Chapter 3

CALLIE STRETCHED OUT ON top of her bed, her body sore from dance practice. Homework was ignored, her books spread out on the bed. She’d been surprised by Hunter Lightfoot. Until now, her minders had all been big older guys - except for the one female, Jill, who’d lasted three months. Hunter Lightfoot was very different.

First off, he was much younger than any of the others, maybe under thirty. She’d have to ask him. He was slender and lithe, not muscled or overweight like the others. And he dressed completely casual. Where were the suits that made the others stand out, an “I’m her bodyguard, be careful” statement?

In jeans and a brown leather Bomber jacket, he looked like he belonged in Paris. As far as she could tell, he didn’t even carry a gun, unlike Jeff Benton.

Callie wondered what his story was. Clearly he was different. It wasn’t just the clothes. His looks and attitude were different. Dark, almost black hair fell unfashionably to below his collar, his skin bronze colored. But his most fascinating feature was his eyes; restless, observant, and almost obsidian they were so dark. They were disconcerting, too - she couldn’t read him. He didn’t smile, didn’t talk to fill the silences, didn’t seem interested in her. Yet she didn’t feel he disliked her, more like she was an inanimate object being protected. He responded politely enough when she talked to him, just never initiated conversation. Hunter was cool, aloof, distanced. One thing she did know - he looked exhausted; lines around his eyes, slightly disheveled, clothes wrinkled.

A warm flush of embarrassment and the return of indignation hit her as she replayed earlier this evening. She’d finished her shower and wrapped a towel around her before heading to her bedroom, and was about to take the towel off when she noticed Hunter standing in her room staring out the window.

“What are you doing here? Get out! I told you my room was off limits!” she’d yelled. Jeff had never entered her bedroom!

Hunter had turned and looked at her with those dark eyes, not fazed in the slightest.

“I’m responsible for your security. That means nothing is off limits,” he’d informed her after a slight pause.

Without another word, he’d walked passed her. She slammed the door behind him, furious at him. But, she’d noticed he hadn’t even looked at her in the bath towel, just her eyes. That puzzled her. Most guys she knew ogled her at some point.

He surprised her again when, dressed, she’d emerged full of indignation and ready to lace into him for invading her personal space, only to find him cooking! Cooking!

He’d obviously hunted through the refrigerator and created something she’d never have thought of - a delicious Spanish omelet with red peppers, onions, and potatoes. A freshly warmed baguette and simple green salad had accompanied the omelet.

She thought back to his surprising response when she’d informed him she didn’t eat high calorie, fatty foods.

“Relax. It’s low fat and you need the carbs from the potatoes. The salad has hardly any oil.”

She’d probed and discovered he was fairly disciplined about his nutrition; a health nut, maybe?

Then, over dinner, she’d asked Hunter, “How come you haven’t grilled me?” Jeff had been so talkative and demanded to know everything about her when he’d started.

Hunter had looked at her, pausing with a fork halfway to his mouth and said, “I don’t need to interrogate you. I already know everything about you.”

“No you don’t,” she’d informed him.

Hunter had placed his full fork down on the plate and said conversationally, “You’re fifteen, living in Paris because you want to be a dancer. Your father’s too busy to argue, or you’re too stubborn to accept anything else. Your mother passed away five years ago. You’re dedicated to dance above everything else. You have no hobbies. You don’t watch television. You don’t have a social life. You don’t have a boyfriend. And you’re inflexible.”

Open-mouthed, she’d retorted, “I’m not inflexible. I have a social life and, for your information, I have a boyfriend.”

“No you don’t.”

With that, he’d gone back to eating, ignoring her.

Callie twisted onto her back on the bed, indignation still hot inside her. What an ass! She’d call Dad and ask for a replacement!