His Bodyguard by Lois Greiman Page A

away.
    “Hey.” Nathan grinned down at her. “You ready to go?”
    “What the hell are you doing in my room?” she rasped, trying to pull the worn T-shirt down over her knees.
    “I have keys to all you guys’ rooms. We’re always getting our stuff mixed up. Makes life easier if we can just jump in there and dig it out.”
    She moved her lips, trying to put words to why he couldn’t be here, but everything was foggy and dim, including her eyesight. Where had she put her glasses?
    “Come on. Gotta get a wiggle on. We’re burning daylight,” he said.
    “You…” She glanced frantically about Did she have a robe? Pants? What kind of panties had she worn, and were they visible from his vantage point? “You’re supposed to call me before you leave your room.”
    “Yeah, well…” He sat down on the bed and casually pushed her bare feet aside. “My door was all of two yards from yours. I thought I could risk it.
    “You got a little—” he motioned toward her cheek “—a little drool there.”
    Brenna smacked her hand to the side of her face. The lines etched in her cheek by the letter were deep enough to plant turnip seeds. Sweet Mary! And here he was looking like something from a cowboy calendar, dressed in his usual jeans and white T-shirt.
    “What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice had all the charm of a cantankerous bullfrog.
    “Time to go running. I knew you’d be madder than a bearcat if I went without you. But you’d best hurry and get ready before I’m out of the mood.”
    She felt her jaw drop. What mood? Their gazes met.
    He grinned. “For running.” He slapped her leg as if they were old buddies. “Come on, O’Shay. Get your mind out of the gutter.” He stood quickly and lifted yesterday’s slacks from a nearby chair. “You gotta have something better than this.” He turned toward her suitcase, which had been cautiously left outside her door the previous night. “Sweats in here?” he asked, and flipped her case open.
    “I…” she began, but he was already rummaging through her underwear to her clothes underneath.
    “Now we’re talking,” he said, pulled out a pair of gray, drawstring shorts, and tossed them to her. “Get dressed.”
    “Get out!” She motioned vaguely toward the door. The words were a bit more high-pitched than she’d intended.
    “And risk life and limb to any passerby?” he asked. “What if I get snuffed out? How would that look on your record? Come on now. Get in them shorts. You need a bra?”
    Her eyes popped. His dropped to her chest.
    “Yep. You do.” He turned away to rummage about in her luggage again.
    For a moment she was beyond thought, but sitting here in her underwear didn’t seem like the best of options, so she slipped into her shorts and pulled the drawstring sloppily tight. She considered shoving her glasses on, then decided against it and hated herself for doing so.
    “This it?” he asked, holding Victoria’s best secret in one hand. “Wow!” He examined it from close proximity, fingering the black lace and the thick underpadding. “You could use that for a body shield if you’re ever in a shoot-out huh? I really don’t think you need the extra—”
    “Give me that!” She rose with a start and snatched it from his fingers.
    “You’re kind of touchy for one of the guys. And pretty messy. You always like this?” he asked, sweeping his hand over the pile of loose letters.
    “I was busy reading,” she said, and headed for the bathroom,but in a moment, she realized her mistake. Tromping back to her suitcase, she dropped the lacy article he’d retrieved and snatched up a sports bra.
    “Yeah?” He watched her head back toward the bathroom. “How many marriage proposals were there?”
    She slammed the door shut behind her. Nathan let his shoulders droop. Geez! Being around this woman was more likely to kill him than save him. First, he’d tried to act as if she were one of the guys. That had been a patent failure.