. We won’t need to interact much.” It’s true, no matter how my heart is screaming the opposite. It’s crazy, but I already want to know more about Clover Mason. What foods does she like? What’s her favorite movie? What helps calm her? Helps her relax? I clear my throat, trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. It’s the lack of sleep. I’ve gone too long without a full night’s rest. “Like I said before, I’ll stick to the shadows. If you’ll allow me to make sure the inside is secure, then I can make myself scarce and find a dark, shady corner to call home for the next bit.”
Her brow furrows as she eyes me skeptically. “Don’t you need . . . like bathroom breaks, food, water? Sleep?”
I smile, tapping my fingers against my thighs. “Nah. I’m good.”
Rolling her eyes, she shifts from foot to foot, pressing her lips in a firm line.
Trying to put her at ease, I ask, “Can I make sure everything is secure inside? Then I’ll get out of your hair.” I make the motions as I say, “Cross my heart.”
She steps aside and waves her hand. “Have at it.”
I nod as I pass her and make quick work of checking all windows and entries. The house is small, with only one bedroom with a bathroom inside, plus a half bath in the hallway, so it makes my job easier to work out an emergency escape plan. I’m surprised Clover doesn’t follow me, though I assume she needs the space.
When I finish, I find her pacing the kitchen, twisting her fingers together and mumbling to herself, too quiet for me to hear what she’s saying. I have a feeling it’s about my unwelcome presence .
“I’m done. I’ll just head on outside.” I step toward the door.
“No,” she shouts.
I stop, gripping the doorknob, and glance over my shoulder. She’s wearing a frown, highlighted by a blush covering her face. Dropping my hand, I turn around, cross my arms, and lean against the door. “Ms. Mason, I’m not sure what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but I have to admit, you’re sure confusing the heck out of me.” I pause, giving her a moment to respond before continuing. “What do you want from me?”
“To not be here, for one,” she retorts bitterly.
I chuckle. “Since we both know that’s not happening, let me rephrase. Where do you want me to set up?”
Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, she emits a frustrated growl. “Inside.”
My eyebrow quirks. “I promise I’m perfectly fine outside. No one will know I’m here.”
Huffing, she places her hands on her hips. “Listen, I’ve had bodyguards before. You guys aren’t as inconspicuous as you think.”
“You’ve had the wrong kind of guard, then.”
She presses her fingers into her forehead before letting out a long sigh. “Look, I’m not trying to insult you. But I can’t take the chance that a neighbor won’t notice you outside. They’ll call the police and then my identity will be discovered. I really don’t want to move.”
I nod in understanding. “Fair enough. I promise I’ll stay out of your space as much as possible.” My eyes act on their own accord, trailing up to her mound of lush, black curls framing her face. Forcing my gaze away, I clear my throat and dip my head toward the kitchen table. “I can hang out there if that’s okay.”
“You can sleep on the couch.” Her words hold no warmth in them, but I still smile.
“Thank you.”
Studying my face, Clover cringes. “Um . . . let me get you a washcloth.” Before I can say anything, she disappears into the hallway. A moment later, she returns with a wet washcloth and shoves it into my hands. “For your face.” Then, she turns around, opens the freezer, and rummages around.
“Here.” She hands me an ice pack. “For your nose.”
“Thanks.” I lay the ice pack on the counter and wipe my face with the cool rag. I’ll admit, it brings a bit of relief to my throbbing nose.
Clover watches my movements. “You missed a spot.” She motions to her upper lip—which I certainly don’t need to be staring at.
“Did I get it?” I ask, scrubbing my lips.
She frowns. “No, to the left.”
I scrub again, and Clover sighs, stepping closer to me. “Give me that.” She doesn’t wait for me to release the rag before jerking it from my hand. Rising on her tiptoes, she swipes the cloth over my upper lip and mustache.
“It’s okay. I can get it.”
“I can help. Seeing as I’m the one who caused it.” Her brow furrows as she concentrates on getting the blood off my mouth. “ I’m sorry.” Her breath whispers across my skin. My heart skips a beat, and I clench my fists at my side to keep from touching her. Which would be crazy. Right? Not to mention, completely unprofessional.
“It’s okay. I’ve had worse.”
Her gaze meets mine, and there’s a softness I haven’t seen from her all night. Neither of us moves for the briefest moment, until finally, she blinks, her eyes widening as she steps back.
“There, that should do it.”
I’m not sure what just happened, and I don’t want to push it, so I say ‘thank you’ again and grab the ice pack—though at this point it’s more to cool the heat from the blood coursing through my veins than the pain from my nose.
Watching over Clover Mason is going to be more interesting than I anticipated.
After begrudgingly providing me with a blanket and pillow, Clover scurries to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. I rub a hand over my face and down my beard as the door locks in place. I pace the small house ensuring everything is secure before finally settling on the couch. Now that I’m sitting, the exhaustion that’s been clinging to me for days settles in. I should have asked her if I could make some coffee .
Oh well. I’ve survived longer without caffeine.
Memories attempt to rear their ugly head, but I stuff them deep inside, locking them away. No use going down that path right now. I need to remain focused on my job.
Popping in a piece of cinnamon gum, I pick up my phone. I figure Cai is the only one who will be awake at this hour and shoot him a message.
When you fell in love with Tallulah, did it hit you like a . . . gun to the face?
Hotshot
Um . . . I don’t know what that means.
You know, like it came out of nowhere? You weren’t even looking for it and then WHAM! Bloody nose and butterflies?
Hotshot
Are you okay? Should I be sending the crew out to examine you?
Yeah. I’m always okay. Just on a job and can’t sleep.
Hotshot
And that results in guns and butterflies?
Just go with it. How did you know Tallulah was the one?
Why am I asking these questions? I blame it on sleep deprivation and curiosity. That moment in the kitchen earlier scrambled my brain. I can’t possibly be in love with Clover Mason already. I’m not . I know that. But . . . color me curious. Besides, Cai will give me a straightforward answer without pushing to know why I’m asking.
Ever since Felicia and I broke up, I’ve never looked at a woman with anything serious in mind. A casual, fun time to hang out? Sure. Maybe end the date with a couple of chaste kisses? Not a problem. But anything more? Nope. Sometimes I think that woman broke me for anyone else.
Though, I guess I have to admit that it wasn’t entirely her. My time in the Corps molded me, too. Losing Lit the way we did—
My throat closes up and tears sting my eyes as guilt threatens to overcome me. I blink them back as Cai responds.
Hotshot
Listen, man, I’m not sure what’s going on, but it’s one of those gut things that you feel so deeply, you know it’s different than anything else you’ve ever experienced. And when it’s the right woman, God will work it out against all odds.
Shutting the screen off, I smile at the reminder. Cai’s right. If whatever this is stirring in my heart is more than simply a genuine sense of intrigue—or indigestion—then I can trust God will work it out in His timing.
Though . . . it doesn’t mean I can’t nudge things along a bit .
I think about all the little ways I can subtly get to know Clover without crossing her boundaries or work’s boundaries, and my smile widens.
Maybe this job won’t be so bad after all.
My eyes grow heavy, and I glance at the clock. Two AM. Standing, I do a quick sweep, confirming everything is locked. I glance outside to make sure there’s no suspicious activity. All is dark and quiet on the street.
I toss my gum in the trash and head back to the couch, collapsing onto it. I’m normally a light sleeper when I’m not at home, but my gut churns at the thought of falling into a deep sleep while here. Still, I need to get at least an hour or two of rest if I’m going be rested enough to protect her. Besides, the nightmares almost never come until my third or fourth hour of sleep. Sighing, I set the alarm on my phone for an hour and a half from now, just to be safe.
Settling onto the couch, I close my eyes, and despite myself, my mind drifts to Clover. I fall asleep dreaming of dark curls, pretty violet eyes, and bloody noses.