Page 9 of Her Cruel Bodyguard

I stare at my wristwatch, waiting. Any minute now, Eva should be done and out. While this arrangement is mounting more coal to the hell I am already burning in, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I will watch her like a hound if I have to, because that idiot Salvatore cannot be trusted, and God fucking help him because I will… I bite down on my teeth, reminding myself that I cannot do as much as I would want to because he is the son of my best fucking friend and boss, and Eva’s brother.

“I am doing good, my weekend was spectacular and after seeing Salvatore, I slept like a baby, no need to worry about a gun being pointed at me by my own brother.”

A small smile slips through the crack, and her sultry voice in my head punctures my core.

“I love the idea of my father roping you with me, having a grump attached to you everywhere you go is a great way to live life.”

My personal rambler. I'll rush her to a doctor if she ever gets to spend five minutes with me without prattling on. I knew she would crack. I was waiting, biding my time. I could tell she was about to spill when she started to settle into her seat.

I love hearing her talk. The sound of her voice is like the first ray of the sun after a cloudy day—the only ray of sun in my cloudy life. It is everything to me—it is beautiful.

If any other person dares to talk a fraction of the amount Eva talks around me, I’d be tempted to pump a bullet into their mouths. But with her, I am torn between the need to keep her to myself, kill anyone who dares come close to her or take her from me, and the desire to let her go, watch her have a life that is better for her because it is not with me.

My fear of hurting her or watching her get caught in the line of fire is too fucking much to risk. There are too many reasons to let her go.

My past, my secrets, my inability to be the man for her, my line of job, my duty to her father, my duty to her as a guardian. There are too many fucking reasons to let her go, and not enough reasons to keep her to myself except the simple fact that I want to.

I have to take the high road for the both of us.

I catch her stepping out in an oversized, bubbling pink T-shirt and ripped denim pants. She halts, Gloria beside her, mad curls on her head, as mad as the choice of her clothes.

I turn on the headlights, noticing Eva is searching for me. She doesn’t have her glasses on, and she can’t see that far. She confirms my guess by turning toward the light and I honk.

I smile but the grin is wiped off when some kid steps beside her, his tall frame hovering as he leans down to whisper something in her ear. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable with his move; instead, she smiles and then nudges him with her elbow.

It better not be what I am fucking thinking. He better not be who I am fucking thinking.

I swallow, the air-conditioned air in the car grating my nostrils as I breathe it in. It might not be it. He might be a new friend. She is young, she is allowed to have friends. I can let her have those.

Ah… Fuck.

Who am I to decide what she can or cannot do?

I hate this nonsense.

She starts to move toward me. No, they start to move toward the car. All fucking three of them.

She better not bring that son of a bitch close to me. If he is who I think he is, then she is bringing an AK to a gunfight. He has the advantage of youth, and the son of a bitch is good-looking. A stabbing reminder of my lost years.

The boy stops, not coming any closer. That’s better.

Eva and Gloria keep walking down and circle to my side of the car instead of getting into the backseat. Eva taps on the glass, and I grind my teeth, using every ounce of self-control to quench the fire of jealousy in my stomach before winding down.

“Hey, Fabio,” Gloria bounces on her feet, a bright smile on her face, and giving me that little flirtatious wink she always does when she sees me.

I nod, and Eva leans in. “Give us a minute,” she says and Gloria takes a few steps back. Eva stays put, looking over her shoulder, a cue that makes Gloria turn and walk back to the boy.

“Get in,” I bite out.

“He can talk,” she chuckles. “Unfortunately for him, I won’t be listening,” she drops her camera bag carefully on my lap, her fingers skimming unintentionally to stroke my clad skin. The effect is fire rushing through my veins.

Recovering her hand, she bends forward, seemingly putting her head in front of me, but my reflex pulls me back. If she noticesthat, she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m going to study with Gloria and Paul for a few hours,” she says quickly. Paul. That’s the name of the boy. But who the fuck is Paul?

“Eva…”

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