Page 49 of Duty and Desire
The chest moved, and a thick, ropy throat came into view before I got a face.
Whoa.
Smithie described my new bodyguard as “motherfucking huge, bald and ugly.”
He got two things right.
The last was a matter of opinion. That fixed stare from silver eyes under a protruding brow and over a large nose that was framed by cut cheekbones with cavernous cheeks and a jaw so perfectly angled, it could be used in geometry class could be considered too brutish for some.
But not me.
This was going to be a problem.
“I’m opening up!” I bellowed, still staring at his face.
That face disappeared, and I got his throat and chest again as he straightened.
Yes, this was going to be a problem.
I unlocked and opened my door.
Then I immediately, and automatically, took a step back.
All right.
Whoa.
I could get a hint from the chest and what it might be attached to with what I’d seen of that throat, but this guy had to be six five, maybe taller.
And his height was only a part of why Smithie described him the way he did.
He wasn’t “motherfucking huge.”
He wasmotherfucking huge.
I was average height.
But slender.
My sister had ass.
My job was physical. It wasn’t just the nightly dancing. It was the practice and constantly choreographing and adding new routines. I could probably eat a boatload, but I didn’t because I was too busy to eat, and when I did, I’d learned long ago what all the experts said was what an expert would know from studyingit. Eating good food gave me more energy, made me sleep better and put me in a better mood (most of the time).
So unless the occasion was special, I put good food in my mouth and didn’t drink much outside water, flavored water, sparkling water, with the odd antioxidant vitamin drink thrown in.
So yeah, I was slender.
And two of me could make this guy.
Maybe three.
He moved forward.
I moved back.
His movements were unwieldy. Not clumsy—heavy and plodding.
It didn’t matter this guy was a bull in a china shop.
