Page 38 of Beachside Kisses With My Bodyguard

“Arealman can take critique.”

I shiver at his words and open my mouth to go what will likely be one step too far, when Marilee returns with a covered platter.

“Sorry, that took longer than it should have,” she huffs, struggling with the weight. She is a wisp of a thing, and the glass platter does look heavy. “I think my helper rearranged things back there this morning.”

“No problem.” Frederick leaves me and hurries over to help her with the platter. And while I love that he’s being a gentleman, I kind of hate that it means he’s gone. After he sets the platter down, he sits on the stool beside me. “Those look delicious,” he says, eyeing the cakes as Marilee unwraps the options and arranges them on a cute little cake stand.

“Thank you. Obviously these are just the flavors. You can select your style from a book I’ve got lying around here somewhere.” She frowns and glances about, then pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I swear, I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached to my body. Feel free to get started on the cake samples and I’ll go take a look around.” Then Marilee flits off toward a back hallway, presumably toward some sort of office.

The cake has been sliced into tiny square bites and labeled with their names. There appear to be six options ranging from chocolate and some sort of strawberry to a white cake and one that’s more yellow in appearance.

“Shall we?” Frederick picks up a tiny square piece of cake, and that’s when I notice Marilee forgot to give us forks. Or maybe we are intended to eat them without, since they’re cut so small.

“Sure.” I reach across the counter and grab the same light pink cake he’s holding. “What’s this flavor?”

He reads the label. “Strawberry champagne.”

“Sounds divine, and like something Lauren would appreciate.” Holding up my piece, I click it lightly against his like we’re toasting. “Bon appétit.”

“Bon appétit,” he agrees before downing the cake in one bite and groaning. “Oh, that’s delish.”

I follow suit, popping my piece into my mouth. Moist and tender, the cake seems to melt against my tongue, its champagne flavor just subtle enough to be unique without overpowering the berry icing. “Ooo, you’re so right.”

Frederick selects the chocolate one next, eats it, and exclaims. “That one’s even better.” After snatching up another piece, he turns on his stool and his knees bump against mine. “Here, you need to try it.” He holds it up toward my lips.

Like magnets, we both move slightly closer to each other. Our legs are like jigsaw puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, sliding one every other, so I’m now both facing him and surrounded. The skin on my legs is fully covered by my trousers, and yet I feel his skin pressing against my own, burning through the jean material like it’s made of flames.

He seems to realize our closeness at the same moment I do, and he doesn’t look entirely unaffected—a pretense, since Marilee might come strolling in again any moment? Can a person fake the darkening of eyes that are already a delicious shade of chocolate? Or am I just seeing the reflection of the cake in Frederick’s hand, the one that’s still extended and hovering close to my mouth?

I blink, one, two, but he doesn’t lower the cake, so I lean forward just enough to catch it in between my lips. Unfortunately—or fortunately, perhaps—I misjudge how small the piece is and end up with the tips of Frederick’s fingers brushing against my mouth.

His eyes widen, but he doesn’t move his hand and I don’t move either, fully immersed in this dream world of our making. Any second, the episode will end, the reality will become unsuspended, but for now, in this moment, I am tasting the combination of chocolate cake and Frederick’s touch.

And it is heady.

As I swallow the cake in one bite, his thumb swipes up and across my mouth, snagging on my bottom lip for a split second too long.

I cannot breathe, not with how he’s motionless and staring and leaning in to—

“You had some icing there.”

His words snap the suspension of disbelief between us, grounding me on this stool. I’ve got whiplash upon landing, especially when he twists back in his seat and continues sampling the cakes as if nothing extraordinary just happened.

Perhaps, for him, it didn’t.

What are you thinking, Chloe? Of course it didn’t mean anything to him. He probably wonders why you’re acting so strange toward your brother’s best mate.

No, I’m not tipsy in high heels, but there I go, embarrassing myself again in front of him like I did years ago.

We finish off the rest of the samples in silence, and he finally turns and asks which one was my favorite. I want to scream CHOCOLATE at the top of my lungs, but that would be a dead giveaway.

Besides—I remind myself AGAIN for the millionth time—this is not really a cake for my own wedding. It’s about Lauren. And Lauren would like the strawberry one best.

When I tell Frederick as much, he nods and stands. “Very good, then. All that’s left is for you to select a cake style. Ah.” His shoulders sink with what appears to be relief as Marilee comes waltzing in, binder in hand. “If you don’t need me for this part, I’m going to go find the loo. I’ll be right back.”

Before I have a chance to answer, he flies past Marilee toward the back hallway.

She whips her head around to watch him go, then turns back to me. “Everything okay?”

---