Page 13 of Big, Burly Bodyguard

“By what?”

“By how normal you are.”

She laughs. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

I swallow and focus back on the road.

From my periphery, though, I can see that she’s still smiling when the next words slip out of me.

“For what it’s worth,” I say, keeping my eyes on the road, “my brother would be a fool not to want a real marriage with you.”

Her breath stutters.

“A real marriage?” she repeats carefully.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice lower than before. “The kind that includes all the… benefits.”

The silence in the cab turns electric.

I risk a glance at her and immediately regret it. Her cheeks are flushed. Her lips parted just slightly, like she’s deciding whether to laugh or say something reckless.

“And you’re qualified to speak on that?” she asks, teasing but breathless.

I exhale through my nose. “I have eyes.”

That does it. She laughs—soft, surprised, a little flustered—and shakes her head.

“You’re dangerous, Mitchell Sinclaire.”

“Probably,” I admit. “Which is why we should change the subject.”

She studies me for a beat longer, then nods. “Agreed. Or maybe I’ll take a short nap. Would that be okay?”

“Of course.”

I welcome the escape.

Because if I keep thinking about the way she looked just now—warm, open, very much a woman who longs to be wanted—I’m going to forget every reason this is a bad idea.

And that’s not something either of us can afford.

chapter

six

Evelyn

The bathroom is… magnificent.

Which feels ridiculous to think about a roadside hotel off the interstate. But the shower is enclosed in glass, the tile is warm under my bare feet, and there are actual knobs instead of an audience.

I stare at it for a long moment, hands braced on my naked hips.

You can do this.

I turn the water on, experiment with the temperature, and nearly laugh out loud when I get it just right all on my own. No instructions. No approval. No one hovering with a towel already prepared.

Just me.