Jennifer Armentrout - Tempting the Bodyguard

“Well, you’re wrong.” She reached for her purse and started to slide out of the booth. “I would know if it were someone personal, wouldn’t I?”

“Maybe,” he said, following her. The line of her shoulders was tense. Instinct grumbled at him. “But the roses? The ripping up of all your personal items? It sounds like an ex-boyfriend and not a ticked-off client.”

Alana all but punched the door open and stepped out into the strong early afternoon sun. The streets were crowded and she was walking fast, but he caught up with her easily.

“In a hurry to get back to work?” he said, placing a hand on her lower back.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “Yes.”

He kept his hand on her, an intimate gesture that served two purposes. He’d be able to react if someone rushed her, and it also pacified his need to touch her, but it wasn’t enough. He draped his arm over her shoulders, keeping her close to his side. “I need you to be honest with me, Alana. If it’s something personal, it changes everything.”

She held her purse close and squinted up at him, the movement forcing them to stop along the curb, near the busy intersection leading toward her office. “How so?” she demanded, her eyes flashing in those narrow slits. “A psycho is a psycho.”

“Not really.” He scanned the streets and then looked down at her, capturing her gaze. She was the first to look away, focusing her stare over his shoulder. The sudden feeling that there was something she wasn’t telling him was hard to ignore. “Alana, when it’s someone personal, it can be a hell of a lot more dangerous, you feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you.” She tucked a tiny strand that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear. “I’m not sure what you want me to say.” A car horn blew, silencing her for a moment. “There isn’t a man in my life. There hasn’t been one for a while, especially not one who was this upset, and…” Giving a little shake of her head, she blew out a breath. “No. That’s insane.”

He drew her closer, farther into his body. “What? What are you—?”

Alana’s mouth dropped open and whatever she said was lost in a rising, sudden tide of screams and hoarse shouts. He started to turn, to shield Alana as a gunshot rang out, surprisingly loud among the chaos. But small hands landed on his back, pushing him—pushing him aside. He stumbled off the curb. For a brief second, he was absolutely dumbfounded until a soft cry sent shards of ice down his spine.

Police officers swarmed out of nowhere, rushing through the stopped traffic, coming from behind them and in front of them, their dark blue uniforms almost black in the sunlight. They tackled a man to the ground as Chandler finally got his hands on Alana, circling an arm around her waist. Turning to her felt like he was moving in quicksand. He couldn’t believe it. He refused to believe that she had pushed him out of the way.

“Alana, what in the hell…?” He trailed off, his body turning to stone.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and full of shock. In horrified silence, he watched the blood rapidly drain from her face and the light dull from her dark eyes. No—no, no. In a near panic, his gaze rushed over her, and his heart dropped clear out of his chest. A red stain appeared on her left shoulder, rapidly spreading along the breast of her tan suit jacket.

“Ouch,” she whispered, lashes fluttering closed. Her body went limp in his arms.

“Alana!” he shouted, cradling her to his chest as he brought her down to the sidewalk. No fucking way, this is not happening! “Come on, baby, open your eyes.”

A group was gathering around them, but he barely paid them any attention. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he winced as his fingers were immediately covered in her blood.

“Alana, open your goddamn eyes!”

But like usual, she didn’t listen to him. She didn’t open her eyes.

There had only been three times in Chandler Gamble’s life that he could say he’d tasted true fear. Once when Maddie was ten years old and had thrown herself off the top of one of those playground deathtraps to gain Chase’s undivided attention. He’d really thought that the girl was going to break her neck as she came winging down to earth. Chase had broken her fall.

The second time had been when he’d come home from school one afternoon in December and found the typically quiet house too quiet. Something inside him had driven him upstairs, to his mother’s bedroom. He’d found her cold and lifeless in her bed, still in her silk pajamas, a bottle of nearly empty prescription pills on the nightstand. Until he’d realized that there was nothing he could do to help her, that she was dead, he’d been scared out of his mind trying to make her breathe.

And as he held Alana’s still body in his arms, he had felt the cold bite of fear for the third time in his life.

“This is an entirely fucked-up situation,” Murray said from the doorway.

He didn’t look up or even think about pulling his gaze away from the still, pale form on the bed. He hadn’t looked away since the nurse came out and asked if he was family. He’d told him that he was Alana’s boyfriend. Knowing the damn spitfire, she’d be pissed over that, but he wasn’t going to risk being shut out of the room.

And hell would freeze over before he let her wake up alone or with strangers.

Murray cleared his throat. “You doing okay? The nurse outside said it was basically a flesh wound. That she’d be okay.”

That was the good news. The bullet had made a clean entry and exit. The scar would be minimal and she’d wake up soon and would be able to go home—home with him.

“She…” He cleared the strange lump from his throat. “She pushed me out of the way, Murray. What in the hell? It’s my job to keep her safe, and she pushes me out of the way and takes a bullet.”

Murray ambled over to the bed, staring down at the sleeping woman. A look of respect carved into his harsh features. “A bullet that would’ve surely smacked you in the back and done some damage.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, smoothing a hand down his jaw. He was still stunned, absolutely awed. “She pushed me out of the way.”

“I know.” Murray flashed a quick grin. “Guess there was a role reversal you were unaware of, huh?”

“No shit.” He coughed out a dry laugh as he reached across the off-white blanket and carefully picked up her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed gently. “I don’t know if I should be thankful or pissed.”

“Probably a little of both,” he replied, staring at their joined hands. Chandler knew how it looked, but he didn’t care. Not even when Murray made the next statement. “You’ve got feelings for her.”

It wasn’t a question, more like an observation, and Chandler wasn’t one to bullshit. “Yeah, I do.”

Saying that out loud wasn’t an earth-shattering event. Neither was the fact that he hadn’t known her for years. Perhaps he’d realized this would happen when she walked back into his life last week, and it had only been strengthened when she trembled in bliss in his arms. Now that she had risked her life for his, foolishly so, there was no denying the warmth building in his chest, encasing his heart. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he did know she meant something to him.

He expected Murray to make some smartass comment, but the man only nodded slowly and then said, “Kind of hard not to when the wee lady tossed herself in front of a bullet for you.”

Chandler’s lips twitched and he didn’t point out that what had been brewing inside him had started before her Superwoman antics. His gaze dipped to where her hand rested in his. So small and delicate…

“You need anything from me?” Murray asked.

“Could you get her rental car from her office?” When the man nodded, Chandler sighed. “That’s all I need.”

Murray stopped at the door, running a hand over his clean-shaven skull. “She’s one hell of a lady, isn’t she?”

His response was immediate. “That she is.”

Left alone, Chandler traveled his gaze to the tensed line of her mouth and brows. Was she in pain? The docs had given her something and there’d be a prescription to take with them, but it must’ve not been doing much. He knew what a bullet wound felt like—no matter how minor, it burned like being stabbed with a hot poker.

He was unsure of how much time had passed before her nose wrinkled up and her lashes fluttered. It could’ve been minutes, but it felt like years to Chandler. She moaned softly, and he scooted closer, damn near tempted to climb into the bed with her.

“Alana?” he called. Her lashes fluttered open and she blinked until her eyes focused on his face. He felt his lips stretch into a tight smile. “Hey there, how are you feeling?”

“Like I…” She paused, wetting her lips. “Like I’ve been shot.”

“Well, that sounds about right.” He squeezed her hand and watched her gaze dip to where he held hers. “It was a flesh wound. Nothing too serious. You’ll be able to go home with me in a few.”

“Nothing serious?”

He liked that she didn’t question the going-home-with-him part. “You passed out, probably from shock and pain.”

She winced. “So embarrassing.”

He grinned. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Her chest rose with a deep breath and her brow wrinkled even further. “I…I wasn’t even wearing my panties. You…took them.”

A laugh burst from him and if he could’ve without hurting her, he would’ve scooped her up. “Yeah, but I don’t think that was anyone’s concern.”

“I don’t like the sight or smell of blood,” she explained, and he was thrilled to see color pinked her cheeks. She drew in a breath and winced again as she looked at her bandaged shoulder. “Ow.”