Page 3 of Road Trip with Her Bodyguard (Love Along Route 14 #9)

JORIE

T he smell of coffee pulls me awake slowly. I sit up, blinking as I look around the room. Everything is beige. The cheap green nature print…seriously, I know I’ve seen it in my dentist’s waiting room too…isn’t really perking the place up very much.

I can hear the shower running in the bathroom.

The memory of Dane looking so sexy while driving floods me with a fresh rush of desire.

I’ve admired hot men before, but this feels…

different. Like there’s already some kind of connection growing between us.

We’re going to be in very close quarters for a few days – would pretending to be a couple perhaps strengthen that connection?

Either way, it’s going to be an interesting thrill.

A slow tumble of dream images washes over me: Dane tucking me under his arm and hurrying me down the street. His eyes meeting mine as he slowly leans in for a kiss. His fingers through mine as he playfully tugs me toward the bed.

Geez. It’s probably bad to develop a huge crush on your bodyguard.

I quickly finger-comb my hair and take a few sips of coffee. Then I jump up, straighten the bed, and open my suitcase flat across it. Do I even have anything with me that is road trip-appropriate?

Just as I’m digging through everything, Dane comes out wearing nothing but a pair of faded blue jeans.

Oh. My.

My throat closes up, my gaze trailing around his chest, down to his chiseled abs and the lines over his hips that dip lower… I jerk when he catches me staring. A slight smirk plays across his lips, then he gives his head a shake, still toweling his hair dry.

“From the looks of your photos, you and your friends wear a lot of designer stuff.” He flops on his messy bed. “Are those black boots you were wearing yesterday comfortable?”

“Yes. That’s why I always wear them to concerts.”

“Good. Let’s take a look at the rest.”

We pull out one pair of black jeans and a sundress that would work. The rest is all casually expensive.

“You’d be beautiful no matter what you were wearing,” he says matter-of-factly. “But we’re driving across the country. You need to blend in a bit better.”

My cheeks flush, both from his compliment and my ostentatious wardrobe. “I’m so sorry. Mom buys me a ton of clothes. She hates for me to be seen in public wearing anything that isn’t, as she puts it, elevated .”

“No problem. I understand weird parents.”

Dane stares at me, and for a second, I think he’s ogling my breasts – which, strangely, I don’t mind.

Then he measures my t-shirt from seam to seam across the shoulders using his arm as a ruler.

He repeats the motion across the bottom, then vertically.

Lastly, he measures the length of my legs by noting where my waist lands on his lower hip.

“What’s your shoe size?”

“Seven.”

“Got it. Shower, pack, and be ready to go in half an hour.”

“Sure.”

“Do not open that door for anyone except me, not even if they say they’re a cop.”

“Okay…”

After he leaves, the doorknob rattles when he double checks that it’s locked. I keep forgetting that I’m in danger.

As instructed, I’m ready to go when he returns.

Dane empties a large plastic bag across my bed: four t-shirts, in blue, green, a pink floral pattern, and a marigold and black swirly sunshine-y print.

There’s also three pairs of soft yoga pants, one each in black, gray, and blue, some cute teal sneakers, and a pair of socks covered in cartoon pizza slices.

“I couldn’t resist,” he chuckles.

It feels so easy to laugh with him. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”

Dane turns his back, and I replace my silky designer top with the bright sunshine t-shirt. Then I roughly fold the new clothes and stuff them haphazardly in my suitcase. He surveys the room to be sure we haven’t forgotten anything, then scoops up my bag like it weighs nothing.

Shortly after we’re back on the highway, I see a sign for Route 14. “We were in one place for a while, so we’ll drive for about half an hour, then stop for breakfast,” he says. “Is that okay?”

“Sure. Where are we staying tonight?”

“Heartstone, Missouri.”

Obviously, I’ve never heard of it, but it sounds rather romantic – just as it feels romantic that Dane is caring for me so sweetly. Although I guess that’s his job.

“What do you do for a living, anyway?” I ask. “When you’re not bodyguarding, I mean.”

He flashes a cheeky grin that speeds up my pulse. “Oh, a little of this and a little of that.” When I raise an eyebrow, he chuckles deeply, then shrugs. “Sorry. Just wanted to sound mysterious there for a sec. I work for several different contractors in the area.”

“Like, building houses and stuff?”

“The opposite, actually. I tear out old kitchens, bathrooms, patios, whatever. Then I haul out the rubble to make the space clear for the renovation team. I’ve been a club bouncer and had more than my share of unofficial bodyguard jobs, but demolition is my main gig.”

Well, that certainly explains the shoulders. The thought of Dane’s huge hard body all sweaty and dusty sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. “Is that like…your dream job?”

He turns off the highway and drives toward an old fifties-style diner just up the road. “Hmm. I like working for myself. The freedom to take a few weeks off in the height of summer, or a break whenever I need it. Take a road trip with my dad, or some old friends now and then.”

“Must be nice.” My low grumble slips out, surprising me.

“Really? You wanna swing a sledgehammer?”

“No.” I shake my head sadly. “The freedom to do whatever you want, though…”

Dane parks the car, then comes around to open my door, keeping hold of my hand as we walk inside. “Yeah, I get the impression that your folks are kind of…”

“Helicopter parents, even at my age? Yeah. Dad wants me to relocate – well, you saw what he did. Mom wants me to wear something? She just puts it in my room and harps at me until I do.” I slip into a vinyl booth with a sigh. “I guess I really don’t have a backbone.”

The conversation switches to movies that have scenes set in diners. I love how we talk about everything under the sun while devouring incredible breakfast sandwiches on the thickest seven-grain toast I’ve ever seen.

We’re skimming the menu again after polishing off our sandwiches, wondering if we have enough room to split a piece of pie, when I point to the list of side dishes. “What are grits, anyway? I’ve never been in this part of the country before.”

“You’ve never had grits?!” We turn to see our perky blonde waitress gaping at us. Her name tag reads ‘Patty’, and I get the impression she’s worked here for decades.

“Oh honey, you haven’t tried ’em until you’ve had ’em here. Hold on.” She dashes back to the kitchen, returning with a small side dish. “It’s just corn. I’ve already seasoned ’em with butter and pepper. Trust me.”

It frankly looks like mush, but she seems so excited that I dig in, taking a big spoonful. Then I nod slowly. “Hmm…okay…it’s kind of like…porridge. But brighter.” I smile up at Patty. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“Thank you. We’ll also split a piece of the apple caramel pie,” Dane adds.

Once she’s gone he leans forward, a wide grin on his handsome face. “It’s not just that you dug into those with gusto. You were fully prepared to enjoy them. Your default state is happy and agreeable.” He grins. “Both of which are excellent qualities in a road tripper. Good job.”

I feel strangely proud of myself. Like I’ve scored a point with him.

In a place like this, it’s no surprise that the pie is stellar.

We eat in appreciative silence for a few minutes, smiling and enjoying the moment.

Then Dane reaches out a hand to me. A quick glance around confirms that he’s not doing this for any cameras, because there aren’t any.

Oh boy. My fingers feel so good in his huge, warm hand.

“What’s your dream, Jorie? A career, or a calling?”

“You’re going to laugh.”

His smoldering dark eyes lock on mine. “Unless it’s stand-up comedy or clown school, I promise I won’t.”

“I’d like to be a masseuse.” Dane simply nods, clearly expecting me to continue.

“For injuries, there’s a physical therapist. If people want to pamper themselves, there are fancy spas.

But what about the average person who works on a computer all day, and just needs to be stretched back into line once in a while? ”

“Huh.” Dane nods slowly.

“I wish massages were as normal and accepted as haircuts,” I shrug.

“I’d love to be the bright point in a regular person’s day.

Take the knots out of their shoulders, help them relax.

A super mellow soundtrack and a lavender candle.

Erase some of the physical damage of their hard work. You know what I mean?”

His fingers tighten around mine, and our knees brush under the table. “You are…nothing like I expected,” he finally says quietly.

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“Good. Very good.” He releases my hand to sip his coffee. “Honestly? I expected a spoiled brat who would kick up a fuss because her plans were being ruined. A princess who wouldn’t wear anything but high heels and would take three hours to do her makeup.”

I almost choke on my coffee. “Oh! You’ve met my mother.”

He laughs, his gaze wandering all over my body before settling back on my eyes. “But here you are, wearing that weirdly flattering t-shirt, happy to go with the flow…”

His fingers leave his coffee mug again to trail along my wrist, his thumb caressing my pulse point gently. “And now you appear to have extremely realistic life goals? I have to say, Jorie, you’ve impressed me.”

My stomach does a slow backflip. He’s not looking at me like his father’s friend’s daughter that he has to babysit for over the next several days.

He’s looking at me as if he feels this strange, sensual connection as well.

And again, I say: Ohhh. Myyy.