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What he’d found was a woman uncomfortable with her role as a performer. A girl more comfortable on a ranch in Montana than among the glitz and glamor of Hollywood’s elite.
A woman whose touch ignited a fire at his very core he hadn’t felt in...well, forever. No woman had made him feel the way he did when he was with Londyn.
And the danger had escalated exponentially within the first few minutes on the job. An explosion, no less. The very thing that threw him back to his last mission in Afghanistan. The one that had left him wounded in body and spirit.
After months of therapy for his injury and for PTSD, he’d thought he was ready to face the world and the job.
Now...he wasn’t so sure.
A few of his panic attacks had left him almost catatonic. What good would he be to Londyn if he froze in the heat of battle?
He’d just promised to see her through to dessert. Which, to him, meant he’d promised to keep her alive.
Could he live up to that promise? Or should he call Hank now and tell him to send a replacement?
He wasn’t ready.
The thought of someone else taking over and providing for Londyn’s protection made Nash’s gut bunch into a knot.
If Hank pulled him off the job and sent him back to West Yellowstone to pick up some security detail for a sporting event or rodeo, would he be able to quit thinking about Londyn? Would he stop worrying about her?
He gave himself a moment to think about it.
No.
He wouldn’t stop worrying about her, wondering if whoever was after her had gotten past her protector and finished the job the explosion had not.
It scared him more than anything he’d ever encountered in special operations warfare.
He shot a glance toward Londyn.
She nibbled on her burger, her eyes on her plate, not him.
What was she thinking?
Had he come on too strong with his promise to keep her safe? Had holding her hand made her uncomfortable?
His breathing became more labored, and his heart pounded against his ribs. If it got any faster, he’d be in a full-on panic attack. The last thing Londyn needed was for her hired bodyguard to freak out.
Using some of the techniques his therapist had taught him, he focused on breathing, forcing air in and out of his lungs in long, slow breaths. He willed his pulse to slow, his heart to relax and his thoughts to still.
Londyn’s hand covered his on the tabletop, sending his heart into orbit again, his pulse racing, pounding so loud in his ears he could hear little else.
“Hey,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I am.” He turned his hand over and gripped hers. He prayed she didn’t feel the vibrations of his hand shaking.
“I know you’re going to do everything you can to protect me,” she started, “but I want you to know that if all else fails and I die, please let Ben Standing Bear know. He’ll break the news to my ranch hands. I guess my mother will ultimately inherit the ranch should I not survive. She has a lawyer who will help her sell the ranch.”
“You think she’ll sell it?”
Londyn nodded. “I know she will. She never wanted to come back. Not even to see me. I’d have to fly out to Hollywood when she wanted time with me.”
“Did you resent her for that?”
“No,” Londyn said. “She could’ve forced me to live in California with her. But after one summer on the ranch, I knew where I wanted to be. She didn’t like that she couldn’t see me whenever she wanted or had time to, but I didn’t like Hollywood.”
“So, she just let your grandfather raise you?”
