Take Me Home

Chapter 1

Eli

It’s official: I hate New York.

My flight was delayed, then canceled altogether. Apparently, not many people fly from Montana to NYC. Can’t say I blame them. I have half a mind to tell this cab driver to turn around and take me back to the airport, but I need this job.

A hundred thousand dollars to be a bodyguard for a rich judge’s daughter? I’d be a fool to turn down that kind of money, especially with the family ranch in dire straights.

I returned to my small hometown in the middle of nowhere Montana a few months ago to try and bring the old place out of the gutter. My father passed away three years ago, leaving everything to my mom. I didn’t know how bad things were until I got a call from the bank about a second mortgage my mom took out for the ranch. Apparently, she’s missed the last three payments and the ranch is about to go under.

Being the oldest son, I stepped up to the plate. I moved from Chicago, where a friend and I started our own security company, back home to Montana. At thirty-nine, it’s not exactly what I had planned, but life has a way of happening when you least expect it.

A car horn blares on my right side, and the cab driver swerves to the left before jackknifing back into the right light. I grip the door handle and bite back a curse. One hundred thousand dollars. One hundred thousand dollars, I repeat to myself.

I found out about the job opportunity from my uncle, who is a high-power lawyer here in the city. He knew I used to run a security company out of Chicago. Judge Moretti just started a trial for a couple of guys with ties to the underground crime syndicate in New York and he's not leaving anything to chance with his family while the hearings take place.

I was supposed to be here hours earlier, but with my canceled flight and an extended layover once I found a new flight, I’m hours behind schedule. Instead of getting acclimated to my new space and setting up precautions for the judge’s daughter, I’m in the back of a cab, staring at the meter ticking up, up, up. The damn thing soars to over fifty dollars by the time I get to the luxury apartments I'll be staying at with the Park Avenue Princess.

Annaya Moretti. According to my notes, she turned twenty-three on her last birthday. She’s a party planner with a large group of friends, each one richer and more shallow than the last.

Sure, I've seen a picture of Annaya as well, and I must admit she's pretty.

Everything about her is...delicate. Her stunning blue eyes framed in long lashes pop against her olive skin and dark hair. I'm not sure how she ended up with blue eyes. They don't seem to match with her otherwise very Italian heritage and complexion. The combination is nothing short of magical.

Nope. Don’t even start, I scold myself.

I shove that shit way down deep. It doesn’t matter what she looks like. I’m simply observing that objectively, Annaya isn’t hideous-looking. It’s all part of the job to notice these things.

It may have been a while since I’ve done security work, but I know enough to do my homework before going on the job. The first rule is to be prepared for any situation. Surprises are not good when it comes to protecting others. So I researched the little princess I’d be babysitting these next few months.

She’s my opposite in every way. Annaya comes from money, the kind that paid for an Ivy League education just so she can party plan. I chuckle to myself at what a ridiculous occupation it is. She probably puts on dinner parties for all of her posh, socialite friends. Who needs hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of education to plan a party? Sheesh.

Material things have never been important to me, but family is everything. Not so much with Ms. Moretti. Between the high-rise apartment, designer clothes, and hardly talking to her parents, I can safely say it’s going to be a long-ass two months.

It’s worth it to save the ranch, I mutter to myself.

What’s that? the cab driver asks.

Nothin’, I grunt as I hand over a ridiculous amount of cash for the single worst car ride of my life.

After a shit day of travel and researching the brat I’ll be stuck with, I’m in horrible mood. I suppose I better get used to it now, seeing as I don’t think it’ll be changing any time soon.

It’s late, past midnight, and I want nothing more than to fall into a bed and sleep off this day. I haul my luggage up the elevator and get to the top floor. Annaya’s father said she was out of town and would be on the first flight back to New York ASAP. He gave me the door code just in case I beat her back to her place, which it looks like I did.

I open the door and set my duffel bags and backpack on the floor. Walking to the kitchen – the modern, sleek, too fancy-to-actually-cook-in-here kitchen, might I add – I look in the fridge for something to drink.

As I'm elbow-deep sorting through organic Greek yogurt, fresh fruits, and some weird smoothie concoction that looks downright disgusting, I hear the beep of the code being entered. I assume it’s the little princess herself, apparently having about as good of a travel day as me.

I close the fridge and head out to the entryway to introduce myself. Turning the corner, I see a petite brunette holding an iron fire poker like a baseball bat, stalking her way toward the kitchen.

My first thought is that she's gorgeous and the photos I looked at earlier do not do her justice. Even with a messy bun, no makeup, sweatpants, a t-shirt, and no doubt hours of travel weighing on her tiny shoulders, she's easily the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

My second thought is that she's got some fight in her and I can't deny how sexy I find that.

Shit, man, get it together. She’s a job, nothing more.

Who the fuck are you and why are you in my apartment? Annaya spits out at me.

Amazingly, there’s no fear in her eyes. No, she’s all feisty and fired up, despite me being a foot taller and a solid hundred pounds bigger than her.

I'm your new bodyguard. Didn't your dad tell you? I try to smile as I put my hands in front of me to show her I'm no threat.

Bodyguard? she asks incredulously. Annaya startles me by barking out a laugh, dropping the fire poker from its position over her shoulder.

I can’t help but enjoy the sweet sound. It’s been way too long since I’ve had any kind of joy in my life. I’ve been buried in bills and stress for the last six months. Even before then, though, when was the last time I was just...happy?

As if suddenly remembering I’m here, Annaya straightens up and points the fire poker right at me.

That line might have worked with the other trust fund babies in this building, but I know my father wouldn't hire a bodyguard for me. You better tell me what you're doing in my apartment right the fuck now or else I'm calling the cops. She thrusts the fire poker in my direction to emphasize her point.

Alright, this is getting less cute and more annoying by the moment.

Annaya, I am your bodyguard. Your father, Presley Moretti, gave me the code for your apartment. That's how I got in here and that's how I know your name.

That doesn't mean a damn thing, she counters. My dad is a high-profile judge so it's no surprise you know his name. I'm assuming you can google things like addresses and family members of judges. Plus, a ruggedly handsome guy like yourself probably sweet-talked the attendant downstairs to let you up. It wouldn't be the first time.

My mind keeps catching on ruggedly handsome. I can't help but swell up a little bit with pride that she finds me attractive. Not that it matters.

That last part, however, about this not being the first time someone made it up to her apartment, has my protective instinct setting in. I make a mental note to have the doorman fired. Come to think of it, he didn’t even question me when I said I knew Annaya and her dad. It was one in the morning, why would anyone be visiting her? I was too tired to notice, and honestly, just grateful I didn’t have to put up a fight. Speaking of...

I’ve already come up with three ways to disarm Annaya and restrain her from hurting me or herself, but I want her to trust me.

Call your dad, then, if you don’t believe me.

She stares at me for a second, assessing me. Then I see a faint blush stain her cheeks as she rolls her eyes and flares her nostrils like she's annoyed at herself for not thinking of that.

Fine. I will. Annaya is trying to be tough and maintain control of the situation, but it’s coming off more as a toddler having a temper tantrum. It’s pretty fucking cute, even though I’m still annoyed. What is it about this girl?

She whips out her phone and calls her dad, putting him on speakerphone.

Why are you calling me at this hour? comes Presley’s harsh voice.

Presley, did you forget to tell me something?

Why doesn’t she call him dad? Typical brat.

I don’t have time for games. Tell me what you need to tell me and let me get back to bed.

What’s his deal? The man is paying a pretty penny for me to protect his daughter, so obviously he thought she could be in some sort of danger. What if she called him because she felt threatened?

A large man is standing in my apartment claiming to be my bodyguard that you hired.

He sighs like she’s an annoying child. Yes, Annaya. He's your bodyguard. I'm on a tricky case with some bad guys and I just want to make sure you are safe while they are on trial.

Her face twists in confusion and unbelief.

But why... she trails off.

Look, is that all? I’d like to get back to sleep.

Yeah, Annaya whispers before hanging up. She looks down at her feet and her shoulders slump just a little bit.

Mind putting that down, princess? I ask with a teasing smile, hoping to diffuse some of her tension.

Annaya growls at me and it’s the hottest fucking sound I’ve ever heard. My dick twitches.

Down, boy.

Don’t you ever call me that, she says as she steps closer, lightly stabbing me in the stomach with the