4. Four

The drive was pleasant, which was more than I could say for Dante. It was like he was bloody allergic to peace and quiet. Every time it was quiet for longer than a few minutes, he was chattering away, usually about himself, and his leg bounced at a million miles a minute. I was half-convinced he was part hummingbird, and that he'd die if he sat still.

He was self-absorbed, self-important, and cocky. All unattractive traits in men. His constant flirting was getting to be irritating, especially since I knew he was just doing it to see me squirm.

It was a relief when we finally pulled into the long gravel driveway. At least then I wouldn't be trapped in a small space with the man and his cologne. I didn't know which one he was wearing, but it had subtle notes of evergreen, a scent I normally liked. But I didn't like him, and now that the association had been made, that was forever ruined too.

He climbed out of the car and pushed his sunglasses up his forehead, taking in the lovely two-story log cabin with its green roof, stone chimney, and the surrounding fifty acres of uninterrupted forest. "Goddamn. When Sam said the place was remote, he forgot to mention it was ugly, too. "

I liked the place, but I wasn't going to start an argument that'd probably end with him writing a song about how wrong I was.

He started toward the front door.

"What do you think you're doing?" I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Going inside?"

"Not until I do a sweep of the place to make sure it's safe."

He cupped his hands to his cheeks. "Oh no! There might be a terrifying painting inside! Or a menacing rug!"

I realized I was still holding onto his shoulder and let him go. "Or someone who broke in and is waiting to hurt you."

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 .

I lifted my key fob and hit a button, listening to the glorious sound of my Tahoe chirp as the doors locked. "Let me know when you're ready and if you ask nicely, I'll unlock the doors for you." See, Dante? I'm not the pushover you think I am.

He glared at me, fists clenched, as I came up the stairs and opened the front door to stroll inside.

It took him an hour to break. He spent it loudly rearranging all the furniture in the loft before coming down to yank open the fully stocked refrigerator and complain that there was nothing to eat. I told him I'd be making dinner in an hour, but he didn't respond and stomped off only to come back two minutes later.

He huffed loudly until I looked up from the paperback mystery I was enjoying. "Yes?"

"I want my guitar."

"And?"

"Unlock the SUV so I can get my shit," he demanded.

I lifted the book again. "No."

"Why not?" He threw his arms wide in an animated gesture. "You can't keep me from my stuff! That's theft!"

I marked my place in the book and closed it, setting it neatly on the table before folding my hands in my lap. "I am a lot of things, Mr. Deluca, but a thief isn't one of them. I don't appreciate you calling my integrity into question so casually. As for your belongings, I'd be happy to unlock the car so you can retrieve them if you'd show some manners. Starting with a please."

I watched as Dante went through the five stages of grief in rapid succession, his expression morphing from denial to anger and finally acceptance. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not an asshole. I just want my stuff."

"And?" I prompted.

His entire body heaved with a sigh, like what he was about to say was the most difficult phrase he'd ever uttered. "Would you please unlock the doors so I can get my things?"

"I'd be delighted," I said, standing. I went to the window and hit the button. The SUV chirped twice.

"Thank you," Dante muttered.

And they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. We were making such progress already.