Page 32 of The Bombshell and the Bodyguard
The question was... did he want to be?
And was there any possibility of thatsomeonebeing me?
* * *
Over the next few days, I tried to feel him out. I invited him to swim in the bay with me and to stay up late and watch movies together—not in bed—on the couch.
Still, he turned me down. Healwaysturned me down, always had some excuse, citing fatigue or busyness. In fact, he seemed determined to keep me at a distance.
I was pretty sure there had to be some sort of prohibition against security personnel and their clients having personal relationships—he’d mentioned he hadn’t dated Bree Steele until after his protection detail of her ended.
But then Wilder and I weren’tjusta professional and his client—we’d known each other for years.
If he was interested, the “bodyguard code” or whatever shouldn’t stand in his way.
Maybe I needed to just accept that hewasn’tinterested.
Feeling particularly mopey one morning and frankly growing bored of being isolated with only the world’s most stoic guardian for company, I walked into Wilder’s office and flopped down in one of the deep leather club chairs facing his desk.
He glanced up and gave me a perfunctory nod. “Good morning. What are your plans for today? Going for a swim?”
“No. I’m tired of swimming alone.”
“Well, I wish I could join you, but I’ve got a lot of scheduling and expense-tracking to do for the business,” he explained. “With Gray working on the Hood project, he can’t stay in the office all the time. It’s been piling up, but it’s something I can do remotely from here.”
Wilder cleared his throat, and his gaze darted away, retreating to his desktop, where he made of project of straightening the papers there.
The one in his hand shook a little. That’s when I realized his fingers were trembling.
Interesting.
My belly did a gentle somersault.
“Sure. I understand.” I gave an exaggerated sigh. “So, I know you don’t want me to go down to the water by myself, and since you have so much work to do right now, I guess I’ll just stay up here on the deck.”
“Great.” He smiled, looking distinctly relieved. “You going to work on some music?”
With an innocent smile, I said, “No. I think I’ll just sunbathe for a while.”
Wilder flinched. His jaw was so tight it barely moved as he answered. “Great. Have fun. I’ll be… here in my office.”
I’m counting on it.
When I turned around to go change in my room, I smiled. Because the sundeck was directly outside Wilder’s office window.
And I still had one swimsuit he hadn’t seen yet.
Chapter Twelve
First Aid Not Foreplay
Wilder
What. The.Fuckwas Jessica wearing?
As someone who danced for hours on stage night after night and exercised regularly, she was understandably unashamed of her strong, fit body. She’d worn some pretty tiny shorts and even tinier bathing suits since we’d been here.
That had been hard enough to handle.
