Free Guardian For Hire: A For Hire Novel by Christine Bell

it? He let his gaze drift down and examined her body without the slightest attempt at hiding his intentions. Maybe she was right. The clothes he’d bought were too tight. They hugged her curves in all the most dangerous ways, and all morning he’d had to remind himself of one thing.
    This one’s not for you.
    He might have money now, but at heart he was still a motel and Grand Slam breakfast kind of guy—the guy who’d misspent his youth pickpocketing and lifting his supper from the farmers’ markets. And she was still a hotel heiress doctor who’d ordered—and barely touched—a bran muffin and probably spent her childhood playing croquet at a summer home in the Hamptons.
    Their long moment of appraisal was broken at last when Sarabeth reached for the check.
    Nice of her to try, but there was no way that would go down. He’d been paying his own way since he was eight, and he wasn’t about to stop now. Nothing to do with the fact that the thought of her even possibly thinking he couldn’t afford the check grated on every last nerve. He pushed her fingers away, grasping the black leather bifold before she had the chance.
    “Let me pay, come on. It’s…the least I can do. For the safety and all.”
    “With what money?” He raised his eyebrows.
    Her already-pink cheeks went red. “Right. Well, at least keep track of your expenses. So I can pay you back when this whole thing is finally over.”
    “Yeah, I think I can handle the bran muffin, but thanks for the offer.”
    She opened her mouth as though she was going to continue arguing, but then snapped it shut and nodded.
    “Okay. Thanks.” A corner of her mouth edged upward, dimpling her cheek in a way he hadn’t noticed before. Had he seen her smile for real yet? He didn’t think so, although given their situation, that made sense. Still, he found himself wondering if there was another dimple to match on the other side, and made a mental note to try to find out.
    Their gazes met again, but he was quick to pull himself back, straightening up before he noticed how well he could see down the front of her low-cut shirt. He cleared his throat and looked away.
    Not for you.
    “Hey, let’s get out of here. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one morning. Did you want to check the potted plants before we go? Maybe see if you can track down a gunman on your way to the bathroom?”
    “Ha. Ha.” She glared at him. Apparently the dimple sighting was a one-time thing. “Let’s go, okay?”
    After settling the bill, she followed him silently to the car, and they were on their way.
    The ride to his house was a power struggle. Apparently, classic rock, alternative, and punk music were all despised by the trust fund set. Instead, Doc seemed to prefer twanging pop songs and the Enya-type music that played in the background of soft-core porn. For the past hour, they’d been playing radio tennis, with her waiting until he seemed distracted to change the station, and him responding in kind.
    They were pulling onto his private drive when he finally called her on it. “If that was you being stealthy, I may have to reevaluate your apprenticeship after all.”
    He changed the station back to Radiohead, but for the first time in their entire journey, he faced no retaliation. He glanced over to her to see Sarabeth’s mouth hanging open like it was on hinges.
    “You okay there, Doc?”
    “Holy cow, what is this place?”
    He laughed, following her gaze. To a stranger, he guessed the house looked pretty foreboding with the long and winding private drive and the unrelenting gray stone front. When he’d planned construction, he’d been meticulous about every detail. Monitors were placed strategically to survey every square inch of the expansive grounds, and they were protected by the most cutting-edge, high-end security equipment money could buy. Not to mention, the building itself was essentially a large, gray cube. Each wall had a window, but in lockdown, they were