BREAKING NEWS: Rocco Monroe’s home was vandalized by angry protestors of his upcoming film El Traficante. Shooting is set to begin next week in an undisclosed location. Monroe was not hurt in the incident. More information to follow on the eleven o’clock news.

The exasperating woman who was currently talking to the cops had pushed him inside his own motherfucking room and locked him in. He thought she’d been slightly off her rocker when they’d first met, but this was an entirely new level of crazy. Rocco wasn’t sure whether to strangle her or kiss her. Apparently he liked her level of crazy. With all the anger surging through his veins, though, he still had an inexplicable urge to make sure she was okay and then make sure she never did anything that stupid again. And then possibly strangle her.

He took a step toward her. Any other woman would at the very least flinch. She didn’t even blink. He was practically touching her when he spoke through clenched teeth. “Listen, crazy, if you ever—”

“We found this.” One of the officers interrupted him, holding a brick in a sealed Ziploc bag.

Annabelle moved away from him and toward the officer. Careful not to open the bag, she leaned in and read the unrefined chicken scratch that was written in black marker: Viva Mendoza. Muerte al Americano.

“Death to the American.” Rocco said the second part out loud. “I’m assuming I’m the American in this scenario.”

“We have black-and-whites searching the area. We think they came on foot since there’s no tire marks on the gravel out front.” The officer’s phone rang at that moment, and he excused himself.

Rocco wasn’t done, by far. “I can’t believe you locked me in my own room!”

She looked up at him, rolled her eyes, and began to walk. She wasn’t listening. Maddening fucking woman.

Completely brushing him off, she pulled out her phone and began to type as she followed the officer up the stairs. Impulsively, Rocco moved quickly past her like a raging bull and turned, causing her to collide with his chest, her phone flying out of her hand. “What the—”

Rocco’s arms flew out to her waist to balance her before she fell back. She felt so small and fragile pressed close against him like that and a bolt of heat and protective spark shot straight up his spine. How could she run into danger when she couldn’t weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds? Fine, she was skilled, but she wasn’t fucking indestructible. And yes, she was there to do a job, but that didn’t mean he wanted her to get hurt.

Her cheeks reddened and she averted her eyes. But he wasn’t going to let her get away this time. He’d already noticed her two defense mechanisms. Either she’d look away and tuck her hair behind her ear or she’d cop a major attitude and fight him. Once he paid close attention, she actually wasn’t too difficult to read. He wanted to understand why she became nervous around him so often, but this wasn’t the time to delve into that. This was the time to make absolutely certain she paid attention and felt his words, his anger, his absolute seriousness. And for that moment, she was quiet. She didn’t fight him. She didn’t sass. She didn’t look away. Instead, she looked up at him as he pulled her in closer, until she was flush against his chest. Those big hazel eyes awestruck and nervous. A hint of vulnerability seeping out from behind that damn brick wall she had built around her. The fact that she had just pushed him into his own room and locked him inside was the only thing keeping him from bending down and kissing her. And with that thought, his stirring cock stopped stirring, and his anger quickly returned.

“Whether I like it or not, you and I are going to become very close,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse even to his ears. Which was probably due to her breast smushed against his chest, and the way she smelled of his soap. He couldn’t even regret the choice of words, laced with innuendo. Her mouth opened a little—those thick lips with the pronounced cupid’s bow—forming an ‘o’. The tip of her pink tongue was right there. Right there. “I hired you because you impressed me, and yeah, you can blend in, but you will not handle me. Never again. You make sure I’m aware of danger and that I stay away from that danger. But you don’t lock me in a room and then go find danger. That’s crazy. You’re fucking crazy. Next time, you stay in the room with me and wait for the police . . . together!”

“Handling you is my job. You may play the big, tough action hero on screen, but Rocco, when I tell you to do something, you do it. This is serious. Death to the American, Rocco? Death. Some people want you dead.” But she said it in his arms, he noted. She hadn’t moved away.

He shook his head, unconcerned. “They’re just trying to scare me.”

She let out a sigh. “You need to be scared. You should never underestimate the enemy.”

“We’re not at war. Just dealing with some pissed-off fans.”

“Yeah, and pissed-off fans can’t be dangerous? Selena, John Lennon? Hell, ICS was called in to protect Megan Cruz just last year.”

Rocco wanted to argue, but what did he say to that? Yes, fans could be crazy sometimes, but watching her push him aside to run into danger was unacceptable.

Annie continued. “I’m here to do a job. Did you really pick me because you thought I could do the job or because you thought the pretending game would turn into a little fling while keeping the studio happy? I’m not some chick who will let my emotions get in the way of my job. And my job is to protect you. Even if it means protecting you against yourself by locking you in your room.”

“Oh, so you admit to having emotions.” He squeezed tighter, a little lighter at her admission that there was something between them—or could be. “And you’re not exactly moving away from me, Tiger.”

She smirked and pushed his shoulders and tried to step away. “You know what I mean. And stop calling me Tiger.”

Before she had a chance to pull her hand away, he grabbed her wrist. “I’m going to lay it all out. This isn’t the right time, but I’m going to anyway. I have never, not my whole life, been more attracted to a woman than I am to you.”

She looked away.

“No, stop that and listen to me. This isn’t a line. You scared the fuck out of me. What if something happened to you?”

“I’m perfectly capa—”

He put a finger on her lips. “I know you are. You’re perfectly capable. You run into danger. You kick my ass. I get all of that. What you don’t get is that I don’t care. Maybe I am sexist, but none of it matters to me, because I still don’t like it. I don’t like that I like a woman who doesn’t need me, like me, or want me. I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s fine, but for my sanity, just please . . . don’t do that again.” This time, he said it softly.

She swallowed. “Let me do my job, listen to me, don’t push me behind you in situations like these, and I won’t physically lock you in again, so long as you listen to me when I ask you to do something. I only do it to keep you safe.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” They were still close, not as close as they were a minute ago, but close enough that her stance about professionalism was teetering on a thin line. She could pretend all she wanted, but there was an attraction, a spark, that couldn’t be denied.

A torrid affair for the next four months would be explosive. Every reason he’d given himself the night before flew away, every cautious word from Paul, her own reasons why mixing business with pleasure was a bad idea. The simple truth was that being around Annie was exhilarating.

She was still looking at him, her hair, that blonde that could look red when she was by the window, the sun shining in, or golden when the light was a certain way, like right now. The way her face reddened a little when he spoke with her, but not with anyone else.

Fuck this.

He took a step closer, ready to tempt her into an affair . . . with his lips and tongue.

But the talking from downstairs grew louder and there seemed to be someone arguing. “Mr. Monroe, Ms. Clad. Please come down here,” a voice hollered.

They looked at each other, flummoxed, and hurried downstairs, the moment essentially ruined. He was humiliated, mad, and turned on all at the same fucking time. He didn’t even know where to begin when it came to Annie. Except that damn, he wanted her. Badly.

* * *

They’d almost kissed. Who was she kidding? She almost kissed him. She had been this close to pressing her lips against his, she hadn’t even tried to step away from his very inappropriate grip. With one hand, she could have had him with his face against the floor and her knee on his spine crying for her to let go. Instead, she’d pushed her breasts against his chest and savored his strong arms wrapped around her. It was girly and stupid, and so not like her, but it made her feel so good. The way he’d worried about her . . . no one had ever done that before and it made her heart do strange things. Things she hadn’t felt in far too long.

As soon as they reached the bottom step, she saw two officers struggling to hold two men. Both were in their early twenties. One was five-ten, 140 pounds, with a crew cut. The other had a low ponytail coming apart by the ears, about five-eleven, maybe 130 pounds. They wore black jeans and black shirts and were Hispanic, not only by their looks but by the way they were arguing in Spanish to the officers who were now firmly pushing their cuffed bodies down onto kitchen chairs. It was inherent in her to notice all the details she could.

“Found these two geniuses running down Coral Way, looking back as if they’d just committed a crime. When we tried to stop them, they ran faster until we had to go on foot to get them. Searched their backpack and found two Sharpies and a brick, as well as . . .” The officer pulled out Mapquest instructions to Rocco’s house. “ . . . directions to your house. I told you they were geniuses.”

In heavily accented English one said, “That doesn’t prove anything.” Annie noticed a tattoo on his wrist of a yellow, blue, and red circle.

“Do they look familiar?” one of the officers asked.

“No. Not at all,” Rocco answered.

“Okay. Take them down to the station and book them.” One officer lifted the two perps by the plastic flex cuffs and led them out. The other officer then took a few more statements from Rocco and Annie before leaving. “You have my info, officer.” She had given him her card earlier. “Please call me and keep me updated.”

“Will do,” he said, closing the door behind him. It was late afternoon by the time the cops left.

“So, guess that’s that.” Rocco shrugged and walked to the fridge and snagged a bottle of water and some bread and cheese. “I’m starving. You want a grilled cheese or you gonna stick to your shake?”

Grilled cheese . . . yum. With all the events of the day they’d skipped lunch and she was famished. “Grilled cheese, please.”

She sat down and watched him work comfortably in his kitchen. “Do you want help?”

“Nah, I’m good,” he said, slathering butter into a pan.

There goes my attempt at healthy, she thought.

He put two delicious looking sandwiches on the table along with a bag of potato chips. “Smells great.” She took a bite and groaned.

“Turned out to be a good day, right?” he said between bites.

Her mouth hung open. What? Good day?

“Uh . . . two men threw a brick through your window, did you forget?”

“No, obviously I didn’t forget.” He stuffed the last piece of sandwich in his mouth. “Boarding up the window tonight is going to be a pain in the ass, but at least those guys were caught, right?”

Too much to process in that one statement.

She’d always been a person who reasoned and analyzed everything. This wasn’t exactly computing. Did he think that was it? Those two kids were the be all and end all of the scare tactics trying to stop a multimillion-dollar movie production? She’d bet all her money that they had nothing to do with the letters or riots. They were just two stupid kids who either wanted to join the bandwagon of Rocco-bashing or they really did feel strongly about him being in the movie and just took it upon themselves to do a little homemade vandalism. They weren’t part of a larger organization. This wasn’t going to just stop.

And did he say he was going to board up the window?

Himself?

“Wait.” She shook her head as he stood and put their plates into the sink. “What?”

“What what? I’m going to go to the shed out back and see if I have plywood. I’m sure I do from the last hurricane scare.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder, looking confused about her question. A rational normal question, unlike the irrational man who was about to go outside and board up a window.

“No. Back up. You don’t think that’s it, right? Like, all the threats are now gone? That the studio’s going to say you’re good to go without a bodyguard? Do you?”

“No. Probably not. They do like the overkill. Sells tickets. Make it this highly controversial movie or whatever. But yeah, that’s about as crazy as it’s gonna get.” He washed the plates and she took them from his hands and wiped them dry.

“You know you could’ve been in that room. If that brick would’ve hit your head, you’d be dead right now or, at the very least, really hurt.”

“But I’m not. So, it’s all good.”

She was shocked. How dense was this guy?

He turned to her and leaned his hip against the counter. “Look, you’re in military mode. I get it. But not everything is all-out war, Tiger. Sometimes, it’s just . . .” He shrugged. “I dunno, people wanting attention.”

“Argh, you’re so exasperating. How jaded are you?” She dried her hands and threw the wet dishrag into the sink.

“Pretty jaded, actually. It’s rare that I’m in a situation that hasn’t somehow been manipulated by the studio or my PR people.”

“Are you saying this is a PR stunt? And you call me crazy?”

“No, I’m not saying that, necessarily. Although I bet it’s all over the news already, which is free press for El Traficante. Maybe those kids thought this would be their fifteen minutes of fame. Who knows?” He shrugged.

“Or maybe they wanted to kill you.”

He pushed himself off the counter and said, “You’re cute when you get all worried.” Then he walked away.

She shouted incoherently, her hands in tight fists by her sides.

“Loosen up. Today was a win. We caught your bad guys.”

“We caught two idiots, that’s all we did.” She said, jogging after him.

“I know you want to be the badass warrior, but enjoy this downtime. Tomorrow we’ll go shopping for some clothes for the events coming up.”

Annie groaned in frustration when he smiled that stupid dimpled, no-worry smile and turned. “You are such a sexist pig. You think you can calm me down by offering to take me shopping?”

“Relax. That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying tomorrow is a new day. There’s no need to think the sky’s falling right now.”

He was so thick-skulled she wondered if a dent from that brick would’ve done him some good. “Wait . . . and what did you mean you’re going to fix the window? You have a bazillion dollars. Can’t you like, I don’t know, call someone to do that.”

“I guess I could,” he said over his shoulder.

“But you’re going to do it yourself, aren’t you?”

“You’re quick, Tiger.” It was dark out as he walked over to a large shed he had out back, and she was following behind him. He opened the lock and opened the doors and fumbled around. “You don’t have to help. It’s late, go to bed.”

“After you were attacked? I don’t think so. You’re so far removed from reality you think there’s no real threat. I, on the other hand, am still treating this as real and present danger so just get whatever you need and let’s go.”

He turned back around and handed her a hammer and some nails. “Hold this.” Then he found a big piece of plywood and walked out with it.

“Do you even have a ladder tall enough? What if you break a leg or something? The studio’s going to have a heart attack. This can’t be a good idea. I mean, have you ever—”

He stopped and turned around. “She’s chatty when she’s worried about me. Noted.” He smiled and walked back inside as she glared at his back.

“I’m not worried. I just don’t want you to break something on my watch.”

He chuckled. “Come on, crazy girl, open the door for me. I’m going to put it on from the inside.”

“You’re going to nail a piece of plywood into your wall. Inside?” She thought about the pretty room, marred by an ugly piece of wood.

“Tomorrow I’ll use my bazillion dollars and have it fixed, get a new curtain, touch up the paint. But for now, this’ll have to do. It’s late and I don’t want to leave it open. I’m sure my bodyguard would agree.”

Of course he couldn’t have a hole in the room where anyone, or anything, could come inside. They’d have to bypass that security code tonight in order to arm the alarm, which meant she needed to be vigilant, even more so than usual.

They trekked back into the house, maneuvering the piece of wood up the stairs and into the bedroom. “Hold this and I’ll hammer it,” he said, gesturing to the plywood. She couldn’t help notice the way the muscles around his neck and biceps bunched up as he worked. Why a man with so much money was doing this himself was beyond her. He really wasn’t anything like she’d expected him to be. He was exactly the opposite, actually. She swept all the glass from around the floor as he worked.

“I don’t get you. Your house is beautiful, but it’s not a multimillion-dollar house, and you’re hammering a piece of plywood into your home, yourself. You don’t have an assistant, you grill your own steaks, yet you were wearing an outfit that cost more than my yearly rent to our initial meeting. What’s your deal?”

Without looking back, still hammering, he answered. “I was running late to our meeting and left with the clothes from the shoot. That’s not something I’d wear normally. I don’t like ostentatious things because I didn’t grow up that way. I have a weird need to save for in-case-of-emergency situations. And I think my house is nice.”

“I wasn’t implying it wasn’t. It’s . . . I love it, actually. It’s just not what I expected.”

“Neither are you, Tiger. Neither are you.”

Once the wood was secured, he took a step back. “Good enough.”

“I’m going to do a sweep of the house and lock up before heading to bed.”

“You can use the other guest room tonight.”

“Okay. And I hope we’re okay, you and I. I just want to do my job and do it well.”

“I understand. And I’ll try to keep it professional.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“But even professionals have friends, or at least friendly colleagues. You don’t have to go out of your way to avoid me. You can have dinner, your shake, whatever, in the same room as me. The grilled cheese was good, but I can make a mean steak. You don’t have to disappear when I’m here. It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

She’d been trying to make sure he was comfortable by getting out of his way, and had accomplished the exact opposite. The truth was, he was an interesting man and very charming, being around him wasn’t going to be a hardship at all. “Okay, sounds fair. I’ll try to loosen up.”

“Good night, Annie.”

“’Night, Monroe.”

* * *

The next morning, Rocco padded down the stairs and into the kitchen around ten, surprised to see it empty. The blender wasn’t even out. There’s no way Annie was still sleeping; the woman woke up at hours that should be illegal. He pressed the button on his coffeemaker to get it started and walked back up the stairs to find her. Her bedroom door was open, bed made perfectly, everything where it should be. He made a mental note to call a handyman, as soon as he had his morning caffeine, to have the window repaired. “Hello? Annie?”

He took a tentative step inside and then another. The bathroom door was slightly open and he could hear murmuring coming from inside. Was she on the phone?

Damn, it hadn’t occurred to him—did she have a boyfriend? With another tentative step forward he turned his ear toward the door but couldn’t quite make out the conversation. This was creeper territory. He shouldn’t be in her space. This was all kinds of wrong. As he straightened to leave, Annie walked out, steam from her shower trailing behind, and slammed right into his chest. Annie—who was wet and soft and smelled like heaven—immediately turned and shifted and in a second, had a knife to his throat.

He put his hands up in surrender. “It’s me. Jesus, Annie, it’s just me.”

She plucked buds from her ears. “Don’t ever sneak up on me. I could’ve killed you.”

Her chest was heaving up and down and so was his. She put down the knife and picked up the towel she had somehow dropped, but not before his eyes raked her long, well-defined body. Trying to be a gentleman, he quickly looked away. “I’m sorry. I knocked.”

“I didn’t hear you,” she said, her voice shaky and slightly breathless. He could hear her opening and closing drawers, but he was determined to give her privacy. Well, as much privacy as he could without leaving the room.

“God, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“You?” He laughed humorlessly. “You almost sliced my throat. Do you shower with a knife?”

“I had it right there, tucked behind the lamp.” She pointed to the night table that was within arm’s reach. “I told you, I’m here to protect you.”

“Ironic. You almost killed me.”

“Okay, you can turn around now.” She had on black running shorts and a loose T-shirt. A towel was wrapped around her hair. “We have to get going within an hour to make your meeting with the studio.” She stopped fidgeting and finally made eye contact with him. “Did you need something? You came in because . . . ?”

“Uh . . .” Why had he come into her room? “I was surprised you weren’t already downstairs having your protein gunk and making calls.”

“Been up since five. Did that already.”

“Oh. Well, okay then.” He turned to leave. “Sorry for scaring you. Coffee? You want coffee? I’m making some coffee.”

Now he was starting to sound like her.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll take some coffee. I’ll be right down. I need to dry my hair first.”

He nodded and turned, walking down before he humiliated himself further.

As he waited for the fresh coffee to brew, he stretched his hands on the kitchen counter and dropped his head forward. Jesus, this woman was something else. Minutes ago, she was holding a fucking knife at his throat, which should have scared the shit out of him, but instead of focusing on the cold steel pressed against his neck, he could only focus on her wet slippery body pressed against him. He’d promised her he’d back off and keep it professional, but the way she looked, smelled, acted . . . it was going to be a long hard day.

* * *

Throughout the entire two-hour meeting with the studio, Annie stood by the entrance to the office, completely silent and focused. His eyes drifted to her too many times to count, and at one point Paul kicked him under the table. But how could he focus? She was wearing that same outfit he’d seen her wear the day they’d met. It had been hell sitting next to her in his small car as she checked the mirrors and surroundings a thousand times. She smelled so fucking good, and it was in no way his shampoo or soap on her body that had her smelling like that.

The only difference this time was that she wasn’t wearing heels. She said she needed to be mobile, “just in case.” He had rolled his eyes. This was crazy overkill, but if it meant she would stick around, he’d take it. With those tight black jeans or leggings or whatever the hell they were, combined with that tight top and high pony tail, she looked like she was ready to kick ass or go into a kink room and dominate the shit out of any willing man. He’d never seen himself as a submissive, but damn, he’d kneel to her and obey every single command she made. The thought of that made his dick stir and the soft groan that came out of his mouth caused Paul to kick him.

“Sorry. Sorry.” He looked back to the old man who was talking. “What did you just say?”

“I was saying that we secured the visas and permits to shoot in Colombia. We’ll only be there one week and need to get the two final shots done there. Spelling is thrilled. It’s going to bring that authenticity that the movie needs. The crew is already out there prepping everything and shooting the background and some extras. We’ve hired local security, but we’ll still need to be extra careful. Also, we’re keeping the location quiet.”

“We understand. This is all good news, Stanley,” Paul said, jotting down notes in his notebook.

“Now, let’s talk about the security breach yesterday. It’s getting worse. We’ve gotten word that our posters are being vandalized or stolen.”

“All publicity is good publicity, right?” Rocco chuckled.

“Not in this case. Not when the people doing it are impeding our ability to make the damn movie,” the old man’s voice boomed. “Now, Spelling wanted you on the film, Mr. Monroe, let’s be clear. It was all his doing. You being in this movie is causing me to take too many antacid pills. It’s making me cranky, my wife is pissed off at me, and I’m hemorrhaging money left and right.”

“Julia’s in the movie too. It can’t all be about me.”

“It’s mostly about you,” he deadpanned. “Last year, you were in a movie about a BDSM club where you were the dom who fell in love with his submissive. Your ass was out for thirty percent of the movie and there were ten very explicit sex scenes.”

“That movie made a helluva lot of money,” Rocco said, trying to keep his temper at bay.

“Agreed. But that’s not the point. The point is, people don’t want a guy who’s known for sensationalizing sex to play their hero. No, not hero. These people think of Mendoza as their savior. Come on, Rocco, you were the guy who became famous for a leaked sex tape before sex tapes were even a thing.”

“That never happened.” Now he was pissed. “You of all people are going to listen to the supermarket rags, now?”

“I agreed to sign you on for this role, but you have to play by my rules, Monroe. Julia’s got two Oscar nominations under her belt. She is a serious dramatic actress. People aren’t taking you seriously, on camera or off. I mean, for chrissakes, I asked you to hire security and you pull this stunt.” He pointed to Annie, who’d been looking out the door, minding her own business. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice that the focus of the conversation had shifted to her.

“What stunt is that?” he hissed.

“You hired a woman.”

Rocco lowered his voice. He didn’t want Annie to hear this conversation, he didn’t want her feelings hurt. “I hired a decorated member of the US Army, Stanley. I hired the best, most qualified person for this job. I hired someone who bad guys, whomever they may be, won’t suspect is coming when she comes at them. I hired someone from ICS, where you sent me.”

“The point of a bodyguard is to make your protection known. To let them know not to approach. Not someone to blend in.”

“They threw a brick at his window, Stan, they don’t care whether he has a woman or ten men guarding him.” Paul interjected.

“Stanley.” The attorney for the studio, who was sitting across from Rocco, leaned over to the old man and whispered something about “discrimination” and “lawsuit.” Whatever it was, it was effective in getting the man to shut his mouth.

“I don’t have time for this.” The producer pushed back his chair. “The bottom line is: Don’t get killed. If you don’t keep a bodyguard you won’t get insured, and I’m not keeping you on if you’re not insured. Plus, there’s a lot of money invested in this film, and we need to move forward.”

“Fine by me.”

“Good. Great meeting. Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as he walked out, his beady little entitled eyes scanning Annie’s body as he walked out.

Annie didn’t react. Or so he thought. As soon as the man passed her, she gave him the finger to his back.

Paul and Rocco couldn’t help but snort at the small rebellious gesture. “I know what I’m doing,” she said to the two of them as they got off the elevator and walked to the street. “Don’t let a sexist asshole make you second-guess your decision to hire me.”

“You had a knife to my throat a few hours ago, Annie. I’m not second-guessing shit.”

“You two are strange,” Paul said as he gave Rocco a manly slap on the back and then waved good-bye to Annie.

“Where to next?” Annie asked.

“Come on, let’s go shopping.” She groaned and he laughed. “You’re the only woman who has that kind of reaction to shopping.”

“How do you know I don’t have anything to wear tonight?”

“You came to my house with a duffel bag. You carry a gown in there?”

She walked out, giving him the finger without looking back.

God, he really liked this girl.

* * *

Since the meeting was at the beach, he suggested they walk down to some of the boutiques. He led the way, his hand on her lower back from time to time guiding her to their destination.

“Rocco! Over here! Rocco.” A holler from across the street made them both turn. It was a man with a camera rushing over to cross the street but as soon as he said the name the people on the street turned to look at them and the realization set in. “Rocco Monroe!”

They’d gone from a stroll to the store to full-on mobbed in thirty seconds. Annie was about to reach for her weapon when Rocco laced his hands with hers and turned his face close to her ear. “Relax. Just fans. It’s fine. I got it.”

“I don’t like this,” she said, looking around. They were out in the open, too vulnerable.

“Trust me. I got it.”

In the second it took him to turn around, his entire demeanor changed. This was the Rocco she’d seen thousands of times on television, and she quickly realized something was missing . . . the dimple. This smile, although sincere looking, wasn’t. He smiled, took selfies, signed things, all while she stood nearby, trying to act normal. She was, after all, not supposed to look like a bodyguard.

“Who’s this?” the guy who had yelled from across the street asked. This wasn’t a random fan, it was obvious he was a paparazzi. “Girlfriend?” He spoke over the rest of the mob who were squealing and yelling.

“What’s your name, honey?” He took a photo, which angered her.

Without looking up from signing something, Rocco chuckled, “She hates to be called honey.”

“So what’s her name? Tell us! What’s your relationship? Come on, the world wants to know? Are you cheating on Julia already?”

Rocco chuckled. “Okay guys, I have to go. Really.”

“Where are you shooting? What does Julia think of your new woman? Honey, tell us your name . . .” The questions came out fast and furious as he clicked the camera’s shutter over and over right in front of their faces. How could Rocco take this, day in and day out?

“Call her Tiger,” he said to the paparazzi who continued to speculate on her name. He then laced his finger through hers and pulled her away. “Bye guys. Come on, Versace has a back entrance.”

Versace?

She was completely overwhelmed by what had just happened. If there had been a threat, no way could she have protected him. She needed to be more prepared next time—she had definitely underestimated his fans and the paparazzi.

Rocco buzzed on the nondescript door. “I called ahead. They’re expecting us.”

She nodded, still looking around, one hand pressed against her pants trying to feel the comfort of the steel from her weapon.

“Hey, it’s cool,” he said, looking over his shoulder waving to a small group still gathered taking photographs of them. “They’re just fans, you’ll get used to it.”

The door buzzed and Rocco pulled the door open. Once inside, he pressed the button for the elevator. “Take a breath. Breathe. Are you okay?”

“How would I know the difference between a crazed fan and a regular fan? I need to reevaluate my security plan,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Stop worrying. Seriously, nothing is going on but the usual. This is my life. That was actually not bad. One of the reasons it was an easy decision for me to stay in Miami was because the paps aren’t as crazed here. In LA, they’re everywhere. Here, it’s easier to blend in.”

“If you say so,” she said as the elevator doors opened to a big room, all sleek marble and racks of clothes. A man in a tailored suit approached. “Welcome, Mr. Monroe, Ms. Clad. May I offer you some champagne?”

“I’d like some water, please,” Annie said.

“Me too, thank you, Jonas.”

Jonas signaled behind him while escorting them to a lovely velvety mustard-colored couch. Another man handed them glasses of water, and Jonas sat across from them.

Annie quickly gulped half the glass trying to regulate her nerves. She felt a panic attack right on the precipice. The sudden mob reminded her of the ambush in Kandahar. She had to focus on where she was and what she was doing. “ . . . already in the dressing rooms.”

“Perfect. Thank you, Jonas.”

Jonas extended his hand to Annie. “You zoned out, didn’t you?” Rocco asked. “They pulled some outfits for you. Follow Jonas to the dressing room. I’ll be right here.”

“Okay, yeah. Sure.”

Two sweet women were waiting for her in a big room full of mirrors and they handed her a yellow shift dress. It looked way too small for her.

“How fancy is the thing tonight?” she hollered.

“Cocktail attire.”

She smoothed the yellow dress down her body, surprised by how well it fit. She rarely wore dresses but this one was admittedly nice. Feeling a little ridiculous in the expensive and very sexy dress, she inhaled before opening the curtain. “What do you think?” she asked.

He looked up, surprised, his phone tumbling out of his hand and crashing to the floor. “That’s a good sign.” Jonas said, chuckling. And she exhaled the breath she’d been holding.

“Wow,” Rocco said. The women came to where Annie stood, and pulled and tugged and made a few adjustments.

“It’s too short.” She turned and looked over her shoulder at the mirror. “If I have to move quickly, you’ll see my ass.”

Rocco said something under his breath which sounded like “Fuck,” but she couldn’t make it out. He cleared his throat. “Could you even hide a gun in that?”

“Sure,” she lifted the hem slightly. “Right here. I have a special holster.”

This time she heard him loud and clear. “Jesus Christ, woman.” He ran his palm down his face, his eyes on the spot she’d just shown him on her thigh. “We’ll take that one.”

“Wait! No we won’t.” She felt under her arms and around her neck. “How much is this?”

“I’m paying. Don’t ask prices. Go try on some more.” He waved his hand back to the dressing room. “But we’re taking that one!” he yelled over the curtain, which made her laugh.

She tried on a dozen dresses. He had similar reactions to three more and demanded that those be purchased too. A few alterations needed to be done, so they took the one for tonight with them with the rest to be delivered the next day. She also left with two bags of bras and panties.

“I’m sorry I lost it earlier.”

“You didn’t lose it. You were doing exactly what I hired you to do. You pretended to blend in while still looking out.”

“But I felt so ill-prepared. All I wanted to do was whip out my gun and make everyone move away.”

“Crazy, it seems to me that you don’t need your gun to make anyone move. When you narrow those hazel eyes and get in your ninja headspace you can will people to move.”

That made her laugh.

“But I’m glad you didn’t. I like my fans. It’ll be easier tonight. It’s a paparazzi-free dinner.”

“Good,” she said, as they walked back to the car. This time he wore a baseball hat and a Miami Dolphins T-shirt he’d had one of the employees buy from a street vendor.

“I was really impressed with the way you handled those people,” she admitted, their arms brushing against each other as the sidewalk narrowed. “I’m not big on large crowds, but you seem right in your element.”

“Is that a compliment, Tiger?” His hand on her lower back as he led her back to the building where they’d parked his car. “I didn’t know you were capable.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” she said. “I loved Last First Kiss. It was my favorite of all your movies. Hell, if I’m being honest, it’s one of my favorite movies ever. How’s that for a compliment?”

“You? A sappy girly-movie kinda girl?” He winked and opened his car door for her.

“If you tell anyone I’ll shoot you in the balls.”

He threw his head back and laughed hard as he closed the door and jogged to the driver’s side. This friend thing he’d suggested . . . yeah, she could get used to it.