“Yeah, right.” I press my thighs together, trying to ignore the heat building in my core. “Rule number five, I decide where you can and can’t accompanyme.”
“No.”
“No? What do you mean, no?”
“Safety first. That’smyrule,” he says, his tone brooking no argument. “My job is to keep you alive. I can’t do that if you restrict my access. A bodyguard stays with their client everywhere, in every situation. You need to trust me and my judgment. I don’t care what you do, where you go, or who you’re sleeping with. I’m here to ensure your safety.”
My cheeks burn at his words. His being there in every situation, even intimate ones, makes my heart race. I look down at the floor, taking a few deep breaths to calm the fire in my belly. I’m used to clients throwing all sorts of things at me. I’ve been cursed at, insulted, and threatened. Why do a few sentences from this man make my knees feel like jelly?
When I’m sure I have my emotions under control, I look up. “Okay. What about the window you broke?” I look pointedly at the shards of glass on my floor.
He glances at the mess, then back at me, pursing his lips. “I’m sorry, I'll take care of it. I was also told the position includes accommodation?”
“Yes. There’s a guest house attached to this one,” I say, walking to the living room. I open a drawer in an antique sideboard and pull out a set of keys. “It’s to the left of the pool.”
I approach him and hold out my hand with the keys.
He looks at me for a moment, frozen in place.
It takes me a second to realize what’s happening. Rule three. “If I’m handing you something, you can take it.”
He reaches out and takes the keys. His thumb brushes against my pulse point for a split second, so brief I’m not sure if I imagined it, but my heart rate spikes all the same.
“I work all week. You can call me anytime, even at night,”he says, placing a note with a number on the table. “That’s my number. Put it on speed dial.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, giving a mock salute.
He doesn’t react to my joke. No sense of humor. Noted.
“I’ll spend Sunday at my dad’s, so I don’t need security then.”
“I see,” he says, rubbing his jaw. “I assume he has security detail?”
I nod. “Yes. They’ll pick me up. There’s also an entire staff of employees. I’m safe there. Actually, this whole bodyguard thing was my family’s idea. I think they’re overreacting.”
“And why do they think you need protection?” he asks, his lips tightening.
I can’t tell him about the twenty-year-old murder theory, and we’re not even certain it’s relevant. “Someone threatened my brothers, and they think whoever that person is might come after me too.”
He nods as though it explains everything.
“Is that related to you being mugged?”
I sigh, running my fingers over the fading bruise. “It was just a random mugging. It’s not like that man is going to come knocking on my door tomorrow.”
“If anyone comes knocking, they’ll find me waiting,” Ryder says, a small smile playing on his lips.
Oh, hecansmile. And now I wish I didn’t know that.
Five
RYDER
The morning sun barely crests the horizon as I stand at her door. This job—babysitting a spoiled beautiful heiress—is the last thing I want, but orders are orders. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for another day ofher.
The door swings open, and there she is. Cora. Little Trouble incarnate.
My eyes scan her gym attire. I notice the curve of her hips and the determined set of her jaw. I clench my fists, forcing those thoughts away.Stay professional, soldier.
