Page 44 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

When they finally broke apart, both gasping, she was smiling.

"That," he shook his head, still trying to gather his scattered thoughts, "was more than acceptable."

"I told you. I've heard descriptions." She traced a finger along his jaw, her touch almost tender. "I'm a very attentive listener."

"Clearly."

She shifted in his lap, and he became aware that his trousers were still undone, that they were in a moving carriage in broad daylight and he'd just let a woman he was supposed to be protecting suck his cock until he saw stars.

"Probably should..." He gestured vaguely at his disheveled state.

"Probably." She made no move to climb off his lap. "In a moment."

He let his head fall back against the seat. Let his arms wrap around her waist. Let himself hold her, just for a moment, before reality intruded again.

"You're going to be the death of me," he murmured.

"Possibly." She pressed a kiss to the corner of his jaw. "But what a way to go."

He laughed. A rusty sound, unfamiliar in his own throat.

When she finally released him, he tucked himself back into his trousers and fastened the buttons. Then habit reasserting itself, he scanned the road through the window. Empty. Safe.

For now.

Three weeks of this woman—her sharp tongue, her soft mouth, her secrets and her layers.

He was in so much trouble.

And God help him, he didn't want to be anywhere else.

Chapter thirteen

The Truth

Matthew

The village appeared as the sun began its descent—a cluster of buildings around a crossroads, a public house doubling as an inn, a blacksmith's forge trailing smoke. Small enough that strangers would be noticed.

Matthew scanned the area as the carriage slowed. Market day winding down. Farmers packing unsold vegetables. A woman collecting her egg baskets.

He catalogued faces. Exits. Sight lines.

"We'll stop here for the night," he said. "I'll check the inn first."

Florence nodded.

He climbed down, adjusted his coat to conceal the knife at his belt, and crossed to the public house. Dim interior. Woodsmoke and ale. A few locals at scattered tables. He arranged for a room and returned to the carriage.

"Clear."

Cobb was already seeing to the horses. Matthew hauled the trunk from the back, the one that mattered, and carried it inside. Two more trips for the others while Florence stood at the inn's entrance, watching each trunk pass through the door.

He was coming out from the last trip when he heard them. Male voices, rough and aggressive. And beneath them, a younger voice; female and frightened.

They were in the alley beside the inn. There were two men and a young girl, maybe sixteen, wearing a maid's simple dress and apron. One man was gripping her arm. The other was saying something that made her shake her head frantically.

Matthew moved without thinking, hand going to his knife.