Page 8 of Guarded By a Broody Biker

I know how they feel. This whole situation is bananas.

When Axel comes back ten minutes later, he’s holding two pizza boxes and scowling worse than before. His expression clears when his eyes meet mine, the hardness of his features softening.

“Here.” Axel sets the pizza boxes on the edge of the table and moves to squeeze into the stall. “I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got one with everything and one plain. You can pick—”

I’m out of my chair before either of us realize, scrambling round the table and flinging myself into my bodyguard’s arms. He catches me easily, holding me aloft against his broad chest, so much gentler than the way he held Peter, and the rumble of his surprised laughter vibrates all the way down to my bones.

“Thank you,” I babble, burying my face in the crook of his neck. Axel’s short beard tickles my cheek, and I can’t believe I’m doing this, can’t believe Peter is finally gone, can’t believe that pizza is for me. I’m so freakinghungry. “Thank you so much. Thank you, thank you. You’re the best man I ever met.”

A chin nudges my temple, and Axel’s big arms hold me close. “It’s a pizza, Jem, not the Holy Grail.”

I snort against his shoulder. “Might as well be.”

And that’s his cue to set me down, for both us to clear our throats and laugh this off, but Axel doesn’t. He holds me for a few heartbeats longer, our bodies pressed together, our lungs sharing the same air.

People are staring, but I don’t care. My cheeks are bright red, but I don’t care. This is where I want to spend the rest of my days: cradled in the safety of Axel’s arms, with a low, needy throb pulsing between my thighs.

God. Puffing out a sigh, I squirm even closer, relishing the hardness of his body, trying to imagine how it would feel pressing me into a mattress. How I could throw my whole strength against him and never worry about being too much.

“So,” Axel says, and he sounds strained. He sets me down carefully then takes an exaggerated step back, putting some space between our bodies. “Plain or everything pizza? Better pick before it gets cold.”

“Half and half,” I say, shuffling back behind the stall on wobbly legs. “Everybody wins.”

My bodyguard follows, his heat and strength at my back, and I collapse into my seat with jelly legs.

These twenty-four hours are going to ruin me.

Four

Axel

The market hall closes abruptly, like a cupboard snapping closed. One minute, the walls shake with echoed laughter and the breaths and body heat of the crowd rises up and forms condensation on the glass ceiling high above. The next, metal grates rattle down in front of the stalls, and sellers wrap scarves around their necks and shrug on jackets, officially done for the day. People spill out into the dark street, wincing at the misty rain.

“Where now?” It’s easy to keep close to Jem’s side as she walks—even easier than my job is normally. It’s like there’s an invisible tether tying me to her, so anytime she gets even an inch too far away, a sharp pang shoots through my gut. “Got any big Friday night plans?”

Beside me on the sidewalk, Jem scoffs and rolls her eyes. She’s so small next to me, so birdlike and fragile, that my chest burns whenever I let myself think about her being scared by that asshole earlier.

Must’ve been an ex boyfriend, from the way he was talking to her. Right? It’s always the ex.

“Hardly.” Jem fiddles with her backpack straps, yanking them tighter to her shoulders. “All I want to do is go home, take a hot shower, and change into my slobbiest PJs. No parties tonight, thank you.”

Well, that’s nice and simple from a security point of view. And I won’t lie—having Jem to myself for a few hours is a tempting thought, even if I’m strictly there as her bodyguard.

Seriously, was that guy her ex? Does she like guys like that? All neat and fussy and stuck up?

“Works for me,” I grit out, dragging my brain back on track. Doesn’t matter if they dated; it’s none of my damn business. “Got a car?”

“Nope.” Jem jerks her chin across the road, tiny silver raindrops already clinging to her bangs. “I’m even fancier than that. I take the bus.”

Oh, ho. Is that what she thinks? Digging my keys out of my back pocket, I jingle them in the night air between us.

“Not tonight, you don’t.”

My bike is where I left it, parked a few steps along from the market. Jem gasps when she sees it, even though I’m standing here in bike leathers with a helmet dangling from one hand, bearded and tattooed to fuck. Is it really such a surprise to see what I drive?

Still, it’s nice seeing her fuss over my ride, an excited flush creeping over her cheeks. And when she spins around and beams at me under the streetlight—that’srealnice. The best feeling I’ve had in a long time.

“Here.” I jam my own helmet on my head, then shrug off my backpack and wrestle out the spare I brought for just this scenario. It’s smaller than mine, mint green and kinda dorky. Jem practically hops with excitement when I thrust it towardher, trying to keep my hand steady and not shake. “Safety first. Put that on and do the strap up.”

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