Tough Luck (A-List Security 1)

“It’s not my home.” My voice came out small and soft. “I wanted it to be, but it’s mainly a collection of empty rooms.”

“Let Duncan’s team do a real security system. Add some fencing. Let the police do their job and find the stalker. It can still be your home, Danny.” Cash rubbed both my shoulders, firm grip reassuring, but it wasn’t enough to make me relax.

“How did we go from me trying to get you in bed tonight to target practice and security measures?” I grumbled, glancing down at my knees.

“Hey.” Using his broad thumb, he tipped my chin back up. “I’m not letting anything happen to you, okay? If you need a new place to feel safe, then I understand. But you deserve to feel protected. It’s not silly to want a home you feel secure in.”

“Thanks,” I whispered, wishing he would kiss me instead of bringing up topics that made me squirm. He was right, but I really didn’t know where I went from here. “You could be my chief of security. I’d certainly feel safer then.”

“Ha.” He drifted back to the grill, placing the skewers on the grate. “You don’t want me as an employee. And the real thing that will make you feel safer is if they can catch this person. The cell signal out here is crap, but I put some calls in to try to get some updates.”

“Thanks. How do you know when the food is done?” Not the smoothest transition, but I needed to change the subject. I supposed I should have been more interested in what was happening back in LA, but I liked being in my own little bubble with Cash where I could pretend the police weren’t digging through my past, trying to find someone with a motive.

Luckily, Cash seemed to pick up on my reluctance to keep talking about safety, so he switched to showing me how to turn the skewers and get the buns ready. We ate outside, and I made Cash tell me stories about Harley and his ability to fix things and Duncan and his control-freak ways to keep from talking about things that mattered.

After dinner, Cash took several empty cans and set them up in a row on one of the wooden fence rails. He was all about giving me a lecture about respecting guns, but my stomach kept churning, making it hard to pay attention. We really were in danger. This wasn’t some romantic getaway. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He was here as a favor to Duncan, full stop, and apparently his life debt or whatever extended to being willing to take a bullet for me. I hated it.

“You first.” I gestured at the line of cans. If I had to suffer this lesson, I could at least get the chance to see Cash in action. “Impress me.”

“All right. You stand there.” He pointed to a distance behind him and off to the side. “No moving, and no distracting me with flirting.”

“Does that work?”

“Does what work?” He adjusted his cap. The sun was just beginning to set, wind starting to cool a little

“Me flirting with you. Earlier you made it sound like my sex talk was one more chore for you.” I probably sounded petulant and insecure, but I couldn’t hold the words back.

“It’s not a chore.” He set the gun down and came over to me, putting both hands on my sides. “Distraction though, yes. I like your flirting. Probably more than I should.”

“So you’ll sleep in the loft?”

“Yeah.” He kissed the top of my head. “Now, let me show you the basics.”

“Okay.” The imprint of his lips lingered as he walked back over to the gun. I tried to pay attention to all his pointers, but my mind kept jumping around. Then he fired off a series of shots. Bam. Bam. Bam. Each of the cans fell over, and I couldn’t help but whistle. “Nice job.”

“Your turn.” After doing something to the gun, he motioned me over. “It’s empty now. You can get a feel for it first. Practice the stance.”

He handed it to me. It was way heavier than I’d expected. The enormity of the sacrifices he’d made during his military career, what he’d likely had to do, pressed down on me. This wasn’t some party trick he was good at. My chest pounded. It wasn’t only that Cash seemed ready and willing to throw himself in front of danger for me. He would shoot for me, and I wasn’t at all sure I was worthy of either of those things.

This wasn’t fun. He’d meant well, setting up this lesson, but I didn’t want it. My throat tightened. “I don’t want to fire it.”

“You sure?” He accepted the gun back when I held it out. “I know it feels weird the first time or two, but it gets less freaky, promise.”