Free Bulletproof Princess by Alexis D. Craig Page A

red jacket and black boots flying over an obstacle on an impossibly large Arabian. Feminine, yet classy, the giant bed was one of the many pieces of white painted antique furniture in a room that reminded her of the presidential suite at the Bellagio.
    At the end of the room farthest from her was an open door with a crystal knob that led to a blue and white tiled bathroom. One look in the mirror as she washed her face and hands had her cringing. She looked as hollow as she felt with the matching set of luggage under her eyes and face all splotchy like she’d been crying for weeks. It was hard to imagine less than twenty-four hours ago, she was still on top of the world, playing a little girl’s birthday party and making everyone happy. She missed her family, Trista, her road crew, and Clint most of all. She wanted her phone back to reestablish a connection to them and the outside world, but first, a shower and a change of clothes.
    Refreshed and dressed like someone fit for human consumption in a pair of cutoffs and a shirt that had been pink when she’d purchased it a couple years ago but had long since retired its pretense. She finished her ensemble with her worn in sparkly flip flops and set off to find her minder.
    Her journey started in the other room that adjoined the bathroom. He’d put them there so he could be close to her while still giving her space, he’d said, and she’d appreciated his thoughtfulness. Mack was really going out of his way to take care of her, even going to someplace he admitted he was not comfortable being, all to keep her safe. Cassie felt a bit guilty for invading his privacy by entering his domain, but she felt weird being in what was essentially his house without him.
    The door whispered open to a room of navy walls and dark woods with Mack’s open duffle on the floor by the bed. The pictures on the wall were tasteful but unremarkable. She would have thought it a guest room except for the picture wedged between the second and third shelves of an inset—and empty—bookshelf. Leery of touching it, she got just close enough to see a much younger Mack, red hair ablaze in the glow of stadium lights, his football helmet aloft triumphantly over his head. He looked like a kid who’d gotten the key to the world and knew what to do with it, and yet, why was it just shoved aside and discarded?
    Nothing else indicated the room belonged to anyone, like he’d systematically erased himself from here. Walking over to stare out the window to watch the shadows of the evening roll slowly down the mountain, she saw the back of the house for the first time. A tennis court was off to one side, a lengthy garden vista off to the other with a path that wound through the center, and directly below, the pool, with cabanas on either side and numerous chaise lounges, but only one of them was occupied.
    Finding the stairs had been easy enough, a sweeping arch with wrought iron accents that went along with the rest of the Western Americana theme of the house. The red tile of the ground floor was glossy with a fresh sheen of wax, and her flip flops squeaked as she made her way to the French doors that led out to the pool and associated cabanas. Once outside of the house, Cassie felt as though she was intruding on his space again. Something about being near him made her feel strange, not bad, just not her usual, and the last thing she wanted was for him to send her packing to whatever mayhem awaited her upon her return to her real life.
    She shut the door as quietly as she could behind her and watched Mack for any signs of movement, but there were none. Taking advantage of her stealth, she watched him as he read his tablet on the lounger. Intriguingly, his black t-shirt was thrown over the back of the chair he occupied. The late afternoon sun burnished his hair to a bright copper, and a light smattering of the same color dusted his chest and slid down into his cutoff jeans. It was a nice chest, too, muscular but