Page 5 of Undercover Star
"And a workout," Josh agreed. "Kilbride House is open once a year for a charity gala. I managed to get inside during the preparations last year. I set a trap for the thief and I was hoping to arrest him during this year's event, but the organisers have—" Josh's handsome face tightened in anger. "They've refused us access to the house."
"They can do that?"
"They couldn't if I had a warrant. But because I don't, they can be arseholes and give the thief free rein. I've spent a year making sure he'll be there and—"
"Have you ever been a bodyguard?" Matisse interrupted the brewing tirade as smoothly as he interrupted his stylist when she went off on one of her favourite rants. And rather than her standard response — an exaggerated eye-roll — he got a wide-eyed stare from the detective inspector.
"Have I what?"
"Ever been a bodyguard? I mean, it's not as if I can go to the organisers and get you a ticket. Right? And no offense, but you'd make a crap manager. So bodyguard's the obvious option."
"You have bodyguards?"
"Yes." It wasn't anything that made him feel special, but when being mauled by overzealous fans was an often-present danger, he had little leeway. He liked the guys from his security team. They gave him space when he needed it and were close by the moment it got dicey.
Josh looked around the edge of the booth. "Where are they?"
"Waiting to escort me to my interview." Matisse had catalogued Josh's outfit as he came in, but he allowed himself another long look. Decorative was a good description. Josh Ingram wore a black T-shirt, tight enough to show off defined pecs, under a black leather jacket. His boots would be sturdy and, if Matisse was really lucky, he'd have poured himself into another pair of snug denim. Tall and brawny, he wouldn't look out of place next to Oats and Rigger from his security team. The three would probably get on like a house on fire. "Do you have to be anywhere this morning?"
"No."
"Good. Why don't you come with me to the radio station? You can talk to my security guys. You can see why I need them and find out whether you can pretend to be one of them for a few hours. Just do me one favour. Don't piss them off."
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MATISSE CHANGED INthe limo, and Josh, seated opposite, had to avert his gaze from the display of endless legs, toned muscle, and honey-coloured skin. Lying back on the seat, his head in his stylist's lap, Matisse wriggled into tight black leather trousers, then arched into a bridge to pull up the zip. He stripped out of his baggy top next, showing off a pierced belly button and a very defined chest.
Josh didn't know where to look. Every new reveal made his jeans feel that much tighter, his breath a fraction shorter. The heat and the tight feeling told him his ears were blazing. And the laughter from the earpiece the bigger of the two security guys had handed him wasn't helping.
"Quite a show, isn't it?"
Josh glared at Matisse. "Is that what you do? Treat your limo like a dressing room?"
"Only when annoying policemen invade his schedule." The stylist—a tiny redhead with an Everest-sized attitude—put him down without mercy. "I would have gotten him ready at home, in comfort. With decent mirrors and lighting. But youhadto ask him to meet you in a coffee shop at ridiculous o'clock."
"It's okay, Lynn." Matisse was bent double, pulling on socks and calf-high boots. "We've done it before."
"Don't remind me. I almost died of mortification when I saw the reports the next day. Wan, partied out, uncaring... and those were some of the kinder comments,ifyou recall. Marissa almost strung me up."
"Marissa did nothing of the sort."
"Your advertisers—"
"Lynn. It's fine. Did you bring earrings?" Matisse distracted her with ease, holding out a hand until she placed a small case in his palm. He put the studs in while the limo slowed down.
"Do you want to come in with us or just observe?" Rigger's voice asked in his ear.
"I think I'll come with, if I'm not in the way."
"Then come on out and we'll get you set up."
The limo rolled to a stop and Josh got out, taking huge gulps of chilly air and needing them. "He's something alright."
"You've seen nothing yet, mate," Oats apprised him. "Now, have you done close protection before?"
"Nothing beyond a short course in training, and that was years ago."
"Okay. In that case, you'll take point with Rigger. I have his back. Here. Put this on." He held out a black hoodie withSecurityprinted in yellow across the back.
