Page 25 of The Bodyguard

“I’d protect it. Honor it. Push you harder than anyone ever has. And never let you fall.”

She swallowed. The coffee in her hands had gone cold. “And what would you expect in return?” she whispered.

“Truth,” he said. “Obedience. Respect.”

“That sounds a lot like ownership.”

He studied her, then spoke the words like they were facts. “Only if you give yourself willingly. Otherwise, it’s not submission. It’s coercion. And I’m not interested in that.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs.

“What if I don’t know how?” she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it.

“You learn,” he said. “From the right partner.”

She stared up at him, her throat tight, her body coiled in ways that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with what he represented. What he promised.

Power… Safety… The ability to finally let go.

Andi looked down into her lap, the fingers of one hand brushing the edge of the sheet. She felt exposed in a way she couldn’t quite understand—not because of what he saw—but because of how easily he seemed to see right through her, as if she were glass.

After a long silence, she said, “It scared me. That night. Seeing him arrested. Feeling the cuffs on my wrists. I knew that one mistake could undo my life—everything I’d worked for.

“I don’t blame you.”

“I never wanted to feel that helpless again.”

Mitch crouched, suddenly eye level with her. “You’re not helpless now,” he said. “But you are still carrying it. All of it. Alone. I have to wonder what you think you get from doing that.”

She didn’t answer.

“You’re strong, Andi. But even strong people need someone to lean on.”

“And you think you can be that someone?”

“I think I already am.”

She looked away, but she didn’t argue. That silence—her silence—was as near to permission as he was likely ever to get.

She said nothing else after that and refused to look him in the eye. Mitch rose to his full height, watching her for a beat longer before he turned and left the room, leaving only the fading scent of cedar and spice behind him.

Andi sat frozen for a moment, the cool ceramic of the coffee mug anchoring her in the present even as her thoughts ran in all the wrong directions.

She’d never wanted a man to take control of her life. Not when it mattered. Not after Rick. Not after that moment when they shackled her wrists and ignored her voice, seeing only her last name and ZIP code. She’d spent every minute since then earning her power, building her image. Taking back control.

And now, one infuriating, gorgeous, maddeningly steady man was cracking her foundation with nothing but a low voice and unshakable conviction.

It terrified her. It thrilled her. And that was the problem.

She set the mug on the bedside table and pulled herself to her feet, the chenille robe hanging on the nearby hook brushing her knees as she slipped it on. The floor felt cool beneath her bare feet as she stepped into the main loft, catching the tail end of Mitch’s call on his encrypted device.

“…no, she’s secure. For now. We’ll start running full interrogative protocols on her staff later this afternoon. Flag anything with overlap to The Alder Club, even second-degree contacts. I’ll handle the rest.”

He ended the call and turned, unsurprised to see her there.

Andi crossed to the kitchen, opening a cabinet and retrieving her favorite cinnamon twist protein bar. “So now we’re interrogating my campaign team?”

Leaning against the counter, he folded his arms again, looking as if carved from discipline. “We’re screening them. Thoroughly.”

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