Guarding the Quarterback (Champions of the Heart #1) (2 page)

A smart woman with a smart mouth. My gaze dropped to her lips. Pink and kissable. Soft. Unlike the rest of her. What did she wear underneath the sexless clothing? Granny panties? Or lingerie? Maybe she was the librarian type who kept a pair of red stilettos in her closet. Damn if I didn’t want to find out.

“Miss Reeves is one of Ian’s Worldwide Security and Investigators’ finest.”

I noted the wince on her face at the use of “miss” and I turned back to my boss, dismissing her. “And what am I supposed to do about getting laid?” Hopefully that would repulse Miss Uptight enough to make her flee the room.

I should have guessed she wouldn’t be so easily deterred.

“Maybe if you wore a chastity belt and focused more on football instead of getting laid, you would have made the playoffs last year.”

Now she’d struck a nerve. My team might be called the New York Kings, but we were second-class citizens to the city’s darlings, the Cougars, who’d won last year’s championship while I played golf. Which was why I’d been celibate since this season began. No more distractions. No more excuses.

Billings laughed. “Reeves, you handle Walker better than my head coach does.”

Did the young billionaire get his kicks from seeing a female Secret Service wannabe give it to his quarterback? “What if I refuse?”

“If you don’t cooperate, you’ll be benched. Off the team. I’m serious. I’m responsible for you and your teammates. No player gets killed on my watch. This is just a game, for Christ’s sake.”

Football wasn’t a game to me—it was life. It was the one thing that had connected my father to me, even more so now that he was dead. On the field I still felt his presence, cheering me on or offering advice. Off the field I felt adrift. Alone.

And even if Billings didn’t admit it, I knew the game connected him to his own father too. I didn’t need my psychology degree to know the only reason why Billings purchased the Kings was to impress his father. The geek son of a former hero of the gridiron had daddy issues.

“You’re overreacting. It’s not like this nut job knows where I live. The letter was sent to the office. Having a security detail will be a distraction to the team.”

“Then if not for yourself, do it for your teammates and for the employees who work in this office that might get caught in the crossfire.”

“Carlos?” I looked to my uncharacteristically silent agent for some backup.

“I’m sorry, Walker, but I have to agree with Billings.”

Carlos held up the letter as if to remind me of the death threat, and my heart took a freefall to my gut again.

“It’s in your best interest to comply,” he continued.

Whose best interest?
Carlos was only worried about his percentage. He couldn’t make money off a dead quarterback.

I resigned myself to the security detail. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t come up with a game plan to rid me of Miss Uptight. “Looks like I’m stuck with you.”

“Like Krazy Glue.”

She might be the glue, but I would bring the crazy.

Alexa Reeves

W
hat an ass.

I’d never met such an arrogant jerk. And in my line of business, I’d met plenty. Including my two muscle-head coworkers in the room with me. Of course, they weren’t as attractive as the Kings’ Quarterback.

Which made Dean Walker all the more infuriating. With his trim Van Dyke beard and sexy five o’clock shadow, he was hell sent with looks stolen from Satan himself. The high and tight cut of his black hair highlighted his handsome face, with slanted brows over whiskey eyes heady enough to drown your soul in. And a ripped body to shock you back to life. He was more of a legend off the field than on it.

He probably needed a bodyguard just to keep women from throwing themselves at him. I wondered how many he caught. And how many he threw back. Could his stalker be a rejected groupie? It was something to keep an eye on.

“Enjoy your last night of freedom,” I said as I walked to the door. Though the thought of him tearing up the sheets with someone other than me bothered me more than it should have. I turned back before leaving. “Tomorrow you’re officially off the market.”

Dean blew me a kiss. I made a show of catching his sarcastic gesture, then flung it to the floor. But that didn’t block the tingles of want from coursing through me. Stupid hormones. Maybe
I
needed to enjoy my last night of freedom before going head to head with football’s most eligible bachelor.

God, what was wrong with me? I’d never been bitchy to a client. I was the pillar of professionalism. The tough-girl act wasn’t planned, but it was clear when Dean entered the room that I had to establish from the get go that I wouldn’t take his shit. I had to prove it to him, to his agent, and to the owner, who I suspected was gauging my ability to handle his moronic star.

Hell, I had to prove it to myself.

I left the room, leaving Oslo and Williams to take care of the details of tonight’s watch with the rest of the security team. The secretary smiled and told me to have a nice day. She was Dean’s type to a T. I grunted, “You, too.”

Dean was right about one thing. I was nothing like the girls I’d seen him photographed with.

Not blonde enough, booby enough, girly enough, sexy enough, and certainly not dumb enough.

As if I wanted to be any of those things.

But in less than twenty-four hours, I needed to transform myself from a rough and tumble bodyguard into a woman everyone could believe Dean Walker gave up his little black book for. This was a job for Joffrey Stars.

Joffrey had been dying to get his hands on me since junior high, where he went by Jeffery Sterling and I was his childhood protector. Now, as a stylist to the stars, he was more wealthy and famous than any of the kids who bullied us. Sending off a quick text, I wasn’t surprised by his immediate response.

Hell hath surely frozen over.

*

I walked into
Glamour Me, a one-stop makeover mecca, with indifference. This was a job. I wasn’t doing this to impress the Kings’ quarterback. I couldn’t care less what he thought about me. This was just another assignment, I repeated. Upon closing the door and taking a few steps inside, the flowery smells mixed with chemicals assaulted my nose. The well-coifed hairstylists turned to gawk at me, and the buzz of the female chatter died down to a murmur.

My indifference turned to panic. Even though I was only five foot two, I felt like a bull in a china shop. I didn’t belong here. Inadequate didn’t begin to describe the way I felt. I decided to get the hell out before they could lay a hand on me. I turned to run.

“Oh no you don’t,” Joffrey shouted from the row of salon chairs. “Grab her.”

The receptionist lunged for the door and spread her arms out like I was trying to escape from a mental ward. Except, I was the sane one. Who sits for hours at a time in order to impress someone? I had better things to do with my time.

“Damn it.” I trudged over to Joffrey who led me to his private workspace in the back.

Dressed like a runway model, he was prettier than most women. If you passed him on the street, you wouldn’t know he was born a male. Gender ambivalent, he could also rock a business suit when he felt like it. If he could transform himself, maybe there was hope for me.

“Let’s get this over with.” I plopped myself into the salon chair with a thud.

“A little more enthusiasm for my artistry, please.”

“Sorry.”

“Now, let me see what I have to work with. Hmm. You always had the nicest skin.” Joffrey examined me like I was on the auction block, even lifting my upper lip. “Perfect teeth.”

I smacked his hand away. “What am I, a horse?”

He ignored me, tilting my chin to the side. “Beautiful bone structure. You just need a little spit and polish.”

“Oh my God, please tell me that is not some kind of new beauty treatment.” Half serious and half joking, I knew women tried outrageous shit to keep the ravages of time at bay. From placenta facials to topically applied urine. No, thank you very much. I’d rather be an old hag.

Flicking a comb in his hand, Joffrey said, “Honey, if it worked, I’d be selling my own spit for hundreds of dollars a bottle.”

He tugged at the bun on the top of my scalp until the mousy brown mane fell loose in a tumble of waves to the middle of my back. It was the only thing feminine about me. I should have cut it a long time ago. Long hair was a pain in the ass, hence the bun, but something always held me back. After this assignment, I was determined to embrace my height and go for a pixie cut.

“Honey, this is a rat’s nest.” He tugged the comb through the mass. “So why the change of heart? Please tell me it’s over a man.”

“No. A high-profile case where I need to be a client’s arm candy.”

“Who is it?”

As a stylist to the biggest names in Hollywood, Joffrey knew how to keep his lip zipped, so I owned up to my assignment. “I’m protecting Dean Walker.”

“Oh, so it
is
over a man. And a yummy one at that. I am so jelly!”

“Don’t be. I’m only pretending to be his girlfriend to keep close to him. So I need to look slutty, because that’s his type.”

“Girl, I don’t do slutty. You don’t want to be like all the rest. Make him see what he’s missing.”

“My job is to keep him alive, nothing more. So, I’m thinking… blonde?” I winced.

“Pfft, blonde is so cliché. No, we are going with salted caramel.”

“I don’t want him to eat my hair.” I quirked a smile.

“By the time I’m done with you, he’s going to want to devour you whole!”

My blood heated with the thought of Dean Walker’s mouth on my skin. Would his beard tickle? Burn? Both?

We chatted about the people we knew in high school. Who was in jail…
Not surprised
. On drugs…
Again?
In rehab…
Again?
Going through a divorce…
What took her so long to dump him?

Done with plastering my hair with dye and enough foils to channel radio signals from the other side of the universe, Joffrey asked, “Leg wax?”

Since I’d be wearing short skirts, I nodded. I didn’t want to be shaving my legs everyday while on assignment. Being a woman sucked. Not that I wanted to be a man either. I guessed I was just as gender ambivalent as Joffrey was. Maybe that was why we were such good friends. Yet I dated only men while Joffrey dated both sexes like he was choosing between coffee or tea.

“And a bikini wax?” He lowered his voice. “A Brazilian?” he added hopefully.

“No one will be seeing my vagina.” I’d been too focused on my career to date, and Dean was strictly off-limits.

While I waited for aesthetician to prep my legs, I went over the list of potential suspects. Who wanted Dean Walker dead? The possibilities were endless. A rejected groupie, a past girlfriend, a fan, someone the quarterback had pissed off?

When the first strip was ripped off,
I
wanted to kill Dean myself for making me want to look the part. I was ready to hop off the table when another strip was ripped away. Fuck, that hurt! And women did this to their vagina?

Once that was done, I was off to a makeup lesson. I could take down a guy twice my size and hit a target with my gun from fifty yards, but makeup application took a different skill set. Joffrey’s assistant had power shopped in the meantime, bringing me a wardrobe complete with accessories. Using my phone, I took a picture of each outfit so I wouldn’t forget the look.

Three long hours later, Joffrey backed away. “Another masterpiece!”

After being prodded, plucked, and waxed, I was ready for my reveal. With an eye roll worthy of a teenage girl, I slid off the chair without any great expectations. That way the disappointment of me still being me wouldn’t sting.

I gazed into the full-length mirror and blinked. That was me?

No, it couldn’t be. That woman was sexy. Pretty. The only hint of myself in the woman staring back at me was in the eyes. My expression was one of shock and awe.

Standing behind me, Joffrey fussed with my hair. “See how the deep brunette color makes your light blue eyes pop and the soft caramel highlights combined with the cut, frames your heart-shaped face. You look like an angel.”

The effect did create a mirage of softness that I never thought possible. But an angel? I held back a snort.

“OMG.” The receptionist peeked in. “Why do you hide that hourglass figure underneath that hideous suit you walked in here wearing? You look ten pounds thinner!”

“Francine!” Joffrey admonished. “We do not insult the clientele about their fashion faux pas.” Turning back to me, he added, “Sorry, Alexa, she’s new.”

“No, that suit
was
hideous, and she made up for it by telling me I look ten pounds thinner.” I was happy about the compliment. What woman wouldn’t be? See, I was already turning into one of them!

But the light blue pencil skirt with dark blue polka dots did hug my tiny waist, and the blue blouse revealed a hint of cleavage that had never seen the light of day. The thick heels were a reasonable three inches in height, but I doubted I’d be able to chase down an assailant if I had to. Maybe with some practice I’d learn.