Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(25)

Her choked laugh vibrated through my body. “Is that a joke, Mr. Larsen?”

“An observation. I don’t—”

“Joke,” she finished. “I know.”

We sat in the back of the ambulance for a while longer, watching the police seal off the crime scene while I tried to tamp down the fierce protectiveness welling in my chest. I was protective of all my clients, but this was different. More visceral.

Part of me wanted to push her far away from me, and another part wanted to drag her into my arms and keep her as mine.

Except I couldn’t.

Bridget was too young, too innocent, and too off-limits, and I’d damn well better not forget that.





9





Bridget





Something changed the night of my graduation. Perhaps it was the shared trauma, or the fact Rhys had voluntarily opened up to me about his past, but the longstanding antagonism between us transformed into something else—something that kept me awake late at night and drove the butterflies in my stomach nuts.

It wasn’t a crush, exactly. More like attraction paired with…curiosity? Fascination? Whatever it was, it put me on edge, because on the list of the worst ideas I could have, sneaking out and getting kidnapped was number two. Developing non-platonic feelings for my bodyguard was number one.

Luckily, my schedule in New York kept me so busy I barely had time to breathe, much less indulge in inappropriate fantasies.

Rhys and I moved to Manhattan three days after graduation, and the following summer was a whirlwind of charity board meetings, social functions, and house hunting.

By the time August rolled around, I’d signed the lease on a beautiful Greenwich Village townhouse, worn down two pairs of heels from trekking through the city, and met everyone on the social circuit, some of whom I wished I hadn’t met.

“It’s slipping.” Rhys scanned the surrounding crowd.

We were at the opening for a new Upper East Side exhibit celebrating Eldorran artists, which normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but the guest list included action movie star Nate Reynolds and the paparazzi were out in full force.

“What?” I said through my smile as I posed for the cameras. The appearances got tiresome after a while. There was only so much smiling, waving, and small talk a girl could stand before she keeled over from boredom, but they were part of my job, so I grinned and bore it. Literally.

“Your smile. It’s slipping.”

He was right. I hadn’t even noticed.

I re-upped the wattage of my smile and tried not to yawn. God, I can’t wait till I’m home. I still had a luncheon, two interviews, a board meeting for the New York Animal Rescue Foundation, and a couple of errands to run, but after that…PJs and sweet sleep.

I didn’t hate my job, but I wished I could do something more meaningful than be a walking, talking mannequin.

And so it went. Day after day, month after month of the same thing. Fall turned into winter, then into spring and summer, then fall again.

Rhys stood next to me through it all, stern and grumpy as always, but he’d dialed down the overbearing attitude. For him, anyway. Compared to a normal person, he was still overprotective to the point of neuroticism.

I loved and hated the shift in equal measure. Loved it because I had more freedom, hated it because I could no longer use my irritation as a shield against whatever was crackling between us.

And there was a thing. I just wasn’t sure whether I was the only one who saw it, or if he did too.

I didn’t ask. It was safer that way.

“Do you ever think about doing anything except bodyguarding?” I asked on a rare night in. For once, I had no plans other than a date with the TV and ice cream, and I loved it.

It was September, almost two years since Rhys and I first met and over a year since I moved to New York. I’d gone full out with the seasonal decorations, including a fall wreath over the fireplace, earth-toned cushions and blankets, and a mini pumpkin centerpiece for the coffee table.

Rhys and I were watching a screwball comedy that’d popped up in my Netflix recommendations. He sat ramrod straight, fully dressed in his work outfit while I was curled up with my feet on the sofa and a pint of ice cream in my hand.

“Bodyguarding?”

“It’s a word,” I said. “If it’s not, I’m declaring it one by royal decree.”

He smirked. “You would. And to answer your question, no, I don’t. The day I do is the day I stop ‘bodyguarding.’”

I rolled my eyes. “It must be nice to see everything in black and white.”

Rhys’s gaze lingered on me for a second before he looked away. “Trust me,” he said. “Not everything is black and white.”

Inexplicably, my heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself not to demand he tell me what he meant. It probably meant nothing. It was a throwaway line.

Instead, I refocused on the movie and concentrated on not looking at the man sitting next to me.

It worked. Sort of.

I laughed at something a character said, and I noticed Rhys looking at me out of the corner of my eye.

“It’s nice,” he said.

“What?”

“Your real smile.”

Forget a skipped beat. My heart skipped a whole song.

This time, however, I covered it up by pointing my spoon at him. “That was a compliment.”