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Knowing Grace Campbell’s type, she’d probably read every last one of them.
    He walked through the living room and into the dining room complete with gleaming mahogany table and chairs that were definitely antiques. Fine art graced the walls, but he had no idea what they were beyond landscapes and still lifes.  
    The kitchen was big, with stainless steel appliances, white cabinetry, and gray marble countertops. Definitely the latest and greatest for this woman.
    He rolled up his sleeves as he prowled the rest of the downstairs. There was a den with at least a sixty-inch television on the wall and a library lined with leather books. Rich people. His mother would have died to see this place. And she’d have been right at home too, pouring tea and chatting like the fucking queen of England.
    He’d started back toward the front of the house when he heard a scraping sound coming from the rear entry. There was no peephole on this door, and he already knew it was shaded from the windows by a portico lined with vines.
    He slipped his gun from his shoulder holster and went over by the door. It rattled and scraped—and then it flew open and someone stepped inside.
    Garrett lunged.
    * * *
    Grace was halfway down the stairs when she heard the scream. She’d gone up to change into yoga pants and do her workout, but she’d come back downstairs to get a bottle of water. The scream had her running toward the kitchen. She slid through the door to find her bodyguard with his arm wrapped around her best friend’s neck and his pistol against her temple.
    Brooke looked utterly terrified.
    “Let her go!”
    Garrett glanced at her—and released the woman in his arms. Brooke’s face was pale, her eyes wide as she stood there and gulped for breath. Grace strode over and wrapped her arms around her friend. Brooke’s nose only came to Grace’s boobs, so it was kind of awkward, but she dragged Brooke away from Garrett and made soothing noises.
    “I’m all right,” Brooke said, her voice muffled in Grace’s cleavage.
    Grace let her go and stepped back. “Sorry.”
    Grace linked her hand with Brooke’s and faced the glowering beast in her kitchen. The handsome glowering beast.
    Oh dear God.
    He’d removed his jacket and tie. His sleeves were rolled up, and he’d unbuttoned the first couple of buttons of his shirt. She saw ink. Lots of colorful ink. And a scowl that made her gulp when she raised her gaze to his again.
    “You didn’t tell me you were expecting company,” Garrett growled at her. He slipped the pistol into his shoulder holster and glared at her.
    “She has a key, for God’s sake. I didn’t think you’d attack someone with a key!”
    “Unless I know they’re coming, I’m stopping anyone from getting to you. That’s the job, cupcake.”
    Grace felt Brooke stiffen at the ridiculous nickname. Grace had decided to ignore it since she was pretty sure he did it to get under her skin. Brooke laughed softly, which Grace found a little shocking. Brooke was supposed to be offended on her behalf, but she broke free from Grace’s grip and walked over to Garrett.  
    “I’m sorry I surprised you like that, but I didn’t know you were here. I’m Brooke Sullivan, Grace’s best friend.”
    Garrett took her hand in his, and Grace felt a little twinge of something she couldn’t name. Irritation perhaps?
    “Nice to meet you, Brooke. I’m Garrett. And I apologize for putting a gun to your head.”
    Brooke laughed that sweet tinkle of a laugh she had that meant she was putting on the flirty. Or maybe Grace just imagined the flirty. But she thought Garrett probably liked Brooke a whole lot more than he liked her.
    For one thing, he was smiling now. And it transformed his face from handsome to oh-em-gee panty-melting. Since when did she like big tough guys with tattoos anyway? She was all about refined men. Men who wore suits but who didn’t talk like a sailor on shore leave. Men with educations and prospects, not men who