Bridget
Something changedthe 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.”
“If you say so.”
“Don’t try to play it off.” I was proud of how normal I sounded when my insides were doing things that were anything but normal. Fluttering, skipping, twisting. My doctor would have a field day. “We’ve passed a milestone. Rhys Larsen’s first compliment to Bridget von Ascheberg, and it only took two years. Mark it down.”
Rhys snorted, but humor filled his eyes. “One year and ten months,” he said. “If we’re counting.”
Which he was.
If my heart skipped any more songs, it’d have no playlist left.
Not good. Not good at all.
Whatever I felt toward Rhys, it couldn’t develop past what it was now. So, in an effort to rid myself of my increasingly disturbing reactions to my bodyguard, I agreed to go on a date with Louis, the son of the French ambassador to the United Nations, when I ran into him at an event a month after my movie night with Rhys.
Louis showed up for our date at seven o’clock sharp with a bouquet of red flowers and a charming smile, which wilted when he saw the scowling bodyguard standing so close behind me I could feel the heat from his body.
“These are for you.” Louis handed me the flowers while keeping a wary eye on Rhys. “You look beautiful.”
A low growl rumbled behind me, and Louis noticeably gulped.
“Thank you, they’re lovely,” I said with a gracious smile. “Let me put them in water and I’ll be right back.”
My smile dropped when I turned my back to Louis and faced Rhys. “Mr. Larsen, please follow me.” Once we entered the kitchen, I hissed, “Stop threatening my dates with your gun.”
I hadn’t needed to see him to know he’d probably pushed his jacket aside just enough to flash his weapon.
Louis wasn’t the first guy I’d dated in New York, though the last time I’d gone on a date had been months ago. Rhys kept scaring off my romantic prospects, and half the men in the city were afraid to ask me out for fear he would shoot them.
It hadn’t bothered me until now because I hadn’t cared for my previous dates, but it was annoying when I was actively trying to move on from whatever weird hold Rhys had on me.
Rhys’s glare intensified. “He’s wearing shoe lifts. He deserves to be threatened.”
I pressed my lips together, but a quick glance at Louis’ feet through the kitchen doorway confirmed Rhys’s observation. I thought he seemed taller. I had nothing against shoe lifts per se, but three inches seemed excessive.
Unfortunately, while I could overlook the shoe lifts, I couldn’t overlook the utter lack of chemistry between us.