Page 7 of Big, Burly Bodyguard

I swallow and walk toward him.

“That’s me,” I say, gesturing to the sign. “Evelyn.”

Relief flickers across his face before he schools it away.

“Good,” he says, voice low and calm. “I was starting to worry you’d changed your mind.”

I laugh, nerves bubbling over. “About picking up my luggage?”

“About everything,” he replies easily.

That sends a little thrill straight through me.

He wads up the sign and chuc ks it into one of the waste receptacles nearby. “Luggage?” he asks.

“Yes, but just one. I need new clothes that don’t make me look like I’m an extra from a Nineties Lifetime movie.”

He chuffs a laugh. At least I think it’s a laugh. Then he strides over to the carousel.

“Just point,” he says.

I’m almost certain he doesn’t mean I should point at his bottom, which is perfectly accented in those jeans. That is, in fact, what I was paying attention to, so I just stare at him.

He lifts a chin towards the carousel. “To your bag. When you see it, you can just point and I’ll grab it.”

“Oh, yes. Right, of course.” He probably thinks I’ve never seen a man in person before. Or maybe that I’ve never been out of my palace. I’ve done both. But in truth, I don’t think any of the handsome men I’ve ever encountered holds a proverbial candle to this man.

He reaches for my carry-on without asking, lifting it off my shoulder like it weighs nothing.

That’s when my giant suitcase comes barreling down the chute. “Uh, that’s it,” I point.

His eyes narrow in on the bags tumbling over each other. Then he glances back over his shoulder at me, and I simply nod, as if to say: Why yes, that giant black suitcase emblazoned with the crest of the royal family of Saldania is mine.

“Not very subtle,” he murmurs.

“I realize, but it was my only option. And the trip itself was sanctioned, just not anything that happens after I arrive.”

He lifts the bag and rolls it behind him. “This way,” he says.

As we walk toward the parking garage, I sneak glances at him—his steady stride, the way his attention seems split between me and the world around us.

Protective. Competent. Rugged.

And apparently… mine?

What was Birdie thinking, asking a man like this to marry me? And why on Earth did he agree? Aren’t men like him normally married and procreating with their gorgeous wives?

He doesn’t talk as he leads me to a large white truck. Before I can even try to figure out how to climb inside, his big hands are on my hips, lifting me into the passenger seat.

I think that maybe my panties are on fire. Which probably means that I am not prepared to marry a man like this. I might pass out if he kissed me. Actually die if he touched me somewhere other than my clothed hips.

Pull yourself together!

His truck is big and clean and smells faintly like leather and something woodsy.

I don’t even bother trying not to stare as he rounds the hood and slides into the driver’s seat.

The engine rumbles to life.