Page 16 of The Bodyguard

“No. I’m right.” He stepped closer, gaze locked on hers. “I worried when I told you about the drop at the club, you might panic.”

“I never panic.”

“Perhaps, but you might have alerted whoever was watching that we were on to them. Or worse—you might have confronted someone. Either way, you would’ve drawn attention. I needed you calm. Controlled. So I handled it.”

“You handled it like I’m incapable of thinking for myself.”

“No.” His voice didn’t rise, but it hit like a stone. “I handled it like you’re the one they’re trying to kill.”

The words hung in the air, and she felt her nipples respond to the authority and command in his voice. Andi crossed her arms over her chest, not for modesty—there was nothing modest about the dress still hugging her frame—but because her body betrayed her with every breath.

“You don’t get to keep making those decisions for me.”

“I’ll stop the second you stop making it necessary.”

That stopped her. Mitch took another step forward, closing the space between them. She could smell him now—leather, heat, something darker. Something elemental.

“I need to know that if someone puts a target on your back, you won’t step in front of the bullet out of pride.”

“I’m not prideful.”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered for half a second too long. “You’re pride incarnate.”

She swallowed hard. “You think I can’t do this.”

“I think you’re trying to fight a war without armor. I think you’re trying to pretend that politics hasn’t turned into a battlefield. I think you’re scared—and you’re too damn proud to admit it.”

He was too close. And she didn’t want him to move.

Andi tilted her chin. “What do you want from me, Mitch? Obedience? Silence? Deference?”

His eyes flared. Not angry. Aroused.

“No.” He leaned in slightly, his voice a shade deeper. “I want honesty. I want you to stop pretending you don’t need me. And I want—” His jaw tensed, then loosened. “—I want you to stop looking at me like you’re waiting for me to kiss you when you know damn well I’m going to.”

The words burned through her composure like fire through dry brush. Her breath caught. He saw it.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “Not if it’s out of pity.”

His laugh was low and dangerous. “There is not a single thing about you that inspires pity.”

And then he kissed her. There was no hesitation. No ask. Just command—the same way he gave orders, the same way he cleared a room, the same way he made her feel like she could finally stop pretending she wasn’t afraid.

His mouth claimed hers in one smooth, devastating sweep. Andi didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Her brain barely kept up with the feel of him—his hand fisting gently in her hair, pulling the pins from it so it could tumble down her back. He angled his body just enough to keep her trapped without touching anything inappropriate.

Except it was all inappropriate, and it felt like salvation.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, desperate for something solid. He deepened the kiss, coaxing a gasp from her, then backed off an inch—just enough to breathe the words against her lips.

“You think I don’t see you?”

She blinked, dazed. “What?”

“I see everything. The way you act like you’re the only one allowed to hurt. The way you keep pushing because you’re terrified of what happens if you stop. You’re not invincible, Andi. You’re just pretending.”

Tears stung the backs of her eyes. She hated he could see that far into her. Hated that he wasn’t wrong.

“I have to pretend,” she whispered. “If I let it in—if I stop for even a second—it’ll consume me.”

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