Barefoot With a Bodyguard by Roxanne St. Claire Page B

What’s most infuriating about that is…is…” Was it possible this woman was just out of touch with culture so much that she didn’t know any better? She cleared her throat and tamped down her resentment. Instead of chastising Poppy, she should educate her. “There’s an expression for what you’re saying, Poppy, and I bet it won’t pass your language standards.”
    Her frown deepened. “Well, based on the way you talk, I’m figuring that’s a big, long expression with a whole lot of hard to understand words.”
    “Just two. Slut-shaming,” Kate said softly. “And you’re doing it when you blame a man’s inappropriate behavior or thoughts on the way a woman dresses.” She paused to let that sink in. “And it’s wrong.”
    The other woman inched back, searching Kate’s features as though trying to see behind the façade. “You’ll make a good lawyer,” she finally said.
    “Thank you.” Kate tipped her head in the general direction of her law books. “But I have to pass the bar first.”
    Poppy stepped aside and let her walk by with a look on her face that said Kate had won a round today, finally.
    *
    At midnight, after an evening of managing to stay out of her way to do his job, Alec put down the book he’d been reading and pushed up from the sofa, where, with the patio lights on, he could see the front entrance and the doors to her room. That wouldn’t work for overnight, but he had to give Kate some privacy.
    She’d gone to her room hours earlier—with a bottle of wine and one glass—but had not shut the door, and her light was still on.
    He walked through the vestibule—he’d never forget that one—that led to the bedroom and cleared his throat loudly.
    “You can come in, Leo.”
    He reached the open door to find her sitting in bed, under the covers, surrounded by books, wine in one hand, a pen in the other.
    “Leo?” he asked.
    “Tolstoy.”
    He couldn’t help smiling. “Sorry, no.”
    She took a healthy sip of wine and set the glass on the nightstand next to her. “You’re here for the sofa?”
    “I can’t think of any other way,” he admitted. “If I’m outside, I have a clear view of your doors, but we’d have to leave the patio lights on all night, and I assume that would annoy you.”
    “So does someone sleeping in my room.”
    “This is the best arrangement. I’m close to you if anyone breaks in.”
    She made a face at that. “What if they want you and not me?”
    Fair question. “Either way, I’ll kill them.”
    He saw her tense at that. “Have you?” she asked. “Killed anyone?”
    He ignored the question and lifted his chin toward her books. “How late are you going to study?”
    “Forever,” she said on a long sigh, but flipped one of the textbooks closed. “I have a lot to learn. You can come in.”
    He accepted the invitation, entering slowly. “I saw a quote once that said the amount of time you spend focused on something is directly related to how important it is to you.” He’d applied that quote to martial arts in general and jiu-jitsu in particular.
    “This”—she swept her hand over two textbooks the size of dictionaries—“is my ticket to independence and security and self-reliance. It represents everything I want most in the world.”
    Sitting on the love seat tucked into the bay window near the French doors, he considered the sincerity of her confession. It took a lot to come right out and say what you wanted most, and he respected her for it.
    “How many hours do you have to study to pass this test?”
    “More like months, not hours.” She stacked the books on top of each other, making him think she might be done for the night after all. “I’ve been out of law school for more than five years, so my legal brain is kind of rusty. I have to do considerably more work than the average Juris Doctor graduate.”
    “What took you so long to take the bar?” he asked. “Isn’t that something you do right away when you finish law