The house alarm erupts with a banshee-like wail.
Cora shrieks, dropping the remote as if it’s scalded her, hands clamping over her ears. I wince, fighting the urge to cover my own.
The alarm cuts off, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.
“What the hell was that?” I bark at the installation manager.
He has the decency to look sheepish. “Sorry, some sensors are already live. Someone triggered them. I’ll lower the volume for testing.”
I nod and bend to retrieve the fallen remote, offering it to Cora again.
She shakes her head. “Why do I need this alarm again? To deafen any intruders? I’ll have a heart attack from the shock alone. Besides, what am I supposed to do, anyway?”
“You can press your panic button.”
“Pretty sure you could hear that alarm from Mars, let alone the guest house. What am I supposed to do in the meantime? Offer the intruder earplugs?”
“I’m less than a minute away,” I assure her.
“If someone wants to hurt me, they will. State-of-the-art alarm or not.”
I frown, realizing she has a point. “You’re right. An alarm isn’t enough.” I pull out my phone and scroll through the contacts.
“What are you doing now?” she asks, eyebrow arched.
“Arranging self-defense lessons for you.”
Her jaw drops. “I’m sorry. You’re what?”
“You. Self-defense lessons. Now.”
“Now?” she repeats as if I’m speaking Klingon. “As in, right this second?”
“No time like the present. Unless you’d prefer to pencil in your mugging for next Tuesday?”
She glances between the house full of workers and me, clearly torn. “I just got home. I haven’t even put my things away or changed.”
“You think an attacker will politely wait while you freshen up? Maybe offer you a cup of tea first?”
She furrows her brow. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed. I thought I was the one with the hangover.”
I sigh. “I’ll wait here. Go change into comfortable clothes.” She’s right; I’m on edge after waking from a night of impossible fantasies about her. Or maybe I can’t say I woke up if I never actually went to sleep.
“How are you going to arrange a place on such short notice?”
“I’ll handle the lesson. You handle the learning.” I stride to the truck I rented and climb in.
She mutters something I can’t hear, probably cursing me six ways to Sunday, and disappears into the house. I don’t care how much she hates or despises me. I have one job—to keep her alive.
Cora emerges from the house, and I nearly swallow my tongue. She’s poured herself into light-colored yoga pants that cling to every curve, topped with a tank top that leaves little to the imagination. I’m certain she chose this outfit as a form ofpsychological warfare. I force my expression into neutrality, keeping my gaze locked on her face.
She climbs into the truck and slams the door. “Where are we going?”
“I talked to a buddy. He’s got a gym nearby.”
As we pull out of the driveway, a nagging thought resurfaces. “Mind if I ask you something?”
She turns to me, eyebrow quirked. “You’re asking permission now? Who are you, and what have you done with my annoying bodyguard?”
