Chapter 1
Amberly
F lowers. They were everywhere. The flats of petunias, bluebells, and daisies lined my old wooden deck. Hibiscus and lantana pots sat scattered around the footpaths, and a variety of hanging baskets waited to be hung. It looked like a rainbow had vomited color all over my barren backyard.
Being stuck in Bayou Basin was hell. After four days of avoiding the neighbors, the television, and the internet, I’d needed something to do...something that wasn’t Cole Doucet. It’d been four days since I’d hired the bodyguard. And four sleepless nights knowing he was down the hall in my guest room. He was classically handsome, and if one didn’t look closely, she might think he was just another pretty boy. But underneath, there was a dark edge. One I couldn’t help but want to explore.
“Where do you want these?”
His voice jolted me and I spun, finding him carting yet another flat of petunias. He’d driven me to the nursery this morning and insisted he be the one to carry them all from the truck to the backyard. He didn’t want me out front. The less anyone saw of me, the better.
“Anywhere in the shade,” I said, sweeping my gaze over him. Hells bells. He wore faded blue jeans slung low on his hips, old leather work boots, and a sweaty white T-shirt that did nothing to hide his eight-pack abs. “I probably won’t get to them until this afternoon. Thanks for the help. I guess you’re free for Nascar or football or whatever sport you can find on ESPN.”
He scoffed. “You think I’m going to go inside and leave you with all this?” Waving a hand around the backyard, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You’ll be out here for three days.”
“Well...” I started and averted my gaze. He was too damned good looking. Staring at him was short-circuiting my brain. “I doubt anyone is going to be scaling my wall, but if you want to stay out in this heat—”
“Amberly,” he said with a touch of irritation.
“What? I know I’m paying you to protect me, but this isn’t the Secret Service. I’m sure I can plant some flowers in my own backyard for a few hours without your supervision.” The fact that I was a bear shifter meant not much scared me. I could take care of myself. But back in Los Angeles, I wouldn’t have said such a thing.
Not after I’d been targeted.
Three things happened in the span of one week: A black SUV with dark tinted windows nearly ran me off the road; a bomb threat with my name attached to it occurred at a filming site; and someone sprayed my Hollywood Hills home with half a dozen bullets. I wasn’t there at the time of the shooting, but I should’ve been. I’d been late getting home because I’d stopped off for coffee last minute with my agent to discuss a new offer.
Being a bear couldn’t protect me from car wrecks, bombs, or bullets. So two days later, I left Hollywood for Bayou Basin while the authorities in L.A. worked my case. No one knew where I was except my agent, a private investigator in Los Angeles who I’d employed to investigate the matter if the LAPD dropped the ball, and the Doucet family who were now in charge of my personal safety.
“You and I both know I’m not going to leave you out here by yourself,” Cole said, still holding the flat of flowers. “Aside from the potential threat of someone scaling your fortress, I’m not going to just sit around while you do all this work.”
Fortress. I snorted. At one time, the old Victorian had a gorgeous rock wall that enclosed the gardens. Now the wall was stained with mold and dirt from recently-stripped overgrown vegetation. Not exactly gorgeous after twenty years of neglect. “Suit yourself.” I nodded to the freshly-tilled flower bed on the other side of the yard. “I was going to put the petunias over there.”
“Got it.” He grabbed a trowel and left me in peace with my dirt. And my thoughts. My dirty, dirty thoughts.
What else was I going to do in Nowheresville, Louisiana?
Amberly
F lowers. They were everywhere. The flats of petunias, bluebells, and daisies lined my old wooden deck. Hibiscus and lantana pots sat scattered around the footpaths, and a variety of hanging baskets waited to be hung. It looked like a rainbow had vomited color all over my barren backyard.
Being stuck in Bayou Basin was hell. After four days of avoiding the neighbors, the television, and the internet, I’d needed something to do...something that wasn’t Cole Doucet. It’d been four days since I’d hired the bodyguard. And four sleepless nights knowing he was down the hall in my guest room. He was classically handsome, and if one didn’t look closely, she might think he was just another pretty boy. But underneath, there was a dark edge. One I couldn’t help but want to explore.
“Where do you want these?”
His voice jolted me and I spun, finding him carting yet another flat of petunias. He’d driven me to the nursery this morning and insisted he be the one to carry them all from the truck to the backyard. He didn’t want me out front. The less anyone saw of me, the better.
“Anywhere in the shade,” I said, sweeping my gaze over him. Hells bells. He wore faded blue jeans slung low on his hips, old leather work boots, and a sweaty white T-shirt that did nothing to hide his eight-pack abs. “I probably won’t get to them until this afternoon. Thanks for the help. I guess you’re free for Nascar or football or whatever sport you can find on ESPN.”
He scoffed. “You think I’m going to go inside and leave you with all this?” Waving a hand around the backyard, he raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “You’ll be out here for three days.”
“Well...” I started and averted my gaze. He was too damned good looking. Staring at him was short-circuiting my brain. “I doubt anyone is going to be scaling my wall, but if you want to stay out in this heat—”
“Amberly,” he said with a touch of irritation.
“What? I know I’m paying you to protect me, but this isn’t the Secret Service. I’m sure I can plant some flowers in my own backyard for a few hours without your supervision.” The fact that I was a bear shifter meant not much scared me. I could take care of myself. But back in Los Angeles, I wouldn’t have said such a thing.
Not after I’d been targeted.
Three things happened in the span of one week: A black SUV with dark tinted windows nearly ran me off the road; a bomb threat with my name attached to it occurred at a filming site; and someone sprayed my Hollywood Hills home with half a dozen bullets. I wasn’t there at the time of the shooting, but I should’ve been. I’d been late getting home because I’d stopped off for coffee last minute with my agent to discuss a new offer.
Being a bear couldn’t protect me from car wrecks, bombs, or bullets. So two days later, I left Hollywood for Bayou Basin while the authorities in L.A. worked my case. No one knew where I was except my agent, a private investigator in Los Angeles who I’d employed to investigate the matter if the LAPD dropped the ball, and the Doucet family who were now in charge of my personal safety.
“You and I both know I’m not going to leave you out here by yourself,” Cole said, still holding the flat of flowers. “Aside from the potential threat of someone scaling your fortress, I’m not going to just sit around while you do all this work.”
Fortress. I snorted. At one time, the old Victorian had a gorgeous rock wall that enclosed the gardens. Now the wall was stained with mold and dirt from recently-stripped overgrown vegetation. Not exactly gorgeous after twenty years of neglect. “Suit yourself.” I nodded to the freshly-tilled flower bed on the other side of the yard. “I was going to put the petunias over there.”
“Got it.” He grabbed a trowel and left me in peace with my dirt. And my thoughts. My dirty, dirty thoughts.
What else was I going to do in Nowheresville, Louisiana?
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