Page 8 of Rock Bottom

Dante rolled his eyes. “Please. People want my autograph and to yank hairs out of my head to sell on eBay, not to hurt me.”

“I don’t know how your previous bodyguards conducted themselves, but I take my clients’ safety very seriously, Mr. Deluca. I’m going to do a sweep of the house while you wait inside the locked car.” I pointed back toward the car emphatically. “After I’ve cleared the premises, you can enter, but not until.”

He folded his arms, still playing the petulant child. Fuck me, this wanker wanted to argue about everything. I’d be digging my own grave for a slice of quiet by the end of the month.

The only thing worse than his arguing was his ogling. Dante’s blue-green eyes rolled over me like he wanted to eat me alive, and deep down, there was some part of me that wanted to let him. It’d been quite some time since I’d been with a man, and there was no denying that Dante was attractive, even if his personality left a lot to be desired.

But no. I couldn’t think that way about him. This was a game for him. He was only doing it because he knew it’d leave me bloody fuming, and it was working.

“The jacket,” he said in his usual cocky tone and crossed his arms.

“What about it?” I growled back.

“Take it off and I’ll get back in the car.”

I scowled at him. “I’m not going to take off a piece of clothing every time I want you to do something.”

Dante sighed loudly. “What a pity. I’m a needy person. I could probably get you naked by the end of the night, though it’s early yet. That’s not completely off the table.”

“Yes, it is.” I put an arm around his shoulders and guided him back toward the car.

He pulled away just before we reached it and took several steps back, eyeing the tree line like he was going to make a run for it.

“Don’t you dare,” I snarled.

Dante looked back at me with a smirk. “Jacket or I might.”

“You wouldn’t survive an hour out there.”

“And you’ll get your ass chewed out and probably fired if you let me,” he added with a victorious grin. “So ask yourself… Do you really want to chase me through the woods, Church? Because I don’t mind watching you get all sweaty. Not at all.”

That manipulative little arsehole! We were barely an hour into the job, and I was already ready to throttle him. If I were a man with a little less pride, I’d have called Boone to insist he take the job himself if he wanted it that badly.

Glowering, I reluctantly shrugged off the jacket and tossed it to him. “I suggest you find another manipulation tactic, because you’re not getting any more clothing from me. Bloody wanker…” I muttered the last part as I walked away.

I waited on the porch, arms crossed, for him to get back in the car. When he did, I gestured for him to lock it. He rolled his eyes again, but did as I asked.

Finally, I could do my damn job.

My initial sweep of the house didn’t turn up anything but a nice, upscale, rustic cabin with modern amenities and high ceilings. The décor was a little tacky, but I doubted mounted animal heads and a chandelier made of antlers were a threat to Dante. The first bedroom was on the ground floor, which I’d be taking. It was in the back of the house with a view of the trees and the hot tub on the back porch. Not bad. I’d slept in smaller accommodations.

The wooden ladder creaked as I ascended to the second floor. Well, it wasn’t really a second floor. More of a loft that served as the second, larger bedroom. It was much nicer, with a writing desk and a large leather armchair. It probably wasn’t as nice or as big as Dante was used to, but hopefully, he wouldn’t complain too loudly about it.

After verifying the house was empty, I returned to the car and found Dante sleeping in the passenger seat, using my jacket as a pillow. He flinched when I knocked on the window.

“Any threatening décor I should be aware of?” he asked as he popped open the door.

I shrugged. “There is a bear skin rug you might trip on.”

He blinked rapidly. “Was that a joke? From you?”

“Didn’t you know? We Brits are renowned the world over for our sense of humor,” I said dryly and opened the door for him.

Dante took a step toward the house, but stopped and snapped his fingers. “Oh, and when you bring in my guitars, be careful. There’s a lock on the white case that likes to pop open.”

“I’m your bodyguard, not your pack mule. You want your luggage, you can bring it in yourself.”

Dante turned around on the porch and looked at me like I’d lost the plot. I imagined no one had ever told him to lug his own junk around. Well, I was proud to be the first.

---