Chapter Five

The next morning, Dallas was wide awake at six o’clock, as usual. He turned over on the sofa in the living room and stretched, wincing a bit at the cramp in his muscles. Bodies like his weren’t really meant for sleeping on sofas, but he had wanted to be between Olivia and the front door. His loaded gun was on the floor next to him, since he knew that when dealing with the kind of fucker who’d been in Olivia’s house the night before, there was no such thing as having enough precautions in place.

He listened for a few seconds, his ears straining to hear if there was any movement in his bedroom yet, but all he heard was her soft breathing. Still out, then. Dallas quietly got to his feet, padded down the hallway and looked into the master bedroom.

She was curled up in his bed, her glorious red hair spilling across the pillow. Her stunning face was relaxed and sweet, and he found himself wanting to just go over to her, slide in between the sheets with her, take her in his arms. He’d kiss her awake and then do every single naughty and nice thing to her that he could imagine.

Dallas shook himself. He’d had a thing for Olivia Jameson for years, but then, who hadn’t? Her hot body and gorgeous face had been on every men’s magazine cover, and she’d been photographed more often in bikinis and lingerie than fully clothed. Plus, Dallas had a serious weakness for redheads, and Olivia was the tastiest, most perfect redhead he could imagine. He’d been halfway in love with the woman staring at him from the photos for as long as he could remember. The idealized, fantasy woman, that is.

But when his friend Dean Jessop had gotten together with Emma Cartwright, it had brought Olivia into Dallas’ life; for real, in the flesh. And from the word go, Olivia had been a surprise to Dallas. He’d had years of experience dealing with celebrities, and she was hands-down the most down-to-earth, toughest, kindest famous person he’d ever met or dealt with.

With no entitled star ego to speak of, Olivia had kept the focus on Emma every minute of every day, doing whatever had to be done to pull her friend through her cancer treatment. Olivia was an amazing person, and Dallas had come to like her very much… the real her. The one who sat in hospital waiting rooms, drinking coffee with real sugar and 2% milk and eating doughnuts, her face tight and anxious as she waited on news about her friend. The one who had a serious weakness for eighties music, and who could air-guitar the hell out of ‘Eye of the Tiger’. The one who made her own sushi and who could drink him under the table when she got into the saki. The one who hadn’t even told anyone about having a stalker, because she didn’t want to draw attention away from her sick friend, not even for one moment.

That was all over now, though. Olivia had had a far-too-close close call last night, and so she wouldn’t be able to hide any of this from anyone else. She’d have to get some help and support of her own, and Dallas was determined that it was going to start with him.

Gently, he shut the bedroom door, and went back into the open-plan living room and kitchen. He made the coffee, then pulled on his boots and lined jean jacket against the early winter chill, and took his cup onto his front porch. He glanced over to his left, and was relieved to see Dean standing the next house over, on his own porch, clutching his own coffee.

The men nodded at each other and Dallas beckoned at Dean. “Can you come over, man? I’ve got to talk to you.”

Without a word, Dean walked down the front steps and across the small path separating their houses. He raised his eyebrows at Dallas, knowing that something serious was up. After three tours in Afghanistan together, watching each other’s backs and keeping each other’s lives intact, they were able to read each other like books.