Chapter 18 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
I wanted him to kiss me. I absolutely, wholeheartedly wanted Brady to kiss me again and make me feel the way he had four years ago.
I hadn’t expected something as simple as his hand in my hair to undo me.
I’ve spent years convincing myself that I don’t need anyone…
that self-reliance equals safety. Letting Brady help me felt like handing over some of my control.
A control I hadn’t realized I guarded so tightly—until I felt what it was like to let go.
The strange part is, I don’t know that I want it back.
A wave of heat flushes through my body as I recall the look on his face when I opened my eyes to find him half-leaning over me—the want etched into his features had my pulse racing.
But instead of kissing me, he pulled back and ran. There is no other word for it. And I know why. I’m his client. But there is no point in either of us denying the explosive energy between us.
Brady has more self-control than I do. If he’d kissed me, I wouldn’t have wanted it to stop there. That would have been a mistake. Right?
I bite my lip and stare at the pale pink comforter, at my hands curled in the hem of my shirt.
Would it be so bad?
Yes, Elizabeth. It would.
Even if my body could move correctly without pain, I don’t need to add sleeping with my bodyguard to my already messed-up life—particularly when I’m starting to suspect I might want something more from him. Something I never thought I’d be able to feel again.
I slump onto the bed, picking at a stray thread in the comforter while I try to convince myself to be sensible. A knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts. Crossing the room on bare feet, I open the door to find Brady on the other side.
His hair is damp and curling slightly at the ends, clearly straight from a shower of his own.
Dressed in gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt, that clings to his chest and shoulders like a second skin, he looks like my own personal form of punishment.
My body thrums with a want I can’t seem to smother.
“The pizza’s getting cold,” he says simply.
I sit on the sofa, while Brady carries his slice several feet away and leans against the kitchen counter. We eat in silence, but I can almost hear the tension crackling in the air.
My stomach knots for reasons that have nothing to do with hunger.
I catch myself stealing quick looks at him, trying to guess what’s going through his head and whether he notices the heat creeping up my neck.
He, on the other hand, seems perfectly composed, as if nothing between us has shifted at all, leaving me feeling foolish for still being caught up in it.
Finally, I can’t take the quiet anymore.
“Brady…” I set down my crust. “What about my family?”
He pauses mid-chew, swallows, then wipes his fingers on a napkin. “What about them?”
“Should I… warn them? Call them? Tell them what’s happening?”
He leans back slightly. “No.”
“No?” My brows draw together.
He shrugs. “It’s unlikely they’re targets. You aren’t close to them, right? You haven’t been back to Blue Ridge since the Thanksgiving holidays.”
A cold jolt runs through me. “Do I want to know how you know that?”
“Probably not.” He says it so casually it makes my skin prickle.
It’s an odd feeling to know that Brady knows so much more about me than I know about him. It feels unfair, and I don’t like that it makes me feel I’m at a disadvantage.
“I was invited on a ski trip at Christmas.” I’m not sure why I feel the need to explain myself to him. “With clients. It was important for me to go.”
“Okay.” His tone is mild, but I bristle.
“My brother and sister were there. Between them and their kids, it’s chaos. I doubt anyone noticed I wasn’t there.”
He arches a brow.
“It’s… my family is complicated.”
Brady steps forward to take another piece of the pizza, folding it in half to eat, his eyes fixed on me.
“There was no major falling out or anything.” The words spill before I can stop them.
“I’m busy. When I left for college, I had to focus on my goals.
It was hard to get back during every college break with internships and everything, and then I was working.
Frankly, we don’t have much in common anymore. ”
“They’re your family.”
“I know, and I love them. It’s just… I don’t have a lot of time off.” Brady grunts. “It’s not one-sided, you know.” I know I sound defensive, and I am. “They could come to Atlanta to visit me.”
“True. Why don’t they?”
“They don’t like Atlanta.” It slips out before the thought fully forms.
Brady looks skeptical.
I blow out a long breath. “Look, my parents were thrilled when I was top of my class in high school and, as the oldest, always picked up the slack with my younger siblings while they worked. I don’t blame them,” I hurry to add.
“Running a small business is hard. I know that, and they provided a wonderful childhood for us. I’ve always been driven.
Once I started dating Keith and eventually married him, we created a life in Atlanta that was different from the one my family led.
They told me the traffic was too stressful, and it would be easier if I went north to see everyone at once. ”
“So, you come by your stubbornness genetically?” He quirks an eyebrow.
I offer him a half-hearted smile. “Pretty much. To be fair, it makes more sense for me to go to them, but I just don’t have time.”
It’s a lie. I stay away because I feel like an alien when I’m there, and I can barely look at my sister and not think about what I took from her.
I push away from the table, suddenly exhausted. “Enough background,” I joke, trying to cover how exposed I feel. “Be sure to add it to my file.” I fake a yawn. “Time for bed. You said we’re leaving early, right?”
“I’d like to be on the road by seven to miss most of the traffic.”
“I’ll set an alarm.” I take a few steps away but then turn back. “Can I have a gun?”
I’ve obviously taken him by surprise, judging by the widening of his eyes, but all he says is, “You shoot?”
My lips twist. “As I’m sure you know, I’ve had my concealed carry permit since I was eighteen.” He studies me with those intense eyes. “I’ve always carried a gun, and the police took mine.”
Brady nods but says nothing. I decide to take it as agreement and escape to my room. The sensation of his eyes on my back follows me the entire way.
A few minutes later, there’s a soft knock, and the door cracks open. Brady leans in, holding out the orange pill bottle. “You didn’t take them.”
“Thanks.”
Next, he extends the tube of ointment, his brow lifting.
“Oh, right.” I take the tube, but he lingers, waiting. “I can do it myself,” I insist.
Brady studies me for a long moment. It’s obvious he wants to say something but settles for a nod and steps away.
I wait until he’s gone before lifting my top and fumbling with the tape holding the plastic wrap over my stitches. “Stupid tape,” I mutter, picking at the edges. It barely moves, and when I finally get frustrated and yank, I hiss out a breath at the sharp sting.
Brady fills the doorway. “Are you okay?”
“You have the ears of a bat,” I grumble.
He doesn’t answer. His horrified gaze is trained on my exposed side. “What the hell is that contraption?”
“Your sister brought me some supplies—DIY waterproof covering for stitches. One-handed is harder than it sounds. I can’t get it off.” I gesture helplessly at the stubborn plastic.
He steps into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Here, let me.”
His hands are warm and steady. One rests briefly on my hip to steady me, and the other pulls at the tape. It feels like the tape is adhered with superglue.
Brady frowns. “Hang on,” he says, disappearing into my bathroom. He returns carrying a washcloth. “Lucky for you, the hot water is back.”
I freeze when he kneels in front of me. The first touch of the cloth makes me shiver, and it has nothing to do with the temperature. He presses it over the tape, the moisture loosening the stubborn edges.
“Hold still.” His warm breath wafts against my bare stomach, and goosebumps rise on my skin. Rough knuckles brush against my skin as he carefully works the tape free. My pulse hammers in my throat, the ache between my legs grows until the urge to clench my thighs is unbearable.
“There.” His voice husky, and his eyes flick up to meet mine before he reaches for the cream. Brady gently smooths the cool medication over the line of stitches. The faint discomfort is nothing compared to the insistent throbbing in my core.
There shouldn’t be anything sexy about this. But my body is on fire. His eyes lift to mine, eyes so dark and hot there’s no trace of green.
I hold my breath as Brady caps the ointment and rises to his feet.
His jaw is locked tight. “I’ll be next door if you need me.”
“Great. Thanks,” I manage to choke out.
The door clicks shut, and I flop onto my back, staring at the ceiling, my skin tingling everywhere. There is no way I’m getting any sleep tonight.