Nineteen
Thor
I watch my mirrors to make sure Clover is behind me. Memories flash through my mind of the way her face paled as fear flickered in her eyes at the bookstore. My grip tightens around the handlebars as I turn toward my house.
While Clover was checking out at Big Hair Books, I texted Rock an update so Bex could look into the surveillance from the bookstore. I swivel my head to each side to examine the cars surrounding us and then double check them in my mirrors. None have been following us since the bookstore, so that’s a good sign. If it was her, it had to have been a coincidence.
“So you go to Big Hair often?” I ask over the comms.
“It’s one of the only places I go besides church and the store.”
I’ve gone to enough of Chantelle’s book signings, so it’s crazy I’ve never seen Clover there. Then again, with how nervous Clover is around people, it’s probably best we met the way we did or I would have scared her off with my typical flirting. “Would Angie know that?” I ask, pulling into the driveway.
She’s quiet as I hit the button for the garage door and motion her to follow me. When we’re parked, Clover pulls off her helmet and looks around the garage as she frowns.
Tilting her head, her expression fills with sadness. “Yeah, she would. She was going through a difficult time with the divorce, so I sent her books from Big Hair for her birthday two months ago.” Shaking her head, she sighs. “I hate this.” Something in my heart cracks at the way her voice quivers. I hate this too.
Dismounting, I step toward where she’s still sitting on her bike. I long to draw her into my arms, but if I do, I’ll never let her go. Instead of giving in to the desire to pull her body close, I wrap my finger around one of her loose curls that’s escaped her ponytail.
“I hate this too, Love. But I promise we are going to find her, and until then”—I graze my thumb down her cheek before dropping my hand—“you are safe with me. Okay?”
Swallowing, she nods. I hold out my hand, and she places hers in mine as she slips off her bike. Fire shoots up my arm at the contact. I need this job to be done. Not only because I want Clover safe, which I do, but also because I desperately want to ask her on a date.
Clover grabs her bag and glances around the garage. “So, this is your house?”
“Uh . . .” I rub the back of my neck. “Sort of.”
Her gaze slices to me as she crosses her arms. “Define ‘sort of’.”
“I live here,” I say, then add, “with my mom and brother.”
Clover’s eyes widen. “Thor, you did not bring me to your mother’s house!” she hisses, panic morphing her features .
“We needed somewhere for you to store your bike. And I needed to grab a few clothes.”
“What is your mom going to say? What is she going to think? What if Angie is following us? What if we’re putting your mom and brother in danger? Oh my gosh, I don’t even know your mom’s name!”
I chuckle at her rapid-fire questions and gently grip her upper arms to calm her down. “First of all, I don’t think Angie is following us. We’re safe here. I’ve got security cameras and sensors all around the house. Also, Mom is a retired cop, so she’s a pretty good shot.” I wink and drop my hands as Clover’s mouth drops open slightly. “Her name is Joanne, by the way. She’s probably going to say that it’s about time I brought a girl home to meet her and then she’s probably going to start planning our wedding and her future grandbabies.”
Clover’s cheeks grow bright red. “You’re exaggerating.”
I snort. “I wish I were. But you haven’t met Joanne Payne yet.” Grabbing her hand, I pull her toward the door. “Come on. I promise she’ll love you.”
Opening the garage door, I step into the mudroom and we slip our shoes off before I lead her into the kitchen. The smell of basil and garlic waft through the air as we enter. Mom’s standing at the counter with her back to us humming “Amazing Grace” as she kneads what I’m assuming is pizza dough.
“Homemade pizza night?” I ask, coming up behind Mom and giving her a kiss on the cheek .
She smiles at me. “Yes, and you better be glad I decided to make two since you haven’t had the decency to tell me if you were coming home or not.” She turns back to her kneading, not having seen Clover yet. “Is it that difficult to send your poor mother a quick text to let me know where you’re at from time to time?”
I grimace, my gaze darting to Clover who looks equal parts amused and terrified. Clearing my throat, I reply, “Sorry, Mom. I wasn’t expecting to come home, but we had a little situation and . . .” I shrug, then jerk my head toward Clover. “I’d like you to meet someone.”
Mom’s brow furrows as she glances over her shoulder, then her mouth drops open as she gasps. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, dear.” She sends me a glare as she pulls her hands out of the bowl. “Thorin, wash your hands and finish kneading the dough while I talk with this lovely young woman.”
Wincing, I shoot Clover an apologetic look. “Yes, ma’am.” There’s no point in arguing with her.
Turning the water on, Mom starts washing her hands, glancing over her shoulder. “Excuse me, dear. I just need to wash my hands so I can properly introduce myself.”
“Th-that’s fine,” Clover says quietly. I offer her a reassuring smile, one I’m not quite feeling. Mom is sweet, but I haven’t had a serious girlfriend in a long time. I hope Mom doesn’t try to play matchmaker between Clover and me. Not that I don’t want that, but Clover doesn’t need a mom who’s been begging for grandbabies for years to be pushing her into something she’s not ready for or worse . . . doesn’t want .
Mom pats her hands dry and gives Clover a wide smile. “I’m Joanne. It’s so nice to meet you . . .” she lets her words drop off, angling her head for Clover to provide her name.
Clover swallows and stretches out her hand to grasp Mom’s. “Clover,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “My dad hired Thor’s company to provide security services for me.”
Huh. I wasn’t expecting her to tell Mom the truth. I also wasn’t expecting her to use her real name. Pride floods my chest. She’s going outside of her comfort zone. The fact that she told Mom her first name and that I’m her bodyguard proves she trusts me.
I stick my freshly washed hands into the dough and begin to knead, tilting my head so I can see Mom and Clover. I expect Mom to be a little deflated at the news that Clover is a client and not a girlfriend, but her smile grows and she wraps an arm around Clover’s shoulder.
“What a lovely name! I hope my Thorin has been taking good care of you.”
“Uh . . .” Clover replies, clearly uncomfortable. “He’s been very . . . professional.”
Mom nods. “He’s a good boy.”
I sigh dramatically. “Man, Mom. I’m a good man.”
“I said what I said,” she retorts, and this gets a genuine smile—albeit a small one—from Clover. “Now, Clover, come sit down here and tell me a little bit about yourself.” She practically drags Clover to the barstools across from me. At least this way I can keep an eye on Clover to make sure she’s not getting overwhelmed or uncomfortable .
Mom slides the fruit bowl toward Clover. “Would you like something?”
“Oh, no thank you.” Clover gives her a polite smile.
Patting Clover’s arm, Mom glances at me with a conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes before turning to Clover. “So, dear. Where are you from? What do you do? How old are you? Do you have a boyfriend or fiancé?”
“Mom,” I groan, “don’t be pushy.” I finish with the dough and set it aside to rise, shooting my scheming mother a warning glance.
She gasps dramatically and presses a hand to her heart. “Thorin Payne, I’ve never been pushy a day in my life.”
I look at Clover and shake my head. “Don’t let her fool you. She was always the bad cop in the good cop, bad cop interrogations.”
Mom throws an apple at me, which I catch in one hand. “Nice try,” I say, before biting into it.
Clover’s eyes light with amusement, and I’m rewarded with a rare chuckle from her. She turns back to Mom. “I’m from California. L.A., actually. And I work from home as an editor. I’m twenty-one and no, I don’t have a boyfriend or fiancé.” Her gaze swings to me briefly, her cheeks flushing.
Gunner walks into the room, scratching his stomach with one hand while he tugs at his blue beanie with the other. His eyes bounce between us. “Who are you?”
I smile at my brother. “She’s a client.” Though, hopefully not for long. “Gunner, this is Clover. Clover, this is my brother, Gunner. ”
Gunner smiles wide. “Lucky Clover,” he singsongs. “Sorry you’re stuck w-with my idiot brother.” He motions to me and cackles.
Clover laughs at this, giving me a smug smile. “Ah. I guess he’s not been that bad. Except for when I caught him reading my romance books.”
Gunner snickers, while Mom glances between Clover and me, something in her expression I can’t quite decipher. “Yeah,” Gunner says, giving me a hug from behind, “he’s a weirdo.” I pat Gunner’s hands that are settled on my stomach.
“And the amount of coffee he drinks should be criminal,” Clover adds. “It’s like being around a toddler after they’ve snuck into the Halloween candy. He’s bouncing off the walls and never stops making noise.”
I press a hand to my chest, though I can’t help but smile at how comfortable she seems with my family. “Ouch, Love. That hurts.” Mom’s attention snaps to me when I use my nickname for Clover. I simply shrug. There’s no use hiding anything. Mom’s like a bloodhound and will sniff it out anyway. Less trouble this way. Or more, based on the small smirk playing on Mom’s lips.
She waves Gunner and me off. “You two skedaddle now. Clover, would you mind helping me finish supper?”
Clover blinks. “Oh. Yes, of course, Mrs. Payne.”
“Joanne, dear.” Mom pats her hand again and stands. “Go on boys.”
Gunner removes his arms from me and shuffles into the living room. I stop by Clover, lowering my voice. “Will you be okay? ”
Rolling her eyes, she replies, “Unless your mom is actually a serial killer in disguise, I think I’ll be fine.”
I look to Mom who is gathering items out of the refrigerator. “I mean . . .”
Clover shakes her head, but the corners of her mouth twitch. “Get out of here.”
It’s taking everything in me not to bend down and press a kiss to her cheek, so instead, I brush my fingers lightly down her bare arm as I walk by. I smile to myself when I notice the little shiver she gives at my touch.
In the living room, I sink onto the couch. Gunner is sitting on the floor beside me with his video game remotes. “Want to play?”
“Nah, I’ll watch you,” I reply, but can’t stop watching Clover as she and Mom talk animatedly while fixing supper.
Clover’s free smile is stunning, and I pray that this is the beginning of . . . something. If not something for us when this is all over, at the very least, I pray that she realizes she doesn’t have to lock herself away. She doesn’t have to be afraid to get out and experience the world.
To live.
“Don’t d-date her,” Gunner says from beside me, drawing my attention to him. He’s focused on his video game, not even looking at me.
Frowning, I tilt my head. “What’s wrong with her? Didn’t you tell me I needed to go find someone?”
“She’s”—his brow wrinkles as he gathers his words—“too good for you. ”
I snort. “Wow, man. That hurts.”
He shrugs, his eyes still glued on the TV screen. “Heard it in a movie.” He pauses, his lips lifting into a smile. “Always wanted to-to say it.”
Chuckling, I tap my fingers against my thighs. “You never said that when I was dating Felicia.”
Gunner finally turns his attention to me, his face screwing up into a disgusted look. “You were too g-good for her,” he says slowly.
My throat tightens as Gunner resumes his game. Clover walks in and smiles softly at me and, yet again, I battle the urge to wrap my arms around her and draw her to me. After all, it’s just us and my family, and by the way Mom has been acting, I don’t think she’d be too upset if Clover and I were an item.
The corners of my lips lift at the thought, but I don’t give in to the longing. I do grasp her wrist gently and tug her down beside me. Very close beside me, with our legs pressed tight against one another.
Narrowed eyes meet mine when I run a thumb along the pulse of her wrist. “What are you doing?” she hisses as quietly as possible.
My grin widens. “Sitting with my client ,” I drag the word out. She glares at me and I lean closer. “I miss those violet daggers, Love.”
Her forehead wrinkles and her nose scrunches in the most adorable way. “Huh? ”
I bring my finger up to her face, right under her eye, but don’t touch her. “You still have the brown contacts in.” My voice is low and gravelly, and I watch as Clover’s cheeks darken and her delicate throat bobs on a swallow.
Our breaths mingle, and I’m realizing that this is a very bad idea. It’s one thing to allow people to think we’re dating, but I’m so close to kissing this beautiful, snarky woman that it’s almost painful for me to resist.
We’re both frozen, staring at one another as we share breaths. Everything around us fades away, and all I can think about is tasting those gorgeous, plump lips of hers.
“Eww . . .” Gunner draws out, shattering the moment. “If you’re g-gonna start necking, g-g-go in there.” Clover practically jumps off the couch, her face beet red.
She clears her throat and glances at the TV. “Oh, I love this game.”
My eyebrow lifts. “You play video games?”
“Is that surprising?” she asks, but doesn’t make eye contact with me as she sits on the floor beside Gunner. “Care if I join you?”
Gunner smiles over at her and reaches for a remote. After he places it in her hands and gets her set up to join the game, he looks over his shoulder at me. “See? T-too good,” he mouths.
Yes, Gunner. Yes, she is.
I watch in amazement as Clover laughs, yells, and even jumps up at one point while playing video games with my brother. It’s like when he goes to the station and all the guys treat him with dignity and respect.
And it’s that moment I know without a shadow of doubt.
I’m in love with Clover Mason.