Page 14 of The Bodyguard and His Bunny

With my back to her, I can also hide other things, like how my body reacts to her.

“Why don’t you take off your jacket?” Sara asks.

I glance over my shoulder. “Why?”

She catches my eye as I’m stirring and sautéing. “Why? Because that doesn’t look comfortable. You look like a T-shirt and jeans kind of guy.”

I know what she’s doing. She’s flirting. Trying to butter me up. Trying to get me to relax, so she can make a break for it.

“Do I?”

“I would say you look more like a gray sweatpants kind of guy, but that hardly seems appropriate. Unless you want to show me your gray sweatpants?”

If I wasn’t already as rock-hard as my custom countertops, I am now. I know all about the gray sweatpants thing.

“No comment,” I say, fighting my smile, then turning around to focus on cooking.

I have everything plated in a few minutes, including some veggie scraps from the crisper I was going to throw into the compost this weekend.

Sara squeals when she sees the plate I set out for the dumb rabbit.

“You do love my bunny!”

“Sure I do. Need to fatten her up for the stew.”

I shouldn’t have said that, but I love how Sara’s eyes flash, full of fire and protectiveness.

“Kidding!”

“Asshole,” she mutters, poking at her tofu and veggie stir fry, a smile pulling at her mouth. “But you made me tofu, so I’ll let it go. I can’t believe you even have this in your house.”

I shrug and pull up a stool. “High cholesterol runs in my family, so I eat healthy. I know I can do nothing about genetics, but if I can do anything within my grasp, I’ll do my best.”

She studies me for a moment before taking a whiff. “Well, it smells awesome,” she says, setting Chutney’s plate on the floor with the rabbit, seemingly satisfied that my floors are clean enough for the animal.

“Don’t get too excited. It may not be any good. It’s been a while since I cooked for somebody.”

I forget my manners and stare at Sara’s mouth as she eats. Her full pink lips close around the chopsticks full of toasted tofu and seasoned sticky rice. She slowly, too slowly, slides the chopsticks from her mouth and closes her eyes.

“This is so good,” she moans. “This might be the nicest thing I ever put in my mouth. Oops, that came out wrong.”

Oh, I’m sure it did. She’s either terrific at marking a sucker, or she’s into me. Either way, I’m done for.

I shoot her a fake-confused look. “Don’t know what you mean,” I say too roughly.

“I just mean I’m a sucker for salty and sweet together. Especially salty,” Sara says, batting her lashes. “I love any and all salty things in my mouth. Since I stopped eating meat, sometimes I crave it, you know? Especially on the Fourth of July, or at a baseball game? There’s nothing like a big, thick, hot frankfurter to satisfy that craving.”

My fingers dig into my thigh as I force myself to think about anything but Sara’s lips wrapped around my salty frankfurter. War. Genocide. Earthquakes. Nope. None of that’s working.

“Must be a long time since you ate a sausage,” I say.

Her cheeks turn pink. “Uh…yes. Yes, it’s been a long time. Too, too long,” she says breathily, licking her lips. “But I would happily eat whatever you wanted to serve me.”

And, I’ve had enough.

“You know what those hot dogs are made of, don’t you?”

Sara’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

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