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

barricaded in steel and the place was a stronghold. Nearly impenetrable, short of a National Guard attack. He was proud of it. Worse, he was proud for her to see it. Not because it was a testament to his success. But to his mind, it was the perfect haven. A place where he could keep her safe. And even in its starkness, it was still a warmer environment than the one he’d grown up in.
    Maybe for her too, from what he’d heard in the motel the night before.
    “This is my house, obviously…” He passed through the third security gate, this time scanning his fingerprint in order to open the wrought iron. He was nothing if not thorough.
    “Obviously? Because ‘house’ seems like too tame a word. I’m thinking more like fortress of solitude?” She smiled. It was suiting, really. Pretty, with white, perfectly straight teeth. And yes, there was the second dimple. He couldn’t help smiling back at her.
    “It’s home,” he said simply.
    “This monstrosity is many things, but at the risk of judging a book by its cover, it’s not a home. I’d call it a dwelling at best.”
    He parked and sidled around to the other side of the car, opening the door for her and gesturing toward the wide entrance. “Well, in that case, welcome to your new dwelling.”
    “For a few days,” she added, squaring her shoulders.
    He didn’t have the heart to tell her it would likely be a lot longer than that. Getting to the bottom of this mess and putting whoever was behind it out of commission was going to take time. He watched her move gracefully toward the oak double doors, gaze locked on her slim, swaying hips.
    Seemed like it was going to be hard time for the both of them.

Chapter Six
    “So here it is—” Gavin gestured grandly toward the open door of the third room they’d passed on the second floor.
    “My bunker?” She stepped over the threshold of the square room, taking in the cool, slate-colored walls that were exactly the same shade as all the other walls in the house. A couple of art deco pieces in white frames hung over the dresser, but aside from that, the room was sterile as a eunuch. The furniture was asylum white with bedding to match on the full-size bed in front of her. Beside the door, a full-length mirror perched against the wall. The only thing with any color whatsoever was a small pile of clothing mounded at the foot of the bed.
    “Bedroom,” he corrected.
    “It looks a little more like a cell. Or a chamber, if you add a writing desk and a quill.”
    He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing the room. “Looks great to me,” he said with a shrug. “What else could you possibly need?”
    A chamber pot would’ve rounded out the decor nicely, but she bit her tongue. She’d already said more than was polite, given the fact that he’d opened his home—as it were—to her.
    He shouldered his bulky frame away from the door and gestured to the clothes on the bed. “You’ve got some new stuff there.”
    “Pajama pants, I hope?” She lifted the top item from the pile and the garment unfurled, revealing tailored pants, a crisply ironed seam lining each fitted leg. Finally, something familiar.
    “Oh! These are good, too.” Now if she could get her hands on a shirt that didn’t look like it belonged with a teeny skirt and a pair of pom-poms, she’d be ready to go.
    “That’s part of your new uniform. The top is beside you, too.”
    She lifted the shirt. It was a matching black top, as form-fitting and tailored as the pants had been. Lovely. It only made sense that the second she had something familiar, she went right back to being totally out of her element. That was pretty much how life worked for her lately.
    “I’m supposed to wear this to work?” She turned to face him, and a lock of hair whipped her in the eyes, adding insult to injury. Tears threatened, and she blinked them back. She would not give in to the urge to throw herself another pity party. At least she