The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 1 by Kristina Blake Page A

He was even more good-looking than she remembered. He still wore the close-fitted black t-shirt and cargo pants from the night before, the muscles of his shoulders and chest visible through the fabric. His hair was tousled, as if he had driven here with the windows down, windblown. Disdain burned in his dark, smoldering eyes.
                  Alex tried to swallow the lump of bread in her mouth. Her stomach sank, and icy fear ran in her blood as it lodged itself in her windpipe, blocking her airway. She was choking!
                  She stood quickly, her chair falling backward, kicked over and clattering to the floor behind her. She slammed both of her palms down on the table, her salad plate spinning over the edge and shattering at her feet. Her eyes filled with tears as she looked to her father to rescue her.
                  “Oh hell,” exclaimed her father, jumping up from his chair to come to her. “She’s choking!” Pushing his chair out of the way, he moved as quickly as his years would allow.
                  Strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her body into the warmth of a powerful embrace, as Alex’s vision began to darken around the edges. Her ears were ringing, she could no longer hear the shouts of her father, the clattering of the silver at it crashed to the floor. Her chest was burning, the need to breathe overwhelming all else. Her knees went weak, the arms around her now supporting her fully as a crushing weight landed on her middle.
                  Again he slammed his closed fists into her stomach, using her body to dislodge the food that was keeping her from breathing. Again, and again, and again, until she vomited all over the pristine, white linen tablecloth.
                  Alex coughed and sputtered, sucking in great gulps of air. Her head swam, adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream. Her heart pounded in her chest. She needed to sit down. Looking to the chair that she had been sitting in before, she didn’t think that she would make it over there, be able to pick it up, and sit herself down into it before blacking out completely, so she just leaned against the wall and slid until her ass was on the carpet. She knew that she couldn’t fall from here.
                  She looked up into the dark, brooding eyes of her savior, Rick, as he stood over her, using a yellow linen napkin to wipe her puke from where it covered one of his forearms. He did not look pleased.
                  “Alex,” said her father, kneeling down next to her on the dining room floor, “are you all right?”
                  “Yeah,” she said, coughing and wiping vomit from her chin with the back of her hand. “I’m okay.” A little woozy and a lot embarrassed, but she would survive. Her father reached for her hands, lifting her from the floor and putting his arm around her for support.
                  “Let’s get you to your room,” he said, walking her through the house to her old room, still ready for her to return as soon as she should need it, as always.
                  Alex stood at the vanity, cool water dripping from her eyelashes into the porcelain sink. Still unsteady on her feet, she rested her palms on the tile countertop, leaning heavily upon them. She needed to brush her teeth; she could taste the bile left in her mouth after throwing up all over the table. What in the hell effect did this man have over her, making her vomit twice in less than twenty-four hours? Not exactly the impression that she wanted to leave on a ridiculously attractive man. Ugh.
                  Spitting a great gob of toothpaste into the sink, Alex rinsed her mouth and brushed her hair. She stepped into her childhood bedroom, crossing to the closet that she knew held clothes for her. Her mother would pick things out for her each week when she went shopping with her friends,