Page 17 of The Brat and the Bodyguard

“Then surprise me,” Ainsley says with a sweet smile. “Ilovesurprises.”

Holy fuck, now I really understand what Patrick O’Lachlan said when he dubbed his sister a hellcat. Ainsley is more than a handful. She’s a fucking supernova, and yet I love it. She completely blows other women I’ve dated out of the water, and they’re nothing more than a faint memory at this point. Reading my thoughts, the sassy redhead wraps an arm around my neck again while taking another satisfying bite of croissant.

“So tell me about you, Mr. Andersen,” she invites. “How did you come to work for my brother?”

I reach for my coffee, careful not to spill the hot liquid.

“Well, I’m Swedish and I was with the Swedish Army for most of my career. I retired a couple years ago and went out on my own. First, as a mercenary and then in private security.”

“A mercenary?” Ainsley chokes, her eyes wide. “You went to fight other peoples’ wars?”

“I did,” I say in a low voice. “I’ve fought in all sorts of hellish locations, from Kosovo to Pyongyang to Ukraine. It’s fucking sad, honestly, how much people hate each other, and how they’re willing to kill each other over practically nothing. But the money’s good, and the foreign legion was a natural fit for me. It’s not like I have other skills.”

Ainsley stares at me some more, her glossy lips parted.

“Okay, so what made you leave?”

I shrug.

“It’s not all about the money. I have more than enough to last a lifetime, and I was getting sick of the fact that a lot of these countries have no clue what they’re doing. They have little to no training for their soldiers, no armaments, shitty supply chains, and shitty food on top of everything else. I was out in the field with a bunch of high schoolers who were bawling and crying for their mommies. It fucking sucked being a babysitter one moment, and then sacrificing these boys on the field of battle the next.”

Ainsley’s completely stopped eating now, her green eyes cautious as she stares at me.

“So it was tough.”

I laugh hoarsely.

“You can say that again. So I left, and when this job came up, I took it. Your brother made it sound like it’d be a jaunt. Sure, you’re a handful, but a sassy hellcat is something I can manage. There’s food, sun, a hotel room ... hell, this is cakewalk compared to where I’ve been.”

“I can imagine,” Ainsley says thoughtfully. “After years of being on the frontlines, Vegas must seem like a joke to you.”

“It is,” I acknowledge in a deep voice, “but it’s nice to get away from reality for a little. War grinds you down, you know? It’s sheer boredom ninety-nine percent of the time, but then the one percent is a firefight. That’s when you lose your life, and those of your men too.”

Ainsley’s still in my lap, her croissant on her plate as she contemplates my words. Then she looks up, that emerald gaze emotive.

“Thank you for being honest with me, Karl,” she murmurs. “About what you saw, and what you experienced. It gives me a lot of context, and helps me understand who you are.”

I pull her curvy form close before inhaling her sweet scent.

“This is pure Heaven compared to where I’ve been, sweetheart. A beautiful woman in my lap, warm food to eat, and a plush hotel room were merely fantasies when I was lying in a cold, dark trench. Hell, if we wanted to take a nap right now, we could. You don’t get that when you’re at war. Sometimes you’re up for seventy-six hours straight, with bloodshot eyes while popping amphetamines to stay alert.”

“Amphetamines?” she whispers, eyes wide. “Oh my god, you guys were doing drugs?”

“Under the table,” I nod. “Governments never condone actual drugs. But yeah, that shit is fed to soldiers to help us perform. Every country does it, including the great old U.S. of A.”

Ainsley shakes her head again.

“Goodness,” she murmurs. “I had no idea.”

I pull her curvy form closer.

“War fucking sucks. The life of a soldier isn’t for everyone, but enough depressing shit. What about you, sweetheart? What brings you to Vegas?”

She blinks a little, trying to adjust to the change in conversation. But then a small smile crosses her lips.

“Well, I’m here to further my career as a plus-size model,” she says. “I started out in Ireland, but there isn’t much of an industry there. And Paris, Milan and New York are for straight size girls. The plus-size industry is here, in the City of Sin, so I flew in to see what could happen.”

I nod.

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