The small amount of personal belongings he’d brought with him from the city had already been moved into the house. The furnishings Drake had ordered for his room had been delivered by truck this morning and tonight would be the first official night he’d have to sleep under the same roof with a woman. Again.
He’d made a vow to himself before he’d left New York, before he’d been able to walk without the assistance of crutches, that he’d never again share living space with another female as long as he lived. That vow hadn’t lasted all that long.
Blaze considered quitting. There was no way this job position was going to work. Not only that, but he wasn’t sure the financial gain was worth the brain damage of having to deal with her. Her, who had already given him a semi-hard-on, simply from the citrusy smell of her hair. Her, who was a smart-mouthed pain in the butt. Then, he thought of how he had gotten hooked up with Drake Kingston and knew without a doubt, if he owed anyone a favor, it was Drake’s old man, Dallas Kingston. He owed him his life and when Dallas had called upon him to help out his son, he couldn’t say no.
In all seriousness, how could he tolerate living with a woman ever again? Brandi wasn’t just any woman, either. She was a woman with an attitude, she was stubborn as far as the eye could see and worse yet, she looked like she belonged on the cover of some nudie magazine and from what he could see, she had the T&A to prove it. Albeit not his preferred size.
He wasn’t sure how much his ego could stand having to be face-to-face with another woman day in and day out. His mission was to supervise the Kingston children and Kingston told him there was a nanny involved. What he had assumed, erroneous on his part, was the nanny was a Mrs. Doubtfire type of lady – someone’s grandma – not some young thirty-something red haired vixen with bottomless ocean eyes a man could drown in. When Drake kept referring to her as Ms. Parker, his imagination was validated up even more so because wasn’t that how one addressed older ladies?
He was pissed with himself for assuming shit. He should have asked more questions. Why hadn’t he? His game was off, that’s why. Because he never thought he’d be set up in a similar situation that had, in a roundabout way, brought him here in the first place.
Then of course, it had to be her. The one woman who, from his short time in Colorado, had pushed his temper almost to his limit, more so than anyone – male or female – had been able to lately. No, lately, he no longer wanted to give a fuck about anything. What did he care if people got robbed? Shot at? Or worse yet, killed? He hated to think about the last one, but the past few months were all he could do not to think about that. His job was to protect people. What happened when you failed? What happened when you failed to protect the people you loved? Who was there to pick up the pieces?
The more he thought about his current situation, the more agitated he became. His knee was killing him and he couldn't find the damn remote for the TV. Brandi was up at the main house laying Dakota down for her nap and he wasn't technically on-duty until tomorrow.
If he would actually listen to his doctor, he should probably be icing his knee, now, when it hurt as bad as it did. First for everything, he supposed. He stood from the couch, grimacing as he made his way into the kitchen.
“Getting settled in?”
The woman in question interrupted his thoughts, as she came barreling into the kitchen of their – no the - house, as he let go of the freezer handle.
“Just looking for a glass.”
She walked passed him and opened up a cupboard door. Her tight denim jeans hugged her butt as she waltzed past, so that he hardly noticed the motorcycle tank top paired with it. Her jeans were what captured his attention.
“You know you have a hole in your jeans?”
Instead of getting him a glass, she left the door open and faced him, “I know. I have more, see?”
She pointed to her knees where the ratty denim had created fissions of white cloth lines even though they weren’t totally exposing her kneecaps.
“Can you not afford new ones?”
“I bought them this way. Not that it’s any of your business.”
He reached for a glass and leaned his ass against the counter, “You bought jeans with holes in them?”
“They’re stylish. Which, I don’t expect you to know anything about.” She waved her arm in a slow draw up and down, addressing his current wear. Black sweatpants with a matching hoodie.
“How much did you pay for them?” he asked, ignoring her comment.
“None of your business.”
He rolled his eyes, “What? You’re not going to say. That means you paid a decent penny. Allow me to guess. A hundred bucks? That’s ridiculous.”
“What the fuck ever. What do you care anyway?”
“I don’t. I just don’t get the whole,” he pointed to her jeans, “holey thing.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t get why you pretend your knee isn’t bothering you, when it really is.”
She stalked off to her bedroom and shut the door. How’d she know his knee was bothering him? Was it that obvious? He was fairly tight-lipped about the entire ordeal. Even to Blake, whom he hadn’t told much to, so where she got off thinking she knew what was going on, was beyond him.
Even if she was correct. He’d never tell that to her face.
He set the unused glass on the counter and went back to the couch. Spotting the remote control on the bookshelf, he grabbed it before taking a seat. He rubbed his jaw, trying to think of anything other than Brandi, who should be up at the main house and not here bothering him. He’d see her plenty enough in the days to come.
This was such a bad idea. What if his knee didn’t heal properly? What if one of the kids ended up needing real protection and his knee gave out? He couldn’t risk another failure where his career was concerned. That much was a given. But he couldn’t say no to the job either.
Dallas had come through for him when he’d been young and much less experienced than he was today. It’d taken Blaze one time in his life to learn to stay far away from gambling. It was a situation he wasn’t proud to remember as he’d bet more than he had and when the sharks came to collect, he’d gotten the shit beat out of him. Dallas had found him lying in the gutter in the Bronx and for whatever reason, had taken pity on him. He’d helped him into his limo and had driven around long enough that Blaze had no choice but to finally confess what he’d gotten himself into. Dallas must’ve been feeling generous because not only had he helped him out of the gutter that night, he’d saved his life by giving him the money to pay the shark back, interest and all.
Arnold knew nothing about the situation until he’d shown up at work, his face battered with bruises and he’d had to confess he thought gambling would be a quick way to earn more money. Needless to say, Arnold hadn’t been impressed and the situation had been a slight blow to his ego. He’d started giving Blaze more jobs and put him into the military training program he’d created. Over time, because of Blaze’s work ethic and commitment, Arnold slowly sold him a small percentage of the company each year, until Blaze became a co-owner.
He flipped on the tube and went straight to ESPN. The familar smell of salt and sand from the ocean filled the room and he glanced up to find Brandi bent over tying her shoes - holey jeans intact…well, as intact as they were ever going to be. Her hair lay in limp, wet curls around her shoulders, her face scrubbed free of make-up. Fuck. Was this going to be his life? Having to put up with the sweet smell of girl stuff? He took in her features. She was oblivious to his gaze. The mole on her face stood proud, a tiny gem in her arsenal. Her high cheekbones glowed with the light rose of color he was learning to be a permanent feature. Her contoured eyebrows didn’t quite match her hair color and her lips were…well, he had no complaints where her lips were concerned. If he could only get them to stop talking…
“What are looking at?”
“You. Wondering why you don’t get back to the main house and leave me alone.”
She opened her mouth, and he braced himself for the smart-assed remark he knew was coming.
“Sorry to have bothered you.”
She waltzed out the front door, leaving him momentarily speechless. He shook his head at no one and turned back to the TV, his knee momentarily forgotten.