Page 21 of Taylor’s Warrior

“Make yourself comfortable,” Rhys said. “I’ll bring everything over.”

Unable to help herself, Taylor feasted on the spectacle before her. The man moved with the elegant, lithe grace of a prowling jungle cat. There was no doubting his physical fitness, and he sure was easy on the eyes. Not so easy on the lady parts, though—he was enough to send hers into a hormonal frenzy of lust.

Man, had she been in denial.

At the last moment, before he turned back to her, she hurriedly schooled her features back to an expression that betrayed nothing of her thoughts—she hoped.

The cart and contents were close enough for her to reach for the flatware, intending to set the cutlery out on the table for both of them. She was stopped in her tracks by a look—complete with the now-familiar raised eyebrow—that could only be interpreted as a non-physical slap on the wrist.

“My job,” he told her, by way of explanation.

“Really? Bodyguards do that stuff?”

“Never assume anything is as it seems. We’re trained to operate in multiple social environments.”

“Multiple social environments? What does that mean?”

“It means there can be vast differences in the circles in which your principal moves. Providing close protection for an internationally famous rock star who wants to pay an incognito visit to their favorite burger place might be broadly similar in nature to providing the same for royalty attending a formal banquet, but worlds away when it comes to the… social requirements.”

“You’ve been a royal bodyguard?” Taylor asked, wide-eyed.

“On occasion.” His attitude was almost dismissive. “Analyze, adapt and overcome applies to contexts other than war. It also helps you think on your feet when the threat to your principal does materialize. Complacency is a luxury no close protection operative can afford.” He placed her cutlery to the side of her plate. “Not even in a context where the threat might be considered minimal. Depending on what our adversaries want from you, in the worst case, it could cost you your freedom or your life. Neither is a price I’m willing to pay.”

A shiver went through Taylor’s whole body. Was it his words? His tone? Or the way his steady gaze held hers, piercing her heart with its open sincerity? She couldn’t be sure.

“That’s good to know.” She smiled. “Why don’t we eat before the food gets cold?”

“Sounds good to me.”

They chatted a little over dinner, mostly about the final leg of their journey. The conversation was surprisingly easy, and as the evening went on, Taylor decided it was time she stopped being surprised by how pleasant he was.

Oh, who was she kidding? “Pleasant” was a bland excuse for the words she really wanted to use about him. “Fascinating” was one. “Sexy” was another. “Attractive” didn’t do him justice, yet “handsome” was too soft and pretty to describe him accurately.

It was just as well they finished eating before her ovaries went into overdrive.

“That was delicious.” Taylor piled up the dishes and was about to return them to the cart when Rhys took them from her.

“Let me. Then I’ll accompany you back to your room.”

The statement of intent stung, but she tried to make a joke of it. “Trying to get rid of me so soon?”

He stopped in his tracks and looked directly at her. “You want to stay a while?”

The blunt question stripped her bare. She knew it was only because of the track her thoughts had taken over dinner, and he couldn’t possibly know what had been on her mind. She managed an awkward smile. “Sorry. Bad attempt at a joke.” She faked a yawn. “I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

Rhys nodded, seemingly accepting of her feeble excuse. “In that case, the sooner you get to bed, the better.”

Taylor’s breath hitched. An image exploded in her mind, one that had nothing to do with being escorted back to her room and everything to do with getting him into her bed.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Fine, thanks,” she stammered, hoping with all her heart her face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Shall we go?”

Probably a good idea. With all the stress of recent days, such random, erratic thoughts as sharing a bed with Rhys shouldn’t have been surprising.

Erratic? Sure you don’t mean erotic?

Oh, that was all she needed, a little voice at the back of her mind planting suggestions that would only create even more trouble.