Page 5 of Guarded By a Broody Biker

My gut sinks.

None of my business, I remind myself. But shit, that thought doesn’t sit right with me. What if the problem’s still there after twenty four hours?

“I didn’t expect you so soon,” Jem says. She’s a funny little thing; a mix of softness and sharp angles. “I need to—shoot. We can’t leave yet. The market doesn’t close for another four hours.”

“No problem.” It takes some maneuvering, but I squeeze past the table without jolting all the candles too much, then swing my backpack off and set it down. Those brandy-colored eyes rest on me like a weight. “I’ll set up back here.”

“But…” She peers around helplessly. “There’s only one chair.”

My cheeks ache from the sudden urge to smile, but I battle it away. No one wants a grinning bodyguard, and I’ve got a role to play here. Brooding wall of muscle: that’s me for the next twenty four hours.

“I’ll stand.”

Jem huffs and kicks a cardboard box of candles away from my boots, clearly getting flustered at having me behind her table. That’s fine. Lots of folks find bodyguards unnerving if they’re not used to them.

“You’ll get bored,” she warns. “There’s nothing to do back here.”

“I’m not on vacation.” A thread of amusement snakes through my voice, and Jem must hear it, because she gives me a rueful look. “You don’t need to entertain me or sit me down and make me all comfortable. I’m here for your protection, remember?”

At those words, a whole load of tension melts out of Jem’s shoulders. She gives me a grateful nod and turns away to serve a customer, so much more visibly relaxed.

Shit, I should have said it sooner. Should have driven here faster.

But I’m here now, and Jem can finally stop worrying. I’ve got this.

Three

Jem

It takes a while for me to get used to having a huge, rough, brooding man behind my candle stall, taking up space with his long limbs and occasionally asking me questions in a rumbling voice, but once I do…

Once I do.

Holy shit. I haven’t relaxed like this inweeks.Not since my first date with Peter, when some part of my body tensed up and never unwound. My neck aches from the constant strain I’ve been carrying.

Now Peter’s still out there, scheming and stalking and being gross, and I know that, but I’m not afraid of him. Not for the next… twenty three hours, at least.

“These are lovely,” a woman in a suit says, picking up the candles to sniff them one by one. I beam at her, sitting straighter in my chair, so tragically pleased to get complimented in front of Axel.

See, I want to say to him.I’m not a total mess.

“Which do you like best?” the woman asks my bodyguard, pinning him with her no-nonsense gaze. “I want to buy one for my husband. Which do you recommend?”

Pressing my lips together, I turn and stare up at the man standing behind my shoulder. Axel leans against the market wall, arms folded across his chest, and I know from all my stolen glances so far that he’s been scanning the crowd non-stop, on constant alert for danger. He jolts now, dragging his attention back to the stall like a fisherman drawing in a line.

“What?” he says.

I wince.

“Your favorite.” The woman’s suit is cut nicely, like it’s tailored for her. Meanwhile, I’m trying not to feel scratty in my ripped jeans and sweater. “Which candle do you like best?”

Axel grunts, then frowns down at the candles, scanning the labels. He hasn’t sniffed a single one yet, and it’d be totally fair for him to say so—he’s my bodyguard, not a sales assistant. He doesn’t owe me this help.

Yet Axel points at a cluster of candles by the table’s edge: ginger and sour apple. “Those ones.”

Thirty seconds later, the woman’s card swishes through the card reader, and she plunges back into the crowd with a box tucked under her arm. I laugh happily and turn to my new, completely unexpected white knight. Yes, I hired this man to watch my back for twenty four hours—but I didn’t pay him to help me sell my wares. I’m so grateful to finally have someone on my side, I could sing.

Axel’s still leaning against the wall, his motorcycle leathers straining at his bulky shoulders and strong arms. He raises a dark eyebrow when he catches me staring.

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