Guarded Heart by Anya Breton Page B

unhappy?
    She dug her nails into her thighs. This was so typically
Morgan. He always knew just what to say to soothe hurt feelings. And it had
almost worked on her.
    “Save it,” she said. “I’m not one of your flock.”
    Morgan’s eyes formed perplexed circles. Now was a good time
to disappear before he demanded an explanation. A big part of the decision was
because what she’d said hadn’t made a whole lot of sense to her either. But he
could never know that.
    Owning it fully, Brook twisted on her heel and then
sauntered from the priest’s office.
    * * * * *
    It was evening before Morgan felt he had a handle on himself
enough to seek Brook’s company. She’d been pounding away all day. He’d feared
what he’d find when he ventured out of his office. It wasn’t that his bright,
sunny kitchen would be a dark den like all of the other rooms that concerned
him. No, Brook had been engaged in physical labor for hours and he wasn’t sure
he’d be able to look at her without picturing her in a shower. Only the promise
of seeing her eyes darken in anger got him out of his chair.
    When he arrived at the kitchen entrance, he found her on a stool
hammering nails through a sheet of plywood over the window behind the stove.
She’d brought in a floor lamp from the living room for additional light. It was
like a spotlight on her round bottom. Valiantly Morgan fought the lift of
desire when he pictured himself offering to help her down.
    A whole interlude played out in his head within a second’s
time. In the fantasy, Brook was the kind of female who would allow him to help
her. And she’d fall into his arms.
    In reality she craned her neck around, catching him focused
on her ass. A glare cast over her expression. It was true that he’d wanted to
see those eyes dark with anger, but not for this. Abandoning his plan, Morgan
got straight to the reason for his interruption.
    “Don’t let me interrupt,” he said. “I just wanted to make
sure you’d brought an appropriate dress for tomorrow’s event.”
    The hand holding the hammer dropped dangerously close to her
jeans. She twisted on the stool. Morgan’s heart lifted into his throat as he
imagined how easy it would be for her to lose her footing and come crashing
down.
    “I’m wearing my usual black pantsuit.”
    A quick laugh escaped him before he could hide it. Her
pupils contracted and expanded.
    Restraining his smile, Morgan calmly said, “I’m afraid
ladies aren’t allowed into the event unless they have a floor-length gown.”
    “I’m not a lady.”
    He had no clue how to respond to her terse answer. Her
steady gaze and the regal lift of her chin implied she actually meant it.
Perhaps she was getting confused with the old moniker given to women of noble
birth.
    Morgan flapped his hand. “Ladies, women, females—they all
must have a floor-length gown to attend.”
    “I’m not attending the event. I’ll be there as
staff,” Brook said through barely parted lips.
    “Did you get a spot with the caterer?”
    Brook’s face crinkled, somehow looking at once perplexed and
disgusted. “Huh?”
    “You said you’d be there as staff. Are you planning to carry
a tray with canapés around?”
    “No. I’m attending as your bodyguard.”
    Perhaps it was her patronizing tone or the way she’d
gestured mockingly toward him with both hands as if he weren’t capable of
protecting himself that had him snapping. “On what Earth does a water
conservationist need a bodyguard?”
    Brook blinked heavily, clearly confused again.
    Now that he’d bewildered her twice, he was able to calm his
ire. “I won’t be able to explain why I need a bodyguard to the predominantly
vanilla human guests. Besides, I’ve already told the planning committee that
you’re my date. They’re expecting you to arrive with me. And they won’t let you
inside unless you’re wearing a floor-length gown.”
    Brook pounced off the chair. “Then I guess we’re not going.”
She stalked