Page 5 of Big Bodyguard
As if on cue, her stomach grumbles again, louder this time. Color rushes to her cheeks and she turns her face toward the window.
I fight the urge to smile. She’s stubborn. And so damn cute.
A few miles down the road, I pull off into the lot of a roadside convenience store. I turn to her and kill the engine. “Can I trust you to stay here? I’ll get you something.”
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me. Just keeps her chin high and eyes trained on the dark glass.
“If you run, I’ll catch you. Always,” I tell her firmly.
I already know better than to trust her. She’s reckless enough to bolt the moment I’m out of sight. But hopefully the fact that it’s the middle of the night and she doesn’t even know where we are, will be enough of a deterrent. Still, I engage the child safety locks just to be sure.
Inside, the store smells like burnt coffee and stale chips. I don’t even know what the hell to buy her, but then I remember seeing an interview in passing once—one where she mentioned Twizzlers being her guilty pleasure.
I don’t know why that detail stuck. I didn’t even realize I’d paid that much attention. But now, here I am, filling my arms with every damn flavor of Twizzlers they’ve got—red, cherry, strawberry, pull-and-peel…
The cashier raises his brows, probably wondering if I’m in my right senses.
I level him with a stare cold enough to peel skin. He lowers his eyes fast, clearing his throat awkwardly as he rings me through.
When I get back to the car, Charlie’s eyes widen at the mountain of candy I dump on her lap.
“What the hell is this?” she breathes.
“You were hungry.”
Her fingers trail over the wrappers. “But…there’s like twenty different kinds.”
“I didn’t know which one you liked.”
She looks at me, her eyes searching my face with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “How did you know Twizzlers were my favorite?”
I shrug. “Lucky guess.”
She narrows her eyes, like she doesn’t buy it, but doesn’t press. She tears open a pack and pops one in her mouth, then makes a sound low in her throat, her eyes fluttering closed like she’s just taken a hit of something illegal…
I drag my gaze to the windshield, jaw tight, fingers flexing on the wheel.
The action was innocent. Completely innocent. But my body reacts like she just slid her hand down my zipper. Heat sears through me, hot and violent.
Christ, she has no idea. No idea what she’s doing to me.
We drive in silence for a while, the soft rustle of wrappers the only sound between us.
Then she swallows, licks her lips, and glances over at me. “Do you have a name, or should I keep calling you kidnapper?”
“Jack.”
“So…Jack,” she drawls, arching her brows at me. “Are you really a kidnapper?”
I smirk faintly, eyes on the road. “What do you think?”
She pops another licorice strand into her mouth. “I think no kidnapper buys their victim’s favorite snack in a million different flavors.”
My mouth twitches into a smile before I can stop it.
Christ, I’ve smiled more tonight than I have in years.
What is she doing to me?
