Page 2 of Escorting the Bodyguard (Hearts for Hire #4)
“Victoria filled me in on the situation,” he says, his voice pitched low enough that it won’t carry to other tables. “Tim Roberts. Three confirmed sightings this week.”
“That we know of.” I lean back in my chair, studying him. He’s close enough for me to see the flecks of silver in those gray eyes. “For all I know, he’s been at this for weeks and I just started noticing.”
Something flickers across Ford’s face. Approval, maybe? Like he’s pleased I’m thinking tactically instead of panicking.
“Most people in your situation would be falling apart by now.”
“I’m not most people. And you don’t strike me as the type who’d be impressed by a woman having a breakdown in a hotel bar.”
His eyes drop to my mouth for just a second before meeting my gaze again.
“Depends on the woman. Depends on the breakdown.”
Interesting.
There’s something underneath that professional exterior. Something that suggests he’s not as buttoned-up as he appears.
“Let me guess. You prefer your clients cooperative and grateful?”
“I prefer them alive. Everything else is a bonus.”
He leans forward as he speaks, and I catch that scent again. Cedarwood and something darker. Something electric hums in the air.
His gaze shifts around the room, then settles back on me. “We’ll assume worst-case scenario and work from there. Victoria wants you protected while we handle the situation. NYPD will be involved, but this is what my company does.”
The confidence in his voice is the first thing that’s made me feel steady all night. But steady doesn’t mean I’m done testing him.
“How reassuring. And here I thought charm was part of the service.”
“Charm’s extra. You’re getting competence.”
Despite everything, I almost smile. Almost. He’s quick. I like quick. And I like the way he’s looking at me. Not like a victim to be managed, but like a puzzle he wants to solve.
“You’re awfully young to be this confident about keeping me safe.”
“Age doesn’t stop bullets. Experience does. And I have plenty of that.”
Something in the way he says it sends a chill through me. Like maybe he knows what happens when bullets don’t stop fast enough. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I watch his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly.
For reasons I don’t want to examine too closely, I find myself wanting to know what kind of experience puts that edge in his voice.
“What’s the plan?” I ask.
“Tonight, we make sure you’re secure. Tomorrow, we’ll reassess based on what my team turns up.”
Still wound tight from seeing Tim, adrenaline should be the only thing flooding my veins. Fight or flight, survival instincts, basic biology.
But now Ford is here, and somehow, it’s not just adrenaline I’m feeling.
Men usually look at me like they’re buying something.
Assessing polish, price, performance.
Ford doesn’t. He looks like he’s already seen the product—and he’s still watching. That’s what throws me.
Dangerous territory, Gemma.
I take a sip of wine, just to have something to do with my hands. “How long have you been watching me?”
“Since you walked in.” He says it matter-of-factly, like surveillance is just another Tuesday night activity. “Victoria called while you were en route. I was already in the neighborhood.”
Lucky me.
“And what’s your professional assessment?” I ask. Flirting with my bodyguard is probably not the smartest move I could make right now, but when have I ever been accused of making smart moves?
The corner of his mouth quirks up. Barely there, but I catch it. “You’re calm under pressure. Aware of your surroundings. Not prone to panic.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“It’s useful.”
Useful. Not the adjective most men use when describing me.
Ford glances at his watch, then back at me. “It’s getting late.”
“Is that your professional way of telling me it’s past my bedtime?”
“Depends. Are you the type who follows orders?”
“Depends on if you mean inside the bedroom or out.”
His mouth opens. Then closes. He exhales through his nose like he’s annoyed—with me, with himself, with the situation. When he speaks again, the professional mask is back in place, but I can see the cracks.
“Let’s start with following my security protocols.”
I finish the last sip of wine, feeling the warmth spread through my chest. Whether it’s from the alcohol or the way he’s looking at me, I can’t say. I set the glass down and smooth my dress, trying to focus on anything that’s not him.
As I stand, my heel catches on the chair leg, and I sway forward. Ford’s hand shoots out to steady me, his fingers closing around my wrist. For a heartbeat, we’re so close I can see the darker ring around his gray irises, feel the heat radiating from his body.
He doesn’t let go immediately. Neither do I.
And for the first time all night, the fear that’s been coiled tight inside me starts to loosen its grip. It’s not gone. Just… quieter.
His eyes drop to my mouth again before meeting my gaze. “Shall we go up to your room?”
The question sends heat straight through me.
After that charged conversation, those loaded looks, I know exactly what he’s asking. And despite everything—Tim, the danger, the fact that this man is supposed to be protecting me—I find myself wanting to say yes.