Page 23 of The Bodyguard and His Bunny

I go down the hallway into the guest room and lie on top of the covers, squeezing a spare pillow to my chest so tightly it might explode.

* * *

I don’t know how long I’m asleep before I hear the thump.

I’m a light sleeper anyway, but any noise while watching over Sara has me awake like a shot. I’m out of bed and in the hallway fast enough to see her shamble past me like I’m a ghost, my tee shirt falling mid-thigh.

That’s weird. She acts like she doesn’t even see me.

Of course, I follow as she shuffles into the kitchen and watch her closely as she opens the fridge, closes it, goes to the back door, and tries the knob, her butt jiggling in the effort. Dammit, why does she look so sweet and tempting in nothing but a long gray shirt that belongs to me? Why is that so sexy?

And why can’t I control my feelings around her because she’s wearing my shirt?

Her ass looks so soft and perfect, her panties outlined against the gray. On top of that, her hair is wild and messy from sleep, which also makes me think of sex.

This woman is stepping all over my last shred of resolve.

Sara doesn’t try the lock. Thank god I have the alarm system armed, so she would have woken me up even if I was in a deep sleep.

She gives up on the lock and turns to me. The chill of the kitchen has her braless nipples outlined in the fabric of my shirt.

I swallow the flood of saliva in my mouth.

“Sara. Are you awake?”

She seems to stare right through me, and I understand. She’s definitely sleepwalking. I had no idea she was a sleepwalker, and this idea makes me worry. No sleep for me tonight.

“Come on,” I say calmly, spreading my arms wide to herd her back down the hallway. “Let’s go back to bed.”

“Chutney, I can’t sleep alone. Can Boy Scout have a sleepover?”

Is she talking about me? Shit.

Keep your distance, Gunther. This is dangerous territory.

I guide her down the hallway with my hand on the small of her back, her skin warm through my shirt.

In my room, I pull down the bedding, and she slips in, using my arm to steady herself.

But once tucked in, she doesn’t let go.

“Good night, Sara,” I whisper, trying to pull my arm away but not pulling too hard.

She squeaks in mild distress and pulls me closer.

“Hugs,” she murmurs sleepily.

Shit. This is nothing but trouble.

“One hug,” I murmur.

Sara pulls me down onto the bed beside her and hugs me close, and I do not fight it. My moral compass is spinning out of control. She’s so soft and smells so good, and when I put my arms around her for the hug she asked for, she sighs so deep and contentedly that it makes my soul ache.

Gritting my teeth, I whisper into her hair, “Okay. Good night.”

“Hmm,” she hums into my shoulder and wriggles closer, nuzzling her face against my chest. “Good night.”

I freeze and count backward from twenty, fully expecting her to relax into a deeper sleep so I can let go. Now that I know she’s a sleepwalker, I’ll sleep on the floor in front of her doorway. Well, I won’t sleep because I’ll be as hard as a rock thinking about how she felt with her bare legs brushing against my pajama pants. All the better to keep watch over her at night.

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