Protector for Hire Read Online Free

interior of the cabin was small and sparse, but surprisingly tidy. There was a kitchen off to the left, with a set of cast-iron pans hanging over the range. Next to that was a small oak table with two ladder-back chairs. Straight ahead was a large leather sofa the color of an old saddle. Not that Janelle had ever seen a saddle in person, but she recognized the color from the Pottery Barn catalog.
    Off to the right, she saw two doors leading into what she assumed must be—
    “Bedrooms,” Schwartz supplied, answering the question she hadn’t wanted to ask. “Plural. That one’s normally my home office, but I’ll be sleeping on a rollaway bed in there so you can have the king-size bed in the other room.”
    Janelle stared at him, then shook her head. “You? On a rollaway bed? What are you, six three, six four?”
    “Six five. So?”
    “Holy cow. You must be the tallest of all the Patton kids?”
    “It’s been a few years since our mom lined us up and made pencil marks on the wall, but yeah. Probably.”
    “Then there’s no way you’re going to fit on a rollaway bed. You’d probably break the damn thing.”
    He folded his arms over his chest, looking oddly amused. “I ordered it extra-long.”
    Janelle felt her gaze drop to his crotch. She realized in an instant what she’d done and snapped her gaze back to his face, but it was clear from the smirk now crossing his features that the slip hadn’t gone unnoticed. She felt her face flame as she lifted her chin.
    “I’ll take the rollaway,” she insisted. “I’m upending your whole life here. I’m not going to steal your bed, too.”
    For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Instead, he shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’ve gotta warn you, though, I get up early.”
    “And you need me to bring you breakfast in bed?”
    The startled look on his face almost made up for her lame attempt at humor, and she felt strangely satisfied watching him sputter.
    “What? No. I just meant the rollaway is in my office. I like to start work early.”
    “How early is early?”
    “Six, maybe six thirty.”
    She felt herself blanch at that, but held it together. “That’s fine. As long as you’ve got good coffee, I’ll be fine.”
    “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘good.’” He nodded toward the kitchen, and Janelle followed his gaze to the world’s tiniest coffeemaker. At least, she thought it might be a coffeemaker. The handle was rusted, and the glass carafe was so grimy it looked like someone had rubbed it in the dirt. Beside it sat a tin of Folgers coffee grounds. She stared at it for a few beats, trying not to feel grim.
    “Folgers was one of my first clients,” she said. “I’m a graphic designer. I helped redesign that logo eight years ago.”
    “Huh.”
    “The version on that can hasn’t been in stores for at least seven years.”
    “You don’t say?” Schwartz shrugged. “Not much of a coffee drinker myself.”
    “You drink the blood of young virgins for breakfast?”
    “Something like that. Well, you’ll get your exercise making the coffee anyway.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The well where we get our water is about a mile from here,” he said, nodding toward the door. “It’s just uphill from the outhouse. I hope you like roughing it.”
    …
    Schwartz was still laughing quietly to himself twenty minutes later. It probably looked more like scowling than laughing, but the sentiment was there.
    Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been nice to convince Janelle the cabin had no indoor plumbing. He’d expected her to be a froofy city girl, but he hadn’t expected her to be so spirited. Or so ridiculously beautiful. He’d watched the horror flash in those striking pale blue eyes, seen all the color drain from that perfect heart-shaped face as she gripped the handle of that fancy-looking purse.
    But she hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. Just nodded and took a really deep breath and asked him where the bucket was.
    “For what?”