Page 52 of The Bodyguard

“What do you want to talk about?”

He leans forward, rests his hands palm-down on my desk, his eyes staring straight into mine, and I can feel myself burning up. I just hope he can’t see that.

“Not here. Okay?”

“Okay. But, you know, this office is probably way more private than a crowded bar or restaurant.”

“I was thinking more of a walk. It’s a nice day, you’ve been stuck in here since the early hours of this morning, you need to take a break.”

I look down at the unfinished email I’ve been trying to write for what feels like hours, and most probably has been. My concentration’s pretty sporadic at the moment.

“Give me a few minutes. I need to send this email.”

“Alright.”

He pulls himself away from my desk and goes back next door.

It’s been three days since we had sex. Crazy, beautiful sex. And just like he asked me to, I haven’t told anyone it happened, who would I tell anyway? It’s not like I have any close girlfriends to share that information with. So, yeah, I’ve kept it to myself. Hugged that secret tight, replaying it every time I close my eyes. Bodie, on the other hand, it’s like he’s pulling away from me, he’s so professional now it feels like a kick to the gut.

I take a moment to breathe, to focus, and I finally finish the email that’s taken up most of my morning. Only then do I let my focus drift back to Bodie. Again. What does he want to talk to me about? I couldn’t read his expression, couldn’t see anything in his eyes, I don’t know what he’s feeling. What he’sreallyfeeling. And Iwantto know.

Getting up, I go over to the mirror in the corner of my office and check my reflection. I make sure my mascara hasn’t smudged; my lipstick hasn’t faded. I run my fingers through my hair, shaking it out, and I wonder whether I should tie it back. Put it up. And then I wonder why the hell I’m doing all of this, this isn’t a date. We aren’t in a relationship, not a real one, anyway.

But you wish you were.

Yeah. I think, maybe, I do…

Taking a deep, deep breath I grab my jacket from the hook by the door and step outside, checking with my assistant that everything’s in hand here before I leave.

“You ready?”

I turn around and there he is, leaning against the doorpost in the doorway to his own office. The office he’s been given to do work he has no intention of carrying out.

I nod and we fall into step beside each other as we head for the elevator, neither of us saying anything. We don’t talk until we’re out of the building; until we’re walking along the bustling Quayside.

“So, what do you want to talk to me about?”

He doesn’t answer me, he just takes my hand and leads me to a riverside bar we’ve been coming to quite regularly over the past couple of weeks, for a quick lunch or a drink after work.

“I thought we were just going for a walk?”

“Yeah, well, I need a drink.”

I tug at his hand, and he stops, and looks at me.

“I thought you didn’t drink while you’re working.”

“I don’t, usually. But sometimes I feel the need to break my own rules.”

We find a table out on the terrace and order our drinks – beer, for both of us.

“Come on, then. What do you want to talk to me about?”

He clasps his hands together on the table and drops his gaze, his shoulders tensing up.

“Bodie?”

His eyes lock on mine. “I think you should go home. Back to your own place.”

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