Above Protection (Imperfect Heroes Book 1) (11 page)

The panic that shrouded me as I had
searched and not found her was nothing I could describe in simple
words. The fact that I was being paid to protect her and keep her
from harm – and then failing in that mission – sent a bolt of panic
shooting through me. It was so strong, it almost brought me to my
knees. As I’d wandered into the kitchen, I could still smell the
faint scent of her fruity body wash. The back door that led to the
woods was unlocked, and a relief like no other had washed over me.
I knew, without one single doubt, that I had locked that fucking
door. I was a lunatic about locked doors, and after we’d returned
from our little excursion to the Walmart, I had checked to make
sure that bitch was locked the second we’d returned.

Rayanne wasn’t happy that she was
draped over my shoulder, but I didn’t care one bit. I threw her
onto the sofa on which I’d been sitting not moments before. She
didn’t get a chance to protest before I was kneeling between her
legs on that very sofa, my body hovering over hers.

“Do not ever leave like that again,” I
breathed into her face.

“Get off me, you asshole!” she
snapped, but I had to keep from laughing at her. She was no scarier
than a small puppy growling at someone.

I paused a beat before rising off the
couch, wincing at the pain in my leg that had suddenly begun to
shoot thanks to carrying her. It always hurt after carrying or
lifting something heavy.

Limping as least as I could, I went
and sat in the armchair opposite of the couch. I put pressure on
the scar, hoping it would dissipate. I looked up at Rayanne to see
her angry expression gone, replaced with – was that worry? Pity?
Either way, I didn’t like it.

“Don’t look at me like that. I
wouldn’t be in pain if I hadn’t had to carry your ass back in
here.”

“You didn’t have to carry me, you
could have tapped me on the shoulder and asked me nicely to come
back to the cabin. I would have. I was just taking a
walk.”

I huffed and continued to press my
thumb into the pain while I stared into her honey-colored eyes.
“Well, you’re not to take any fucking walks, strolls, or anything
else without me, understand?”

Her eyes widened momentarily and then
she turned her head to the side. “You mean, you would have gone
with me?”

I narrowed my eyes at her.
“No.”

She looked sad and I hated that I
could read her expressions so easily. She definitely wore her
emotions on the outside, but I guess most chicks did.

“Why are you so mean all the time? I
just want us to get along and be nice for the next few days until
this trial is over with. Is that too much to ask?”

Who the fuck was she kidding? Nice?
“Look, Blondie, I’m not here to make friends with you. I’m here to
protect your life. If you think I’m being mean, I’m not. Anything I
do is for your protection and safety. Do you get that? I don’t
think you grasp how much danger you’re in.”

I reached over to the side table and
grabbed a plastic cup I’d kept there and spat some chew into
it.

She eyed the cup then looked at me,
her arms folded over her chest. “That’s a disgusting habit, you
know. You’re gonna get mouth cancer,” she said. “We had a client
once who was suing…”

I cut her off and bit back a laugh.
“Why do you care if I get mouth cancer?”

“I don’t want to see anyone get
cancer. It’s awful.”

I didn’t have an argument for that so
I shoved more dip in so I wouldn’t have to talk.

Watching as her eyes roamed my body,
they eventually landed back up to my face. Then she said, “What
happened to your leg? I noticed the first day we met that you
seemed to limp a little bit.”

She was wringing her hands in her lap
as she spoke. I didn’t want to answer her but decided she was the
type who probably wouldn’t shut up about it so I simply said, “War
injury.”

“You’re a veteran? Which
branch?”

“Marines.”

She nodded. “Well, thank you for your
service. My daddy was in the Navy.”

I chuckled slightly. “So was my dad.
Wanted my brother and me to join, too, but we chose different
branches.”

She pointed to my leg. “Were you
shot?”

I spat into the cup and simply
replied, “Shrapnel from a fuckin’ roadside bomb.”

She visibly flinched, but I was used
to that reaction. “Wow, that’s horrible. I bet you’re lucky to be
alive after going through that.”

I nodded and got up, limping to the
kitchen. “Do you want to cook, or should I?” I asked to get the
topic off of me.

She got up and followed me. She stared
at me hard for a few long seconds until she said, “I’d love to cook
for you. Cooking relaxes me and keeps me busy.” She shoved off the
doorframe and headed toward where I was standing. I leaned up
against the counter next to the fridge with both arms pressed
behind me on the countertop. I didn’t move when she headed toward
me, her body brushing mine as she opened the door and peered
inside. I watched as the light from the fridge bathed her face in a
yellow glow. Biting the inside of her cheek in contemplation, I
observed the way she showed all her frustration on her face. It was
clear she had had something in mind for dinner, but it seemed like
something was lacking.

She sighed, but reached in and grabbed
some cheese, meat, and a huge bunch of broccoli. She closed the
door, and without looking at me, but certainly making sure to touch
me, she glided over to the small cabinet where we stored the boxed
food. Standing on her tiptoes, she reached up and pulled out a box
of spaghetti and a large jar of spaghetti sauce. I’m not ashamed to
admit that I watched with too much fascination as her ass had
bounced a little when she’d reached up into the cabinet while her
shirt rode up, showing tanned, fit abs. Yoga pants – who invented
them anyway? Some horny teen with a fetish for soccer moms? Well,
hats off to you, horny teen, you done good. Because those yoga
pants had my dick growing behind my zipper.

Fuck…

Rayanne turned around and headed
toward the stove. I was still leaning up against the counter next
to the fridge watching her. She lined up all her ingredients neatly
on the countertop, opposite the stove, and crouched down and began
rifling through cabinets. What was she looking for?

Opening and closing them, I watched
with amusement as her eyes raked over me then down to my legs.
Walking straight up to me, stopping much closer to my body than was
necessary, she pointed at my crotch and said, “I need in
there.”

One of my eyebrows rose and then I
looked down, suddenly conscious that she could see my boner behind
my pants. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized she was
actually pointing at the bottom cabinet between my legs, which I
was blocking.

“Ah, okay,” I grunted, moving to the
side so she could find what she was looking for.

I went to leave the kitchen, deciding
the sexual tension in there was just too damn much, when, as I was
one foot out of the kitchen, a loud clang echoed in my ears. I
turned to see nothing but Rayanne’s ass all up in the air, picking
up a small saucepan that had clamored to the floor.

Righting herself, she placed the
saucepan back into the cabinet and pulled out a larger one, along
with a big boiling pot. Without looking at me, she and her fine ass
sauntered to the sink to fill the pot with water. But I didn’t care
about the pot or what she was cooking. My eyes refused to leave the
plump, delicious roundness of her ass in those damn
pants.

No wonder people hated WPD duty. I was
gonna get fired for sexual harassment if I didn’t stop
staring…

She turned around abruptly, catching
me gawking at her. With a rueful smirk on her perfect lips, she
said, “You gonna help, or just stand there with your mouth
open?”

Oh, fucking hell. My mouth wasn’t
open, was it? I need to get out of here.

“Don’t worry, Cowboy, your mouth
wasn’t really open. I was just messing with you.”

Trying to regain my composure, I
crossed my arms over my chest and said, “Why do you keep calling me
cowboy?”

She didn’t face me, but began
searching the drawers until she found what she had been looking for
– a wooden spoon. Turning around to face me, the spoon gripped
firmly in her hand, she said, “Because your name is Duke. You know,
like John Wayne – ‘The Duke’. The original cowboy.”

Well that’s one I hadn’t heard before.
Especially since Duke wasn’t even my real name, just a nickname. I
never told anyone my real name. Raising an eyebrow, I just shook my
head and left the kitchen. I had to get out of there. She was
looking way too cute cooking, and the way she’d smirked at me with
her full lips as she’d explained the cowboy thing to me was going
to be my goddamn undoing.

Chapter 14

Rayanne

From the corner of my eye, I watched
Duke leave the kitchen. After I’d put the meat and sauce into a
skillet and stirred it, I added the spices. The water began to
boil, so I opened the box and pulled out a handful of stiff
spaghetti. I broke it over the sink into thirds, then dumped it
into the boiling water, adding a few shakes of salt.

I glanced once again at the doorway to
the kitchen and saw Duke was long gone. Biting my lip, I reached up
into the cabinet and moved the remaining spices aside. I grinned as
my fingers wrapped around the bottle of Jim Beam. Chancing a glance
once again at the kitchen entryway, I looked back down at the
bottle. I slowly twisted off the metal lid and carefully brought
the bottle up to my nose and inhaled – which was quickly followed
up by a cough.

Whew, that’s potent stuff! Shouldn’t
take more than a shot or two to relax me. This guy, this cabin,
this whole entire bizarre situation had me on edge. I just needed a
little something to take that edge off.

I searched the cabinets but did not
find any shot glasses. I poured a small measure into a beveled
green glass that looked like it belonged in the 70s. I stared at
the amber liquid for a long time before working up the nerve to
take a sip.

A sip!
my subconscious teased me.
Just
shoot it, you wuss.

Lifting my shoulder in a
shrug, I tossed back the glass, wincing as the bourbon burned its
way down my throat, warming my belly. I slammed the glass on the
counter and had to ball up my fist to keep from letting out
a
whoop
at the
wonderful burn.

The sizzle of the skillet captured my
attention, and I stirred the sauce mixture again, turning down the
heat as it was beginning to splatter on the outdated yellow gas
cooktop – and me.

The whole damn kitchen was outdated.
It looked like my grandmother’s growing up. Yellow and brown
linoleum floors, sparkly yellow and silver countertops,
mustard-colored appliances. I giggled at the absurdity of this
kitchen, hell, this whole cabin, and then hiccupped. Slapping a
hand over my mouth, I shook my head at my silliness. Yet, I really
wanted another shot of that bourbon.

Just one more.

“Just one more,” I said out
loud.

Glancing again toward the kitchen
entryway and seeing no Duke, I poured another small amount and
quickly shot it back, enjoying the burn.

Smiling, I looked at the boiling
noodles, realizing I hadn’t set a timer and now had no idea how
long they’d been in the water for. The sauce was most certainly
done.

Hiccup.

Cheese! I need cheese. I always make
cheesy spaghetti. I get compliments on my cheesy
spaghetti!

Opening the fridge door, I stared for
a good, long minute, trying to remember why I’d opened the fridge.
Then I spotted the bag of already-grated cheese.

“Well, thank the lawrd for pre-grated
cheese,” I said, okay I think I slurred, in the most exaggerated
Southern accent ever. I already had a slight one, or so I’d been
told, but now I just flat-out sounded like my grand-mama from
Mobile, Alabama. Bless her heart.

Hiccup.

I set the cheese on the counter and
poured more bourbon into the ugly-ass green glass. Was this glass
or plastic? I tapped my fingernail against it. Glass. I think.
Cool. I grinned.

I slammed the liquid back and quickly
placed the glass in the sink. No more. I need to stop.

The water continued to boil. Since I
was already practically in her kitchen, I remembered Granny’s
advice about spaghetti. So with a shrug, I used the spoon to
carefully remove a noodle. I inspected it close up, then, with all
my might, I chucked it against the wall behind the stove. It did
stick, and I smiled in victory. My pasta was good and
cooked.

I turned off the burners to both. As I
was about to begin to look for a colander to drain the pasta, a
voice made me jump.

“What are you doing?”

Blinking in surprise, I cocked my head
to the side and smiled. “Cooking.”

“Why are you throwing pasta?” Duke
asked, standing at the entryway to the kitchen looking way too
delicious.