Security Needs (His Curvy Craving Book 2) Read online

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I tell him and motion for him to get out of my chair. “Danny, I appreciate the unexpected visit. You clearly have a lot of free time, but I have a ton of work to get through.”

  Dan folds his arms and lets out a grunt. “Are you chasing me away?”

  A satisfied grin forms on my lips. “Finally, we’re on the same page.”

  We might tell each other to fuck off, and sometimes use harsher words, but Dan and I have an amazing understanding. No matter what happens, we will always have each other’s backs.

  Dan grabs his wallet and cellphone and after saluting me, steps out of my office. With him gone, I can get some work done.

  I scan through my unread emails. God, there’s two hundred and forty of them. Where do I even start?

  I’m in the process of expanding my security empire. I’ve already opened branches in New York, Chicago, San Francisco, and Houston.

  I have a flight for tomorrow scheduled for Los Angeles to view the site of my latest branch. Carter Security has expanded, and I aim to have an office in every major city in the United States by 2022.

  The ringing telephone breaks my train of thought.

  “Carter, hello.”

  “Hi, Carter, it’s Dennis.” He sounds out of breath, as if he just finished a marathon.

  “Dennis, all well?”

  “No. I’m so worried, and I need your help. Please.” The plea in his voice practically shatters me.

  I pull the telephone from my ear and stare at it for a few moments. Dennis usually sounds as happy as a lark. “You okay? What’s wrong?”

  I pull the telephone away from my ear. My forehead wrinkles as I stare at my phone. For a split second, I even contemplate whether this is Dennis.

  “My baby girl has been threatened. I need your help. Please.”

  “Okay, Dennis. I’m on my way.”

  I guess I’ll have to reschedule that flight.

  If it were anyone else, I would have sent one of my guys, but Dennis is one of my father’s closest friends, and I have a lot of respect for him. I need to make sure his daughter is in safe hands. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him a visit for a while now, which is why I’m now outside his house to meet Dennis personally.

  I drive up Dennis’s driveway, and step out of my car when his wife comes running out the house with multi-colored rollers in her hair and a spatula in hand. Hell, she looks as if she’s moments away from running up to me and slapping the shit out of me with her plastic weapon.

  “Oh. It’s you!” she says once I step a little closer and she finally recognizes me. Her shoulders soften and she leans in for a hug. “Come on in,” she says finally, pulling on my hand.

  Dennis’s wife is a feisty lady. Perhaps I should ask her to come work for me.

  I pull up a stool in the kitchen. “Is Dennis around?” I ask Chrystal, his wife. She stands over at the kitchen sink, filling the kettle with water.

  “I made him change into something more presentation. He won’t be long. Coffee, tea?” Chrystal adjusts her spectacles, awaiting my response.

  “No, Carter’s more of a beer man.” I turn around and see Dennis grinning. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

  I stand to my feet and greet him.

  Dennis cuts straight to the chase. “Carter, I need you to please look after my baby girl. She was threatened by these assholes, and I’m afraid she’s not taking it seriously. She’s pissed off one of the agencies and they have started threatening her. So I was wondering if you’d mind having one of your guys guard her apartment and make sure nothing happens to her?”

  From the previous conversations I’ve had with Dennis about his daughter, I know she’s some sort of activist.

  “Please,” Dennis continues, “just for a week or two. I’ll pay you however much you charge for your services.”

  The conversation I had with my brother replays in my head. I know I’ve been working too much and I cannot let anyone else look after his daughter. Perhaps this is the universe’s way of telling me I need to take a break.

  I glance back at Chrystal and see her staring at me with large, fear-filled eyes.

  I turn back to Dennis. “Dennis, I will personally see to it that she is safe. I promise that I will not let her out of my sight until I’m certain she’ll be okay.”

  Chrystal runs up to Dennis and leap into an embracing hug.

  She has always struck me as someone not to be crossed, but in this moment, she’s just a mother worried about her daughter’s safety.

  After a cup of coffee, Dennis hands me a spare key to his daughter’s apartment.

  “But I need to tell you, you might have your hands full with her. She’s a stubborn one,” he warns me.

  “Too fucking stubborn,” Chrystal agrees readily.

  I chuckle. I’m sure if nothing I can’t handle. “Anything else, Dennis?”

  “Oh, yes. She has no idea you’re coming.”

  I wave Dennis and Chrystal goodbye and twirl the keyring with the spare key around my index finger as I step back into my Nissan Z and drive over to her place.

  I can only imagine how Britney is going to react when she discovers me inside her apartment.

  I take a step into her apartment, scanning the room and taking in the feminine scent. It smells like home.

  I stop when I discover a family portrait hanging in the lounge. That must be Britney.

  For the longest time, I remain fixated on the photo, just staring at the beautiful girl smiling back at me, with all her sexy curves.

  Had Dennis told me his daughter was this beautiful I would have stepped in weeks ago.

  God, this might just be the hardest two weeks of my life.

  I’m not worried about keeping the young goddess safe. I’m worried about not being able to keep my hands off her.

  Chapter Three

  Britney

  People scramble to get that last croissant before the next batch arrives. About thirty people have lined up at the table to sign up to win a year’s supply of coffee and croissants.

  It feels like a scene straight out of an overcrowded street in China.

  “I did not expect this turnout,” I say, turning to Uncle Sam, the owner of The Cake Whisperer.

  I glance around the coffee shop, still marveling at the success of this event. “This place is always packed,” I say. “Especially since everybody know you have the best baked goodies. But this is something else. It’s so sweet of you to run this bake sale to help raise drug awareness.”

  “Well,” he replies, smiling fondly at me, “it was the least I could do after all the help you’ve offered over the last few weekends.”

  Uncle Sam is like my unofficial godfather. No matter what I’m going through, I can always count on him for the best advice. In some ways, he’s even better than a father. I can talk about things I would never in a million years feel comfortable telling my dad. I’m able to talk about my problems, or even guys I’m crushing on without that uncomfortable glare you get from a father. Uncle Sam and I have this unspoken rule that any guy that has any hope of getting with me must go through him first.

  "Which reminds me," I say and reach into my pocket. I pull out a keyring with a mini replica of the Statue of Liberty. "I got this for you. Since you've always wanted to go to New York, I thought I’d bring New York to you.”

  “You are so sweet, my angel,” Uncle Sam says, and a smile slips across his lips.

  Thankfully, this event turned out to be a huge success, but it’s just about to end.

  "Anyway. I think my job here is done. Unless you need me for anything else?" I ask, scanning around the slowly emptying room. Uncle Sam shakes his head, his diplomatic way of telling me that I'm not of much help even when I try. I have volunteered in the past but quickly discovered that baking or even just making a cup of coffee is not one of my special skills. So now, I just help out with cleaning up the store or whatever admin work he needs done.

  “That reminds
me,” Uncle Sam says as I head out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Your mom was here yesterday. She misses you.”

  I’m already rolling my eyes, but he stops me. “Britney, I think you should find the time for her."

  I let out an emphatic, “NO!” I have all the respect in the world for Uncle Sam, but I’d rather swim in a sea filled with sharks than meet up with my mom.

  “I know you have your differences, but she’s still your mother.”

  "This is an abuse of power, Uncle Sam. Okay, fine. I'll think about it.”

  “That’s all I ask.”

  I step out of The Cake Whisperer and head over towards my Nissan Micra.

  I flip through radio stations until ‘Creep’ by Radiohead blasts through the speakers.

  Ahh. This is pure bliss. Music, the sunset in the distance, and now I’m moments away from opening that bottle of wine.

  I don’t have any plans for the rest of this weekend, which is very unlike me. No, this weekend, I plan on eating as much junk as I can, catching up on my TV series, and perhaps sneaking a few naps.

  Stepping out of my car, I have a bounce in my step as I head up to my apartment. I can almost smell the freedom of having fuck all to do.

  I approach my front door, and am fishing around my handbag in search of my house keys when a sound from inside my apartment has me stopping dead in my tracks. The TV’s playing at an ungodly loud volume from inside my apartment, which is odd because I haven't switched that thing since before I left for New York, and that was two weeks ago.

  Fuck, am I so exhausted and overworked that I’m beginning to forget shit?

  I tilt my head, leaning my ear against the door to try to listen to the sounds coming from inside my apartment.

  With the threatening note slipped under my door yesterday, hundreds of thoughts race through my mind—and all scenarios end terribly.

  What if they have decided to come to my apartment and deliver on their threats?

  Carefully, I slip my apartment key into my keyhole and slowly push my front door open, only stopping once I hear the door creaking.

  I lift my heels and leave them outside the door before squeezing through the opening. I head towards my lounge on my toes. The sound of the television grows louder with every step I take, and it's not long before I become convinced I did not leave the TV on.

  If I did, my usual rerun of Friends would be playing through my soundbar. Instead, a frantic commentator speaks over the sound of thousands of screaming fans.

  Avoiding the lounge, I sneak past and head for the kitchen in search of a weapon. It looks like I'm going to have to get used to carrying around pepper spray, at least until this shit with Chaleur Models is over. As I pass my lounge, I see the outline of a man’s form sitting on my sofa.

  My eyes largen, and it feels as if my heart is moments away from pounding straight out of my chest.

  I should turn back and run the hell away from here. I should call the cops or even my dad—he would know what to do in this situation. But in this moment, the only thing that makes sense to me is to take matters into my own hands.

  I grab the pot on my stove countertop. It still has leftover oatmeal I made this morning before rushing to Uncle Sam’s. Down on all fours, I creep up on the intruder and head over to the lounge. I crouch down, making sure I'm well out of sight. If he doesn’t catch sight of me, my racing heartbeat will surely give me away.

  I take a few deep breaths in and out.

  My face hardens. The man even has the audacity to place his feet on my coffee table!

  “Hiiiyaaaa!” I half scream as I bang the pot against the back of his head. Chunks of oatmeal fly all over my lounge with the impact.

  The sound of the metal clanking against his head is deafening.

  The man drops to the ground, putting his hands behind his head. “Awwww… What the fuck?”

  I drop the pot to the ground and run around the couch. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry… are you okay?”

  He lies back on my carpet, rubbing the back of his head.

  Shit, I could have killed the man. Perhaps phoning the cops was a better option.

  After glaring at the intruder for a few moments, I remind myself he is the uninvited guest. I’m not the bad guy here; I’m not breaking and entering. He doesn’t deserve my sympathy. I reach for the pot again, and my lips pull into a tight line as I stand back, ready to attack again at the first sign of him becoming aggressive.

  “Who are you?” I say in the fiercest voice I can manage. I hold the stern look on my face, even though I sound like a girl from the suburbs desperately trying to come across as a gangster.

  I jerk my head back and pull my shoulders upright before taking another step back in case he tries to reach for my feet. The only image running through my mind is that of a serial killer chasing after his next victim. She knocks him down, but somehow, he still manages to get back up.

  I lean forward and gently tap the pot on his shoulders. “Stay down and give me answers, Mr. Now. You can start by telling me who the hell you are. And what do you want in my apartment?”

  “Jeez, calm down,” he grumbles as he slowly stands to his feet.

  “No!" I assert and push the pot back down on his head. "I said stay down. Don’t you dare get up.”

  I swallow hard. Beads of sweat are already dripping down my forehead. So much for a quiet, relaxed weekend. "If I don’t get answers in the next five seconds, I’m going to bash your head in again.”

  “Dennis sent me to look after you, Britney,” he grunts. “Although now I think he should have provided me with a little disclaimer that his daughter is a complete psychopath,” he mutters under his breath.

  My shoulders soften at the sound of my father's name.

  “Dad? Um… Okay, but how did you get into my apartment?”

  “Your father gave me a spare set of keys, saying you would refuse to let me in without them. Do you have ice? I suspect your little handiwork will leave a mark.”

  “Ice? Yeah, I should have. I’ll wrap some up in a towel.” I leave the stranger to continue rubbing on his head while I scramble together all the cubes of ice I can find.

  I should have known my father was behind this. After speaking to him yesterday, I tried convincing him that I was fine and didn’t need any ‘protection.’ This morning, he called to tell me how he stayed up late last night, stressing about my safety. If he was worried enough to give someone my apartment keys, I can only imagine what state my mom is in.

  "What's your name?" I ask the man, who's back on my sofa, as I hand him the ice wrapped in a kitchen cloth.

  “Carter,” he says, grabbing hold of the ice and pressing it against the back of his head.

  "I can do that for you if you'd like," I offer.

  “No. Thanks. I think you’ve done more than enough already.”

  Fuck, there’s already a blue mark on the side of his head. Thank God I didn’t bash the pot straight into his face.

  Once my heart slows down, and I get to have a better look at him, I suddenly feel a flutter of desire circling around my stomach. This mystery security guard is one fine-looking man. He has a face most women would sell their kidneys for. I would hate to be the reason that sexy face got ruined.

  My fingers can’t stop fidgeting as I take in the image of perfection seated in front of me. Carter has massive muscles that bulge out of his shirt and ink running down his arms that make him absolutely drool-worthy. I know there’s no way in hell a man this sexy would be single, so I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the dirty thoughts invading my mind.

  I sit beside him and flip through the channels. This is still my apartment, and I refuse to watch football. “I’m sorry for hitting you, but I’m not paying for any hospital bills,” I say with my arms folded, my last desperate attempt at looking stern. “If anything, you made me bash you over the head. Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

  “To be fair, I tried knocking when I arrived earlier, but no on
e was home.”

  “I was out. Anyway, as you can see, I’m fine. So you may leave now… or I’ll allow you to finish your game and then leave.” I have to force myself to suggest that he leave, since every part of is craving for him to stay just a little longer.

  “Your father’s worried about you, so I’m staying,” he says with a grim voice. “I'm staying until I’m certain you’re no longer in any danger.”

  I have never felt more conflicted in my life. On the one hand, every part of me pulsates with ecstasy at the thought of seeing this hunk day for a few more days. On the other, I'm annoyed that my dad thinks I'm still a small girl that cannot look after herself.

  I leave Carter in my lounge and head over to my bedroom as I dial my dad’s number.

  “Hello, my angel!”

  “Dad. There’s a ‘Carter’ in my apartment. Do you know anything about this?”

  There’s a brief silence on the other end of the line. “You’ve met Carter? I hope he’s taking good care of you.”

  “Dad, how could you give him my keys? When I handed you those keys, I told you it was for emergencies only.”

  There's a brief pause before Dad speaks again. "Sweetie, people are threatening to hurt you. This is an emergency. Besides, Carter is an old family friend, so you’ll be in good hands.”

  “Ask her if she got my mail about the dieting tips I sent her earlier?” I hear my mom asking in the background.

  Just hearing her judgmental voice has the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

  “Um…what…where…AGH.” I slam down the phone. I don’t even know how to respond to either of my parents right now.

  “Everything okay in there?” Carter calls out. My skittish eyes follow the sound of his voice, widening at the sight of his now bare chest.