The Bodyguard (Red's Tavern 7)

I didn’t know how it was possible for a huge guy like Roman to be described as ‘adorable,’ but right now, he was accomplishing it. I probably wasn’t supposed to find my own bodyguard adorable, but then again, I never really did anything like I was supposed to.

I hadn’t even wanted a bodyguard until I realized I needed one.

“Okay. So no smart tech in your house, but you do still enjoy electricity like the rest of us,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “My house is like the Dark Ages compared to this, but I’m not totally off the grid.”

“Do you live close by?” I asked.

“Not exactly close to here, but it’s a small town,” Roman said. “I’m a little ways out, closer to the university campus. I tried to pick a house on a block that wasn’t all college students, but I still feel like the elderly man on the street sometimes.”

“Elderly at age thirty,” I said. “I guess we’re both old men.”

He lifted an eyebrow at me. “You don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

“I am thirty-one,” I said, “which makes me older than you, actually.”

“Not possible,” he said.

I nodded once. “Hollywood loves a baby-face, and I’ve always had one.”

“You don’t have a baby-face, really, just perfect skin and perfect features,” he mused. “But I still can’t believe you’re older than me.”

I’d been given a million compliments about my looks throughout my life, but I still appreciated hearing them from Roman. It was obvious that he was a no-bullshit kind of guy, and I could tell that he would never say anything he didn’t mean.

“So,” I said. “Do you already think my house is a security nightmare?”

“You have quite a few points of entry in this house that will need to be secured,” Roman said. “These big windows are beautiful, but a little vulnerable. There are many ways to handle it.”

“I haven’t even shown you the worst part, yet,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Come with me.”

I led him up the staircase. It was another reason I’d loved the house so much—the stairs were dark, original hardwood, and the staircase curved gently as it led up to the second floor. It landed at a loft that overlooked the living room below. A sleek black Steinway grand piano sat on the top of the loft.

“Do you play?” Roman asked, nodding toward the piano.

“A bit,” I said. “I just got this delivered last week.”

“It’s a beauty,” he said. “I haven’t played since I was a kid. Never had enough money for a piano, but…”

“But?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” I said.

“It’s a little embarrassing,” he said, his deep voice a little softer for a moment.

“All the best stories are.”

He puffed out a laugh. “It’s nothing that interesting,” he said. “When I was a kid, we were poor. We definitely weren’t religious, but there was a little church down the road that always had its doors open to anybody. I’d sneak over and sit at the piano whenever I could. I’d try to figure out how to play old Beatles and Stones songs.”

“How is that embarrassing?” I said. “That’s wonderful.”

“I’d forgotten about it completely,” he told me. “Mom was always working long hours. She probably still has no idea that I secretly hid out in a church sometimes, of all places.”

“You’ll have to play me some old songs, then, sometime,” I said. “C’mon, I need to show you what I’m worried about.”

I continued across the loft and swung open the big double doors that led into my bedroom. The huge modern painting I’d ordered had come today, apparently, while I’d been out, and it hung over my bed, a splash of gorgeous color in an otherwise muted room.

“I feel like I’m in Beverly Hills in here, not Kansas,” Roman said.

I crossed over to the balcony door and opened it wide, gesturing outside. Roman followed me and clicked his tongue immediately. “Oh,” he said.

“Yeah.”

The balcony was, at once, absolutely gorgeous and absolutely terrifying, to me. The stone paving was beautiful, and ivy plants grew along the railing and the walls outside my bedroom. A Japanese maple tree stood just beyond the deck, and in the daytime, its leaves provided plenty of shade above. And my favorite part about the whole balcony was the hot tub that sat at the corner, looking out over the sloping hill.

“Got the best model of hot tub the company offered,” I said. “In Los Angeles, I had a custom one built, but here, I didn’t feel like waiting for even more construction. But this is the problem.” I gestured toward the beautiful storybook spiral staircase that led right down to the backyard, raising an eyebrow at Roman.

“I see what you mean,” Roman said. “This is incredible, and also vulnerable.”

“Bingo. There is nothing secure about this balcony at all, and it goes straight into my bedroom. I’ve woken up scared shitless because of strange sounds a couple times, both of which turned out to be squirrels duking it out on the stairs.”