Page 11 of Daddy's Bodyguard

“Shouldn’t you be doing a happy dance about winning the bed instead of glaring at me?” he asks. “Actually, do you have a setting other than glare?”

“Very funny.”

“Most people think I am.” He grins and lays back, his big arms crossed under his head. He looks like he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to and is thrilled at the idea of being punished. Like he could punish me. I shake my head at the thought, and Jasper’s grin turns wicked. “I’d pay to see what’s going on in your head.”

“Learn to read minds,” I huff before walking to the bedroom.

“You know life can be fun, right?” he calls after me. “Every day doesn’t have to be a battle.”

“Says the bodyguard!”

I get into bed and spend the next few minutes trying to get comfortable. I toss, turn, beat the pillows, then groan as sleep continues to evade me. Shimmying from bed, I grab my laptop out of my bag and work on my lesson plan for a while. It’s therapeutic. It’s almost like sleep.

In fact, it’s better. I’m getting things done, which is better than spending another hour trying to sleep. When I’m done with my lesson plan, I open the draft of my proposal and work on the editing for another half hour. Closing the laptop, I crawl back into bed, determined to get some sleep this time.

My mind goes to Jasper as I pull the covers over me. How does he sleep? Is he actually a light sleeper? A heavy sleeper? Does he wear stupid pajamas or just strip down to nothing? Maybe the naked Hulk could scare away some of these people for good and shorten our time together … Or maybe I should stop thinking about him entirely. Tomorrow will help. I just have to make it to morning.

Chapter 4

Jasper

I make it halfway through the night before I’m brought back to hell itself. It feels so fucking real; the explosion, the shouting and the devastating pain in my leg. I gasp as my body lands on the floor, the impact forcing me out of the bombing incident that changed my life forever. I nearly hit my head on the coffee table, but the crash-landing helps shake me free of the lingering screams in my nightmares.

My lieutenant is gone. The platoon is gone. I don’t need to try to fight my way to anyone. If only that knowledge would calm the restlessness buzzing in my body. I take a few deep breaths, glance at the clock, then looked down at how damaged my leg is from war.

I waited an hour after I heard Sofia snoring to take off my pants and get some sleep. It’s better if she doesn’t know how damaged her protection is.

Sitting back on the couch, I run my hand over my face. I’m not in war. I’m not overseas. I’m safe and sound in a literalsafehouse. Sofia’s in the bedroom, alive, safe, still snoring. Everything is exactly as it should be.

So why the hell is my heart threatening to slingshot itself out of my throat with my stomach’s help? I can’t tell if I’m going to be sick or if I’m having one of those panic attacks my sister Daisy tries to talk to me about.

It’ll only be a few minutes. It’ll be fine either way. I’m alive. I’m here, and that’s what matters. After three deep, slow breaths, each one reminding me that I’m comfortable and alive, I refocus. It’s morning, anyway. No need to go back to sleep.

I decide to raid the kitchen and get some breakfast together. Eggs, bacon, toast, milk. Damn, pre-stocked and everything. I whistle to myself as I start pulling out ingredients. This is shaping up to be a good morning, and after I eat, all of these unpleasant memories will be buried under a plateful of food.

Turning on the radio in the kitchen, I get to work on omelets. I sing along, glancing at the front door every now and again. I have no doubt that Sofia’s going to try to head out to work without me. I probably should have done the shower and change thing first.

I set out the plates – omelets included - then slip into the bathroom for the fastest shower ever and jerk on pants before I head to the living room. Sofia is already there, staring at the breakfast as she pulls on a heel.

“You made breakfast?” she asks softly.

It’s a rhetorical question, but I answer anyway. “It’s my way of starting fresh. It’s been a while since I cooked.”

Sofia’s gaze flows down my body as I finish tugging my t-shirt over my head. A soft blush covers her cheeks as she glances back at the kitchen counter. “I don’t normally do breakfast.”

“You don’t normally deal with me all day either.” I sit down around the counter and take a bite. She does the same, then takes another bite. “It’s edible, right?”

Shaking her head, Sofia picks up the toast with her fork. We eat in relative silence before I try to get to know her, anything that might help me as we go forward, but after the first question, she rolls her eyes at me.

“So that’s what we’re doing? Ruining breakfast with conversation?”

“Conversationmakesbreakfast. Who eats in silence?”

She narrows her eyes.

“Only villains and Batman on lonely nights,” I reply to my own question. “Last I checked, we’re neither.”

She shakes her head at me and takes another bite. I swallow my food before continuing. “Personally, I think that eating is the best part of the day. All you have to do is avoid choking. You’re doing great in that respect, by the way.”

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