Page 10 of Sinful Like Us
Evidence:he slept with Thatcher’s high school girlfriend.
I continue, “That alone makes him an awful person and a prick.” I pause. “Anything else pertinent?”
He shakes his head, neck stiff. “Banks would tell you Tony mostly just spews shit without thinking.” He grabs my notebook off the bed, and we both check the clock on the nightstand.
I’m supposed to be at security’s townhouse by 8:00 a.m., just to briefly go over my notes with Tony since he’s new to my detail. I still have time, but if I’m late, I worry he’ll show up in my living room unannounced.
Thatcher meets my gaze. “Can I check your preference notes?”
I nod. “But I don’t have a lot written yet. I wasn’t sure how specific I should be.”
“I can help you.” He flips open the spiral notebook, his severe focus like a loaded gun. Deadly when needed.
Thatcher is my most powerful catnip. I’m transfixed to him, all the while dazedly placing my bin, with Walrus, under the bed.
He stops on the right page. “You’ll need to type this out and either email him or print it. He can’t read your handwriting.”
My stomach twists. “…I forgot he couldn’t.” I’ve been so spoiled having Thatcher, who made a huge effort when he started on my detail. Learning to read my illegible handwriting and all. “I might as well type it now.”
I take a seat on the edge of my bed and open my phone’s notes app. Thatcher remains standing, reading my list, and his brows pull together. “Jane.” He says my name with intensity.
“What’s wrong?”
“Your number three.” His shoulder muscles pull taut. “You wrote:do not touch me under any circumstance.”
I sit pin straight. “It’s called a preference list. Ipreferthat Tony doesn’t touch me.” I cringe picturing his hands even hovering near my body.
“He’s your bodyguard, honey.”
“I don’t know him.”
Thatcher seizes my gaze, much harder to read. “You didn’t know me, and you still trusted me to touch you.”
My eyes burn, hearing Thatcher relate himself to Tony.
Thatcher might be all stoic, hard lines, but I know he wouldn’t push me into another man’s arms. I can’t let fear or insecurity distort his intentions.I can’t.He’s just trying to rebuild trust between me and my new bodyguard—someone he can’t stand. It slices a knife through my lungs.
Very quietly, I ask, “Is this as hard for you as it is me?”
His nose flares. “I’d rather be chugging battery acid.”
“Pass the jug,” I quip.
His lip almost rises, but seriousness darkens his features. “Under certain circumstances, your bodyguard will need to put their hands on you.”
I wince.
He squats so he’s eye-level with me. “He won’t hurt you. All seven of us on Omega are triple-checking Tony when it comes to you and your family.”
“I’m not afraid of Tony. The things he says just make my skin crawl, which is my number six.” I point to the notebook.
Thatcher glances at the page. “Six, do not converse with me.”
“I’m covering my bases,” I tell him.
“You need to uncover number three.”
“Is it so terribly necessary that Tony touches me?”
