Christmas with Her Bodyguard

‘I’m not totally inept.’

‘I never thought you were,’ she cried quietly. ‘I just wanted to offer you a bit of support. The way you have for me so many times already.’

‘You mean, you think I might lose it, after spilling my guts to you last night. You think I might not be able to handle walking someone through this operation.’

‘Nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘I think you’ll switch into the same calm, professional mode you always do and talk them through it flawlessly.’

‘Which is why you think I need a chaperone,’ he bit out icily.

‘Which is why I think you need someone there who knows that you aren’t as calm inside as you appear to everyone else,’ she corrected. ‘You bottle it all up, Myles. That much is clear. And that’s what is making your PTSD worse.’

‘I don’t have PTSD.’

Shame thundered through him at her words, at her assessment of him. He wasn’t that man. He wasn’t that weak. He refused to be.

And then she placed her hands on his chest, palms flat, rooting him to the ground. He tried to move but he was incapable.

‘You have PTSD, Myles. And there’s no shame in it. God knows it’s understandable after all you’ve been through. What you had to deal with out there is unimaginable to most people, including me, but you can deal with it. I really believe that. And I believe in you enough to know you can overcome it. But you have to stop feeling as though you’re alone in all of this, because you aren’t alone.’

He lifted his hands to remove hers. To push her away. Instead, he found himself covering her delicate fists with his own bear claws. She glanced at them, then back up at him, and he would have sworn he saw her eyes glistening.

For him.

As though she really did care.

‘There are people you can talk to, Myles. I’m here and I’ll always listen but of course I realise you might not want me. Besides, there are those who will understand this better than me. But please, talk to someone. The longer you try to ignore it, pretending you’re fine, pretending you don’t need anyone, the worse it’s going to get.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

But his words lacked any real bite. The truth was, she made it sound so easy. So appealing. Almost more convincing than the voice in his head telling him to keep quiet. To deal with it himself.

He was out of his depth. Floundering. No one had ever slipped under his skin the way that Rae had. She made him want her; made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time, possibly ever. At least about women. His career had devoured all his time and energy, with the few relationships he’d had sinking because the female in question hadn’t understood it. He’d been perfectly okay with that. But now, this one woman made him wonder what he might be missing.

Which was madness.

‘We had sex, Rae. It doesn’t mean we know each other. It doesn’t me

an we’re suddenly in some kind of a relationship. It was just sex.’

She blanched, just as he’d known she would. Just as he’d intended. But it didn’t make him triumphant that he’d made her back off. It just made him guilty. And sad.

Probably because he knew it wasn’t true. Sex was one thing. It was a physical, chemical reaction to each other. But what he felt for Rae went beyond that, as ludicrous as it sounded in his own head.

Still, a relationship? Raevenne Rawlstone was the last person in the world with whom he could imagine having a relationship.

Except that he was.

Even if he pushed her out of his thoughts time and again, she crept back into his subconscious. She dominated his dreams. He could still feel the slickness of her skin against his, hear her soft laugh, taste her need. She was wholly intoxicating and he still wanted her.

Right now she was staring at him as though she could see right through him, right into his soul, and she was gathering herself up, squaring her shoulders and readying herself for a fight.

With a start, he realised that she was near livid.

‘You think being strong means never leaning on anyone else, always being there for them. You think talking to me about what happened to you out there is a sign of weakness. Well, let me tell you this, Major Myles Garrington, you couldn’t be more wrong.’

‘Raevenne—’

‘I bet you you’ve told this to men time and again. I bet you’ve even encouraged them to go and speak to someone, a therapist or something. But I bet right now you believe that if you do that, it’s you admitting you can’t cope.’