Page 4 of Escorting the Bodyguard
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a second before meeting my gaze again.
“Depends on the woman. Depends on the breakdown.”
Interesting.
There’s something underneath that professional exterior. Something that suggests he’s not as buttoned-up as he appears.
“Let me guess. You prefer your clients cooperative and grateful?”
“I prefer them alive. Everything else is a bonus.”
He leans forward as he speaks, and I catch that scent again. Cedarwood and something darker. Something electric hums in the air.
His gaze shifts around the room, then settles back on me. “We’ll assume worst-case scenario and work from there. Victoria wants you protected while we handle the situation. NYPD will be involved, but this is what my company does.”
The confidence in his voice is the first thing that’s made me feel steady all night. But steady doesn’t mean I’m done testing him.
“How reassuring. And here I thought charm was part of the service.”
“Charm’s extra. You’re getting competence.”
Despite everything, I almost smile.Almost.He’s quick. I like quick. And I like the way he’s looking at me. Not like a victim to be managed, but like a puzzle he wants to solve.
“You’re awfully young to be this confident about keeping me safe.”
“Age doesn’t stop bullets. Experience does. And I have plenty of that.”
Something in the way he says it sends a chill through me. Like maybe he knows what happens when bullets don’t stop fast enough. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I watch his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.
For reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, I find myself wanting to know what kind of experience puts that edge in his voice.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
“Tonight, we make sure you’re secure. Tomorrow, we’ll reassess based on what my team turns up.”
Still wound tight from seeing Tim, adrenaline should be the only thing flooding my veins. Fight or flight, survival instincts, basic biology.
But now Ford is here, and somehow, it’s not just adrenaline I’m feeling.
Men usually look at me like they’re buying something.
Assessing polish, price, performance.
Ford doesn’t. He looks like he’s already seen the product—and he’s still watching. That’s what throws me.
Dangerous territory, Gemma.
I take a sip of wine, just to have something to do with my hands. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Since you walked in.” He says it matter-of-factly, like surveillance is just another Tuesday night activity. “Victoria called while you were en route. I was already in the neighborhood.”
Lucky me.
“And what’s your professional assessment?” I ask. Flirting with my bodyguard is probably not the smartest move I could make right now, but when have I ever been accused of making smart moves?
The corner of his mouth quirks up. Barely there, but I catch it. “You’re calm under pressure. Aware of your surroundings. Not prone to panic.”
“Is that good or bad?”
