Page 43 of Possessive Bodyguard Summer

He lingered, like there was something more he wanted to say, instead he let silence surround us for a beat.

I was just about to start begging again when a sharp chime shattered the silence.

Clay's lustful smile disappeared instantly.

His phone pinged again. The familiar alert ruining the moment.

Code 808

The easygoing father who'd spent the afternoon playing Marco Polo with his daughter vanished. In his place stood the Marine.

Focused.

Alert.

Ready.

“Shit,” he hissed, fumbling to find his phone somewhere in our discarded clothes.

I hated how quickly disappointment settled in my chest. "You have to go."

It wasn't a question because I already knew the answer

He looked at me for a long second before pulling his boxers back on and setting the phone on his dresser. "Yeah."

He hated it. I could see it all over his face.

"I'm sorry."

I shook my head immediately. "Don't apologize. You’ve got a job to do."

He disappeared into his closet and I heard drawers opening and closing as he grabbed whatever gear he needed. When he came back, he was fully dressed in his tactical gear, a holstered sidearm rested against his hip. His truck keys spun around one finger.

I sat on the edge of the bed, studying him.

He stopped in front of me and rested his hands on my shoulders. "Listen carefully."

I nodded.

"The doors stay locked."

"Okay."

"The blinds stay closed."

"I can do that."

"If anybody knocks, you don't answer."

"I won't."

"If anything feels off..."

"I call you."

"If I don't answer, call Sloane. Or the police."

“Okay.”