Page 17 of The Bodyguard's Fall

“Are you afraid I’ll escape under your watch, Warden?”

The longer I was around Tate, the more I began remembering the feeling of euphoria that came whenever I provoked him. His eyes narrowed, and there it was now, filling my insides like an old friend.

“I wouldn’t put it past you to try, but you wouldn’t get very far,” he taunted.

“That sounds like a challenge. Did I hear someone say that you’re injured?” I’d noticed a slight limp when we walked back to the house, but nothing crazy noticeable.

He took a step closer, really showing off the difference in our height. I lifted my chin and my toes in response, my heart rate kicking up a notch. He leaned forward, letting me see a fraction of a smile before he said, “I could beat you in a race running backward with my hands tied behind my back.” He waited a beat and then added, “Blindfolded.”

I had to admit, he had me there. I’d been hiding out in a cave for the past six months. My body was definitely softer than it had been, but zero sunlight and mail-ordered snacks could do that to a person.

Tate strode toward the window and flung back the curtains.

“For this window to be completely locked, it has to be all the way down, with both knobs facing the right side.” He waited for me to walk next to him before he showed me. “You shouldn’t have any reason to open your window. Keep these curtains closed. I’ll check your room every night before bed.”

He seemed to be waiting for a salute or something before he could move on. I did so, the look on his face making it all worth it. However, a smile toyed at his lips before he brushed past me, headed toward the door. “Be downstairs and ready to go in five minutes.”

He closed my door.

His bossiness was going to be a problem for me. As was the surge of adrenaline currently racing through me like a shot of espresso.

But that was a problem for another time.

Right now, I had to be ready to go in five minutes, and I wasn’t sure how to dress. After much overthinking, I threw on a pair of jeans and slipped off my sweatshirt. It had been chilly at four a.m. but was decidedly less so now.

And then I paced the room, using every last second of my five minutes before leaving. I hated this about myself. I hated how everything felt vulnerable and scary. Going somewhere. Staying inside. Being with Tate in close proximity.

Stalker or not, at the moment, the latter seemed the most dangerous.

You see, Will saw us dancing at his wedding–but there were other things he didn’t see. Like how Tate had basically turned into a different person while flinging me around the dance floor. Or not a different person, per se, but different with me. That overbearing older brother character he played all too well had morphed into someone who flirted and smiled and wielded his blue eyes to his advantage. I hadn’t seen that side of him before. And even if I had, it had never been directed toward me.

And then there was the way his bossy attitude somehow transferred to his hands. Those manly and confident hands that tugged, held, and…protected. Even his charm came out like a whirlwind, so effortlessly pretending to be something he wasn’t. Until Leroy left. And then, all at once, the jig was up; he dropped his hands and went right back to normal.

As if nothing had happened.

Which was great. It showed all the signs of a successful undercover cop. But I wasn’t an undercover cop. And I hadn’t really been prepared for something like that. For something that had always been so off limits to suddenly be…shoved in my face with a mischievous smile.

That kind of thing had the potential to mess a girl up. For my entire life, Tate had been put into one box: my older brother’s overbearing—albeit attractive—best friend, who saw me as nothing but an annoying little sister. But for approximately ten minutes, I got to see Tate out of that box, and all his broody and playful attention was directed entirely at me. It took me months to stop thinking about that.

So, a whole week going undercover with Tate Walker?

That wasn’t good for anybody.

Will: Just because I handed you the keys to a Porsche doesn’t mean you get to drive it.

Tate: Why would you hand me the keys, then?

Will: For safekeeping. Don’t touch my sister.

Tate: It’s going to be hard to have a girlfriend I don’t touch.

Will: Keep it light and easy. She’s pretty messed up.

Tate: Tell her to get in line.

Will: I know the shooting was hard on you. Are you sure you can handle this?

Tate: Time will tell.