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“Yeah, well, throw ‘bodyguard’ into the mix.” She seemed to think of something, and snapped her fingers. “Before I forget.”
She rushed over to the beds and grabbed the throw pillows—there was an unnecessary amount of them for two beds—and created a barrier on the floor, separating her bed from his.
“What’re you doing, pup?”
“See this?” Shay pointed at the pillows. “This is the Roman Doesn’t Cross Line. The Anti-Roman Line. The If-Roman-Sticks-So-Much-As-A-Toe-Over-This-Line-He-Dies Line.”
“Me? You’re the one who dragged me to this flea-bitten motel.”
She snorted. “‘Flea-bitten’.”
“I should be worried about you crossing that line.”
Confusion flitted across her face. “And why would I do that?”
Roman gave a smile as she walked right into his trap. “Because you want to fuck.”
His answer caught her unprepared, and he didn’t think he was imagining the pink dusting her cheeks.
Fuck. That reaction did something to him that he didn’t want to admit. In fact, she did things to him that he didn’t want to admit.
Which was probably why he’d made it this far without slitting her throat and dumping her body on the side of the desert road like he would anyone else. Her tight little body, with those perky tits and beautiful ass—
Fuck.
Sayagul gave a derisive snort. You need to start thinking with the right head, pal. Either that, or you need to get laid. Not with her, might I add.
Not a good time, Sayagul, Roman replied.
Kill the girl and be done with this nonsense.
I’m not killing her.
Sayagul hissed. Is that your decision?
For now.
Shay was watching him. “What’s she saying?”
He set his bag on the nearby table. “She thinks I should kill you.”
She cleared her throat. If she felt any fear, she did an excellent job of not giving it away. “And? Do you think you should kill me?”
Roman studied her. To her credit, she maintained eye contact, not even breaking it to blink. “Not today.”
She tucked her hair behind an ear and made for the door again—the one he was still blocking. “Well, if today’s my last day, then I’d at least like some clean underwear and deodorant. Let’s go.”
Roman prowled across the room, brushing his arm against hers, and headed for the barrier of pillows on the floor. “Get these out of the way, or we’re going to trip.”
She backed up and blocked him. “Do not,” she growled, pointing a finger at him, “touch the pillows.”
He bared his teeth. “Try to stop me.”
She took the bait—foolish girl.
Before she could land a blow—she had zero fighting skills, and even if she did, she didn’t have weight or size on her side—he kicked her feet out from under her.
She fell—
