Guarding the Quarterback (Champions of the Heart #1) (3 page)

Holy crap. Maybe I could pull this off.

Now, would I be taken seriously? This job would prove to Ian that I could handle a high-profile case. And that I had what it took to protect a man. “Where am I going to hide my gun?”

Tossing me a matching light blue jacket, Joffrey said, “I had a pocket sewn in. Denise is working on the rest of the clothing.”

Along with my concealment undergarments, which would hide a smaller gun, I’d be packing heat like I normally did. “You’re the best fairy godmother a bodyguard could have.”

“Ha! Cinderella was lucky I wasn’t her fairy godmother. This queen would have stolen her prince.”

I laughed. “Believe me, Dean Walker is no prince.”

“Well, if I can turn you from ho-hum to a hubba-hubba in a day, you can turn Walker from a frog to a prince.”

“That’s not in the job description. I’m only supposed to protect the frog not kiss it.” Still, I wondered what Dean would think when he saw my transformation, and I hated myself for it.

Joffrey popped another button on my blouse and adjusted my boobs to show more cleavage than I was comfortable with. “Mixing business with pleasure is not a crime.”

But according to Ian’s Security’s employee handbook it
was
against the rules. A bodyguard should never get involved with the body they were protecting. The employees with a dick, however, broke the rule all the time. Everyone, including me, turned a blind eye to it. But as a woman, it would end my career. It was unfair, but unfair didn’t matter in the real world.

“And would it kill you to smile?”

“It might.” But I risked death and smiled anyway. “Thank you.” I kissed Joffrey on the cheek. “I love it. Please send the clothes to my apartment. The bill goes to Ian’s Worldwide Security. Add a nice tip for everyone who helped me.”

Mastering the three-inch heels would take some time, but I walked out of Glamour Me with a lot more confidence than I did going in.

I might not be a blonde bombshell, but Dean Walker was about to be blindsided.

Dean

W
ho the hell
was knocking at my door at 7:00 a.m.? Normally, I’d be in bed with a smoking, curvy body snaked around me. Instead I’d become the fucking poster boy for celibacy. Horny as hell, I was not in a good mood. I whipped the door open, ready to take my frustration out on whoever was on the other side.

A barrel of a gun stared back at me. What the fuck? You would think my quick reflexes on the field would serve me off it. In this case they didn’t.

“Bang, bang, you’re dead,” quipped Reeves. My bodyguard smirked as she lowered her gun. “The security in this building sucks. I swept right by the doorman. And if you bothered to check the peephole, you wouldn’t be shitting in your Superman boxers right now.”

She breezed by, rolling a large suitcase behind her. Half naked, I just stood there, thunderstruck. Because of how Reeves looked with her hair down or because of the gun, I couldn’t say—or admit to.

Turning my head as she passed, I detected a slight wobble in her gait, from the heels no doubt. Still, her ass had a sexy sway in the body-hugging skirt. And what a body she had. Why did she hide those curves underneath boxy suits? Criminal. Hitting just above the knee, there was nothing criminal about the length of her skirt. She rocked it like that chick from
Madmen,
and somehow it was way hotter than a miniskirt.

Parking the suitcase by the end table, she turned and slid the gun inside her blazer, like it was a wallet instead of a weapon.

She was a walking contradiction. Was I more turned on by the way she handled the gun or by her cleavage beckoning me to suffocate myself in it? And those lips, now enhanced with a red gloss, made my morning hard-on roar back with a vengeance.

She looked soft. Touchable. But the look was lost in translation when it came to her body language. With her hands on her hips, she was as tough as the steel of the gun she carried. “Are you going to shut the door or what?”

Fuck.
Pissed that she’d caught me off guard in more ways than one—seriously, I was wearing the Superman boxers my nephew gave me for Christmas last year—I slammed the door and walked toward her. I didn’t have a problem with guns, but guilt by association could, at the very least, land me a fine with the league. “The gun laws in the city are strict. Am I going to get in trouble if you get caught?”

“The employees of Ian’s Security have special licenses to carry concealed weapons.”

“Do you have more guns on you?”

“Now where else would I be packing?” She opened up her arms revealing a tiny waist that I bet my hands could span.

“Hmm.” I leisurely eyeballed her from toe to head. She certainty didn’t look like a bodyguard. The transformation from yesterday was astonishing. From GI Jane to Tinker Bell sexpot. “Nowhere that I can see. Maybe I should frisk you?”

“You could try.” Her smile was more of a smirk, daring me to do exactly that.

Oh yeah, Reeves was wrestle-you-to-the-ground sexy. But I preferred a bed. “Since you’re obviously not here to take care of this…” I pointed to the tent in my boxers. “Why exactly are you here? And what’s with the suitcase?”

Dropping her gaze, she arched an eyebrow, then looked back up to meet my eyes. “I’ll be living here and driving you to practice each day like a dutiful girlfriend.”

This was getting interesting. Still, having her around all the time would be a mix of inconvenience and temptation. “I only have one bed. And I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

“I’m taking the couch. It has a perfect view of the front door.”

She was hardcore. I took a step closer. “What if I said I’d feel safer if you were in bed with me?”

“Let’s get something straight. I’m your bodyguard, not a body you’re going to be banging.”

“That’s too bad. You have a banging hot body.” I took another step. Close enough to kiss her. Her beautiful light blue eyes rimmed with gray widened, but she didn’t back away.

“Hot enough that your friends will believe us as a couple?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

The wounded look in her eyes punched me in the gut. I was a total bastard for playing her like this. “You don’t look like a hooker.”

The beginnings of a smile lifted at the corners of her luscious mouth. “Consider me an upgrade.” She backed away, dismissing me.

This was going to be tougher than I thought. I couldn’t take my eyes off her ass as she strode to the window in full bodyguard mode. The urge to hike up the tight skirt to her hips and bend her over the couch hit me hard. She pushed open the curtains, yanking me out of my fantasy. The sunlight blasted in, reminding me that I had to get to practice.

“Nice view,” she said without turning around.

“Thanks.” It cost a pretty penny, a lot of pretty pennies. I loved New York City, but the energy could be draining. Up here, I felt like I wasn’t living in the city.

Her hand swept the skyline. “There’s no line of sight.”

“As in a sniper?” I shook my head. “Aren’t you taking this a little too seriously?”

“Aren’t you taking it a lot too lightly?”

Yeah, this was going to be a lot tougher than I thought. With the way she blocked, she could be on my offensive line.

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“I’ll need your phone.” She held out her hand.

“Why?”

“I need to check your texts, emails, and photos for any suspicious activity that you might have ignored or thought unimportant. My team has already gone through your social-media accounts, tracking back three months. And I also need your schedule for the coming week. And a key to the apartment.”

This was starting to get a little too real for me. I’d shrugged off yesterday’s meeting and hadn’t given a second thought to the death threat until I answered the door with a gun to my face as my wakeup call.

“The schedule is no problem, but my phone is private. I have sensitive information on it.” The thought of giving her or any woman a key turned my stomach.

She snorted, which actually sounded kind of cute. “Sensitive my ass. Look, we can do this the easy way.”

“Or?”

“I can hack my way in.”

“Christ.” Fine. Let her read the sex texts and see the naked pictures chicks sent to me on a daily basis. Maybe she’d be shocked enough to quit. Who would want to protect someone like me anyway? “It’s on the coffee table.” The alarm from my bedroom blared. “The code is thirteen-thirteen. I have to get ready for practice.”

I took a quick shower, taking care of my hard-on in record speed, fantasizing about Reeves’s sassy and luscious mouth doing the work instead of my hand, while she was in the next room scrolling through naked picture after naked picture of other women.

She was swiping the screen with her thumb when I walked out of my bedroom dressed in khaki pants and a black polo shirt. Smiling, I wondered what she would say if I told her that we had been intimate in my shower.

“Oh, this is so just too good to be true. Priceless.” Reeves barked out a laugh.

When she flicked her fingers for the zoom function, I became curious to what she was looking at. I crooked my head to see the screen.
Shit.
An old photo of my junk took up the whole viewing area. I thought I’d deleted it after sending it to an actress I’d been dating. I made a grab for the phone, but I wasn’t quick enough.

“Oh come on, it’s not like hundreds of women haven’t seen it before.”

“Not hundreds.” Why did it bother me that she came across the dick pic, when just five minutes ago I’d been fantasying about her mouth swallowing me whole?

“What’s the problem? You’re obviously proud of it.” She paused, tapping the phone on her chin. “Or is not yours?” She arched an eyebrow.

“It’s mine. I was drunk.”

Reeves laughed, and while I loved the throaty sound, I hated that it was at my expense. I hoped she was laughing at my stupidity and not at my dick. Why did I even fucking care what her opinion of it was or her general opinion of me?

“Next time use Snapchat.” She smacked the phone to my chest and let go before walking away. I fumbled but caught it before it hit the floor. “And using the number of your jersey as a security code is dumber than one of your blonde bimbos.”

Fuck.
What the hell was going on? Worst-case scenario, my bad boy behavior would cause her to quit. Best-case, she’d fall into my bed and be forced to resign. Yet here she was lecturing me like I was some hormonal teenager. For some reason that’s exactly how I felt around her.

It had been so long since I’d had to work at getting a girl that I was clearly out of practice. I’d have to put in some overtime to get Reeves on my team.

And what the hell was her first name?

Alexa

W
hat an ass.
But what a penis.

The shock of coming across the photo of his privates had quickly turned to interest, then to throbbing want. I needed to be away from him and the image of what he packed inside his form-fitting khakis—and oh, the good lord, those Superman boxers he’d worn earlier. More like Supercock.

I escaped to tour the apartment to determine if there were any security issues to be addressed.

Thanks to building safety codes, windows up this high were not made to be opened. Sleek and modern, the living room lacked warmth, which didn’t surprise me. Dean was about as warm and fuzzy as a porcupine. The dining room and kitchen looked unused. I took a quick peek inside the fridge. A box of five dozen eggs, multiple containers from a local health food caterer, and a six-pack of beer took up the space. Looked like I’d be ordering in for the duration of my stay.

I headed to the hallway to search the rest of the apartment.

“I’m leaving in five minutes,” Dean notified me as I passed by him. “I’ll text my agent to send you my schedule.”

“I need that key,” I instructed over my shoulder. Was he checking out my ass? My heel slid on the floor as I transitioned from carpet to the marble tile, and I stumbled.

“Careful, it’s slippery.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Before he could make a stinging comeback, I ducked into the first room off the hallway. The second bedroom had been converted into a state-of-the-art gym. A few trophies lined a shelf, and a hall of fame of photos hung on the wall. While I was glad I’d be able to get in my workouts, I’d be surrounded by Dean’s image. Dean with famous athletes. Dean with celebrities. Dean. Dean. Dean.

I lingered longer than I should have, putting off the recon of his bedroom. Would it be as sterile as the rest of the house or as virile as his body promised?

I turned to leave, but Dean blocked the exit, placing his hands on either side of the doorframe. A key dangled from one of his fingers. He smelled clean with a hint of spice and leather. The scent tickled my nose and other places that hadn’t felt a tingle in months. The biceps that powered long passes stretched the fabric of the short-sleeved polo shirt as he flexed. Underneath, I knew his six-pack abs were honed to a chiseled work of art worthy of a special exhibit in a museum.

Oslo and Williams were broader and meatier than Dean, but my coworkers didn’t make me feel small. Like a female. Like a woman.

I hated how weak I felt around him. I couldn’t let on how much he affected me. “Excuse me,” I said sharply.

“Now is that a nice way to talk to your boyfriend?”

“Pretty please,” I said with none of the sweetness the phrase called for.

“Not feeling it. Tell me your first name and I’ll let you pass.”

Dean’s satanic smile created a sinful thrum through my body. “Why?”

“I like to be on a first-name basis with women who have seen my dick.”

I would have laughed, but his feathery touch on my cheek caused every bone in my body to melt. I caught myself before I stepped closer to him.

“And as your boyfriend, I can’t be calling you by your last name.”

“Pretend boyfriend,” I sputtered. “Pretend,” I repeated, more to remind myself than to remind him.

“Of course. But we each have a role to play.” Dean placed the key in my hand, then trailed a finger over my wrist. “You look the part, but can you act like my girlfriend?”