Guarded Heart by Anya Breton Page A

look that made his brows lift. What was she guilty for?
    Brook’s small tongue darted out, licking a small bacon bit
from her lower lip. A low groan emitted from the back of his throat as images
of his tongue licking the crumb from her mouth flared in his mind’s eye.
    Misinterpreting the noise as a growl, Brook lifted her palms
in a sign of surrender. “I like bacon,” she said as she turned her back for the
trip to his refrigerator.
    Morgan imagined pinning her to the white appliance, lifting
her shirt and nibbling his way up her spine while teasing her nipples to life
with delicate brushes of his knuckles. Forcing his attention away, he noted the
extra pan on the stove.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Eggs,” she said. There was now a package of eggs and a
carton of milk in her hands.
    She had to know he was struggling. Brook would have an
empathy net stretched wide on the lookout for foes. So why was she forcing her
proximity on him after that awkward morning greeting? Did she want him
to desire her?
    No. She probably wanted eggs enough to suffer him at
her side.
    Morgan hit the bacon with increased vigor.
    “Tongs work better for flipping bacon,” she said.
    That was the last straw. He abandoned breakfast for an icy
shower.
     
    He must be the moodiest male Brook had ever met. No guy she
knew stormed off in a huff. She’d expected Morgan to come right back so he
could finish his bacon. But when the slices began burning and she sensed the
water still flowing in the other room, it became clear he’d left her to finish
breakfast.
    He hadn’t asked her to help, simply assumed she would. She
wasn’t a housekeeper. She was his bodyguard, a damn good one at that.
Brook nearly bent the spatula in the pan before she subdued her anger.
    Perfectly good bacon shouldn’t go to waste. Minutes later
she sat at the table eying the remaining crispy slices. Would he know she’d
stolen another of his pieces? A male like Morgan probably kept an account of
everything in his head. Brook reached across and grabbed one anyway because the
guy was too nice to complain. He deserved it for leaving her to finish
preparing.
    Morgan appeared with damp hair and fresh clothing. Without
so much as a nod for her, he grabbed the plate of eggs she’d made him, lifted
the bacon plate until the slices slid onto his and then left with his bounty in
hand. She stared after his retreating figure.
    There’d been no words of gratitude. He hadn’t even glanced
at her. Brook had dealt with a few rude clients but never anyone this blatantly
disrespectful.
    He might be a powerful regional priest but she was above the
reach of regional priests. She reported only to Master Destan and the high
priest of Neptune’s Fellowship himself—Priest Marino. Morgan was no Desmond Marino.
    Worked into a lather, Brook shoved the chair back so she
could follow Morgan. It was easy to locate the sole individual in the house. He
was in his office. She didn’t bother knocking as she burst through the dim
room.
    Morgan sat huddled at the tiny table. A sliver of sunlight
pierced the space between the particleboard she’d nailed over the windows. It
cast over his face and down his torso. His elbows were propped on either side
of the breakfast plate in front of him but he wasn’t eating. Instead he merely
stared at the eggs as if waiting for them to wiggle of their own accord.
    “Let’s get one thing straight,” Brook said despite his odd
pose. “I’m here to protect you, not make your breakfast.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “Just because I made one suggestion doesn’t—” Brook’s
righteous speech stalled. Had he apologized?
    Would he explain why he was sorry? She swallowed the rest of
her prepared argument.
    Two seconds passed before Morgan continued. “I didn’t expect
you to make breakfast. To be honest I wasn’t thinking about food when I left. I
should have thanked you for it when I returned.”
    Brook twisted her lips in irritation.
    But why was she