Page 22 of Keeping Astrid

“Ahh, yes, that,” he nodded. “Still don’t hear it.”

Astrid gaped at him, then rolled her eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t hear the difference. To him, it probably sounded the same. “Trust me, it does. Are you saying that’s not how you became known as Growler?”

He nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. I got Growler because we were jogging during boot camp and some tiny, yappy dogs came running up to us. They were getting around our feet, tripping up a couple of guys. I was annoyed, and so I growled at them and they all took off. The guys thought it was hilarious and started calling me Growler.”

“I don’t—well, I suppose that makes sense. Maybe they heard your growly voice as well, and that played into how they came up with it. It sounds like it comes from here.” Astrid placed her hand on his chest.

The muscles tensed beneath her palm and her gaze locked onto his—dark and full of an emotion she couldn’t quite make out. Her fingers curled around his shirt. They stayed that way for seconds, before he blinked and the moment was lost.

“I doubt it, but”—he glanced at the wall oven, which showed it close to two in the morning—“we’ve got a busy day tomorrow. You should head up to bed.”

“Right,” she muttered and put some space between them.

The thought of walking up those stairs alone didn’t appeal. She hadn’t been able to sleep before, and she doubted after all that had happened since she’d crept downstairs, she’d be able to now. Plus, she wanted to prolong being near Growler. Initially, she may have disliked the idea of having a bodyguard, but now she liked it.

Maybe a bit too much.

Even in the dim lighting of the kitchen, Growler could make out the myriad of emotions flitting across Astrid’s face. The one that stuck with him, though, was fear.

“How about I make us some warm cocoa?” he suggested when Astrid still hadn’t moved to go back to bed.

As if his question jolted her from the daze she’d fallen into, Astrid straightened her shoulders, a soft smile teasing her full lips. “I’ve got something even better. Go take a seat.” She pointed to the barstools as she turned the lights on.

He grabbed a stool and sat without even being conscious of moving. His mind was still on that smile. The way he wanted to taste it.

Nope. Not going there. Client, remember?

Growler was beginning to think that no matter how many times he lectured himself, he was going to be losing the battle of keeping the relationship between him and Astrid strictly professional.

Perhaps he should talk to Ox when he phoned to discuss the security upgrades he wanted to make here and suggest that either Angel or Irish take over looking after Astrid.

Nope. No other man is looking after her.

The mere thought of not being able to protect Astrid wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain. It wouldn’t be a good look if he hooked up with his client on his first job. Ox would likely kick him to the curb, and he could kiss his new career away.

No matter how tantalizing the prospect of pursuing Astrid would be, he had to maintain his professionalism. Sadly, he believed this might be a battle he would end up losing. Particularly if Astrid kept looking at him the way she was now. Her gaze kept sliding to him. To his chest encased in the white t-shirt he’d had on under the dress shirt he’d worn.

As his staying over at Astrid’s hadn’t been part of the plan, he hadn’t had a change of clothes. Not to mention his car was still parked at Alliez’s office. He’d donned his suit pants when he’d patrolled the backyard.

Another item he needed to add to his list of things to do tomorrow—go to his place to pack a bag and maybe…condoms.

Chapter Eleven

The whole drive to the studio, Astrid was conscious of Growler beside her. The confident way he handled her vehicle. She hadn’t put up a fight when he held out his hand, indicating he wanted her keys the day before at the studio or again this morning. Astrid had handed them over without a fight. What would be the point of arguing? No way was she going to win it.

Growler looked into the rearview mirror, the third time in a matter of minutes. What was going on?

Astrid leaned forward a little to look at her side mirror, noticing a silver sedan that seemed awfully close. Then again, it was LA.

Growler changed lanes and put his foot on the gas. Astrid clutched the side of her seat, her stomach doing little twirls as if it was a ballerina.

“What’s going on?” she asked, not sure she truly wanted the answer to that question.

“Fuck,” Growler muttered as he, once again, checked the mirrors.

Astrid twisted to look out the back window—the silver car was still there. Tiny darts of dread bloomed in the pit of her stomach. “We’re being followed, aren’t we?”

Way to state the obvious.

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