Page 89 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

The Hollow was nothing like she'd imagined.

She'd expected a hidden cellar, perhaps, or an abandoned warehouse. Instead, Brennan led her through a series of tunnels carved into the hillside until they emerged into a vast underground chamber lit by dozens of oil lamps.

And filled with men.

Everywhere she looked—men. Bare chested, glistening with sweat, muscles rippling beneath scarred skin. Some sparred in roped off areas, fists flying. Others lifted weights or pounded leather bags suspended from the ceiling. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and leather and something metallic.

Florence had spent a decade around dangerous men. She'd negotiated with criminals, faced down traffickers, walked into situations that would have sent most women fleeing.

She'd never seen anything like this.

"Close your mouth, Lass," Brennan murmured with a chuckle. "You'll catch flies."

She snapped her jaw shut, heat rising to her cheeks.

Some of the fighters were enormous. Giants who towered over even Brennan, with hands the size of shovels and necks as thick as small tree trunks. Others were leaner, built for speed rather than power. All of them were watching her.

She noticed women too. Some draped over fighters, wearing dresses cut low enough to leave nothing to imagination. Others moved through the crowd carrying trays of drinks or towels. The respectable ones, maids, she assumed, kept their eyes down and their movements quick.

Near the far wall, a group of young men stood in a loose cluster. They were beautiful. There was no other word for it. Sculpted physiques, handsome faces, the easy confidence of youth and physical perfection. One of them caught her staring and grinned, executing an exaggerated bow.

Florence looked away quickly. Not quickly enough.

"Seen enough?"

The gruff voice came from behind her. She spun.

Matthew.

He stood a few feet away, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes flicked from her to the young fighters and back again, a storm brewing behind them.

"Or do you need a cloth for the drool?"

She should have been offended. Should have snapped back.

Instead, relief crashed through her so hard her knees nearly buckled.

He was alive. He was here. He was safe.

She crossed the distance between them and threw her arms around his neck.

For a moment, he went rigid with surprise. Then his arms came up, wrapping around her waist, pulling her against him. She felt his breath against her hair, his heart pounding beneath her cheek.

"You're alright," she whispered.

"I'm alright."

They held each other for a long moment. Too long. Not long enough. She became aware of eyes on them: curious, amused, knowing. The heat returned to her cheeks.

She stepped back. Put distance between them. Smoothed her skirts with hands that wouldn't quite steady.

"Your journey," she said, her voice too bright. "Was it uneventful?"

"Saw some activity on the main road. Went around. Cut through the forest." He was studying her face, his brow furrowed. "You?"

"Brennan kept us off the roads. We had no trouble."

"Good. That's good."