Page 54 of The Bodyguard

Sports played on the television in Angela’s living room. She sat on the edge of her bed. Alive. Terrified. She didn’t know what to do with John Patterson’s questions, but worse, she didn’t know what to do with Sawyer. Or with herself.

Angela had never felt more alert than in the ten seconds that Sawyer held her elbow. If this was what desire was… then Paul had been right. She’d been frigid—with him. She wasn’t cold or unfeeling or uninterested. But she was far, far out of her element and experience.

And she was embarrassed. Sawyer had touched her arm, and she could hardly catch her breath.

Her phone chimed. The noise was an instant antidote to the heady fluttering that left her unable to think straight.

Angela dug her phone free. The text notification from her mother hit as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over her head.

The messages grounded Angela in the present, reminding her of their family’s dysfunction. They repeated that the breakup with Paul was a mistake and that her mother worried for Angela’s mental well-being. The texts kept coming. Paul’s name and her mother’s disappointment continued message after message until Angela couldn’t handle it. She typed one word—ENOUGH—then muted the conversation and tossed the phone aside.

She should’ve been angry. The text-message diatribe confirmed why John Patterson had arrived in Abu Dhabi and grilled her. But the anger didn’t come. Angela was still floating, high as a kite because she wasn’t broken inside.

Angela quickly packed a bag appropriate for investigative work in North Carolina: shorts and casual shirts. A bathing suit and cover up, just in case they found time to hit the beach. Nopencil skirts, starched blouses, or high heels for this trip. Her toiletry bag was on the light side. Everything fit neatly inside a small duffel bag. It wasn’t the go-bag that Sawyer would have, but she was ready to leave town for an unknown length of time.

“All right,” she called, slinging the bag over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”

He appeared at her bedroom door. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

Apparently not. She kicked off her heels, shooed him out the door, and changed into something more like she packed. But not before making a mental note that Sawyer did not seem fazed by their conversation and hadn’t noticed how she reacted when he’d touched her arm. Thank the Lord for that miracle. There was no need to make her first field job more complicated.

Besides, he didn’t have long-term relationships. She was just out of one. He wouldn’t be interested in her anyway. They were friends, and she wouldn’t screw that up.

“All right, a second time.” Angela waltzed out in flats, jeans, and a black cotton shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and a boat-neck collar. Chic and comfortable. “Do I look okay?”

“You always look good.” He pulled the bag from her shoulder. “But now you look more comfortable.”

Her stomach flipped. The light and airy feeling had to stop. She didn’t have time to understand and manage it. The sensation might’ve shocked her, but, as with every other uncomfortable feeling, she could control it. Angela refocused on what Sawyer had said. She was comfortable, which was the only thing needed for a fifteen-hour flight.

Just as Sawyer said, the arrangements had been made. An SUV waited to take them to the airport, where a private jet waited on the tarmac. Their luggage was taken as they were shown into the cabin. Blankets, snacks, and drinks were offeredas they chose an L-shaped couch, and before Angela could open her book, the captain was taxiing down the runway.

Hours later, Angela awoke to dim lights and white noise. She wasn’t sure what time it might be, but it was dark outside the windows. She had stretched onto the long part of the couch. On the shorter chair section attached to the couch, Sawyer had fallen asleep next to her. His arm rested by his side, his hand close to her face. His legs draped across a footrest as he reclined. His blanket dangled off his lap. Angela reached over to right it.

“Thanks.” His eyes remained shut. He didn’t move.

She pulled her hand back quickly. “I didn’t realize you were awake.”

Sawyer repositioned himself onto his side, looking down at her. “On and off. After dinner, you were out like a light.”

She laughed quietly. “Are you comfortable?” There were other couch configurations. He didn’t have to sleep in a reclining chair.

He brushed strands of her hair off her face. “I’m good.” His fingers lingered, skimming over her cheek as her pulse thundered. His eyes weren’t on hers but where he touched until he pulled away. Then they locked onto hers.

The intensity stole her breath. She didn’t know what to say, and even if she did, Angela couldn’t speak above a whisper for fear of shattering the warm, all-encompassing hold between them.

A flight attendant walked through the cabin and asked if they needed anything. They didn’t, but the warm moment disappeared. Sawyer took a long drink from a water bottle. Angela turned onto her back and stared at the curvature of the aircraft’s sloping ceiling. Why didn’t Sawyer do relationships? Why did she want to know? More importantly, how could shehave gone her entire life without someone touching her arm or cheek like he had? Familiar and gentle?

Fewer than forty-eight hours ago, Angela had cried tears after a man had called her frigid. As it turned out, she was simply a woman who hadn’t been in the right situation yet.

Sawyer wasn’t a situation, though. He was a friend. But knowing that didn’t keep her mind from replaying how his touch rocked her body.

He didn’t do relationships. Romantic relationships were complicated. Her next one needed to have no agenda. No strings. Casual flings at work were a horrible idea. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore Sawyer. It wasn’t working.

In the future, when she was ready, an agenda-free relationship would be nice. One that made her lungs stop working as Sawyer had earlier. How would she find someone like that?

“You have a lot on your mind,” he said. “Don’t you?”

Startled, she felt a blush crawl up her cheeks. “More than I know what to do with.”

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