The Bodyguard: A BWWM Bad Body Romance(34)

She wondered if Hank would like what she picked.

The moment the thought entered her mind, Juliet shook her head, berating herself silently. She didn’t have to care what men thought of her anymore. That’s what her escape from Solomon meant. Sleeping with Hank to get Solomon out of her system was all well and good, but it wouldn’t do to keep dwelling on him. If she was ever going to move on with her life, she would eventually need to put her strength towards a healthy relationship.

She and Hank were both entirely too fucked up to participate in one of those.

Closing her eyes, Juliet leaned back against the wall with a sigh. She was perched on her small, rickety bed, and she’d been toying with the ancient guitar Simmons brought her for the better part of an hour.

She wanted to compose. Wanted to sing….but a part of her feared Solomon had taken that from her too. Though Juliet had grown up with music at her core, Solomon and his father had warped that love for her. They showed her off like some sort of bauble at every opportunity, thrusting her into situations where her audience was less appreciative of her talent than her physical charms.

Juliet had to remind herself forcefully: That didn’t have to be the end all be all.

She had ended Solomon’s reign over her body - she could purge him from her mind as well. All she had to do was put in a little effort.

Frowning, she strummed a G chord and then a C. It had been so long since she’d written her own music. Where the hell did she even begin?

Unbidden, the memories of her night with Hank washed over her and Juliet felt her cheeks warm. Even though he hadn’t even spent a full night with her, she couldn’t go near the bed without thinking of him. Juliet had mistakenly thought there was nothing but ice beneath Hank’s touch-me-not exterior.

She was dead wrong.

There was fire there - a fire that could consume her if she wasn’t careful.

Juliet was fine with admitting - at least to herself - that she’d left her room the morning after her and Hank’s encounter half-dressed in an attempt to test both their resolves. The look Hank had given her as she waltzed into the kitchen half-naked had been worth the accompanying lecture.

For a split second, the fire was back.

Juliet found her hands working over the guitar strings of their own accord. “Fire…” It had been so long since she’d sung of her own accord that the sound of her voice surprised her. “Fire in you...”

This was what it felt like, all those years ago. When she was young, innocent and believed everything was right with the world. When she was a teenager, the music had just poured from her. It was there constantly - pouring out of her.

She’d almost forgotten.

For the next half an hour, Juliet lost herself in the music. She forgot they were on a mission to bring her ex-boyfriend to justice, forgot years of pain and suffering. Nothing mattered except her, the guitar in her hands, and her newfound freedom. She only took breaks to write, and was surprised when it took her near no time at all to have the bare bones of a song.

When she realized just who and what she’d been writing about, however, Juliet stopped, her cheeks flaming.

Christ.

A knock on the door made her jump, and she quickly shoved her notebook under her pillow. “Who is it?”

“Crowley.” The voice came back muffled. “Simmons just called. He says Compton’s on his way back and we should be getting ready to switch out.”

Immediately, Juliet’s eyes widened and she scrambled from the bed, thrusting her guitar aside. When she switched guardians it was always required that she be out in the living room so they made sure someone always had an eye on her. This time, they didn’t have to coax her out. Juliet all but flew out of her room, her heart in her throat.

Bosh and Crowley were packing up the things they’d brought for the few days they were assigned to the house. Whether out of fear or derision for Hank, they hadn’t slept in his room, choosing, instead, to spend their nights on the couch and armchair respectively. At the speed with which she appeared, Crowley arched a brow. “Someone’s excited.”

There was a touch of jealousy in his tone that made Juliet’s cheeks color. Christ, was it that obvious? Lust had clearly addled her brain. “I just...I wanna make sure he’s not shot to hell. One less man means less protection for me.”

“If he was shot to hell, they wouldn’t send him back here,” Crowley sighed wistfully. “Though that would be something, wouldn’t it?” To her surprise, Juliet had to stop a harsh reprimand that rose to the tip of her tongue. He wasn’t seriously implying that he didn’t want Hank to come back, was he?

And who was she kidding? Two weeks ago, she would have agreed with him.

Less than ten minutes passed before there was a knock at the door and Bosh and Crowley checked their phones to confirm that it was, indeed, who they were expecting. A beat passed before Bosh moved forward and unlocked the door, admitting a tired-looking Simmons with Hank at his side.

Immediately, Juliet’s breath caught. There as a bandage wrapped around his head and, beneath it, the left side of his face was hugely swollen.

“What happened?” The words left her on a frightened whisper and Hank merely scowled, as was customary, before trudging into the room to collapse into the nearest armchair.

“I need a beer. And some ice.”

Bosh and Crowley merely looked at him as though they wouldn’t fetch anything for him if he were the last person on earth. Simmons merely rolled his eyes. “Get him a beer, Bosh.”