Twisted Games (Twisted, #2)(46)

“Prove it.”

No answer.

“Fine. I guess I’ll swim by myself. Again.” I shrugged off my cover-up and let the filmy white material cascade to the floor before I walked past Rhys toward the water.

I may have walked more slowly than normal and added an extra sway to my hips.

I may also have worn my skimpiest, most scandalous bikini. I did, after all, have one more bucket list item to check off.

I’d been drunk when I’d told Rhys about my bucket list, but I was sober now, and I still wanted him to help me fulfill item number four.

I was attracted to him; he was attracted to me. That much was obvious after what happened in my room post-Borgia. He wasn’t going to be my bodyguard much longer, and no one would know unless we told them.

One wild, passionate hookup with my sexy bodyguard before I took on the duty of a lifetime. Was that too much to ask?

I waded into the pool and bit back a smile when I felt the heat of Rhys’s gaze on my skin, but I didn’t turn around until I’d reached the far edge of the water. By the time I looked at him, Rhys’s head was bent over his sketchbook again, but his shoulders held a tension that hadn’t been there before.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” I cajoled. “The water feels amazing.”

“I’m good,” he said curtly.

I sighed and let it go…for now.

While he sketched, I swam laps around the pool, reveling in the water against my skin and the sunshine on my back.

When I finally came up for a break, it was near sunset, and the warmth of golden hour cast a hazy, dreamlike glow over the surroundings.

“Last chance, Mr. Larsen.” I slicked my hair back and blinked the water out of my eyes. “Swim now or forever hold your peace.”

It was cheesy, but it made Rhys’s lips curve before they flattened into a stern line again. “You gonna stop bugging me if I say no?”

I grinned. “Probably not.”

My heart jumped when he closed his book, set it on the table, and stood.

I hadn’t expected him to give in.

Rhys walked to the pool, pulling his shirt over his head as he did so, and I lost the ability to breathe.

Broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted muscles, abs one could grate cheese on. Absolute masculine perfection.

My core pulsed as my eyes ate him up. Tattoos swirled across his chest, both biceps, and one side of his ribcage, and a deep V cut arrowed toward what—based on what I’d felt when he’d bent me over my dresser—was a very impressive package.

Rhys entered the water and swam toward me, his big, powerful body slicing through the liquid blue as gracefully as a dolphin.

“There. I’m in the pool.” He came up beside me, a lock of damp dark hair falling over his eye, and I resisted the urge to push it out of his face. “Happy?”

“Yes. You should go shirtless more often.”

Rhys’s eyebrows shot up, and my cheeks flamed before I quickly amended, “You seem more relaxed that way. Less intimidating.”

“Princess, it’s my job to be intimidating.”

If I never heard the words it’s my job again, it would be too soon.

“You know what I mean,” I grumbled. “You’re always so on edge in the city.”

He shrugged. “That’s what happens when you have C-PTSD.”

Complex PTSD. I’d looked it up after he told me he had it. Symptoms included hyper-vigilance, or being constantly on guard for threats. Unlike regular PTSD, which was caused by a singular traumatic event, complex PTSD resulted from long-lasting trauma that continued for months or even years.

My heart squeezed at the thought of what he must’ve gone through to be diagnosed with the condition. “Does the art help?”

“Kind of.” Rhys’s face was unreadable. “But I haven’t been able to draw anything in months.” He jerked his chin toward the table. “I was just messing around. Seeing what I came up with.”

“When you do, I want to see it. I love a good security alarm sketch,” I joked before I remembered we only had one week left together.

My smile faded.

Rhys watched me closely. “If that’s what you want.”

I wanted a lot of things, but none of them had to do with art. “Can I tell you something, Mr. Larsen?”

He dipped his head.

“I’m going to miss you.”

He went still, so still I thought he didn’t hear me. Then, in an uncharacteristically, achingly soft voice, he said, “I’m going to miss you too, princess.”

So don’t go. There had to be a way he could stay. He wasn’t part of the Royal Guard, but he’d been with me for two years. I didn’t see why I had to change guards just because I was moving back to Eldorra.

Except for, of course, the fact Rhys would have to move to Eldorra with me. He may have lived with me all this time, but there was a difference between live-in protection in the U.S. and moving to a different country for an indeterminate length of time. Plus, he’d resigned first.

Even if I convinced the palace to extend his contract, would he be willing to accept the offer?

I’d been too afraid to ask in case he said no, but the clock was ticking.

A loud pop went off in the distance before I could broach the subject, and Rhys turned sharply to see fireworks explode in the sky.