Page 42 of Bound to the Bodyguard

“Starving,” she admitted, moving closer to the table. “You’ve outdone yourself. It looks amazing. Thank you.”

My chest swelled with a sense of accomplishment—not from executing a strategic operation, but from bringing a moment of joy to the woman who had unwittingly become the center of my protective universe.

“Enjoy,” I said, tone calm and authoritative, yet laced with a warmth reserved just for her. As she reached for the silverware, our hands brushed momentarily, sending an unanticipated jolt through me, which I quickly masked under my stoic facade.

“Let’s eat,” Raven said, the assertiveness in her voice softened by the inviting spread before her. She picked up her fork, and I watched as she savored the first bite, her expressive eyes closing for a brief moment in delight.

“Perfect,” she declared, and whether she referred to the meal or the moment, I couldn’t tell. But one thing was clear—the day had begun with a promise, and in that promise, there lay a world of possibilities.

I poured the rich, dark coffee into two mugs as Raven forked a piece of bacon, its crisp edges curling like a brittle autumn leaf. She chuckled softly, a sound that drew my gaze.

“Something funny?” I asked, passing her a mug.

“Your bacon,” she began, a playful glint in her eyes. “It reminds me of Saturday mornings back at home. My dad would get up at the crack of dawn just to start the grill. By the time I’d be awake, the whole backyard would smell like mesquite and smoked brisket.”

“Sounds like quite the feast,” I replied, leaning against the counter, arms folded across my chest.

“Oh, it was,” Raven said, her voice tinged with nostalgia. “We’d have these huge family gatherings—cousins, uncles, you name it. And there’d be enough food to feed an army: ribs, coleslaw, baked beans, and my grandma’s peach cobbler.” She sighed wistfully. “Those were simpler times.”

“Family is important.” I nodded, sipping my coffee. “I remember my mother’s kitchen during Thanksgiving. It wasn’t huge, but there was love packed into every corner of that room.”

“Did she have a special dish?”

“Her sweet potato pie,” I replied with a soft smile. “Never tasted anything like it since.”

“Maybe you’ll have to make it for me sometime.”

“Maybe I will,” I returned, the unspoken promise hanging between us like a secret handshake.

Our laughter mingled, a light moment that seemed to chip away at the walls I had meticulously built around myself. With every story shared, every chuckle exchanged, we wove a thread of connection—a fragile yet burgeoning bond.

“Tell me more,” I urged, eager to hear the cadence of her voice painting pictures of a past I’d never seen.

Raven leaned back in her chair, a fondness touching her features. “Well, there was this one spot, a little swimming hole we’d sneak off to on hot summer days. The water was cool, clear, and the perfect escape from the relentless sun.”

“Ever think about going back?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “But that life feels like it belongs to someone else now. I’ve built something different here.” Her determined gaze met mine, a silent acknowledgment of the success—and the threats—that came with it. “In any case, I doubt the paparazzi would appreciate the rustic charm.”

“Then it’ll be our secret getaway,” I chuckled, the words slipping out before I could stop them. But instead of regret, I felt a thrill at the thought—a dangerous, exhilarating prospect.

“Ours, huh?” Raven echoed, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “I’ll hold you to that.”

With each story, each shared laugh, the trust between us deepened, and the world outside—with all its shadows and uncertainty—seemed to fade, if only for a moment.

Chapter 27

Raven

Iwrapped my fingers around the warm ceramic, drawing comfort from its heat. “I had dreams back then, you know? Not of wealth or fame, but of... making a difference. I wanted to write—stories that would touch people’s hearts.”

“Seems you’ve achieved that. Just in a different way.” Jerome said, his gaze steady on mine, encouraging me to continue.

“Have I?” My fingers tightened around the mug. “Sometimes I wonder if the cost was too high.”

“Everyone has their battles.” Jerome’s voice dropped an octave, a soft rumble that seemed to penetrate my defenses. “I’ve faced mine, too. After leaving the military, finding purpose outside the structured life... It’s been a challenge.”

“Is that why you became a bodyguard?” My eyes searched his face, looking for the man behind the disciplined facade.

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