"Let me worry about that," Presley said quietly, squeezing the girl's hand. "You focus on your roping."
Addison looked between us. "Thank you. Thank you so much!"
After she left, Presley turned to me. "Are you sure about this? I know it's outside the scope of bodyguard work."
Something flickered in her expression, but she looked away before I could read it.
"Happy to help."
THAT EVENING, PRESLEYmade spaghetti. Asked me first if that sounded good, which struck me as considerate given this was her house, her kitchen. Her kitchen was like the rest of the house—clean lines, everything in its place. White cabinets, brass hardware, the kind of space that looked like a magazine spread but somehow still felt lived-in. I set the table while she cooked—domestic, easy.
We ate at the farmhouse-style dining table, talking about her students, about the competition next weekend, about Addison's situation with her mother and the pressure these girls faced. How pageants should build them up instead of breaking them down.
I was trying to listen—I really was—but I kept noticing her instead. The way she moved. How her lips curved when shesmiled. When a drop of sauce caught at the corner of her mouth, she licked it away, and I found myself wishing I could have done that for her.
"Rhodes? You okay?"
I blinked. "Fine. Just thinking."
She let it go.
After dinner, we did dishes together. She washed, I dried. Easy rhythm, comfortable silence.
AT TEN O'CLOCK, WEnavigated the awkward dance of getting ready for bed. She disappeared into her room—I heard water running in what had to be an en suite. I used the hall bathroom, changed in the guest room.
Usually I slept naked. Tonight I'd pulled on athletic pants and a t-shirt—the most coverage I could manage that still counted as sleepwear.
When I came back, she was climbing into bed from the far side, leaving the side closest to the door open. Thin cotton pajama pants and a tank top—no bra. The lightweight fabric left nothing to the imagination.
My mouth went dry. It was going to be a long night, and no amount of air conditioning was going to help.
I settled in, maintaining the distance between us. Her words echoed in my head: stay on your side, no touching.
But I could feel every breath she took. Every small movement. The whisper of fabric when she shifted position. The faint scent of her shampoo drifting across the space between us.
It’d been years since I'd shared a bed with anyone. Years since I'd wanted more than a few anonymous hours. After losing my best friend in combat, after I left the Marines and spent two years trying to function again—I'd had nothing left to give. A few anonymous nights in clubs in Austin or Houston, places wherecontrol and submission existed without names or consequences. Orders given and followed, both of us gone by morning.
This—Presley beside me in the darkness, close enough to touch, breathing softly—I could reach across the space right now. Pull her against me. Find out if she'd catch her breath or push me away.
But not yet. Not while her father was paying me protect her. Not while someone was threatening her and I needed my head clear.
I rolled onto my side, facing away from temptation.
I'd learned discipline in the Marines. Learned it again in those clubs where control meant everything.
Sharing Presley's bed was going to test every bit of it.
Chapter Three
Presley
The smell of fresh coffee woke me.
I opened my eyes to find Rhodes's side of the bed empty, sheets already cool. Through the doorway, I could hear him moving around in my kitchen like he belonged there.
I pressed my face into his pillow before I could stop myself. God, even the way he smelled was getting to me.
This was ridiculous. I'd dated before. Been attracted to men before. But lying beside Rhodes last night—close enough to touch but not touching—had made sleep impossible. Every time he shifted position, I'd held my breath. Every time the sheets rustled, my whole body had tensed.
