Page 82 of South Beach Bodyguards

He was right. Nothing sexy in there. It was old royal blue carpet, one rickety wood chair next to a round oak table, the TV on a cardboard box, and that was it. “You ever hear of having things on the walls? You know, like art or mirrors?” The walls were completely bare and a dirty oatmeal color.

“You want me to hang a mirror so I can reflect the ugly of this apartment back? No thanks.”

He had a point. Wester shut the door and said, “Let me get some scissors so you can cut me out of the jacket. I want to be able to move my arm again and I don’t want you to have to stay here longer than necessary.”

His voice was gruff. I realized that he was genuinely embarrassed for me to see his apartment. “I’m not in any hurry,” I said. “I was supposed to be staying with Eva until the end of the week. I’ve suddenly got an extra five days on my hands.” Which did bother me. I had barely seen my sister in recent months. She almost never left the compound. Narnia had swallowed her.

“I’m sorry you have to leave paradise.” Wester went into his kitchen and rifled through a drawer. He pulled out bent scissors.

“Aside from the freedom from classes and access to a pool, it’s not really my scene. I don’t like the constant coming and going of random people. Plus I’m always afraid I’m going to break something. The robes are a bonus though, or at least they were before I was kidnapped in one.”

“I’m fond of the robes too.” He gave me a smirk. “Or at least on you. And off you.”

I really should put a stop to the flirting that seemed to ebb and flow between us, but I didn’t. Not even close. “It’s my turn to undress you.” I took the scissors and held them up. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t have a choice. I can’t get this off myself.” He looked stoic but uncomfortable. “Just do it really fast.”

“I thought the instructions are usually ‘be gentle.’” Eyeing his jacket with all that dried blood, I inserted the tip of the scissors down at the cuff. It didn’t cut easily. I felt like I was jerking his hand around too much as I hacked through the fabric. I bit my lip, afraid I was causing him pain. “Oh, geez, this is hard. Does it hurt?”

“I’m not as much of a pussy as you seem to think I am.”

I glanced up at his face. He didn’t look like he was in pain. He was watching me, the corner of his mouth turned up. I was standing close to him and I could see the beginnings of a five o’clock shadow on his chin inches away from me. “I don’t think you’re a pussy.” Saying the “p” word out loud made me just a twinge uncomfortable, but I didn’t want to shy away from the subject. “You risked your life to save me. You got shot because of me. So no, not a pussy.”

“They say you are what you eat though.” His voice was low and amused.

Even as my cheeks went pink, I rolled my eyes. “You’re being gross,” I murmured. “And I have scissors.”

He chuckled softly. “Cut my jacket, Olivia, before I kiss you.”

I couldn’t really remember why that would be such a bad thing. Other than the fact that I knew nothing about him and he didn’t seem interested in sharing. We were from two different worlds. He knew drug dealers and carried a concealed weapon. I was a self-described nerd who was born blond by accident. That didn’t mean I didn’t want him to kiss me anyway. I was having a very languid reaction to him. He smelled very manly. Earthy. I could kiss him just once.

“You want me, don’t you?” he asked.

The arrogant confidence snapped me out of my sensual haze. I jerked back slightly, ripped his sleeve the rest of the way up to his armpit and fought the urge to gag. “Oh my God.” Bile crawled up my throat at the sight of all that blood. Even dried to a dull rust color, it was everywhere on the white sleeve of his dress shirt. “That’s a lot of blood.”

“It’s just a flesh wound.”

That made me smile. I knew a Monty Python reference when I heard one. “You forgot the British accent.”

“You forgot I’m not a nerd.”

I cut off his sleeve. “Not a pussy. Not a nerd. What are you? Clearly not a comedian.”

“I’m a man who wants you to kiss him.”

He was smooth. I’d give him that. It was tempting. But then I peeled his sleeve back and well and truly gagged. The cotton was stuck to a weeping semi-coagulated wound. My vision blurred and I gripped his uninjured arm. “Holy shit, I’m going to pass out.”

For a second, it was dicey as hell, but Wester took my cheeks in both his hands and murmured, “Olivia. Look at me.”

I did. And he held me there, with his intense stare, and I felt dizziness recede.

So after I caught my breath, I kissed him.

eight

My mother used to tell me that I was a homing device for trouble. That I drew it to me magnetically. Every bad kid wanted to be my friend. Every crazy idea sprang to me like I’d invented being stupid. Every girl in high school determined to use a guy to make her boyfriend jealous found me. I’d lived my life differently since Rachel’s death. No hare-brained plans, no reckless partying, no worrying about birth control after the fact. Zero attachments, almost no possessions, lots of workouts to run off my frustrations. But no trouble.

Plus, never allowing any sort of tenderness to seep into my heart.

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