Page 91 of The Bodyguard

Angela moved over him as though they’d been lovers for years, and with the confidence of a woman who had no questions about her needs, guided his cock inside her body.

God.He arched as she took him. Her slick heat had been brought on by his kisses, and now, just like a goddess, she rocked and rose over him, finding herself, driving him to oblivion.

Her orgasm hit him like pulsating lava, and he had no choice but to climax with her. White lights and explosions. That was how she made him feel. Nothing was better.

His eyes opened. Their breathing raced.

She grinned. “Just like you promised. You didn’t even mess up my hair.”

He laughed, hooked his arm around her, and laid her to his chest, kissing her quiet, kissing her to ground himself.

Finally, she slid away from him, excusing herself to the bathroom. Other than her glowing color, Angela didn’t look as if she and Sawyer had fucked until they’d exploded. Even that deceptive slit in her skirt looked modest.

They took a few moments to pull themselves together. She eased back into his arms and smoothed her hands down his suit jacket. “Thank you.”

“Right back at you.”

She downplayed him with a quiet laugh. “I’m serious. Thanks for agreeing to my crazy idea. The practice, the playing pretend to teach me the ropes or whatever. This has been a lot of fun.”

Playing.Pretending. Sawyer probably gave her the correct response. But the reminder of the temporary nature of their situation landed on him like a wall of cold water.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Sawyer’s head was in a fog as he and Angela went through the motions. In the elevator and out. He scanned the lobby and assessed potential threats. She’d asked about their rental car. He’d said they could walk.

Outside, hand in hand, they walked down the street. But Sawyer remained underwater even as he scoped out possible danger. He tried to focus on work and volleyed the idea of sharing what Parker might have learned about Mylene Hathaway. He even thought about why he didn’t want to be in a relationship—but cut those thoughts off quickly. That wasn’t where his head needed to be while he walked Angela into a Michelin-star restaurant.

“Reservation?” the hostess asked.

He told the hostess the pseudonym and caught Angela’s wide eye of approval. The sight was almost enough to clear Sawyer’s head.

They were seated at a secluded table. Ensconced candlelight danced across distressed brick walls. He noted details like an analyst would write a report: white tablecloths, crystal glasses, and waitstaff who disappeared until needed.

She ignored the menu. “Sawyer.”

His eyebrows rose. He couldn’t shake the robotic stiffness that had him in a chokehold.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Lying to her wasn’t an option. Neither was telling her what had set him off—mostly because he couldn’t explain why. They had a time-boxed relationship. He didn’t want it to end, but he knew he couldn’t continue outside the parameters they’d set. He couldn’t even explain why.

Funny how he could jump out of planes and climb through destroyed buildings while bombers flew overhead, yet he was physically incapable of opening up.

“We should leave.” She folded her napkin on top of her menu.

He balked. “I don’t want to leave.” Hell, he had committed every second to memory not even an hour ago. Now, he wondered when this feeling would vanish. “Why do you want to leave?”

“Because you’re a zombie.” She analyzed him. “What happened?”

Her anger did a poor job of hiding the hurt in her voice, and he hated himself. “I’m sorry.” He shook his head and glanced around as if the walls might hold a script. “I—” Would he tell her about his past? He wasn’t sure that was a good idea, even if he could.

The waitress appeared. “Good evening. Would you like flat or sparkling water?”

“Could you give us a minute?” Angela asked.

“Of course.” The woman backed away and melted into the shadows.

“Look, Ange… I haven’t shared everything with you.”

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