Page 9 of My Shifty Bodyguard

“Yes. A pair.” There’s a gleam in his eyes when he says that, as if he likes referring to us as ‘a pair’ very much.

I swallow hard and look away. I’m still feeling the strangeness, the weird intense pull to be with him and only him, the mild light-headedness.

“Okay,” I say finally. “I want you to go get a hot fudge sundae, for yourself, and it has to have whip cream and nuts.”

He looks around as if I had just suggested that he pleasure me right there on the picnic table, in full view of everyone, and he’s afraid someone might overhear.

The thought of what he might do to me makes me tingle in my Virginia.

“I, ah…” he trails off.

“Since you’re my bodyguard, I’m technically your boss. This is an order,” I say, trying to sound stern.

And that earns me not just a smile, but a laugh. He bursts out laughing and that is the most beautiful, rich, joyous sound I’ve ever heard.

“You did not just try to give me an order.” He’s actually wiping at his eyes.

“I am ordering you!”

“This is amusing.” He laughs again, his broad shoulders shaking. “I give orders. I don’t take orders.”

The thought of him barking orders at me makes me shiver. “Take your clothes off…bend over that table…” And, now my panties are damp.

I struggle to get my mind out of the gutter. “Oh, fine. Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top?” When he hesitates, I add “Pretty please with me on top.” I say that as he takes another sip of water, which he promptly spews on the table.

“You can’t say things like that!” he coughs.

Right. Because the heated looks he was giving me a few minutes ago were probably my imagination. I’m embarrassing myself. And not for the first time.

It doesn’t matter, though. My current mission – operation “Get Sexy Murder Man to Eat A Sundae” is more important than my personal dignity, which, let’s be honest here, has been on life support ever since I started imagining him naked in soft lighting.

“I will say it again, and again, louder and louder, unless you go get yourself a sundae.”

He groans, rolls his eyes, and sets down his water glass.

I do a little victory dance in my seat as he stalks off. Several minutes later, he returns with a sundae, glancing around self-consciously.

He takes a bite – and freezes in his seat. I can see the struggle on his face. He is trying very hard not to look like he’s experiencing a new kind of bliss.

“Right?” I say eagerly. “It’s an orgasm for your taste buds!”

At that, his cheeks redden slightly. Good Lord, I actually made him blush.

Am I a little bit famous for always blurting out the most awkward thing at the worst possible moment? Maybe. But right now I’m having too much fun to care.

“It’s…acceptable.” He takes another enormous bite.

“Just acceptable? I am so sorry. I don’t mind eating it for you. I’d hate for it to go to waste.” I reach out for it and he moves it closer to himself.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you,” he says. And he eats another enormous bite.

“It’s no problem, really.” I give him a wicked smile. “Or, you could admit it’s the most delicious thing you ever tasted.”

He narrows his eyes at me as he swallows. “The Rowan family does not admit defeat.”

I reach for his spoon. He slides down the bench away from me and continues eating. “I agreed to purchase and eat this sundae, and I will eat this entire sundae. My word is my bond,” he says gravely. “You are not eating a sundae, you are eating ice cream that is unadorned. Would you like a sundae for yourself? I will buy you ten of them.”

He finishes the entire sundae in about sixty seconds as I finish the rest of my small ice cream bowl. Thank heavens for shifter metabolism.