Bidding on the Bodyguard

by Kristi Avalon

  Surprised by the powerful pull of that unexpected vision, he tried to refocus on her discussing her bank job. The thing was, he wasn’t sentimental. He didn’t fantasize about what a woman would look like when she woke up. Typically, he didn’t stick around long enough to learn such intimate details about a woman he was sleeping with, for the brief time they were together.

  Everything about Emma—what he little knew, and what vast information he didn’t know—fascinated him.

  Something was wrong, off with him tonight. Baffled, he flagged down the helpful waiter he’d over-tipped and ordered another Crown on the rocks.

  Turned out, the whisky didn’t help. The longer he listened to her voice, the more she hypnotized him. She talked about her mom being absent from her life, how she’d lived with foster parents and studied art. How she needed a new challenge, and that someone—her life coach or something?—had recommended she start taking risks, stepping outside her comfort zone.

  He sure as hell was outside his comfort zone with her. Maybe their experiences weren’t that far off from each other.

  When was the last time he’d set a worthy goal for himself? Something he went after with radical abandon?

  Emma had dedicated herself to these pursuits, to finding what she felt were her weaknesses and turning them into challenges, into strengths. Hell, he should look to her for inspiration this weekend.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt inspired by someone. All the books he’d read written by vets and military biographers led to some interesting insights. They didn’t equal genuine personal inspiration.

  The soft, welcoming outdoor lights that had leant a romantic glow to their evening abruptly went out. He glanced at his watch. Where had the last two hours gone?

  “I guess they’re kicking us out,” Emma said.

  Looking at the sample tray, he calculated she’d drank the equivalent of two glasses of wine, on top of the first. “I’m driving you home,” he stated.

  “What about my car?” She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. I can drive home.”

  “Did you park in the lot across the street?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll take you home.” If they fined her, he’d swipe the ticket off her windshield and pay for it before he left.

  “I don’t feel comfortable leaving my car in a strange lot overnight.”

  He eyed her, questioning why she felt better about driving home when she faced greater danger in her parking lot than the mild threat of a ticket on her windshield. Instead of pressing the issue, he said, “I’ll follow you home.”

  She leaned against him, her eyes soft with their signature sweetness but sharp enough to drive. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He meant it, as they walked to her car, and he closed the driver side door. She waited until his rental Jeep’s lights shone in her rear view before she pulled out of her spot on the street and he followed her home.

  In Denver, he drove a top-down, off-roading style Jeep that suited him. In Norfolk, they offered a more genteel version. He’d paid a little extra for it, still feeling at home surrounded by cozy leather offset by the rugged suspension. He rolled the sunroof back for the drive to her place.

  Wind from the ocean sailed in from above. He imagined her in the passenger seat, the wind, tossing her hair as she tried to tame the curly strands, eventually giving up, resting her head on the back of the seat, smiling into the wind. He would reach for her hand, wrap it in his, and rest their entwined fingers on his lap.

  This desire for automatic intimacy with her was getting ridiculous. Seriously. In the past five years, he’d enjoyed plenty of noncommittal relationships. None of those women made him want to reach across the console for her hand—when she wasn’t even sitting beside him.

  When he pulled into her apartment complex, he frowned. No gate? No night guard?

  The notion festered in him until she pulled into a parking space. It was late, so she had to settle for shadowed spot too far from the door for his liking.

  He’d barely shoved the Jeep in park and killed the engine before he leaped out. He stood at the door to her car to show any potential mugger she wasn’t alone.

  “Are you the only one in your complex who’s been mugged?”

  She shook her head. “No, this has been an ongoing thing.”

  Exasperated, he held his arms at his sides. “The owners have done nothing to protect the women who live here.”

  “No,” she said with a disturbed frown. “I’m thinking of moving.”

  “I think you should pack your boxes and have them on the moving truck tomorrow. Seriously, Emma. That’s negligence. These people should have a law suit pending.”

  She rifled in her purse for her keys. “A few of the tenants have talked about it.”

  “A few?” He scoffed. “You should all be banding together with pitchforks and torches.” He gestured toward the crappy lighting. “This is ludicrous. Doing nothing is like inviting people with bad morals to come here and do bad things.”

  “I know,” she whispered, looking distraught.

  “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll back down. It’s just, this level of blatant disregard is wrong.”

  She tucked her hand between his arm and his side. “I agree.”

  Walking beside her toward the apartment entrance, he crooked his elbow and flexed, squeezing her fingers against him. He wanted her to feel safe with him. Judging by the way her hold relaxed on his arm, she did.

  “Even when someone else should take responsibility because it’s the right thing to do…the right thing doesn’t always happen. We need to stand up for ourselves, or we’ll all be victims. And I refuse to be a victim,” she said, before whispering, “again.”

  The powerful tenor in her words making him wish his company could station him as a full-time bodyguard at this apartment—actually, for her.

  He paused with her outside the common entrance. “I hope,” he said, “during our weekend together, I can teach you the things you need to make you feel safer.”

  “Me, too.” She glanced at him with that endearing shyness again. “I’ve known you for three hours. It’s crazy to say, but I feel really safe with you.” She searched his face. “I’m not sure how to explain it. I know that meeting you will change my life.”

  Taking her hand, he pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “I feel the same.”

  They stood under the awning of building’s entrance. He looked down at her. She looked up at him. Her lips parted. He desperately wanted to kiss her.

  He cupped her face with one hand, resting the other at her hip.

  Slowly, he leaned forward. She hesitated, took a half-step back.

  Not yet. Okay.

  Startled by the depth of his disappointment, he caressed his thumb along Emma’s jaw. He realized he might’ve been all wrong when he told Nadine he’d enjoy this weekend for the brief, enjoyable fling he might have with his bidder.

  That original intention had changed, he realized, as he drew her into a hug and kissed her forehead. He inhaled her sweetness that reached beyond her scent. “Thanks for bidding on me,” he said.

  She smiled so genuinely it made his heart ache. “You are a good man.” She tilted her head. It took monumental restraint not to crush her mouth beneath his. “I’m so glad I bid on you.”

  He nodded, not trusting himself with words.

  “See you tomorrow?” she asked.

  As if he could be in the same city, the same state, the same country and not want to see this woman? “Tomorrow,” he confirmed.

  He waited until she’d entered the second set of doors before he turned.

  “Goodnight, pretty girl,” he whispered as he walked away. He shoved his hands in his pockets, leaving his arms loose at his sides when he wished they were wrapped around her tight.

  Chapter Three

  LAST NIGHT, STANDING in front of her apartment complex with Shane, a lamp light casting handsome shadows beneath the shelf of his eye
brows, sharp cheeks and square jaw, Emma remembered the glitter Shane’s his eyes. And the exact way he leaned forward and lowered his head, and how her lips had tingled when she thought she might feel the pressure of his mouth on hers.

  Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling where pale dawn light seeped above her curtains, she noticed her lips tingled now thinking about him. So did her elbows, her scalp and the backs of her knees.

  The man impacted her. She’d never experienced such a physical, intense reaction like she did in Shane’s presence. He made her blood rush and her heart race, leaving her breathless with anticipation for this entire day they’d spend together.

  Few men she’d encountered possessed the confidence and genuineness to show their interest up front. Annoying games and second-guessing had become the norm, and more trouble than they were worth. She had better things to do with her time than decipher clues a guy did or didn’t drop. Finally fed up with ghosting and shallowness and insincerity, she’d exited the dating sites a year ago. She’d been solidly single since, mostly happier, a little lonelier.

  Shane proved different from those uninspiring experiences in the most refreshing ways. Her cheeks warmed recalling last night, the way his hand had curved around the back of her neck, beneath her hair, his thumb brushing the tip of her chin. Instead of leaning into the tantalizing promise of his kiss, she’d rocked back on her heels. It had seemed too soon.

  Would he show her the same level of interest if he knew what he’d find if they started making out, all hot and heavy, and he slipped his hand under her shirt?

  Sliding a hand beneath her back, she traced the scars webbing from the center of her spine across and down to her left hip. Some were raised, braided like thin ropes cast across her side from countless surgeries. Other patches stretched thin and shiny like glass, where she retained zero sensation. They could’ve been worse, and she’d decided over the years to count herself fortunate. The elasticity and rapid cell division of youth had assisted her dedicated team of surgeons and pediatricians who’d accomplished miracles that “experts” had considered impossible. Human skin was an extraordinary organ. So many people never truly appreciated the body’s remarkable ability to heal itself from even the wickedest trauma. The mental and emotional scars were far slower to heal, she’d discovered, if they ever did.

  For the most part, she’d made peace with her disfigurement and the bullies in middle school who’d refused to let her forget that ugly, dark time in her childhood. She’d also made peace with her mother, something the child psychologists had warned might never happen. Emma had defied all the odds, as her life coach Mae continuously pointed out. Still, she wasn’t quick to make friends, or to embrace intimacy with men she’d known for less than three months. That had hindered her dating life, she supposed. Where some women used dating sites like hook-up apps, she approached them as hopeful chances at connection that never panned out.

  Therese’s admonishing tone entered Emma’s mind, along with her friend’s words of insight. “Are you really giving these guys a chance? Or do you find a flaw and cut them off, rejecting them before you have the chance to get rejected?”

  Boldness and honesty—two things she adored about Therese. Her trusted confident’s name appeared on the screen of her phone sitting on her nightstand, chirping a text notification.

  Therese’s message popped up in a bubble. While you’re sleeping in, the rest of us are slogging to work. You’d better enjoy that hunk of a sexy man you won. I want details. ASAP. She ended with a winking emoji sticking out its tongue.

  Emma’s head fell back on her pillow, but she knew trying to fall back to sleep was like trying to recoil a sprung wire. Pointless. She was excited about this weekend. She dared to let that excitement penetrate her usual defenses.

  At least to herself, she needed to admit she harbored a serious crush on her boot camp instructor. Such a cliché, she thought, rolling her eyes. But she needed to reaffirm her commitment to embracing new possibilities.

  This weekend, if he tried to kiss her again, she vowed this time she’d lean forward.

  The thought slid into her mind unbidden of Shane lying beside her, gliding one bare leg between hers as he shifted on top of her, settling between her thighs. She fanned herself. It had been ages since she’d pictured a man in her bed, let alone invited one to slide under the covers with her.

  Blowing out a cooling breath, she glanced at her nightstand. The digital clock read 6:55. Despite her day off, she hadn’t managed to sleep in at all. Shane would pick her up in two hours. She realized she’d forgotten to ask him what to wear to “official” boot camp training. It’s not like she had a pair of fatigues stashed in the back of a drawer.

  Scrubbing her hands through her tangled hair, she slid out of bed and wandered over to her closet. The ghosts of clothing past, present and future rose up to haunt her. Why did she keep all these different sizes? Ridiculous. What she needed wasn’t kept there, and she circled back to her dresser to pluck a white t-shirt, sports bra and leggings. Three sets of those, and she’d be good to go. Last night when he’d mentioned the army crawl, she’d pictured mud and barbed wire. Nothing sexy or fancy on this weekend date, she mused.

  She exited the shower to find a text message waiting. Hey pretty girl. It’s Shane, your weekend date. She felt her cheeks glow like a wallflower who’d been asked to dance by the cutest guy in class.

  OK if I’m early? Need to stop and see my baby nephew. Won’t take long, promise. Then I’ll be all yours. See u soon. Wink emoji.

  She froze. Did that mean he was picking her up and then going to see his family, with her? Maybe she’d wait in the car, though if he invited her inside, she couldn’t say no.

  Newborns were the fabric softener of life. Sweet-smelling and softness-inspiring, they erased life’s stains, stiffness and hard edges. Their whispery hair. Their hazy, angel-dusted eyes. Their newborn scent. Oh, he’d find zero resistance from her.

  Should she slip into a sundress and sandals first, then change into workout gear once they arrived at the training facility? What about her half-dried hair still rolled in a towel? Should she go for a no-fuss ponytail, or a dab of mouse for a loose, scrunched-curl look? Should she wear makeup for a decent impression even if it would smear with sweat once they arrived at the training facility?

  Quickening her pace, she towel-scrubbed her hair with one hand and rifled through dresses with the other. He’d better leave her five minutes for makeup.

  With irony, she noted she hadn’t concerned herself this much about clothes or hair or makeup when she’d gone on regular dates. This one she’d bid on, paid for. Whatever she looked like, Shane was stuck with her. Why all the fuss and nervousness?

  Because you want him to like you, Therese’s voice whispered in her mind. Her friend needed to get out of her head, so Emma could stress about what to pack because just maybe she did want him to like her. A smile curved her lips. If the attraction sizzled today like it had last night, she might walk away with some spicy moments to remember long after he’d gone back to Denver, and her life returned to average.

  No, I’m not settling for average anymore, she insisted, channeling Mae.

  This weekend was the beginning of extraordinary.

  When her apartment buzzer blared its cringe-worthy sound resembling a drunk bullfrog with hiccups, she finished slipping on the black straps of her wedge sandals. Glancing at her red toenails that matched the patterned flowers on her sundress, she doubted female recruits wore nail polish. She shrugged, glad she faced the abridged version of boot camp, where a good pedicure attracted male attention without negative repercussions. Positive repercussions most welcome, she thought, anticipation rolling like waves through her abdomen.

  Her suitcase waited by the door, stuffed with anything she might possibly require for boot camp training—bug spray, sunscreen, sore muscle balm, band aids, snack bars, bottled water, ibuprofen, and an obscene number of wardrobe options. A good recruit didn’t dare arrive unprepar
ed, right?

  Holding the intercom button, she told him, “I’ll be right down.”

  To avoid the elevator that could race a sloth and lose, she wrangled her suitcase down three flights of stairs to the main entrance. Shane stood in the lobby wearing a faded orange t-shirt that stretched over his muscles, mustard cargo shorts frayed and worn in tempting places, and old work boots—he must’ve slipped in when someone exited—bearing the sleek, loose-limbed pose of a relaxed yet vigilant tiger.

  Why he resembled that powerful animal of prey, she couldn’t pinpoint, but she would volunteer to be devoured. A shiver coursed up her spine.

  When he caught sight of her, he met her halfway in a few long strides. He didn’t bother to hide a head-to-toe appraisal, like last night. Judging by the slow upturn of his lips and the hot simmer in his gaze, he liked what he saw. A second pleasurable shiver followed the first.

  “Did the kitchen sink fit in your suitcase?” he asked. “Because that comes in handy at boot camp training.”

  “I might’ve overpacked.”

  “You think?” He grinned. Then he pulled on a mask of seriousness as they headed out the lobby door he held open for her. He paused on the cement sidewalk. “Like airplanes, the military has a strict limit on luggage. You’re only allowed only bring what you can carry.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “I’m not repacking, we don’t have time.”

  “Lift it.” He nodded at her suitcase.

  She licked her lips. “Really?”

  Crossing his arms, he nodded. She couldn’t read his expression.

  She glanced at the bulging suitcase knowing he’d asked the impossible. She wrapped both hands around the leather strap, braced her feet apart, and strained to lift luggage off the ground. She managed a whole centimeter before the wheels hit the cement again.

  “Um—”

  “Let me try.” He scooped her up suddenly, one arm bracing her back, the other beneath her knees.

  A shocked squeal pressed from her lungs. “What are you doing?”