Page 6

SINCLAIR

It’s been two days of Denver being my ‘personal bodyguard’, and we’re on our way back from another workout session with Brad.

Denver spent this one staring at us across the room again, taking up the entire bench like a menacing shadow.

I’m glad I left Monty with Molly and Sullivan today, otherwise Denver might have tried telling me the same crap about Monty not liking Brad.

Like I’d believe he knows Monty’s opinion better than I do.

I sneak a sideways glance at him as he drives, one hand on the steering wheel, one resting casually on his thigh. He takes a corner, circling the wheel beneath his palm easily, his fingers relaxed.

“You don’t drive like I thought you would,” I muse as he lets the wheel pass easily beneath his hand until it slides back into position.

“How did you think I would drive?”

His eyes remain on the road ahead, his square jaw and dark chestnut-colored hair, cut close to his collar, creating a striking profile.

“Like a control freak, I guess.” I shrug, turning to look out of the window.

“I can assure you, I’m in control. But if it makes you feel more comfortable…”

I look back at him. He’s placed both hands on the steering wheel, his fingers curled around it with a firm grip.

“Being babysat will never mean I feel comfortable ,” I huff. “Thanks anyway.”

His jaw ticks and he returns one hand to his thigh, but his grip remains tight with the one that remains on the wheel.

I reach up and toy with my diamond necklace, sliding the pendant back and forth along the chain.

My workout with Brad first thing this morning was just what I needed.

I always have more energy after. And today I have a runway show for a lingerie brand I’ve worked with before that I need to be on top form for.

Their shows usually have a great atmosphere, and I’ll be able to catch up with some models I haven’t seen for a while.

But they are exhausting. A workout will help, and so would?—

“Pull over!” I screech.

Denver swerves across a lane and slams to a halt next to the sidewalk. His hand flies beneath his jacket to his hip.

“What did you see?” His nostrils expand and he sucks in a breath. “Sinclair,” he growls, his eyes narrowing to slits as he surveys the sidewalk filled with New Yorkers on their way to work.

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he continues his assessment, then turns to me.

I point out of my window at the small truck set up on the sidewalk, silenced by the sudden burst of testosterone filling the car like a storm cloud.

He leans over me, his dark, thick eyelashes fanning over his green eyes as he reads the sign on the truck.

He lets out a sharp breath of air and warm mint fills the small gap between my face and his.

“You yelled like there was an immediate threat because you saw a juice truck?”

“It’s my favorite one. And it’s smoothies, not juice.”

His brows lower and he runs his tongue over the edge of his teeth like he needs a moment to compose himself. I suddenly understand how Jenson and Killian know when to quit messing around and be serious.

Because Denver must look like he does now.

The back of my neck grows hot as his huge body continues to crowd the space around me, pinning me to my seat.

“Tell me what flavor you want. And wait here.”

He exits the car swiftly and walks around to my door.

I roll down my window. “I need to know what the specials are.”

He nods, his jaw rigid. “Close it up, lock the doors.”

Shaking my head, I do as he says, closing my window and pressing the button that locks all of the doors.

It’s only when I’m done that he turns and walks across the sidewalk and stops to face the truck.

His eyes flick from me and back to the menu board he’s reading every couple of seconds as he checks on me.

“This is ridiculous,” I mutter.

I throw open my door, jump out and march toward him.

He’s on me before I even make it halfway.

“Sinclair!”

It’s a deep, gruff warning. One that does something funny to my stomach as it’s coupled with a large solid arm wrapping around my torso like a shield.

“Why can’t you do as you’re told?”

The vibrations from his voice hit my ear along with the same warm, minty breath. A thrill skates up my spine.

My father never said I had to behave for Denver. Perhaps if my family insists on treating me like a child, I should act like one. Winding up Denver is the closest I’m going to get to having any fun until they drop the whole ‘personal bodyguard’ nonsense.

“I wanted to watch them make it.” I pout.

Denver looks at me, a muscle in his cheek clenching before he glances up and down the street. “Fine. But you stay by my side.”

“Thank you.” I bop the end of his nose with my fingertip. “You know you’re almost cute when you’re angry. Almost…”

His nostrils flare, and I swear he’s grinding his teeth to powder.

True to his word, he stays a couple of inches behind me, and I can feel the heat emanating from his pissed off face as I take my time pretending to choose.

“Are the berries organic today?” I ask the guy behind the truck’s counter.

“Sure are. Great for the complexion, not that you need it, Sinclair.” He grins, and I giggle.

“Scott, you’re such a flirt,” I scold gently, loving the grunt that comes from behind me.

I take longer pondering the menu when really I know all of the regular smoothie combinations they offer. I stop here at least twice a week.

“What are the specials today?” I ask.

Scott leans over the counter, his blond floppy hair falling into his eyes. “I was just about to write them on the board. You want to help me name them?”

“Ooh! I do.” I look over my shoulder at Denver, raising my brows like he should join in on my excitement.

He stares back at me, his face a mask of indifference.

I turn back to Scott as he reels off a list of berries and coconut milk and points to a baby pink mixture in one of the blenders.

“It matches my outfit.” I smile, doing a mini wiggle in my workout gear. “You think we should call it Sinclair?” I turn to Denver. “What’s the first word you think of when you look at me?”

He presses his lips together, his eyes roaming up and down the street as he studies each person walking by.

“I’ll help you,” I offer. “Stubborn client, needs babysitting, helpless, treated like a child, difficult, spoiled?—”

“Princess.”

“Sorry?”

His eyes meet mine and he breathes out the single word again, only the way he says it sounds less like the insult I suspect it’s supposed to be.

“Princess.”

I turn back to Scott. “One spoiled Princess for me, please.” I point at a creamy colored smoothie in another blender. “What’s that?”

“This,” Scott says proudly, “is a powerhouse. A blend of peanut, pea protein, cacao?—”

“Ooh! Let’s call that one… ‘Brute’. My chatty companion will have one of those.” I throw Denver a wink over my shoulder.

I wait for him to make our smoothies and then tip him generously, blocking Denver’s attempt to pay.

We walk back to the car, and I peel the tiny cartoon fruit sticker that Scott gave me off its backing paper.

“Not only do they make the best smoothies for miles, but they also have stickers. Molly loves them.” I press the smiling strawberry onto Denver’s shirt with the caption, ‘I’ve been searching for berried treasure.’

“Suits you, Brute.”

I pat it to make it stick and my fingertips connect with solid heat.

I frown.

“Problem?” Denver clips.

I look up into his darkened gaze.

“I always thought… don’t you wear a vest under your shirt?”

“I’m not one for layers.”

“That’s your actual body?” My eyes roam the rest of his broad torso beneath his suit. I never thought anyone was built that huge.

I pat his pec again and am met with the same warm expanse of muscle.

“I meant like a bulletproof vest, something padded. That’s… Wow.”

“A bulletproof vest? This is the Upper East Side, Princess, not the Bronx.”

My lips twitch as I look into his eyes. But his own give nothing away. He holds my gaze as he opens the car door for me, and I slip into the seat.

He leans in and fastens my belt for me before I can do it myself.

The same way he did when he collected me this morning, and when we left Brad’s studio.

The first time I unclicked it just to see what he’d do.

And he calmly refastened it. The second time he gave me a look as my hand reached for the release button, so I stopped.

And now…

Now I’m glued to my seat, dumbfounded.

“You made a joke,” I say, taking his smoothie from his hand and placing it into the cup holder for him.

“Did I?”

“You did.”

He shakes his head. “You didn’t laugh, so it can’t have been.”

My lips twist into a smile, but his face is so stern I can’t tell if he’s actually serious, or if he’s teasing me.

He hovers in the small space a moment, probably waiting to see if I will unfasten my belt.

“Good,” he rasps as I sip my straw instead of reaching for it.

He closes my door and rounds the hood, a vision in black suit, white shirt, and black tie. He scans the street ruthlessly as he walks, checking for danger.

“So paranoid,” I mutter before he climbs into the driver’s side.

He checks his watch as he starts the engine.

“You need to be at Spring Studios by ten, and we still need to go back to your apartment first. We’re behind schedule.”

Then he pulls out into the traffic and doesn’t speak to me again for the rest of the drive.