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Chapter Ten

LILY

Since Payton’s in no condition to go for a jog, I make a quick loop around the apartments to get some exercise in and to clear my head, but all I can think about is what he said to me as he fell asleep last night.

You’re lovely…

His words keep repeating in my head and echoing in my heart.

I know I pump my legs harder as if to punish myself.

Falling for a principal is a no-no. And if I want that shot at a permanent position on Dame Maxwell’s security detail, there’s no way I can entertain the idea of getting involved with Payton, even after this assignment ends.

You’re lovely…

His smooth voice echoes through my thoughts again, sending warm prickles through me.

No one’s ever told me I was beautiful. Not that I can recall, anyway.

In the military, it was “frowned upon.” Same thing with being a bodyguard.

No mixing of business and pleasure. I’ve seen what happens when lines get crossed, and edges turn fuzzy.

In my line of work, that’s a formula for disaster.

And when lives are involved, there’s no room for mistakes .

My phone vibrates, forcing me to stop my jog and pluck it from the holder strapped around my arm.

Del: Didn’t find anything worth noting. He’s just a hockey player with a bad temper, it seems.

Lily: Good. Thanks for the confirmation. Any updates on his case?

Del: Checked yesterday. They’re still investigating.

Lily: Hmm, interesting. Keep me posted. We’ll be at home base today.

Del: Roger that.

I slide my phone back into place and jog back.

Luke walks out as I reach the sidewalk in front of the apartment, and he’s carrying a box. “Payton’s up and on the couch. I think he’s itching for a shower.”

Oh my…I hadn’t given that part much thought. Reflecting back on my own run-ins that ended with cracked or broken ribs, I remember the challenge of showering and especially washing my hair. At least Payton’s is shorter than mine.

I nod, then gesture at the box. “What’s that about?”

His gaze drops to the folded brown flaps. “The apartment Sophie and I found is ready early. And you two don’t need a third wheel around.”

Not having to continue the charade twenty-four-seven would certainly make aspects of this arrangement easier. “I assume Payton knows?”

“Yeah. He seemed pretty happy about it.”

Probably because he’ll get his privacy back—not to mention his bed—since I’ll take over the guest room. “I bet he is. ”

Luke shakes his head and chuckles. “You two are really great together.”

My mind does a whirlwind inventory of the last week. Guess we’re pulling things off better than I thought. “Um, thanks.”

He continues to his SUV in the parking lot.

“Luke, wait.” I walk toward him and step off the sidewalk as he stops and turns around. “If you don’t mind me asking, what makes you say that?”

He shrugs, causing the box he’s carrying to slide up and down his torso. “Nothing specific. You two just seem to be a good fit. And I’ve never seen the Pay-man distracted like this. Tell him he better watch it, or one of the rookies will take his place.”

His chuckle tells me he’s joking, but still, I can’t let that piece of knowledge pass without some serious consideration, probably for the best that I’m moving out of his bedroom.

That should help minimize distractions for both of us.

I’m still bothered by how I didn’t see Mia and Sophie walking up to me at the game ahead of time.

I grin appropriately. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

But my smile fades quickly as I enter the apartment and find the couch empty. “Payton?”

Only silence. I stride into the bedroom, but the bed and the corner chair are vacant. The sound of the shower turning on draws me to the bathroom door. I knock loud enough to be heard over the noise because I really don’t want to walk in and surprise him. Or me, for that matter.

The door opens. Payton has his arm cradled against a very large, dark bruise on his injured side. Besides being shirtless, he’s only wearing a pair of blue boxers with yellow hockey sticks all over them. I snap my gaze back to his face and keep it there.

His expression turns downright uncomfortable. “I didn’t get a shower after the game last night, and if I don’t wash this funk off soon, I might crawl out of my skin. Any chance you could help a bloke out?”

My brows shoot up of their own accord. “You want me to… bathe you?”

“Just my hair. And well, maybe my legs as bending over hurts like the dickens. And perhaps my back?” He says as an afterthought.

“In other words, you mean yes.” I let out a breathy sigh, resigned to my fate.

He gives me a slow nod. At least he has the wherewithal to look embarrassed. Most guys would look at this as an opportunity.

“Fine. But the boxers stay on. You can take care of those areas yourself.” I think the heat riding up my face matches the red tinge climbing his neck.

“Of course.” He growls out.

Thankfully, I’m already wearing the bare minimum—yoga shorts and a tank over my sports bra. I kick off my running shoes and pull off my socks. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Way to make a bloke feel wanted.” He jests as he moves like a snail into the shower, which, to my relief, is oversized.

“Face the shower head and be quiet.” I note the bar of soap but see nothing else—no puff or even a washcloth.

I dart over to the linen closet and almost sigh with relief when I see a stack of washcloths. Now to soap up this large hockey player as fast as possible.

Steam fills the bathroom as I open the shower door and step in behind him.

Payton has his head under the nozzle with his chin tucked.

A bruise covers one shoulder and down part of his bicep.

I get to work, lathering his back and legs.

My work has put me in some very interesting and sometimes precarious positions, but this takes top spot on the list.

The time I soaped up a principal in the shower. There’s one for my future memoirs .

“Back’s done. Spin around.” I keep my tone professional. This is simply a business transaction. That’s all.

He turns around, brushing his wet hair back, and stares at me with those crystal blue eyes. “Dare I ask if this has ever happened before?”

He better not be flirting with me.

“Nope.” I pop my ‘p.’

Next, I wash his arms, taking great care not to move the one on his injured side too much, but the bruise that covers most of his ribs is next level.

I suppress a cringe as I soap his torso, skirting around the discoloration.

When I run the washcloth down his other side, he makes a snickering noise.

Observation #4: Payton is ticklish.

Not that it’s important or relevant. Just…interesting.

By the time I finished the front of his legs and feet, the steam and water have saturated my tank top and the tendrils of hair surrounding my face are dripping. I plop the washcloth on the soap holder and grab the shampoo bottle.

“Dip your head.”

I have to say, the man follows orders like a soldier. And I think I’m slightly impressed by that. When I start massaging the shampoo through his hair, he lets out a guttural sigh that stills my hands.

He lifts his chin and opens his eyes. Our gazes lock for a moment that feels more like minutes. I could get lost in those blue depths…and drown if I’m not careful.

“Lily?”

“Yeah?”

“The soap is burning my eyes.”

“Oh! Sorry.” I grab the washcloth and wipe his eyes.

He scrunches his face. “I think that’s making it worse.”

“Tip your head back.” I swipe the spraying water gently over his eyes and work my fingers through his hair to rinse the soap out. “Okay, you’re done. I’ll leave so you can do the rest.”

“Thank you, Lily.” His words catch me as I’m one leg out of the shower, and his expression is so earnest you’d have thought I’d saved his life.

I can only nod because my voice can’t get past my fickle heart that’s pounding in my throat. I grab a towel, drying off as I rush out of the bathroom. Just in time to get a text from Del.

Del: How’s the invalid?

Lily: Fine. No problems.

No way am I going to tell my partner that I just bathed our principal. I’d never hear the end of it.

Del: Good. Just heard from Dame Maxwell. Apparently, the police are looking into a suspect.

Lily: Seriously? What did they find?

Del: No details yet. I’ll keep you posted as usual. In light of this, Dame Maxwell would also like more regular reports.

Lily: How regular?

Del: Daily.

My head says this is about an overly worried sister who’s concerned about her brother.

However, my gut says this could also be her way of assessing how I work.

Suddenly, this feels more like a performance evaluation when I was being considered for a promotion in the military.

Except this is even more important to me because I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.

I lower my hand holding the phone as Payton walks out wrapped in a towel. Water droplets fall from his hair, making a path down one side of his chest. I’d love to make a similar trail down his pecs with my fingers to see if they’re as muscular as they look.

But if I want a shot at that position on Dame Maxwell’s security detail, I have to shut that kind of thinking down. That’s just immediate gratification rearing its ugly head and will only mean failure in the long run. I can’t let Payton Maxwell get under my skin.

Or my heart.

“Shower’s all yours. And thank you again for your help.” His sheepish expression turns borderline rakish, which seems to wake up every cell in my body. “Happy to return the favor if you ever need it.”

I snicker. “Not gonna happen, big guy.”

Is this his way of getting even for my impromptu kiss last night? I grab random pieces of clothing to make my escape to the bathroom because that bruise down his side does nothing to diminish his sexiness, but then stop. “Can you dress yourself?”

His expression appears guarded. “I’ll figure it out.”

Did I offend him with my refusal of his offer to return the favor? Surely he was joking because there’s no way anything can ever happen between us.

When I walk out of the bathroom, Payton isn’t on the bed as I’d expected he would be. And when I leave the bedroom, I find him on the couch, dressed in a T-shirt and jersey shorts, reading his book again.

I stop in front of him and point at his clothing. “How did you manage to get a T-shirt on, let alone pull up a pair of shorts?”

He glances down at his attire, then shoots a rather mischievous look up at me. “I googled how to get dressed with broken ribs, which recommended sitting down.”

I glance over at his metal bar stools and gesture at them. “Too bad you didn’t think of that for the shower.”

The dimples on one side of his mouth deepen with his lopsided smile. “I don’t believe that would have worked quite as well as having your help, which I confess, I found quite enjoyable.”

I resist the temptation to grab his book and smack him on the back of his head. “Tomorrow you’re on your own.”

He raises a single brow. “Yes, ma’am.”

While Payton reads that infernal book of his, I get the guest room ready for me now that Luke has vacated the premises. I’m sure Payton will enjoy having his space to himself again. I’m not even going to consider the slight pang I feel at the thought of sleeping in separate rooms tonight.

With Del’s go-ahead, I run to the store to restock his fridge.

How domestic of me? Washing sheets, cleaning the bathroom after a very hairy hockey player, and now grocery shopping?

This role of pretend wife is feeling a little more real than I’d like at the moment, yet strangely appealing on a level I’m not sure I understand.

If anyone’s watching his movements, they’ll most likely think I’m Payton’s flavor of the week…

or the month, although I don’t get the sense he dates a lot.

And so far, neither Del nor I have picked up on any irregularities or anything suspicious.

The longer I’m here, the more I suspect his cousin’s disappearance was truly due to an accident.

Nevertheless, Del did say they have a potential lead.

When I return to the apartment, Payton’s sitting on the couch, still reading. For some reason, I find that aspect of him as sexy as his physicality. The more I get to know him, the more I see a man who’s diverse and well-rounded. I wonder if that’s due to his semi-royal British upbringing .

I hand him a bottle of water. “Stay hydrated. That will help.”

He closes his book. “Thank you.”

“I’ll make us some lunch.”

His expression turns playful. “I didn’t expect your role as my fake wife to include actually taking care of me.”

My turn to lift a brow. “Neither did I.”

The ding of my phone saves him from having to reply. I’m expecting an update from Del right about now, but the text isn’t from her.

Sophie: Hey Lil! Mia and I were wondering if you’d like to be part of the planning committee for the team’s next fundraiser. Might be a great way for you to make some connections, too. We’re meeting at the Turtle Tide tomorrow for lunch. Hope you can come.

Somehow, Sophie got my phone number. And she’s calling me Lil, as if we’ve been friends for ages.

An odd warmth fills my chest. Probably because I’m about to get mad at Payton for giving her my contact information before checking with me first, he’s the only one who could have.

I stare at her text, trying to figure out one, how she got my number, and two, how to get out of this.

“Sophie just texted me.” I lower my phone and stare at him.

“Did she?” His attempt to appear innocent is almost laughable.

“Why did you give my phone number to her?”

He gives me a thoughtful look, but that competitive gleam is back in his eyes. “I figured that would be the normal thing to do. You know, for believability.”

“For believability…” For lack of a better comeback, I repeat his words. That warmth I felt a moment ago is definitely shifting to something more ho t. And angry.

“You might enjoy it.” He opens his book and starts reading again as if there’s nothing abnormal about this.

I take a step closer to him, like a cat ready to pounce. “Did you forget we’re not really married? That my focus is supposed to be protecting you, not playing house?”

He lowers his book again. “I’m perfectly safe inside my apartment. And your partner seems to have outside surveillance well under hand. Do you want to sit around here and watch me read?”

I don’t miss the soft chuckle he counters my growl with as I head into the kitchen. Not only do I have to figure out a way to get out of Sophie’s invitation, but how to out maneuver Payton, who’s proving to be quite proficient at more than just hockey.