Page 9 of Tangled Like Us
“I’m positive.” I reach the bottom button, a gust of air sweeping my hot skin.
She watches me take off the shirt, her gaze stroking the ridges of my abs and carved waist. Blood pumps through the veins in my cock.
Fuck.
Jane.
Not in that order.Not in that fucking way.
It’snotmy job to think about her in any setting outside of client-bodyguard relations.
It’snotmy job to think about what she’d taste like if I spread her legs. I have pictured it, and I’ll do a hundred deadlifts as punishment for even thinking about her pussy.
Unprofessional.
Un-fucking-professional.
It’snotmy job to feel a fucking thing other than duty. Responsibility. Devotion—workplace devotion.
Not even as intrigue lights up her eyes.
I stay rigid.
“Before you worked in security,” Jane says, “did you always gravitate towards button-downs?”
I thought she was about to say,did you always gravitate towards me?
That wouldn’t make sense. I met Jane when I first became a bodyguard at twenty-two. She never knew me before security.
This is an easy question to answer. “Button-downs, no.” I pull my arms out of the sleeves. “Before this job, I only wore them for formal events like mass, weddings, and funerals.” I pass Jane my black shirt, and I take her beer, our hands brushing for a second too long.
Her neck tightens with a shallower breath, and she speaks quickly. “But security has no uniforms, except for some events. Correct?” She fits her arm through one hole.
I nod firmly. “The Tri-Force encourages bodyguards to dress professionally.”For the families.
Jane pulls one more arm through. Stretched-out sleeves are baggy on her limbs, and my shirt hangs to her thighs. She clears her throat. “So…how are we making this right?”
We?
“Me,” I correct. “I fucked this, not you.”
She tilts her head like I’m revealing more of myself. Something beneath the hard exterior.
I try not to wear my guilt. That’s for me to bear. “First,” I say. “You should be able to speak openly with me. If you want to know how I feel about Farrow or the whole situation or anything about me, I’ll tell you. I’m going to give you more transparency.”
She deserves that.
“Starting when?” she wonders.
“Now.”
A brighter smile pulls her freckled cheeks. “You’re opening Pandora’s box by giving me free reign to all questions, you know?”
I nod.
I’m not even close to afraid. But that lack of fear almost stokesfear. Because I must want Jane to know more about me. Under the circumstances and the rules of being her bodyguard, being too personal is wrong and feels fucking impossible.
Jane wraps her arms up in my shirt, and she puts her nose to the collar and breathes in.
