Page 2 of Under Fire

With her bag of mystery clothes in one hand and her black purse in the other, she walked up the three stone steps toward the front door. That was always the hardest moment—meeting the client for the first time.

Her hand trembling, she outstretched it to ring the doorbell, but oddly, the door flung open before she got there. She shuffled back, drinking in the mouth-watering physique filling the frame of the wide doorway—the type of male specimen she’d only seen in movies.

“You the cleaner?” The man smoothed back his vibrant auburn hair, leaning into the frame.

Tall and intimidating, he was adorned by rippling muscle, broad shoulders and a big chest. Clearly impatient, he narrowed his gorgeous crystal-blue eyes on her, waiting for her reply.

She stuttered out nothing, shifting foot to foot, eventually choking out real words.

“Uh, uh…yes.”

He opened the door fully, beckoning her inside with exposed tattooed arms, which appeared tanned and weathered. As she fumbled behind him, she inhaled that noticeable smell of a new home alongside distinct traces of leather and pine. His house smelled…amazing. The man paced into the hall, shooting her a quick side glance.

“I’m Warren,” he said, crossing his arms and looking her up and down from his great height…assessing, judging. His face was stone cold, if not strong and perfectly aligned.

“A-Alisa.”

She tried to smile but felt stiff. That was par for the course for her.

Wasting no time, he nodded to a closet on the side of the hall. “Everything you need should be in there.”

“Oh, okay,” Alisa murmured. Holding the bag of clothes so tight, like a safety blanket, she warily eyed the most perfect-looking man she’d ever seen.

He peaked his eyebrow, clearly trying to draw a conclusion, like was she human or was she an alien?

Alien, for sure.

Alisa cast her eyes down, the only way she could return to the task at hand.The job. She needed to get at it and change her clothes. She refused to clean in the only jeans she owned that actually were decent enough to wear in public. She bit her lip, flashing her gaze back up at him. Should she ask to use the washroom?

“Need anything else?” he asked, as if sensing her unease. The way he studied her was sharp and quick. Under his gaze, she felt a tension coiling inside her, a pressure—but was sure it was one-sided.

“C-could I use the washroom?” Alisa squeaked, following up with a mumbled “Please.”

“Of course.”

Warren shot her a sly grin, widening his mouth, showcasing a row of white teeth. He motioned to another door in the hallway beside him. Relieved, she started heading in that direction, moving a little closer to him as she did.

“Help yourself. I’ll try to stay out of your hair…”

She halted, just a foot in front of him.

His gaze drifted from her long black hair, falling loosely over her shoulders, to her waist—kept trim from being overworked and underpaid. The unexpected twist in their interaction—from awkward to heated—nearly sent Alisa backward. She felt dazed.

But she composed herself, thankfully, and scurried into the washroom.

Only once the door was shut behind her did she let out a breath, that apparently, she’d been holding for far too long.This guy… He isn’t the type I’d anticipated running into, she thought as she yanked the lumpy clothing out of the bag. She tore off her jeans and tried to figure out what exactly Maria had sent her with. There was something that looked like a white T-shirt, but then she realized it wasn’t. It was a pair of bright white shorts.Shorts?

Looking in the long bathroom mirror, Alisa held them against her semi-nude golden-brown body. Sure, it was a hot LA summer, but the stretchy shorts looked like they’d barely cover anything. Panic seared up her throat.Holy hell. What is Maria up to?Alisa again dug into the bag and found that there was also a stringy white tank top. It looked like someone’s hot yoga outfit—not an outfit that lent itself to modesty.

Immediately, Alisa flipped out her cell and texted Maria, sending her a pic of the outfit.

Are you setting me up?

Shit—I gave you the wrong bag. That’s my yoga bag!

Maria… OMG.

I’m so sorry, girl. I’ve got the other bag here. I’ll drive it to you.

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