Jennifer Armentrout - Tempting the Bodyguard

A wry grin appeared, barely reaching her eyes. “That’s what they say.”

He slid closer, using his knee to slide between hers. The position was intimate, noted by her when her eyes flew back to his. She pulled her hands again and this time he let her go, but he didn’t move away. He knew he was crowding her.

“I’m sorry.” She started to rise. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this—any of this. You only agreed to look into the names I’d given you. I can go to a hotel until, well, this blows over. I should—”

“No,” he said, his muscles tensing, prepared to tackle her if necessary.

She froze and her eyes widened behind her glasses. The haunted look was still there. “No?”

“Right now, it’s not safe for you to go back to that hotel.” He almost smiled when her eyes widened. “And this stalker also knows where you’re staying and took it out on your apartment.”

Folding her arms over her chest, she lifted her chin a fraction of an inch. “Then what am I supposed to do if I don’t go to a hotel? I don’t have anyone to go to. Okay? The only family I even claim is dead and I don’t have any close friends here who I’d feel comfortable unloading this crap on. So what the hell exactly should I do? Sleep in my office or my rental car?”

“I’ll take the job,” he said.

“What?”

“I know you understood what I said. I’ll take the job as your bodyguard. No one else at my company. Me. And you’re not staying in a hotel any longer.” As soon as the idea popped in his head, it felt right. It was what he wanted for various reasons. Some of them having nothing to do with the psycho out there, making her life a living hell, and while it may make him a grade-A bastard, he simply wanted her here.

Alana stared at him, her lips slightly parted.

“As entertaining as arguing with you is, this I’m not going to argue with you over. No to the hotel,” he said again, tone firm. “You’ll stay here.”

What am I doing here?

Alana hadn’t really remembered the drive to Chandler’s house and she honestly didn’t know why she’d searched him out. Well, that was a lie. For obvious reasons, she felt safe with him, and right now she needed to feel that.

Seeing her apartment and her belongings destroyed like that did more than rattle her. Fear, confusion, and anger over the lack of control swirled inside her, making her feel out of it, as if all of this was a horrible dream. But she shouldn’t have come here, forcing her issues upon Chandler. He’d assumed the role of her bodyguard, but shouldn’t there be a contract or something? This just seemed so inappropriate. In the recesses of her mind, she had to have known that when she got in the car and drove to his house.

What am I doing here?

That question kept playing over and over in her head, but it didn’t change the fact that she was here, in a room that was as big as her master at home. Walls were painted in a deep olive, and the wood floors and dark headboard gave the room an earthy feel that was relaxing.

But she couldn’t relax. God knew she was high-strung on any given day, but this was like a million times worse.

She’d been hiding upstairs for damn near close to an hour while Chandler was downstairs, most likely waiting for her, and she knew she needed to get her ass down there.

But she needed a few more minutes.

Sitting on the edge of the queen-size bed, she smoothed her fingers down her cheeks. Her hair slid forward, slipping over her shoulders and shielding her face. Her glasses sat forgotten on the nightstand.

Chandler had loaned her a pair of his old flannel pajama bottoms and a shirt that couldn’t have fit his broad build since high school. It nearly swallowed her whole and it smelled of him—a mix of clean laundry and the faint trace of cologne she couldn’t place.

With trembling hands, she lifted the hem of the borrowed shirt and inhaled the scent.

She was sniffing his shirt.

Good God, what was wrong with her? That was just so…so creepy and totally inexcusable.

Dropping the shirt, she wrapped her arms around her waist. Her skin was chilled to the bone and her insides felt ripped open, like what had been done to all her personal items. To do something so violent and pointless was beyond her. Who could seriously hate her this much? Tears welled up in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Even though she was alone, she didn’t want to break like this. It was weak, a sign of no control.

Oh, but it stung like an angry wasp, to know someone hated her so. That someone would attempt to terrorize her, vandalize her car, stalk her, and then break into her apartment. A single tear snuck out, coursing down her cheek, reaching her fingertips.

What would’ve happened if she had been home? A shudder rocked her. She had no idea at what time the crime had been committed, the police didn’t either, and she was late getting home from work tonight. There was a very real possibility that someone could’ve been waiting for her and when she hadn’t shown, he’d taken his aggression out on her apartment. Another quake worked its way through her.

Where were her brass balls? She surely could use them now.

A throat clearing intruded on her thoughts, startling her. She jumped from the bed and spun around. Hastily, she wiped at any trace of tears.

Chandler stood in the doorway, his mouth open as if he were about to say something, but then either forgot or decided against it. His gaze, a startling, intense azure, traveled across her face as if it was the first time he’d laid eyes on her. His stare dropped to her lips, and she felt a flush crawl down her throat, following his gaze all the way to the tips of her toes. When his eyes made it back to hers, she sucked in a sharp breath.

She felt branded by his stare.

The tips of her breasts tingled and then hardened, pebbling against the satin and his borrowed shirt. A sensual thrill sent chill bumps across her skin. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her. She tried not to like the feeling that brought forth in her—the crazy rush of excitement and anticipation—but it pooled low in her belly nonetheless.

“You should wear your hair down more often,” he said.

Alana blinked slowly. “What?”

“Your hair,” he repeated as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he spread his legs. With his eyes all blue fire and the small grin full of lazy arrogance, he really was quite stunning. The picture of masculine beauty. “You’re an attractive woman, but with your hair down and those glasses off, you really are quite beautiful.”

As his words sank in, she snorted. She knew she didn’t look like she face-planted an ugly branch, but beautiful? Yeah, that was not the case. If anything, Alana was exceptionally plain with her dark hair and eyes. “Beautiful? Removing my glasses and letting my hair down isn’t a drastic makeover.”

“If I say you’re beautiful, then you’re beautiful.”

She arched a brow. “Oh, you’re the deciding law on this?”

The lazy grin spread. “I am. So I don’t want you wearing your hair in that bun anymore. Makes you look like you’re ten times older than you obviously are.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I am fucking serious.” He cocked his head to the side. “I like the glasses, though. Reminds me of this teacher I had in high school. Every time they slipped down her nose, it made my—”

“Enough!” She held up her hands. “I totally get the picture, but you don’t get to tell me how to wear my hair.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

Staring at him, she gave a quick shake of her head. The man was insufferable—sexy, but incredibly insufferable. But within the matter of minutes, he’d yanked her out of her self-pity and the tight grasp of fear, and for that she was thankful.

Didn’t mean she had to accept any of what was coming out of his mouth or follow through with the crazy idea of her staying in his home. “You being my bodyguard doesn’t mean you’re my personal stylist, Chandler, and I can’t—”

“Speaking of personal stylist, you look better in my old clothes than you do in those God-awful suits you wear. And trust me, you look fucking hot in my clothes.”

Her cheeks tightened with a blush she wished would go away and die. “Thanks,” she gritted out.

“Thank God the clothes in your closet were destroyed. See? There’s a silver lining in every dark cloud or whatever bullshit they say. We can go shopping tomorrow and find you something that actually makes you look good.”

Too pissed to be hurt by his comments, she curled her hands into fists at her sides. There was a good chance she was going to punch him in the face. “First off, fuck you.”

His blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “I like where this is heading.”

Correction: she was going to kick him in the balls. “Secondly, I’m so glad that my entire wardrobe being destroyed is such good news to you. Thirdly, I’d rather run in front of a speeding city bus than go clothes shopping with you.”

“Well, that sounds drastic.”

Her jaw ached from how hard she was clenching her teeth. “And finally, I can’t stay here.”

The laziness in his posture vanished in an instant and he straightened. “You’re staying here, Alana.”

“I can go back to the hotel—”

“Absolutely not,” he interrupted, eyes flashing cobalt. “It is not safe for you to stay in a hotel.”

A dull shard of dread hit her in the chest, but she ignored it. “I’m fine at the hotel.”

“If you really believe that, then why did you come here?”