Page 39 of The Bodyguard Affair
“Even now, you’re still the only person who knows. I never told my family, especially not my mom.”
“Why not?”
Her face hardens, and she flops onto her back. “My mom clutches her pearls when people kiss on TV. If she found out her daughter wrote face-sitting smut, she’d have a heart attack.”
“If my kid was a bestselling author, I’d be proud,” I tell her.
“Thanks, Nolan.”
I want to ask if she has any other book ideas, but she beats me to it with her own question.
“So how did you end up in JTF2? Was it a dream of yours?”
I wish I could say I enlisted at eighteen to serve my country. That’s the answer I give to people I don’t know, because that’swhat people want to hear. But something about Andi brings out my honesty. “Honestly, I originally enlisted in the military because school wasn’t for me. I didn’t have the grades to go to university, I didn’t care for trades. I needed financial freedom, fast. And I was desperate to get the hell out of Ottawa and see the world, so I joined the infantry.”
“And did you see the world? Once you joined?”
“Oh yeah. Did my first stint in Kabul a year and a half in. Then found myself in JTF2 after a stupid bet with a buddy of mine to see who could hit the requirements to go on selection, which sounds pretty fucking reckless now that I look back on it, given what the job is. I’ve been to every continent, I think.”
“Sounds like you like the lifestyle.”
“Yup. Can’t stay put for long. Can’t picture doing anything else, really. I mean, where else would I get to learn how to jump out of a plane? Or rappel down a mountain? Or run sources? But I do miss the adventure. Being on the go. It also has some strange stipulations, pretending to date the PM’s wife’s assistant, you know.”
She lets out a quiet chuckle. “It must be really cool. To be able to walk around anywhere, knowing you could take anyone down at any time, if you really wanted to.”
“You could, too, with the right training,” I argue.
Her raised brow says,Fat chance. “I think you underestimate how weak I am. Sometimes, I have trouble opening the caps on water bottles.”
“It’s not about strength or size. It’s actually about timing and physics. Stand up,” I order, pushing my makeshift bed a couple feet toward the TV stand. There’s not a lot of room.
She slinks out of bed reluctantly and flicks the lamp on, armsfolded across her chest to hide her PJs. I now see her thread-worn T-shirt readsCarleton University. “This is gonna end badly.”
“It won’t. Watch closely,” I instruct, trying not to notice how good she looks with her dark hair loose, cascading down her back. I step forward, motioning to her arm. “Can I?”
She nods, and I gently guide her arm upward and to the side in a swift arc, demonstrating how to shift my weight onto my back foot, using the momentum to unbalance the other person. She tentatively copies.
“Step back with your left foot,” I say, “and as you do, pull your wrist toward your opposite shoulder. It’s all about the angles and timing, not about overpowering physically.”
We practice the sequence a couple times: the wrist escape, the pivot, the takedown. With each repetition, she gains more and more confidence.
“Now, I’m going to pretend to come at you and you’re going to wait until I’ve exerted all my force, and then you’ll step back with your left foot. If you pull your wrist toward your opposite shoulder, you should theoretically be able to get me on the ground.”
“ ‘Theoretically’ being the key word.” She follows my orders and is able to twist out of my grasp to gain the momentum she needs. To be fair, I’m going pretty easy on her, but she seems so unsure of herself, I want her to have the win.
As I “lose my balance,” she places her palm on my chest and pushes me down.
Only, she comes down with me, her knee pinned into my chest, wholly satisfied with herself.
“See? Told you,” I manage, struggling to get air from where she’s got her knee shoved into my collarbone. “Um, could you—”
“Oh shit. I’m sorry.” She shifts her knee over to the other side of my torso, so both of her bare legs are on either side of my chest. I don’t think she fully meant to move into that position, because her breath hitches and quickens when she realizes it.
I expect her to get up immediately, but she doesn’t. Heat rises in my chest, flowing everywhere, as if I’ve just dunked myself chest-deep in a hot tub. In the glow of the lamp, her eyes look almost golden as they snap to mine. Hungry. And maybe even a little curious as she circles her thumbs over my chest, studying me, feeling every little pulse and pull, leaving sparks scattering in their wake. She likes this as much as I do.
Fuck me.
The warmth of her body on top of me, the way her nipples are hard underneath the thin fabric of her shirt, the way those soft lips are parted ever so slightly, the velvety softness of her thighs clenching over me. My whole body stiffens and I struggle to swallow what little saliva I have left in my mouth. I never want to move. Ever.
