Page 4 of A Bride for the Bodyguard

I find myself absentmindedly licking my lips as I take in his rugged features, from his tousled dark hair to those piercing blue eyes that seem to hold an ocean of secrets. His jawline could cut glass and there’s an unmistakable strength about him.

But then I snap out of it. Because no matter how handsome he is, this situation is still completely nuts.

“Are you out of your mind?” I say finally. “I can’t marry you. I don’t even know you. And even if I did know you, why would I marry someone who just blew up my business?”

Jack doesn’t flinch at my tone. Instead, he takes a step closer. “Because it works,” he replies. “I need a wife for an undercover job. You need money to rebuild. Getting married solves both of our problems. It’s a practical solution.”

I cross my arms, trying to mask how the seed of his logic finds a tiny crack in my resolve. “An undercover job? What are you, some kind of spy?”

Jack barks out a laugh. “No, sweetheart. I’m not a spy.”

“So, what are you, then?”

“Let’s just say I provide personal protection for individuals that require a... less traditional approach. One that people are willing to pay a lot of money for.”

“Less traditional,” I echo. “Is that code for ‘illegal’?”

Jack grins again. “It’s code for ‘complicated.’ And having a wife makes things less complicated in certain situations.”

I bite my lip, pondering the opportunity amidst the madness. There’s something about the way he’s offering this that doesn’t feel entirely crazy.

My gaze drifts to the charred remains of my dessert stand. The sight wrenches my heart. I’ve poured everything into Macaroons by Marlie, every last penny and ounce of passion.

Now, it’s gone.

Deep down, I can’t ignore the flicker of potential in his words. And there’s a part of me—probably the desperate part—that wants to believe there’s a solution this simple.

But then again, maybe the smoke has gone to my head.

“Look, I know it’s unconventional,” Jack says. There’s an edge of earnestness in his voice that makes me look up. “But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think it could work for both of us.”

“Unconventional is an understatement,” I mutter. But the knot of panic in my stomach loosens ever so slightly.

“How about we grab breakfast?” He nods toward the diner across the street. “We can talk details over food.”

My stomach answers before I can, growling loud enough that Jack’s lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

“I am starving,” I admit, feeling a trace of curiosity prickle under my skin.

“Then it’s settled. Breakfast it is.” He gestures for me to go ahead, and we make our way toward the diner.

We weave through the cluttered street, Jack’s presence a strange sort of anchor amidst the chaos. He guides me with a hand at the small of my back as we sidestep the scattered remnants of what used to be my livelihood.

“Watch your step, sweetheart,” he cautions, as I step over a twisted metal rod.

“Thanks,” I murmur, though a part of me still doesn’t want his help.

I should be fuming—after all, it’s because of him that I’m in this mess. But there’s a tiny part of me that lights up at how protective he’s being.

The bell above the diner door jingles as we step inside, and I glance around at the bustling crowd, feeling the weight of curious eyes on us. It’s as if they can all sense the bizarre tension between Jack and me, like we’re main characters in a play they’ve all come to see.

“Table for two,” Jack tells the hostess with an easy confidence that has her nodding and grabbing menus without missing a beat. He follows her through the maze of tables, his hand finding mine as he leads the way.

Why does he keep touching me?

This isn’t a date, it can’t be—dates don’t usually follow after a man obliterates your livelihood and then proposes marriage out of the blue.

Right?

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