One Night with her Bodyguard by Noelle Adams Page A

chest and moaned into his mouth when she
felt one of his hands slide down to her bottom, cupping it possessively.
    Her
head fell back when their mouths finally broke apart, and she gasped loudly as
his skillful mouth traced an erotic line down her exposed neck.
    His
body was deliciously tight, and she loved how she could sense something deep
and intense coiled inside him, on the verge of releasing.
    She
wanted to release it.
    She
couldn’t seem to keep her hands off him. She stroked his broad shoulders, the
rippling muscles of his arms, the lean planes of his chest. All of it was
Michael. All of it was strong and hard and hot and absolutely unshakeable.
    “Fuck,
Claire,” he murmured as he finally raised his head. His skin had broken out in
a sheen of perspiration. “We shouldn’t do this.”
    “I want to do this.” She grabbed his head and pulled him into another kiss.
    She
heard him make a deliciously low sound in his throat as his tongue tangled with
hers and one of his hands found the curve of her breast.
    They
were both breathing raggedly when they pulled out of the kiss. He leaned his
forehead against hers. “This happens sometimes. It’s a natural response to a crisis
situation. You want this now, but—”
    “It’s
not the crisis situation. I wanted to do this before I knew there was a real
danger.” She wriggled on his lap, her body desperate for friction.
    In
her wriggling, she discovered something new. He was just as aroused as she was.
He was hard beneath the fabric of his pants.
    She
started to grind herself against the bulge in his trousers until he released a helpless
groan. She’d never dreamed a man as controlled as Michael would respond to her
that way.
    She
tried to kiss him again, but she was suddenly dislodged from his lap. He’d
picked her up and rolled her over onto the couch so he could heave himself to
his feet.
    She
stared up at him, panting and disoriented. “Michael?”
    “I’m
sorry,” he rasped, facing away from her and rubbing his face with one hand.
“I’m sorry, Claire. I should have stopped us sooner.”
    “But…but
I wanted…” She felt like something heavy had fallen from the sky to flatten
her. To crush her.
    “I’m
sorry. But it would be a mistake. We can’t do that.”
    A
hot wave that wasn’t arousal swallowed her up. “Okay. Okay. I’m sorry if I… I’m
sorry.”
    “You
have nothing to be sorry about. It was my fault.”
    It
hadn’t been his fault. It was her fault. She was the one who’d come on to him
so shamelessly. And he clearly didn’t want this to happen.
    He
was attracted to her—that much was obvious—but he didn’t feel the same way she
did.
    She
should have known better than to hope for it.
    She
shut down for a few seconds, dropping her eyes, pulling herself inward, hiding.
    Then
she stumbled to her feet. “I’m really sorry.”
    Michael
started to respond. She heard him say, “Claire.” But she’d already withdrawn
into herself too much and now had to get away.
    She
had to be alone.
    She
had to somehow recover from this.
    As
quickly as she could, she returned to her room and closed the door with a loud
click, shutting out Michael and the rest of the world.
    The
walls of the room were a barrier she desperately needed.
    She
curled up in a ball on the bed, and it was several minutes before she could let
go enough to even cry.

 
Five
     
    Claire had gotten
through her first wave of emotion and was lying on the bed, trying to convince
herself to pull it together—that this wasn’t really so bad—when she heard a
knock on her bedroom door.
    Her
room was supposed to be safe. Her room was supposed to keep out the world. She
couldn’t bring herself to respond immediately.
    “Claire.”
Michael’s voice, just on the other side of the door. “Claire, can I come in?”
    His
voice sounded strange—tired, stretched, not controlled. It upset her unduly,
and she had to fight off another surge of emotion.
    “Claire,
are you all