Page 15 of Escorting the Bodyguard
“It’s a mess when it’s wet, I usually?—”
“Don’t.” He stands, moving closer. “You look good like this. Real.”
The word flows through me—slowly, like honey. No one had ever called me that without meaning ‘too much.’ Too dramatic, too intense, too complicated. But when he says it, it feels like a compliment.
My throat tightens, and I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to retreat, to rebuild my armor, but something in his expression keeps me frozen in place.
When he reaches out to touch a damp curl, I don’t pull away. His fingers are gentle, almost reverent, as he tucks it behind my ear. The simple touch sends electricity through my entire body.
His hand lingers near my face, and neither of us moves.
The air between us crackles with tension. His eyes drop to my lips, then back up, and I can see the war playing out behind his eyes. Desire and discipline locked in a quiet standoff.
But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he steps back, giving me space I don’t want.
“We should get some sleep.” It sounds like it costs him to say it.
Right. Sleep. With this electricity sparking between us.
I retreat to the bathroom to brush my teeth and try to calm my racing pulse. When I emerge, Ford is waiting his turn, and we do an awkward little dance around each other in the small space.
A few minutes later, we’re both in bed. I notice he’s kept his t-shirt and shorts on—a careful distance even in sleep. We lie in the dark, supposedly asleep but both aware the other is awake. Every inch of space between us hums with tension.
His breathing is slow, even. But I’m wide awake, replaying the way he said I looked real. Not perfect. Not polished. Just... me. And he didn’t flinch.
I shift toward him, drawn like gravity. Not touching, but close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Close enough that if he wanted to reach for me, he could.
Ford’s breathing changes, becomes more ragged. I can feel him fighting the same pull I am.
“Gemma.” His voice is a warning and a question all at once.
“I know,” I whisper back. But I don’t move away.
The tension becomes unbearable. Ford turns toward me, and suddenly we’re face-to-face in the dark, the conflict clear in his eyes even without much light.
“This isn’t smart,” he murmurs, but his hand comes up to brush another strand of hair from my face. His touch lingers, thumb tracing my cheekbone.
“I know,” I whisper back, but I lean into his touch anyway.
I shift even closer in the dark. Not touching, just closer. Close enough that if either of us moved just a little more...
If he kisses me, I’ll break every rule I’ve ever made for myself.
And I’m starting to think I want to.
5
Ford
Gemma moves closerin the dark.
Not touching me—just enough to change the air between us. It warms, tightens. Feels like a fuse waiting to be lit. My hand is still on her face, thumb resting against the edge of her cheekbone. I should move it. Should roll away. Should remember I’m here to protect her, not to want her.
But I don’t.
Her gaze on me is steady. Curious. Waiting. Like she already knows what I’m going to do.
And I do it.
