Page 56 of The Bodyguard

She did. Her blanket fell as he pulled her up. His hand hooked around her waist, pulling her stomach to his, lingering. Gone was her control. Gone was any barrier that would hide her racing heartbeat.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He tugged his bottom lip into his mouth as though considering a thousand possible answers. The corners of his mouth teased her. The seriousness in his eyes promised more than she could handle. Somewhere in between, his warm, hard body tangled against hers, and there was nothing but vulnerable truth. “Pretending that no one else exists.”

He reached to the floor, grabbed her fallen blanket, and then lay on the couch where she had slept. Sawyer pulled Angela down and folded her against his side, spooning her body. Her head rested on his bicep as though it were her pillow. Sawyer laid the blanket over them, as calm and cool as possible. His rock-hard body enveloped her as his arm draped over her hip possessively. Breathless, she tried to make sense of his actions.

“Good night, Ange.”

The easy lull of his breath slowly melted away her surprise. She puddled against him, confident she’d never fall asleep while jumping through the mental calculus needed to understand what was happening. One thing was sure. She wanted to be kissed.

He slept. She imagined. He held her close. She dreamed. What if his confidence and her lack of experience werebalanced? What if their friendship was good enough that she could tell him what she wondered, what she needed?

What if…

What if…

“What if” was enough of a lullaby that she let herself fall asleep and dream of possibilities.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The cabin lights were still dim as the sweet scent of shampoo and a woman’s soft, supple body coaxed Sawyer awake. Taking even breaths, a warm, safe Angela slept under his arm. He wasn’t sure what to make of pulling her to his side, but he couldn’t imagine a better way to wake. A long time had passed since he last fell asleep beside a woman. An even longer time had elapsed since he’dwantedto fall asleep next to a woman. The appeal hadn’t been there in far too long.

Was it here now? That didn’t matter. Sawyer couldn’t break his rules. Not even for Angela. He breathed deeply and realized the piling tension of the last few days had dissipated, replaced by an entirely delicious pressure in his chest that he wasn’t sure how to handle—or ignore. This wasn’t fair to Angela. Hell, he wasn’t sure it was fair to him.

The jet bumped as the pilot navigated turbulence. Angela stirred and sighed, burrowing into Sawyer’s fragile hold. He didn’t want her eyes to open. Her mind would go into overdrive, fixing and correcting and explaining what he wanted to simply stay.

After another rumble of turbulence, the jet angled up and changed elevation. Sawyer prayed for smoother skies. Too many more jolts might force the flight attendant to ask them to buckle up. He waited, wishing for more than he had a right to request, and when the aircraft leveled smoothly, he stayed awake. How much longer did he have? They were scheduled to touchdown at five in the morning local time. He couldn’t check his watch without possibly waking Angela. Sawyer tried to savor what wouldn’t happen again. His eyelids shut, but he never drifted back to sleep.

Then, her soft posture became rigid. The easy rhythm of her breaths stilted. If he could’ve read her mind, Sawyer wouldhave been certain the wheels were spinning at a breakneck speed.

“Morning,” he whispered, not moving a muscle. She could turn to face him or run away. He wasn’t sure which option was better.

Her body straightened, but she didn’t flee. Instead, with her head still resting on him like he was her pillow, she asked, “What time is it?”

He exhaled as if he’d been holding his breath for an hour and finally checked his watch. “A little after four.”

She lifted her chin, offering him her sleepy, semi-panicked eyes. “We’ll be wheels down soon?”

He nodded. “In forty-five minutes or so.” There was a fifty-fifty chance that Angela would not acknowledge how they slept. The situation would be easier that way, if he were being honest. If she peppered him with questions, all the vulnerability and unknowns would dissolve. He didn’t want her to say a word.

The sleepiness faded. Angela eyed their bodies and then studied him. “Sawyer…” The questions were about to start.

“You’re very good at scripting a narrative,” he said.

Her eyes widened at the apparent accusation. “Oh, really?”

The corners of his lips quirked. “Yup, and I’m wondering how that will work out right now.”

Angela tried to elbow him, but that only brought their bodies closer. She blushed. “Well, I’m feeling a little out of my element at the moment. Scripting might help.”

She wasn’t wrong. Still, he didn’t want her to explain away what had drawn them together. “You know what I think?”

“I have absolutely no clue.”

In truth, he didn’t know what to think. “Me neither.”

Maybe, subconsciously, pulling her to sleep at his side had been an unspoken offer to handle their conversation and erase what she hadn’t wanted to face. She had ceded her tight grip onher world and melted into his. He had her. He’d held her. He’d protect her. Like he always had—but more so.

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