Page 14 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
Kimberly leaned over the rim of the bathtub to trace the arm she’d painted years ago. The mermaid bothered her. The proportion of the hand to the face was off by a milli—not enough to matter to most people. It shouldn’t matter to her either.
The bathroom had been the wrong place to come to, even if no one in their right mind would follow a pregnant woman into a bathroom. Her stomach was oddly calm, not demanding its usual sacrifice to the porcelain goddess. If she’d been thinking, she would have gone to her bedroom or the loft. Bathrooms needed more comfortable seating. Kimberly lowered herself into the large, empty tub. Fifty gallons of warm water sounded so good right now. But if Mr. Alexander was intent on forcing her to leave, a locked bathroom door wouldn’t keep him out. If she had to leave Art House, it wouldn’t be dripping wet in a towel.
A little voice inside sounding remarkably like Candace told her Mr. Alexander wouldn’t do that to her. Not unless it was a true emergency. He wasn’t Jax.
Kimberly inflated an air pillow and put it behind her head. A bath did sound nice. In a jetted tub with a lavender bath bomb. The old seventies blue-metal tub she sat in would have to do. Funny, the only thing she missed about her house in California was the tub. The studio here was as bright and well organized as her studio there. When she was free to surface, a house with a large tub would be on her shopping list.
What if she was forever ensconced in a prison of protection instead?
Would Mr. Alexander keep her under lock and key? Only if Candace paid him to. Kimberly harbored a suspicion he would try to see to her comfort more than Jax and his crew ever had. That earned him points.
The cheeky pirate standing where the towel bar met the wall caught her eye. When she’d painted him, she’d based him on her then-boyfriend. She’d imagined the pirate as a disavowed duke or the younger brother of a crown prince. But like the model for her pirate, most people were not more than they seemed—they were less.
The inevitable knock sounded on the unlocked door.
“Come in.”
The door opened only an inch. “Are you sure?”
“I’m decent.” Kimberly didn’t bother moving.
The door swung open, and Mr. Alexander tilted his head as he appraised her. “Do you usually sit in empty bathtubs?”
“This is the first time. It is more comfortable than you think.”
A corner of his mouth raised in a half smile. “I’ll take your word on that. Is it comfortable enough to have a conversation in, or would you prefer another location?’’
“The library?”
When every muscle in her midsection suddenly betrayed her and she couldn’t find a good hold to get out of the tub, Mr. Alexander extended his hand. “I see the brilliance of your fully-clothed bath method. No awkward help-me-out-of-the-bathtub moments.”
“Have you had many of those with clients?”
Handsome as he was, surely some woman had thought of that.
His face reddened a shade. “Not recently. The Ogilvies and Crawfords are my primary clients. Both women would call their husbands first.”
Kimberly grasped his hand. He bent over and placed his other hand behind her back, supporting her as she pulled herself up. As soon as she was safely out of the tub, he dropped his hands, and the feeling of protection left her. The realization caused her to misstep and catch her toe on the rug. Mr. Alexander caught her elbow and steadied her.
Who knew? A bodyguard who actually tried to protect his charge.
7
Alex followedKimberly into the library. Something about her, maybe the baby, caused him to want to protect her more than his usual clients. Making dinner for her was far from normal. If he wasn’t careful, he would fall into what Abbie called his “smothering mode”—something he rarely exhibited with clients. His sister and the few girlfriends he’d had were the only recipients of his smothering.
Kimberly chose a chair. He sat down in the one next to her. “I spoke with my brother. He thinks you should be safe here for a few days as long as you keep out of sight. Who did you interact with getting to town?”
“The shuttle driver. There were eight other passengers, and I got a Lyft from the university. It was pouring, so I had her drop me off at the house after a quick stop at the convenience store, and I paid cash. I used a burner and had a hoodie on.”
“Anyone else?”
Kimberly shook her head.
“I don’t think Mrs. Capps saw you. She didn’t call 911.”
Laughter bubbled up from inside Kimberly. “It wouldn’t be the first time she’s called them on me.”
“Eventually she will be by with a loaf of Amish friendship bread and an enquiring mind.”
