Page 21 of The Prince and the Bodyguard
My heart was pounding as I shifted again until I was pressed against Bash’s side from shoulder to knee. I felt him go very still, his breathing shallow, but he didn’t pull away.
On screen, the scene between Shane and Ilya was reaching its climax, all desperate touches and breathless moans. But I wasn’t really watching anymore, though my eyes stayed on the telly. All my attention was focused on the man beside me, on the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, on the tension in his shoulders, on the hands covering his lap.
“Eddie,” Bash said quietly, his voice strained.
I turned to look at him. His brown eyes were dark, pupils dilated, and there was something in his expression that made my breath catch. Want. Uncertainty. The same desperate attraction I’d been fighting.
This was it. This was my moment to be brave.
Before I could lose my nerve, before I could overthink myself out of it, I leaned in and kissed him.
8
BASH
Eddie’s lips were soft against mine, tentative and warm, breaking down every carefully constructed boundary I’d built around this assignment. For a split second, my brain couldn’t process what was happening. One moment, we’d been watching hockey players tear each other’s clothes off, and the next, Eddie was kissing me. Then my body took over where my mind had failed, and I was kissing him back before I could remember all the reasons why this was the worst possible idea in the history of bad ideas.
Christ, he tasted like the mint tea he’d been drinking earlier, fresh and clean. His hand came up to rest against my cheek with such tenderness that I nearly forgot how to breathe. Eddie was kissing me like he’d been thinking about it for days, like he’d been building up the courage for exactly this moment.
Which, given the calculating way he’d suggested this TV show and maneuvered us onto this couch together, he probably had.
The realization should’ve alarmed me. Instead, it sent heat straight through my chest and into places that had no business responding while I was supposed to be working. My hands found his waist, fingers pressing into the soft material of his sweater, and Eddie made a small sound against my mouth that went straight to my cock.
When we finally broke apart—and I had no clue which one of us pulled back first—Eddie was staring at me with wide, green eyes and kiss-swollen lips, looking like he couldn’t quite believe what he’d done. That made two of us.
His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and there was a flush creeping up his neck that I wanted to trace with my tongue. Jesus. I needed to get my head together.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have… It was presumptuous of me, and if I’ve made you uncomfortable…”
“Don’t,” I said. “Don’t apologize.”
His face lit up with hope, and I felt my carefully maintained control slip another notch. “So you… you didn’t mind?”
Mind? I was pretty sure my heart was going to beat right out of my chest like a June bug in a mason jar, and my hands were shaking with the effort of not pulling him back against me immediately. Every nerve ending in my body was on high alert, hyper-focused on how close he was, how warm he felt, how his lips were still parted like he was waiting for me to kiss him again.
“No. I didn’t mind.”
We sat there staring at each other while the hockey players on screen continued their encounter, all breathless moans and groans and grunts that echoed the tension crackling between us. The real drama was happening right here on our dorm couch, in the space between Eddie’s uncertainty and my inability to pretend I didn’t want this.
Because I did want this. I wanted it so much, it scared the hell out of me.
Eddie shifted closer, his hand moving back to my face, fingers tracing along my jawline with butterfly-light touches that made me shiver. I could see the exact moment he decided to be brave again, his green eyes darkening.
“Bash,” he said softly, leaning in like he was going to kiss me again, and my brain decided to crash back online like a computer rebooting after a power surge.
What the hell was I doing? I was supposed to be maintaining operational security, not compromising the mission because a pretty boy had kissed me.
This was Eddie. Prince Gregory Edward William Mountbatten-Windsor. Fourth in line to the British throne. My protectee, my responsibility, the most important assignment of my career. And I was sitting here letting him kiss me like some lovesick teenager who’d never heard of professional boundaries.
Glenn would be rolling over in his grave.
The thought of my brother hit me like an ice bucket dumped over my head. Glenn, who’d died serving his country with honor and dignity. Glenn, who’d never let personal feelings compromise his duty. Glenn, who’d trusted me to carry on the family tradition of service and sacrifice. What would he think of me now, throwing away everything he’d died for because I was attracted to someone?
I must’ve gone rigid, because Eddie’s expression immediately shifted from hopeful to worried, his hand dropping away from my face like I’d burned him.
“Are you alright?” he asked quietly, searching my face with those too-perceptive eyes. “Have I misread this entirely? Because if I have, we can pretend this never happened. I won’t make things awkward, I promise.”
The genuine concern in his voice, the way he was immediately trying to give me an out, made something twist painfully in my chest. It was so typical of Eddie to put my comfort ahead of his own potential embarrassment, being considerate even when he was clearly as affected as I was.
