My Bodyguard Neighbor (Neighborhood Hotties #6)

Chapter One

Holly Reese stepped back from her easel.

Turquoise paint streaked her forearm as she studied the canvas.

The abstract painting in front of her was a violent storm of color.

Jagged midnight black slashed through fields of angry red.

Perfect. It was a scream. Her scream. A way to bleed out the frustration of being Benedict Reese's daughter.

Federal Judge Benedict Reese was controlling, powerful, relentless.

He was always trying to buy her silence with checks disguised as concern about her bohemian lifestyle.

He had sent another one yesterday. She'd torn it up and thrown the pieces in the trash where they belonged.

He'd long since stopped leaving her voice mails.

A heavy thud from the apartment next door rattled the walls. The unit had been empty for months, but apparently not anymore. She glanced toward the shared wall, curious. Her building attracted a specific type of tenant—artists, musicians, creative types who couldn't afford anything better.

Another thud. Then another.

Barefoot, she crept to the window, wiping her hands on her paint-stained apron. In the space beside her car sat a black pickup filled with moving boxes.

She wondered what her new neighbor would be like.

She had started to turn away when a man emerged from her building and approached the truck.

The sight of him made her catch her breath.

Broad shoulders stretched a black T-shirt.

Muscles filled worn jeans. He moved like every step mattered, like the world might attack him at any second and he was ready for it.

When he lifted a heavy box off the back of the truck like it weighed nothing, his arms flexed in ways that made her mouth go dry.

Her fingers curled against the glass as she leaned closer. He wasn't just gorgeous. He was lethal. Everything in his stance screamed predator. He scanned the parking lot before every trip, cataloging threats and exits like a soldier who never stopped training.

Her brain whispered danger.

Her body whispered yes.

Then, as if he could feel her staring, his head snapped up.

She jerked back from the window, her heart hammering. Had he seen her staring? Of course he had. She was practically pressed against the glass like some desperate voyeur.

Holly retreated to her easel, but concentration was impossible now. Every few minutes, she stared at wall she shared with her mysterious neighbor, hyperaware of the sounds of boxes being moved and furniture arranged.

By the time evening fell, she'd accomplished nothing except spreading more paint on herself than the canvas. She was debating whether to call it a night when a sharp knock echoed through her apartment.

Holly froze, paintbrush halfway to the canvas. She wasn't expecting anyone. Her few friends knew better than to show up unannounced, and delivery drivers always buzzed from the front entrance.

Another knock, more insistent this time.

Setting down her brush, she peered through the peephole. Her new neighbor stood in the hallway, and up close he was even more devastating than she'd thought. Square jaw, full lips, and intense eyes that seemed to see too much.

"Can I help you?" she called through the door.

"I'm Jonah Bauer, your new neighbor." His voice was deep, rough around the edges in a way that sent shivers down her spine. "I was hoping I could borrow some sugar."

Her lips parted. Sugar? He didn’t seem the baking type.

Holly glanced down at herself. Her paint-stained tank top and cutoff shorts had seen better days. Not exactly company-ready attire.

But he tweaked her curiosity. And maybe she was tired of being alone with her thoughts and her father's shadow.

She unlocked the deadbolt and cracked the door open, keeping the chain latch engaged. "What are you making?"

His mouth curved, but his eyes were hungry. She felt his gaze right down to her turquoise painted toenails. "Coffee.”

“At this hour?”

“I'm a night owl, and I didn't realize I was out until I tried to make some."

"Coffee doesn't need sugar."

"Mine does."

There was a challenge in his tone, like he was daring her to call him on the transparent excuse.

Holly responded to that challenge, her curiosity overriding her caution.

She closed the door, slipped the chain, and opened it fully.

He filled her doorway, six-foot-something of hard male muscle, broad enough to block the hall light.

He was too close, too big, too much—and she couldn't move.

"Sugar," she managed. "I think I’ve got some around here somewhere."

She turned toward the kitchen. Behind her, the door clicked shut. Her heart jumped at the sound.

"Nice place," Jonah said, his tone flat, assessing. "So you're an artist."

She looked back. He wasn't admiring her messy canvas. He was cataloging, memorizing, as if her entire life was under his inspection.

"What gave it away? The paint everywhere or the giant canvas in my living room?"

"The paint stains on your clothes."

She flushed as his gaze cut through her. “Oh yeah, that.” When she stretched for the sugar on the top shelf, her tank top lifted almost to her bra.

His sharp inhale echoed in the room. When she glanced back, Jonah's jaw was tight, his hands clenched at his sides like he was fighting some internal battle. The air between them was suddenly charged, electric with possibility.

"Here." Holly held out the sugar container, but when he reached for it, their fingers brushed. The contact sent sparks racing up her arm.

Neither of them moved to break the connection.

"Thank you, Holly."

"How do you know my name?"

"From the mailboxes downstairs," he said. "Holly Reese. Pretty name for a pretty woman."

The compliment should have felt routine, something a man like him probably said to women all the time.

But there was nothing smooth about it. He was being honest, and it sent tingles through her.

This was interesting territory, the kind that led to poor decisions and morning-after regrets.

She should step back, create some distance, remind herself that gorgeous strangers were nothing but trouble.

Instead, she backed up and he stepped closer.

"So, you think I’m pretty do you?"

Jonah's free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her cheekbone. His touch was gentle, but she could feel the leashed strength in his fingers, the way he held himself back like he was afraid of breaking her.

"No, I was wrong."

She frowned at him.

"You're beautiful," he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper. "Absolutely beautiful."

His gaze swallowed her whole. Drowning her. Possessing her. Her body shivered. Her thighs clenched. She was seconds from throwing herself at him.

The sugar container slipped from both their hands, hitting the kitchen floor with a soft thud that scattered white granules across the tiles. Neither of them looked down.

"Jonah—"

Whatever she'd been about to say was lost as his thumb brushed across her lower lip. The simple touch sent electricity racing through her entire body, and she heard her own sharp inhale echo in the kitchen.

"I should go," he said, but he made no move to step away. If anything, he moved closer, until she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Should you?"

Her question hung in the air between them, loaded with invitation and challenge. For one terrifying, thrilling second, she thought he would kiss her.

God, she wanted him to.

And then, he tore himself back. The loss of his touch left her feeling cold and bereft.

"I should definitely go." His voice was hoarse, raw with need. "Thank you for the sugar."

He was already moving toward the door, his retreat so sudden it left Holly reeling. "But the sugar's all over my floor."

"I'll buy my own." Jonah paused at her front door, his hand on the knob. When he looked back at her, the hunger in his gaze was unmistakable. "Sweet dreams, Holly."

The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving her alone in her kitchen with scattered sugar and a body humming with unsatisfied desire. She sagged against the counter. What the hell had just happened? Ten minutes. That's all it had taken. Ten minutes, and she was ruined.

She'd spent her whole adult life proving she was independent, untouchable, unbought. And now one neighbor with a voice like gravel and eyes like sin had torn down every wall she'd built.

As she knelt to clean up the spilled sugar, she caught herself listening. Straining for sounds from next door. Was he really making coffee? Or had the sugar just been an excuse to get inside, to get closer to her? And if it was—what did he really want?

The questions followed her to bed. She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, the ache between her thighs impossible to ignore. She'd never reacted like this to anyone—never so fast, never so intense. The smart thing would be to stay away, to keep her distance.

But Holly had never been accused of being smart when it came to men.

Through the thin wall, she heard footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Pacing.

Like Jonah couldn't sleep either.

She smiled in the dark, her mind already filled with thoughts of him and his sexy grin that promised things she wasn't sure she was ready to surrender to.