Page 9 of The Bodyguard's Innocent Obsession
But then someone dared to come after her. Surely whoever it is that’s threatening the family would have known she was the only one at home. They were watching. Waiting. They know how much Senator Prescott dotes on his daughter, and it’s obvious they see her as the key to getting what they want.
The thought makes my knuckles go white on the wheel, and my jaw clenches so hard it hurts. I look over at her.
She’s fallen asleep. Or at least close. Her head’s tipped toward the window, lips parted just slightly, hair messy around her face. She’s soft and small and trusting in a way that guts me.
I give her thigh a gentle squeeze and adjust my grip on the steering wheel with my other hand. The road hums beneath us. Every mile that ticks by, I feel the tension ease just a fraction, replaced by something else. Something dangerous.
I could have lost her tonight. And now, I’m never letting her out of my sight again.
***
The hotel is tucked off the highway, quiet and expensive-looking. The kind of place that men with money bring their mistresses to. The woman at the front desk doesn’t ask questions when I flash a forged ID with a fake name and hand over a wad of cash. She clicks through the booking like she’s done it a hundred times before.
“There’s only one room left,” she says, eyes flicking between me and Arabella. “The honeymoon suite.”
“We’ll take it.”
Arabella doesn’t say anything. Just stands beside me, her eyes wide and her hair trailing over one shoulder.
We ride the elevator in silence, alone, the air between us heavy with all the things we haven’t said. She’s leaning against the mirrored wall, arms folded, lower lip between her teeth like she’s trying not to speak.
I watch her in the reflection. The oversized clothes make her look small. Vulnerable.
When the elevator dings, I guide her out with a hand on the small of her back. She doesn’t flinch at my touch, and that does something to me I can’t afford to look at too closely.
Not yet.
When we get to the suite, it looks as sleek and expensive as I expect.
Arabella walks in slowly, eyes wide as she takes in the glass and marble, the plush bedding, the candles arranged around the edge of the sunken tub. I lock the door. Engage the latch. Slide the deadbolt. Then I head straight for the windows, yanking the blackout curtains closed with quick, precise movements.
Only when the room is secure do I pull out the burner phone and dial.
“Decker,” says Vince on the other end. “We got him.”
My pulse spikes. “Who?”
“Some punk. Probably no older than twenty-five. Tried to scale the perimeter, but tripped the motion sensors. We picked him up near the east wing. No ID, no prints in the system. Won’t say a word. Just keeps smirking like he knows something we don’t.”
“Do we know who sent him?”
“He wouldn’t say. Rick’s working on loosening his tongue.”
That means the guy will have bruises by morning. Plenty of them, hopefully. Good. The only thing bothering me about it is that I’m not the one giving him the bruises right now.
“Keep me updated. And don’t let him go anywhere. We’ll be staying somewhere safe tonight, seeing as it’s so late, but I’ll want to question him myself when we get back tomorrow morning.”
“You got it. Keep the girl safe.”
Always.
I hang up, toss the phone onto the table, and turn to find Arabella on the bed. She’s curled up on the edge of it like shedoesn’t know what to do with herself. Arms around her knees, eyes wide and unsure and locked on me.
Something shifts in my chest.
The adrenaline’s still in my veins, but now it’s mixing with something hotter. Deeper. The sight of her lights me up in places that have nothing to do with protection and everything to do with need.
She licks her lips like she’s about to say something, but I beat her to it.
