Page 50 of Some Like 'Em Burly
Kingshaven Market. Melted Hearts candle stall.
Jem.
Mouth twisting, I shove the phone back in my pocket and press on.
It shouldn’t take me as long to find her as it does. From the outside, it’s an ordinary sized building—not small, by any means, but maybe the size of a town hall—but inside the market, it’s labyrinthine. So many crooked alleyways among the stalls to wander down and get lost; so many oddities and distractions.
I finally find the Melted Hearts candle stall in the back left corner of the market, tucked away in a pool of relative calm. There are still people brushing past, still people browsing the wares, but it’s less claustrophobic over here without strangers’ elbows digging into my ribs.
I step up to the table and frown down at the young woman huddled on a metal chair. Her dark hair is shoulder-length, with messy bangs that are fluffed up from the humidity, and one tan shoulder shows where her gray sweater has slipped to one side. She’s chewing on her thumbnail, staring around the nearby crowd with a small frown.
I cough to clear my throat. “Jem?”
She jolts and looks up at me, and…fuck.
Never seen eyes like hers before. Not close up. Not like this: big, fringed in dark eyelashes; brandy-colored and lined in kohl.
“Yes?” Her voice is faint, but defiant. This young woman may be scared out of her wits, but she’s not about to admit that fact.She raises her pointy little chin in challenge and waits for me to speak.
“I’m Axel,” I say. “From Spartan Shield Corp.”
The woman—Jem—blanches, checking her watch. It’s a cheap watch, held on by a fraying fabric strap, and I file that information away before glancing at her table.
Stacks of candles are grouped together, arranged prettily by size, each with a little handwritten label that gives their scent. A purple velvet cloth covers the table, worn shiny in some places, and there’s a battered old card reader by her wrist. Suddenly, it’s no mystery why she only bought one day of protection—in fact, she must have been truly desperate to hire me at all.
My gut sinks.
None of my business, I remind myself. But shit, that thought doesn’t sit right with me. What if the problem’s still there after twenty four hours?
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” Jem says. She’s a funny little thing; a mix of softness and sharp angles. “I need to—shoot. We can’t leave yet. The market doesn’t close for another four hours.”
“No problem.” It takes some maneuvering, but I squeeze past the table without jolting all the candles too much, then swing my backpack off and set it down. Those brandy-colored eyes rest on me like a weight. “I’ll set up back here.”
“But…” She peers around helplessly. “There’s only one chair.”
My cheeks ache from the sudden urge to smile, but I battle it away. No one wants a grinning bodyguard, and I’ve got a role to play here. Brooding wall of muscle: that’s me for the next twenty four hours.
“I’ll stand.”
Jem huffs and kicks a cardboard box of candles away from my boots, clearly getting flustered at having me behind her table.That’s fine. Lots of folks find bodyguards unnerving if they’re not used to them.
“You’ll get bored,” she warns. “There’s nothing to do back here.”
“I’m not on vacation.” A thread of amusement snakes through my voice, and Jem must hear it, because she gives me a rueful look. “You don’t need to entertain me or sit me down and make me all comfortable. I’m here for your protection, remember?”
At those words, a whole load of tension melts out of Jem’s shoulders. She gives me a grateful nod and turns away to serve a customer, so much more visibly relaxed.
Shit, I should have said it sooner. Should have driven here faster.
But I’m here now, and Jem can finally stop worrying. I’ve got this.
Jem
It takes a while for me to get used to having a huge, rough, brooding man behind my candle stall, taking up space with his long limbs and occasionally asking me questions in a rumbling voice, but once I do…
Once I do.
Holy shit. I haven’t relaxed like this inweeks.Not since my first date with Peter, when some part of my body tensed up and never unwound. My neck aches from the constant strain I’ve been carrying.
