Page 16 of Big Bodyguard
Charlie flinches, but she doesn’t look away from me.
I rake a hand down my face, grinding my teeth to stop myself from giving in to the urge to punch the wall or something. “Withrespect, sir, that’s a mistake. Whoever made that attempt at the club—they weren’t drunk locals. Someone targeted her. Sending her back to DC paints a bullseye on her back.”
“Don’t lecture me on politics and security, Steele,” the senator says, his tone sharp. “Just do your damn job.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the phone in my hand for a beat, the silence heavy. My gut already knew this call was coming, but I still hoped—hell, prayed—we’d have more time.
I slip the phone into my pocket, exhaling slowly, then glance at Charlie. She’s clutching her camera against her chest, her brows drawn, her lips parted like she’s trying to process what she just heard.
“What did he say?” she asks softly, though she already knows.
I drag my eyes over her face…those wide brown eyes, that stubborn chin, the flush still high in her cheeks from teasing me moments ago, and it fucking hurts. Hurts to know that any second, this fragile bubble we’ve built out here is going to burst.
“He wants you back.” My voice comes out rough, low. “Tonight.”
Her lips tremble, just slightly, before she bites down on them. “And what do you want?”
The question guts me. Because the answer is simple, and it’s everything I shouldn’t say.
I step closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in her eyes. “What I want is to keep you safe. End of story.”
But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. I do want to keep her safe. But I also want more time. More mornings of her stealing myshirts. More laughter. More fire in her eyes when she calls me Daddy.
I want her.
And that’s the problem.
Her lips tremble, and before she can stop it, a tear slips free. Then another.
“Charlie…” My chest tightens like a fist is squeezing it.
She shakes her head, her camera sliding from her hands onto the couch with a soft thud. Her shoulders heave, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. “I don’t want to go back, Jack. I can’t. I can’t breathe in that house. Please, don’t take me back there…”
Her voice breaks on the last word, and it damn near kills me.
For one reckless second, I picture grabbing her hand, shoving her in the truck, and just driving. No orders, no senator, no politics. Just her and me against the world.
But that’s not who I am. That’s not the code I live by. A man without honor is nothing but a mercenary, and I swore I’d never be that again.
Still…the sight of her breaking rips through me like shrapnel.
“Christ, princess,” I rasp, dragging her into my arms. She comes willingly, pressing her wet face into my chest. My hand cups the back of her head, my thumb brushing her hair back, and I lower my mouth to hers.
This kiss isn’t fire. It isn’t rage. It’s slow, lingering, an anchor in the storm. She whimpers softly, clutching my shirt, and I kiss her again, wiping her tears with the pad of my thumb.
“You’re not alone anymore,” I whisper against her lips. “I’ve got you. Always.”
Her tear-filled eyes search mine like she’s trying to decide if I mean my words. I answer her without words, sliding my arms beneath her and lifting her easily.
“Jack?” Her voice is small.
“Shh.” I press a kiss to her temple as I carry her down the short hall. “Daddy’s going to take care of you.”
The bathroom is small, rustic, but the claw-foot tub in the corner is deep enough. I set her down gently, turning on the taps until the water steams. She watches me through her lashes as I peel the shirt from her body, every movement careful, reverent, as if undressing something fragile and precious.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, kissing her shoulder, her collarbone, each word punctuated with my lips. She shivers, goose bumps rising along her skin.
