Page 9 of Israel

Chapter 5

He didn’t look like a lilac-scented stalker.

Ashley stared down the gun barrel at the guy crouched against the wall of her dressing room. If the stalker ever did come out of his momma’s basement, Ashley would have expected him to be a pimply-faced doughboy who’d never gotten laid. Or—on a bad day—one of those crazy-eyed serial killers like you saw on TV.

This guy was muscled like a comic-book hero and hotter than a chili cook-off in Texas.

Super-short blond hair, with intelligent, stormy gray eyes over chiseled cheekbones. A ridiculously kissable mouth, and boy-howdy, a body to lie down and die for.

He was wearing a leather vest with a gray t-shirt under it, the sleeves straining over those bulging, rippling muscles. The huge shoulders tapered down to a taut, slim waist, and she could see a hint of abs under the shirt where it was tucked into the front of his…

Wait. Was that a boner?

He actually had the nerve to stare at her underwear-clad body holding his own gun on him and get all boner-y? The perv.

“So,” she said. “Not so brave now you’re here in person, huh? Nothing to say?”

He shook his head like a dog coming out of the water. Looking up at her with a stunned expression, he said, “That is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hey. Just because she was standing here half-naked with a gun was no excuse for ogling her like she was an action-adventure porno.

She made a game-show buzzer sound. “Ennnnh. Wrong answer. Thank you for playing,” she snapped. “Who the hell do you think you are, Pervo, busting in here and scaring the shit out of me? How dare you send me creepy smelly letters, and—”

His eyes went wide. “Hold up,” he said. “I’m not the stalker—”

“Of course not,” she said, without moving the gun. “You’re the self-proclaimed love of my life, right? Like you get to decide who I should be with.”

The hottie perv opened his mouth, looked confused, and closed it again.

“Right,” she said. “You do not get to decide that.”

She shifted the gun to her right hand and kept him covered while she swiped her cell phone off the vanity with her left.

“Just for the record,” she told him, “I fucking hate lilac perfume.”

He blinked.

“Who doesn’t?” he said. “And I told you, I’m not the stalker.”

“Liar.”

She punched a button on her phone. “Harrison,” she barked when he picked up. “Send security. And where the hell is that bodyguard that’s supposed to be here? Never mind, we don’t need him. Because I just caught—”

Harrison interrupted her. “Shit. What are you talking about? I left him right outside your door.”

Her stomach lurched.

Oh, no. Fucking fucktards on pink ponies.

“When?” she asked.

“Two minutes ago. Don’t tell me he’s gone AWOL already.”

She turned her gaze back to the hottie perv, who had fished out an Enforcer ID from somewhere while she was talking on the phone. He held it up so she could see.

“Awesome,” she muttered.

“Never mind,” she said to Harrison. “False alarm. He’s here. When you get a minute, call the Council and ask them why they sent us one that’s all muscle and no brains.” She cut the call and slammed the phone down.