“That limp. Is it an injury, or did you just sleep wrong?” She cocks her head, concern washing across her face. It’s beautiful.
Like every damn thing about her.
“Maybe I’ll tell you about it…”
She quirks her mouth.
“One of these times you tell me I’m off duty.”
Then, I slide through the screen door without looking back, trusting she’ll follow behind.
Chapter
Eight
MIA
“You’re off duty,” I say halfway through the day. The burly cowboy never misses a beat, sauntering toward the kitchen. Thick thighs, tight ass—denim that’s downright criminal.
“Careful,” he grunts without turning back around.
“Why?”
He opens the cabinet and pulls out two glasses, filling them with ice from the fridge. “Because, like it or not, you still need a bodyguard—on duty.”
“Something tells me you never stop protecting.”
“Sour or sweet?” he asks, holding up two glass pitchers.
“When life gives you lemons,” I trail off, bitterly smiling. Ice clinks against the glass as he pours the liquid, bringing two brimming yellow glasses to the counter.
He pushes one toward me, leaning against the inside of the counter like he needs to keep space between us. That’s the last thing on my mind.
He takes a sip and grimaces.
“Maybe more sour than sweet,” I say, scrunching my nose at the first swig. “But it hits the spot.”
He palms the tiles, face softening. “That comment you said before … about wishing the stalker did a better job. What did you mean?”
His voice is velvet, the softest I’ve ever heard it. Anger bristles at the thought he might be patronizing me, but warmth pools in my chest along with a feeling like trust. Dangerous. Misguided. But with Maverick, I can’t make myself believe that.
I stare at my glass, watching a bead of sweat roll down the side. Before it hits the counter, I snag it with my finger, bringing the cool droplet to my lips. Maverick’s nostrils flare, and his eyes darken as they drop to my mouth. I suck the tip of my finger a second too long, and a low hum escapes his chest. He looks away, gritting his teeth.
No man’s ever wanted me for me before. The feeling is liberating. Intimidating. I don’t know what I should do with it, though the persistent throb between my legs offers suggestions.
The cowboy swallows hard, eyes narrowing with laser focus on my face. “Answer the question, Mia.”
“Are you always this bossy?” I ask, enjoying how his cheeks darken.
“For your well-being? Yeah.”
I fish an ice cube from my drink, sucking it slowly between my lips. His gaze follows … despite himself. The thick veneer of professionalism evaporating. Suddenly, he straightens, fists clenched, turning away.
“You can’t avoid this conversation, Princess. Try as you might… to…”
“To?” I drop the cube back in the drink, fluttering my lashes innocently.
“To distract me.” Grim-faced, black-voiced.
