Six
Clover
I’m still shaking as I spin away from Thor and head to my bedroom. It’s been a while since I’ve had a panic attack, and I can feel the energy seeping from my body. The skin on my arms tingles from Thor’s soothing touch.
Closing the door behind me, I lean my head back. Why did his touch comfort me?
I really don’t want to dig into it, but he’s the first person besides Daddy who has ever been able to touch me during a panic attack. Typically, anyone’s touch has an adverse effect. Instead of calming me, it feels like a thousand needles are stabbing my skin, skyrocketing my anxiety.
Thor’s touch was different. It warmed me. Comforted me. Anchored me.
Clenching my eyes shut, I attempt to shake the feelings away. I’m sure it’s because he’s the only person I know in this city. Nothing more .
Regardless, I am grateful he knew what to do and helped me before it developed into a full-blown attack. Those can take days to recover from.
My bed calls to me, so I curl up under the blankets and tuck them under my chin. Closing my eyes, I try to think about anything other than Daddy’s phone call or the man in the other room and the strange comfort he brought me.
My breathing deepens, my body relaxing. As I drift to sleep, Thor’s concerned face flashes through my mind. And in my half-sleep state, I smile.
I wake with a start, my dream still playing vividly before my eyes. It was absolutely not a dream about a handsome Viking warrior with red hair and amber eyes rescuing me from dragons. Not at all.
Frowning, I toss back the covers. My body feels weighted, and there’s a dull ache behind my temple—the typical post-panic attack effects. Trudging into the bathroom, I wash my face and decide to change my rumpled clothing, because while I like being comfortable, I don’t like feeling like a slob. It’s not because I care what the Viking thinks .
I groan. “Stop calling him a Viking, Clo,” I mumble to myself, still trying to forget the dream that woke me. Warm arms wrapped around me. The handsome man dipping his head to kiss me.
Thank goodness I woke up when I did.
My mind feeds on my weakened state and recalls the feel of Thor’s large hands rubbing up and down my arms. Good grief. Am I that starved for human connection that I can’t get a near-stranger’s touch out of my head?
And now I have to face him. Nothing’s changed. He’s still my employee—well, Daddy’s—and I’m still a client he’s trying to protect.
“Which is good. That’s what we want.” I’ve really got to stop talking to myself out loud.
I jerk a T-shirt off the hanger, not even paying attention to what it says. Tugging it over my head, I slip on my jeans and run a hand through my curls.
When I step into the living room, I freeze. Thor is sitting on the couch with one of my binders full of my—
“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice comes out high-pitched and panicked.
Thor’s gaze jerks to mine. “Uh . . .”
I step around him, jerking the binder out of his hands and hiding it behind my back. “Do you make it a habit to snoop on your clients?”
Standing, he rubs his neck, giving me a sheepish look. “No. And I apologize if I wasn’t supposed to read that. I was looking for a book and it fell out. ”
My gaze narrows. “And you just thought you’d read it instead of putting it back?”
Cocking his head, he replies, “I assumed it was fine to read. But I see that’s not the case, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t meaning to pry. But . . .” he pauses, his calculating gaze sweeping over me. When his eyes drift to my shirt, his lips lift in a smirk.
I frown and my brows pucker. “What is it?”
He bites his lip and shakes his head. “You know, that shirt sounds like a challenge.”
Now I’m really confused. “Huh?” I glance down at my shirt and heat floods my face. Why? Why on earth did I grab this shirt? Written across my chest are the words You couldn’t handle me. Even if I came with instructions.
Snapping my attention back to Thor, I ignore his remark, refusing to comment on his insinuation. “If you want to read a book, I don’t mind.” Wait, what? I was supposed to say something snarky and tell him to stay out of my things.
A shadow of a smile hides behind his beard as he dips his head. “Thank you.” His gaze lands on the binder now clutched at my side. “You should really tell your client to pitch that somewhere.”
“Huh?”
He motions with his hand. “The screenplay or script. Whatever it’s called, it’s great. If your client hasn’t tried to put it out there, they should.”
My mouth drops open, and before I register what I’m saying, I blurt, “It’s a script. It’s mine. ”
His eyes widen for a brief moment before a wide grin appears. “Clover, seriously? It’s amazing!” The enthusiasm in his voice has something warm wiggling in my veins and spreading through my chest.
My face heats again, and I spin away, tucking the binder back on the shelf where it belongs. “Don’t get too excited. It’ll never go anywhere.”
“Why not? I mean, I’m not an expert on these things, but it pulled me in immediately. I think it would do really well.”
Lifting my eyes to his, I find nothing but sincerity in his expression. “Thank you, Thor. That means a lot. But . . .” I trail off.
“But what?” he asks, stepping closer, but not too close. Something I can’t help but appreciate about him.
I’m not sure why, but suddenly, I want to open up to him. Or maybe it’s that I want to open up to someone, and he happens to be available. “It’s something really close to my heart, and I’m not sure I could hand it over to someone else. I’d want to be the one producing it.”
Thor shrugs. “Then produce it.”
“Thor, you saw me earlier,” I whisper, dropping my gaze. “Seeing my work on stage would be amazing, but I couldn’t handle the stress of being a producer, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let someone else do it. So—” I break off, my throat constricting with emotion. The one thing I want to do, I’m also incapable of doing .
“A panic attack during a really stressful season of your life doesn’t define who you are or what you’re capable of.” The words are spoken so tenderly that I raise my head, our gazes connecting.
His eyes are soft with understanding. I shake my head. “It’s not the first time, Thor. I’ve had them most of my life.”
“It still doesn’t define you. You’re brave and strong. I think you can do whatever you want to do.”
Tears build in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, looking away before he can see them. I want to talk about something else. Anything else. But I don’t know how to change the subject.
As if reading my mind, Thor claps his hands together. “All right. You ready for some lunch?”
I exhale a deep breath, thankful for the shift in topic. “Yes, that’d be great. I’ll make it since you made breakfast.”
Heading into the kitchen, I sigh in relief when he doesn’t follow me. I draw in a fortifying breath and grab the leftover chicken from last night. “Do you like chicken salad?” I holler into the other room.
“Yeah,” Thor answers as he steps inside the kitchen holding up a book. “Mind if I read this one?”
I glance at the book, noting Chantelle’s pen name, Evie Chandler, on the cover. Raising a brow, I reply, “I didn’t take you as the romance reading type.”
His lips lift, and he shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a romantic.”
My gaze slides over his muscular frame, not believing him for a minute. “Uh-huh. Sure.”
Chuckling, he opens his mouth to reply, but his phone rings, cutting him off. A frown tugs at his lips as he meets my eyes. “Sorry, have to take this.”
I wave him on and begin shredding the chicken into a large bowl. “Sure, not like you’re on the job or anything,” I mumble, noting the bite in my tone. I flinch, hoping he didn’t hear me. I don’t care that he’s on the phone. If anything, it’ll get him out from under my feet for a while. But there’s a teeny-tiny, very selfish part of me that’s annoyed with having our conversation interrupted.
I stuff that part way, way down and lock it away.
“Hey, Mom. I’m at work. What’s up?” He winks at me, then steps into the hallway as shame washes over me.
From the hallway I hear Thor let out a heavy sigh. “Mom, I’ve done this before. Yeah, I have everything.”
I pause shredding the chicken, craning my ear to hear the rest. I’m so intent on hearing his private conversation that I’m not paying attention and accidentally knock the bowl of chicken onto the floor.
“Yes, I have the list of his medications. Um . . . I have to get back to work, Mom. Love you, too. Bye.”
Hurriedly, I bend to clean up my mess, cursing my stupid curiosity as I try to arrange my features so he won’t know I knocked the bowl over because I was eavesdropping.
When he saunters into the kitchen, he shoots me a smug smile. “Everything okay in here? ”
I glare. “You know, most bodyguards would come running in to make sure I wasn’t being attacked.”
Thor shakes his head, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest. “And most clients wouldn’t try to eavesdrop on private conversations.” He plants his hands on his hips, and my eyes are drawn to the outline of his gun hidden beneath his shirt. “Get all the info you needed?”
Picking up the chicken—thank goodness I’d only shredded one piece so far—I reply nonchalantly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sure.” He kneels beside me, helping me clean up the remaining chicken. “It actually has to do with you. In a way.”
My hand freezes and I stare at him. “What do you mean?”
“My brother has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow that I have to take him to.”
“Oh.” My brow furrows.
“The agency will send someone else to fill in while I’m gone.”
I swallow and nod. It’s not a big deal. One bodyguard is the same as another. “Okay.”
I can feel Thor’s heavy gaze on me, but he doesn’t say anything as he drops the last piece of chicken into the bowl. His presence is unnerving me, but so is the thought of him not being here tomorrow.
And I’m not sure which one is worse.