With Brack's new glasses, I was back to not seeing his eyes again. I'm not sure why he wanted them covered all the time. I wondered if children teased him when he was young. Kids could be awful. I'm sure they didn't appreciate the beauty and only noticed his eyes were different.

I kicked his ass in racquetball and he kicked mine on the mat. This was not self-defense. Brack truly wanted me to kill this guy. I'm not sure why it was so important to him. I also understood on a deeper level that I was scared shitless. The thought of going toe to toe with a killer froze my insides.

Fight or flight, Brack called it. I didn't tell him how terrified I was, but he knew. Brack was trying to train the flight instinct out of me.

"There's a time to run and there's a time to kill this motherfucker. That's what you're training for."

I grumbled as Brack continued to pummel me with his tough-love techniques. I swam, ran, played racquetball, and picked myself up off the mat more times than I could count. Brack was rightwhen I fell into bed that night, I was too tired to think about what he did in the shower. I have no memory of him climbing in beside me.

I, however, woke up first and hid his glasses with a satisfying smirk of my own. Then I prepared breakfast. I picked up several vegetables from the floor and examined them. A little bruised, but they would work. I held a yellow squash in my hand and the damn thing reminded me of a butt plug. Not that I'd ever owned one, I thought as a thrill went directly to my pussy. What the hell was Brack thinking?

I cooked the squash with spinach and onions for an omelet filling. Brack pulled a pillow over his head with a groan when the smells filled the hut. I let him sleep. I wasn't the only one who got their ass kicked the day before. I insisted on jogging to the hangar and back. While he was able to speak, he whined. Heavy breathing kept him quiet when even whining was too much.

I nudged the bed with a knee. "Sit up, big boy, I brought you breakfast in bed."

He pushed the pillow off his face. "You sure are chirpy this morning," he grumbled.

"Don't tempt me or I'll start singing. Then you'd see seagulls falling dead from the sky."

His sleepy grin had my heart picking up in tempo. "That bad?" he asked.

"A fitting punishment for you if you don't take this plate. My omelet's cooking, so hurry." I shoved the plate and a fork at him. He arranged his pillows behind his back and took his breakfast from me. I ran over to check my omelet hoping it hadn't burned.

"Ah, there's green stuff in this." I glanced up and saw the most priceless look on his face. He'd peeled back the top of the omelet and stared at the insides in horror.

Truthfully, I'd never cooked for a man before and I was nervous. There was no way he would get away with not eating this meal. "It's good for you. How the hell do you keep your body in such great shape if you don't eat vegetables?"

"This shit does not a body make." He gave me puppy dog eyes. "I supplement my diet with protein powder when needed. I'm allergic to green," he continued with his pouty face.

I fought a smile. "Too bad, I made it and you're eating it. It's a good start for a day of training." I put both hands on my hips for emphasis. "Don't make me come over there and force feed you."

He looked back down at his plate, lifted his fork, and took a tentative bite. I watched him chew. Finally he met my eyes again. "Needs cheese, but it's edible. Don't think you've turned me into a vegetarian, though."

That got a laugh from me. "I'm a meat eater, too. You need good carbs for a healthy body. Lots and lots of green. Be sure to eat every last bite- or- you're not getting your aviators back."

His eyes went to the table by the bed and he shook his head in defeat. "Yes, mother."

I laughed and went back to preparing my omelet. After he ate his last bite, I returned his glasses without a word. We took a quiet walk along the shore after eating. It gave me a chance to ask a question or two.

I bent over and picked up a shell. "So you left the police force and did what?"

Brack put his hand out and I handed him the shell. He skipped it across the water. "I was out of shape after my injury, so I started a hard workout routine to fix the problem. When I was ready, I called Mack, who I grew up with, and talked him into working with me."

"So you specialize in saving women from stalkers."

That gained me a brief flash of teeth. "Not quite. We do handle our fair share of celebrities who tend to have stalker problems, but we also handle family security problems."

"Families?"

"Yes, and I don't share their information. We work with elected government officials and keep their families safe if there's a threat."

Interesting. I never considered the political stalker theory. "Do you think there's a chance this guy is after me because of my father?"

"These characters have a million reasons. Could be your father, your tennis celebrity status, or he just saw you in public or on TV one day. Then he fell in sick love. He's a whack-job. Mack's working several different angles."

"My father thinks it's tennis. Everything was great when I was a kid and tennis was my life. Now, him and his old-fashioned roots want me looking to the future and doing something worthwhile." I stopped and squished my toes into the cool sand.

Brack stopped, too. "Sounds like most fathers. Have you thought about what you'll do after hanging up your racquet?"

The sand felt wonderful. "Not really. My bachelor's degree is in economics because it made my father happy. I didn't care at the time and just wanted to play tennis. I only have a few more good years in me." The thought made me sad so I tossed out another question. "So what about you? Do you plan on risking your life for years to come?"

Pink flushed his cheeks. "My job is not nearly as dangerous as you think it is. Most of it's boring."

I handed him another heavier shell. "So I'm boring, huh?"

He laughed again. "Anything but. You, at least, have half a chance of keeping yourself safe once I'm no longer on the job."

"I take it most of your clients don't."

His expression grew serious. "Once my job is complete, most hire other protection and live like the entire world is out to get them. I watched too many good men die to live like that. Life on the street as a cop taught me that, too. If you're scared, they win. You can do everything right and end up hit by a bus. Vivere sua ultima quasi quotidiana."

I knew Latin but it surprised me that he did. Brack's unkempt appearance hid a sharp mind. Live every day like it's your last. "Do you do that?"

The heavy shell skipped six times when he tossed it. "I try."

"Ty terrifies me."

Brack turned and removed his glasses. I wanted him to kiss me so badly it was a physical pain in my belly. I needed to stop questioning the attraction I had for him. Stop dwelling on the why and work on a different tactic that would put his cock where I ached the most.

"He should. You just can't let it rule you. Seize the day."

I almost groaned aloud with need. I had to somehow snap out of Brack induced orgasm cravings. I gave him a nervous smile. "And kill the motherfucker."

"Exactly."

"If Mack finds this guy, what makes you think I'll need to know the things you're teaching me?"

His serious expression remained. "There's always another crazy motherfucker out there. Now come on. Our food's settled and we can swim."