Page 138 of The Bodyguard

Angela paused. Her spine straightened. “When what would happen?”

“What’s about to.” He gestured to her cup. “Throw.”

“You can’t read my mind.”

“That’s not entirely true, sweetheart.”

She shook her dice haphazardly and threw them onto the table, not looking at what she rolled. “What was I going to ask?”

“We’ve already figured out logistics in Abu Dhabi.”

“Yes.” She warily studied his casual nature. Moving in together was a big step, but it was hard to imagine any other option after Sawyer said he wanted to fall asleep and wake up next to her whenever he wasn’t on assignment. “My place, temporarily. Until we get one that’s ours.”

Jared would let them choose a hotel suite that was laid out like an apartment. Interior decorators were on the house. It wasall a part of the perks that came with working for Titan and living in a luxury hotel.

“But now you want to plan the details,” Sawyer offered. “Responsibilities. Expectations.”

He wasn’t wrong. “Most relationships fail because couples fight over money and who takes out the trash.”

“That sounds like a symptom. A lack of respect and communication being more of the problem.”

“Hence, I want to talk about some things.”

He grinned. “Give me your laundry list of questions, and I’ll do my best.”

She crossed her arms. It wasn’t as if she was giving a quiz. “I just want to plan.”

“Ange, you plan everything to a tee. I know that about you, and I’m not saying it’s wrong. All I said was I wondered when this would happen.”

Her lips flattened, but she tried to see it from his side. So, she was a buttoned-up control freak. That part of her had loosened since they’d set foot on the jet and she’d fallen asleep in his arms. It had been nice to let go of holding the world together.

“I’ll start,” he said. “I do my laundry. You do yours. I don’t know what will shrink or melt or whatever else if I throw it in the washer with my jeans. Your wardrobe likely costs more than my collection of weapons, so I’m not going to screw with it.”

Her eyebrow arched. “Can you put your laundry in the hamper and not next to it?”

His lips pursed as though he were considering the mental and physical requirements of depositing laundry twelve inches farther than where he usually tossed it. “I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.”

“Sawyer, seriously—”

“But we’ll use housekeeping,” he offered. “You won’t even know I’ve piled everything on the floor. Or, you won’t for long.”

“You’re a grown man, Sawyer Cabot.”

He laughed and pulled her into his arms as he lay on the couch. “What else is on your list?”

“I like brightly colored furniture.”

“Fine. I don’t give a shit about the furniture, so long as it’s comfortable.”

That was fair. “Who cooks?”

“I’m a better cook than you,” he said.

“That’s because you coat everything in butter and oil and salt.”

“Basic chemistry, sweetheart. You gotta season food.”

“If I eat like you all of the time, my butt will not fit in my skirts.”

---