I tried to stop, but my heart was racing and I was breathing too quickly.
"I won't let anything happen to you," Marcus said.
I glanced up at him and found that he was looking around as well, but with calm focus and confidence. Based on his physique and his casual vigilance, I imagined he could handle anything thrown at him.
Despite the fact that I didn't really know him, I believed he would keep me safe.
He ranged himself close to me, as though he intended to step between me and danger. It was a first for me. Most of the men I'd dated were nice guys, but they wouldn't throw themselves in front of a bullet for me. Or fend of men who were following me from job interviews. The most they might do is call 9-1-1 and yell for help. Which wasn't anything to sneeze at, but I had the impression that Marcus could, and would, take any attacker apart with his bare hands.
"We'll take my truck to the house," he stated.
"My car is at the hotel. We can use that."
"We can come back for it."
I glanced up at him. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. Maybe we should take separate cars. I can follow you."
He looked down at me, those blue eyes brighter and deeper in the sunlight. "Does the man following you know what your car looks like?"
Shit. I immediately knew where this was going. "Yes."
"It would be safer in my truck."
The corner of his mouth lifted when I sighed. "Fine."
"I'm a good driver, I promise."
"I'm not worried about that," I muttered.
"Then, what are you worried about?"
I couldn't very well sayI'm afraid of acting like an idiot around you. Like I did yesterday.
"Nothing, I guess."
I nearly tripped over my feet when his hand brushed my lower back.
"My truck is this way," he murmured, guiding me to an olive-green truck with dark tinted windows and blacked out wheels and trim. It looked muscular, tough, and all business, much like its owner.
I nearly froze again when he opened the passenger door for me and held out his hand to help me inside. The thought of touching him again sent my pulse scrambling, and the old-fashioned gestures—the hand on my back and opening my door for me—threw me for a loop. I appreciated the courtesy, but I hadn't expected it.
"Thanks." My voice was soft because I felt breathless. But he heard me.
"You're welcome."
His fingers were warm and a little rough against mine and he used his opposite hand to boost me into the truck.
I didn't have a chance to babble and embarrass myself because he shut the door and walked around the vehicle.
I pressed my hands to my cheeks and fought the urge to throw the door open and run back toward my hotel. Before I could act on the impulse, he climbed behind the steering wheel and started the truck.
Instead, I said, "We could have walked to the hotel."
Marcus shrugged and checked the mirrors before he pulled into traffic. "I can leave the truck running while we run up to your room so you can change."
"I can go alone."
He didn't even respond out loud. He just looked at me, and I sighed again.
