Chapter 3
THREE
Brielle snuggled deeper in her satin sheets as the sun poured through her bedroom window.
Waking up was the worst part of the day.
She had never been a morning person and early-bird workouts were the harshest form of torture she could think of.
Since her attack, she had come to regard morning as not so bad after all.
If she woke up, it meant she was still alive.
She opened one eye and then the other, squinting at the red digits of the clock.
Ten a.m. She sat up straight glaring at the bedroom door like it was to blame for her poor judgment.
What the heck was she thinking letting a stranger sleep on her couch?
Especially one sent by the man she feared was after her in the first place.
Callum was sprawled on the living room couch, a stack of envelopes pilled on the coffee table in front of him.
The stillness of his body convinced her he was in a deep sleep.
She started to say something, but stopped.
There was an advantage in him not knowing she was there.
As if observing the man unguarded would give her a true sense of who he was.
He was tall. Six foot two, at least, with a muscle tone so defined it was obvious he spent as much time in the gym as she did.
His chest pressed against his t-shirt in the same rhythm as his even breath, the outlines of his perfect six-pack evident.
Even in his sleep he wore a smirk, and it was all the more enticing under his dark morning stubble.
There was no denying she was drawn to him.
Even with her limited frame of reference, Callum Harrison seemed the epitome of male sex appeal.
The boys at the court never impressed her.
Most were immature and none were her type of attractive.
But then again, she didn’t know she had a type until she laid eyes on Callum.
A second look revealed what she hadn’t seen before. A web of purple scars marred his left forearm, snaking up his sleeve and neck before fading near his hairline. They looked like burns rather than wounds, puckered skin surrounded by the smooth pink line of a doctor’s incision.
She leaned over him, studying him closer, imagining the terrible trauma he must have experienced.
She’d assumed a friend of her father’s would be more likely to inflict injury rather than endure it.
All sorts of scenarios were floating through her mind when she focused on the silver glimmer peeking out from his waistband.
A gun.
Suddenly his eyes flew open. With a grunt he grabbed her by her hips and in one sweeping motion pinned her underneath him.
“What are you doing!” she gasped struggling under his crushing weight.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. Sneaking up on an armed man isn’t a bright idea, you know. You’re lucky I didn’t put a bullet in your head.”
“I wasn’t sneaking up on you.” She could feel his eyes on her, his morning hardness pressed against her tightened belly. Her pajama shirt had fallen open and she was suddenly embarrassed she had no bra underneath.
“You’re looking at me like you’re afraid, Brielle. I thought I made it clear I was here to help you.”
“You did.”
“Then why can I feel your heart pounding?”
She couldn’t answer. Her voice stuck in her throat. His ice blue eyes captured hers a moment before he lowered his mouth to her ear. “If I was going to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done it by now?”
His breath snaked around her ear lobe, just as it did the day before.
The scent of his lingering aftershave lifted to her nose.
Moving was impossible, but it wasn’t like she was struggling.
In fact, she found herself turning toward him, eyes closing, her lips parting but not with intention to speak.
He moved off of her with a rough groan, grazing her cheek with the teasing scrape of his stubble. His gaze flicked down to where her top had fallen open. Without making a big deal of it, he reached out and tugged the fabric closed again.
For a second she just lay there, breathless, her skin buzzing. Finally, she threw her feet to the floor with a stomp. “What the hell was that all about?”
He sat on the edge of the couch rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Trying to teach you a lesson.”
“Oh really? What lesson is that?”
“That I’m on your side,” he told her. “You know, you don’t have to sneak around me.”
“What about my arm? You could have re-injured it.”
“You think I would be stupid enough to do that?”
She glared at him and rubbed her wrist. It did feel good to be free from the sling.
Slowly she extended it, then bent it just like the physical therapist showed her.
No pain. Maybe it was stronger than she thought.
“I wasn’t sneaking around,” she said feeling a little relieved.
“Do you pin all your employers on their couches and scare the hell out of them?”
“You mean as a rule?” He pretended to think about it.
“Well, don’t do it again. And I don’t like guns either. When you are around me, I’d prefer you don’t have one on you.”
Callum pushed himself from the couch and glared at her. “Look, I can appreciate your concern. I’m not a huge fan of weapons either, but if the bad guy has one, I would prefer to have one, too. I promise I’ll be careful…on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“When you’re around me can you cover up more? I don’t know if you know this about yourself, but you’re a very beautiful women and it’s kind of distracting.”
His eyes shone like crystal, catching the light like tiny kaleidoscopes. He was a charmer. No doubt about it. She wondered if he knew his smile alone was a bigger weapon than any gun he could possibly pack.
“Noted,” she said and headed for the kitchen.
The half pot of fresh coffee on the counter was a welcomed sight. She grabbed a mug from the counter and filled it to the rim. “So did you find anything in the mail?”
“Not much,” he said, taking the pot from her and warming up his own cup. “A few poems, some song lyrics. A dirty limerick here and there. Some poor slob even drew you some pictures. Skull and crossbones. Very original.”
She took the envelope he produced from his jean pocket. “You’re being sarcastic. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Well, we didn’t find any leads. That’s bad.” He rubbed his temples and headed back to the couch. “But there was nothing there to find so we didn’t miss anything. That’s good.”
“So we’ve split sets.”
He looked at her with one eye. “What the hell is a split set?”
“It’s a tennis term.” She sat down across from him in the recliner. “Okay, let me put it in simple terms you can understand. Say two women hit on you in a bar. One was really hot and one was butt ugly. You’d be even. You’ve split sets.”
He nodded slowly like he either understood or didn’t care. “Well, speaking of tennis, I thought that was something we could do today. We could go hang out at the tennis pavilion and grab some lunch. Maybe you want to hit the ball around a little.”
She felt her jaw fall to her lap. “Are you crazy, Harrison? I’m not ready.”
“The body is able, sweetheart. It’s that head of yours,” he tapped his forehead, “that needs to be straightened out.”
He said it simply, like it should have been as obvious to her as it was to him. She didn’t protest. What was the point?
“It’s okay to be afraid you know. You’ve been away. You don’t know what to expect. Totally understandable.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“You sure?”
Even if she was a little, she damn sure wasn’t going it to admit to him. “Fine, I’ll play. But just for the record, I’m the best tennis player in the world. People are afraid of me.” Even to her own ears that sounded super conceited, but he seemed to be amused by it.
“That’s the spirit,” he said, again with a hint of sarcasm. “Now get dressed and grab your racquet. I’ll meet you in the car in ten minutes.”
She watched him retreat out the door before she took a last swig from her coffee. A little tennis couldn’t hurt. Lord knew she missed it. Maybe the body was ready for the test. When she looked down at her arm, she smiled.
She was holding the cup in her left hand.
If no one told him, Callum would have never guessed Brielle had been injured. Not that he knew much about tennis, but the agile beauty on the court in front of him certainly didn’t move like a person in chronic pain. In fact, he was sure he detected a hint of a smile.
He couldn’t help smiling himself. An angel in white, he thought, loving how the milk-colored outfit hugged her in all the right places.
Tagging along with a bombshell like her was not the worst assignment he could think of.
He loved how her long, blonde braid touched the top of her ass when she strutted across the court.
Gorgeous confidence. Trim and tight, sleek but strong. The kind of woman who belonged in his bed. God, would they wear each other out. He could tell this morning just by how she felt under him.
Feeling a sudden breeze, he lifted up his sunglasses. When he saw the hardened nipples against her dress he smiled, secretly thanking God for inventing spandex.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” A tall, tanned man with grey hair and a white Nike sweat suit came up behind him.
“She sure is,” Callum agreed. “She’s amazing to watch.”
“Yup, I heard she showed up this morning looking for Steve, her hitting partner. I had to see with my own eyes.”
“She wasn’t expected back so soon, huh?”
“She wasn’t expected back at all. The doctors said she’d be lucky if she could get back even fifty percent of her range of motion. Shame too. She has a two-handed backhand that would make you cry.”