months in close quarters with this woman just got a whole lot more complicated.
Chapter Four
S parring with Joe hadnât taken the edge off. Liberty still wanted to beat the shit out of someone, namely one smarmy-ass country singer.
Because I am not attracted to her in the least.
Motherfucking son of a bitch, that stung.
It wasnât the first time sheâd heard that. Usually she blew it off, but this time it weighed on her and she didnât know why it stung so much.
Maybe because heâs one of the sexiest men youâve ever met.
No lie there. The man had it going on. Lankyâbut a holy-shit well-built lanky. Broad chest, equally broad shoulders, muscular arms beneath his tight long-sleeved T-shirt. His face hit the perfect mark between rugged and pretty. His hair had to be ten different shades from pale blond to a rich, dark brown. Neither the color nor the riot of curls that made all those hues stand out had come from a bottle, and damn if those sexy, loose curls didnât just beg for a womanâs fingers to get tangled up in them. That million-dollar smile of his was way more potent in person than on the pages of a magazineânot that the man had bestowed that infamous grin on her. But even when he had smiled at Garrett, it hadnât reached his piercing turquoise blue eyes. The constant wariness in them didnât bother her; in fact, it would make her job easier. Better to have a cautious client than a cocky one.
Liberty climbed into her car and dropped her head back, closing her eyes. Even the new-car scent of her pride and joyâa baby blueMustangâdidnât settle her like it normally did. She ran her hands over the steering wheel as her mind raced.
How was she supposed to completely make herself over into a simpering, insipid, scantily clad groupie in three days? Itâd take two weeks to get an appointment with a brain surgeon to suck half her brain out. She snorted. Few besides herself appreciated her sense of humor.
She didnât know where to start in assembling a new wardrobe. Thereâd been an adjustment period after she retired from the army, transitioning from wearing the required uniform to choosing civilian clothes. Comfort, not fashion, was her priority. So, yeah, she could admit her clothing was boring. She had two styles: not work clothes and work clothes. Her not work clothes consisted of ratty sweats and baggy T-shirts, worn jeans, long john tops and camo shorts. Her work style wasnât any better. She owned one sundress, which sheâd bought on a whim. Her official work wardrobe was black, black and gray. Black pants, black jackets, sturdy black shoes. But sheâd mixed it up and bought suits in navy blue and dark brown. The good thing was, it didnât take her long to get ready in the morning.
Times like this she wished her sister Harper lived closer. Although Muddy Gap was a lot closer to Denver than Fort Bragg, where Liberty had been stationed for years. She glanced at the clock. Noon. Probably Harper was doing ten thousand things at once, but she called her anyway.
As always, Harperâs breathy sex-phone-operator voice was ruined by little boysâ shrieks in the background. âHey, sista. I was just thinking about you.â
âI assume youâre at home?â
Harper laughed. âHow could you tell? Jake, get down. No, Tate. He doesnât need your help.â
Liberty grinned. Those two little boys were a handful. But they were sweet as well as wild, and she loved them with a fierceness that surprised even her. âHow are my darling nephews?â
âNeeding a nap. Or maybe just Mama is. Iâm fixing lunch before I pass them off to Bran for the afternoon. Iâm heading in to the store. Whatâs going on in your life?â
âI need your help,â Liberty blurted. âLike really need it to the point Iâm about to have a damn panic attack.â
âHang on a sec. Bran just