Page 40 of The Bodyguard

She settles herself at the small round table on the paved terrace underneath a sprawling oak tree, and sips from a mug she’s brought out with her. And for a moment or two I just watch her as she sits back in the padded, high-backed chair and looks up at the sky. Is she thinking what I was thinking just a few seconds earlier, when I did the exact same thing? When I looked up at the sky and thought how beautiful the weather’s been lately? A completely normal thought in a not-so-normal world.

She hasn’t spotted me yet, so I edge out of her sight, back around the side of the house, but if I twist my head a touch I can still see her, provided she doesn’t move.

I keep as much of an eye on her as I can from this position, and smile to myself as I remember last night. I have no doubt that she’ll be mortified about it, that she’ll regret it, but I’d lain awake – as I do most nights, to be honest – thinking about it. She wasn’t that drunk. She wasn’t really drunk at all. A little light-headed, maybe, but she knew what she was doing. She knew exactly what she was doing. And the fact I didn’t really put up much of a fight…

I’d been so lost in that thought – a very dangerous thing for me to let happen in my line of work, distraction can be a killer, literally – that I didn’t see her turn around in her chair, and catch sight of me. But, as I’d half expected her to do, she doesn’t get up and try to avoid me, although, I’m guessing that may have been her initial intention. To avoid me as much as she possibly could. She should know I’m never going to let that happen.

I wait a second, take a deep breath, and walk over to her. And as I reach the table she doesn’t even try to hide her frustrated sigh.

“Morning,” I say as I lower myself down into the chair opposite her, throwing her a smile that she doesn’t return. She can’t even hold eye contact with me for more than the briefest of seconds, which actually makes me smile more, and it shouldn’t. She’s embarrassed, but she needn’t be. I’m not. I don’t want her to be, either.

“You’re not really necessary today. I won’t be leaving the house.”

“You’ve already left it.”

She throws me a withering look. “You know what I mean.”

Of course I do. But I’m just trying to break the ice here. Trying to make her see that last night – shit like that happens.

“You have no plans today? None at all?”

She continues to sip her drink as she looks out over the vast gardens that surround us here in this idyllic location. I wish I’d been lucky enough to grow up in a place like this.

“Nope. No plans.”

“Not even a stroll along the beach?”

She finally looks at me again, and there’s an almost cold edge to her eyes. But I don’t think she means it, I think it’s nothing more than that defensive shield she’s pulled up after what happened last night.

She kissed me.

You kissed her back.

Yeah. I know. It’s part of my job.

That kiss wasn’t. That kiss was different. You know it was.

“I’d love a stroll along the beach, actually. On my own.”

I look right at her, into eyes she’s trying to keep cold, but there’s something – and I’m not sure she realises it’s there, but I don’t think she wants to push me away quite as much as she thinks she does.

“You know I can’t let you do that.” I lean forward, clasping my hands together between my knees, my eyes still fixed on hers. She looks beautiful this morning. Her hair’s pulled back off her face, which is sporting minimal make-up, because she doesn’t need any more than that, and even though she’s only wearing a simple dress and white sneakers she manages to make it look like she took hours to get ready. She’s elegant. Graceful. Stunning. And I feel a sudden jolt in my stomach that causes my breath to catch in my throat, and she frowns.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I haven’t eaten yet, that’s all. I guess it’s just my stomach telling me I need to get something in there.” I smile, and she manages to force one back in return. I should probably go and rustle up something for breakfast, it’s just that, sometimes, I can’t be bothered to put too much effort in when I’m only doing it for me. I’d live on take-outs and microwave meals if I could, but in my line of work I can’t afford to let my health slide. My fitness levels have to be high; on point, constantly.

“Do you want to come inside? Have some breakfast?”

There’s a part of me that thinks that might be a good idea, getting my feet – quite literally – under Mikkel Nielsen’s table. But there’s another part that’s telling me getting too close is a really bad idea. He’s not a stupid man. This charade I’m playing out here is time sensitive, and the clock’s already ticking.

“Or, we could go back to the guest cottage? There’s bread in there, and some bacon and eggs.”

A much better idea. Get her alone. Talk to her. There’s every chance that something she says, just a passing comment in conversation, it could prove to be useful. There’s no harm in trying.

She pauses for a second, and then she shrugs and gets up, leaving her empty mug on the table. “Okay. Let’s go make some bacon sandwiches.”

Well, that went easier than I’d anticipated. But we still make our way back to the guest cottage in silence, she doesn’t seem in any hurry to start a conversation, and I might have to change that. I might have to change a lot of things.

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