Page 21 of Not the Bodyguard's Widow
Kimberly covered her mouth to hide the convergence of a laugh and a yawn. “I guess I should go to bed, then.”
Mr. Alexander stood and offered Kimberly a hand. “Have a good night.”
“You too.” She took his hand, surprised how such a small gesture made her feel so secure. In just half a day, Alex had completely overturned her opinion of bodyguards.
As Kimberly closed the door, an unfamiliar feeling filled the room. She tried to place it as she changed into her pajama pants and T-shirt. It wasn’t until she turned off the light and snuggled into the amazing mattress that she put a name to the feeling. Safe. For the first time in months—no, over a year—she felt safe.
8
At the soundof a door clicking shut, Alex leapt out of bed and into a waiting pair of slip-on tennis shoes, then out the bedroom door, automatically checking for his gun and phone. The app showed Kimberly was still in her bedroom. The living room was clear as he rounded the doorway into the kitchen.
A crash and a scream.
Illuminated by the light of the refrigerator, Kimberly stood with broken glass and splattered milk covering her bare feet, her long hair hiding her face.
“Don’t move.” Alex turned on the light. “There’s glass behind you.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Using the edge of his shoe, Alex nudged a large shard away from Kimberly’s feet. “Let me get you out of here.” He scooped her up. He could tell from her gasp that she hadn’t been prepared to be picked up.
“Put me down. I’m too heavy.”
She was actually too light, her ribs too prominent under his hand. He retreated to the living room, where he set her on a chair.
“I could have gotten out of there.” Kimberly stood.
“Didn’t want to risk you cutting your foot.”
“But I could have walked.”
Alex stepped out of his right shoe and held it up for her to inspect. A pea-sized piece of glass was stuck in the center. “It wasn’t a risk I was willing to take. Check your feet before you go anywhere. There may be a shard on top of them.”
Kimberly sat back down and ran her hand over her feet. “Nothing. I’ll go put some shoes on and clean this up. You can go back to bed.”
She walked out of the room without a backward glance. At least she had the good sense to go the long way rather than through the kitchen. Alex returned to the kitchen and pulled the broom and dustpan out of the pantry.
He was dumping the last of the shards into the garbage when Kimberly reentered the room from the other hallway, shoes on and long brown hair secured on top of her head.
“I said I’d clean it up.”
“You did. But I wasn’t going to stand around waiting when I could be useful.” He set the milk jug and a clean plastic cup on the table.
Kimberly opened the pantry and pulled out a mop, the kind with the disposable pad. “Let me finish.”
“Why don’t you drink your milk?”
“I don’t want milk anymore.” She fitted one pad over the end of the mop and lowered it to the floor.
“What do you want?”
“You should rinse out the end of the broom. It got milk in it, and Candace won’t be happy if you stink up her house.” She pushed the mop up to the end of his foot and veered away.
What did she have to be angry for? Alex poured himself a glass of milk and put the jug away.
“I said I didn’t want milk.”
“I do.” He drained the glass in two gulps, trying to keep from reacting to her waspishness.
