Page 105 of The Bodyguard's Fall

He laughed softly, his warm minty breath grazing the skin at my collarbone. Though he was keeping things light, he held himself in check, moving back a fraction and keeping one hand around my waist while the other pressed against the wall by my face, like he couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or push himself away.

“I’m still in charge,” he said, eyes dropping to my lips.

“Says who?”

We didn’t get to the bottom of that question. When he opened his mouth to answer, I lost all sense and met his lips with mine. Our mouths collided in a playful battle of wills. He drew one hand to my neck, his fingers in my hair, tugging lightly, the sensation making me shiver. My arms wound their way around his shoulders, which just so happened to bring us even closer. The only coherent words I could appropriately cobble together with his fevered lips on mine were these: hot, hot, hot.

His kiss was confident and masculine and with an underlying softness that tugged and squeezed and left me craving to know everything about this man. His wounds. His heart. How he could give so much for his job. For me.

All too soon, he pulled back, stepping away at the same time. He was breathing heavily and definitely glowering in my direction.

“Alright. We’re tied up now, Rawlins. No more.”

Rawlins.

Already I could feel the space widening between us, and since my lungs were still trying to pull in enough air after he’d left his mark, I resented the distance.

“Actually, there were two kisses just now. We both started one, so technically it’s now 2-1.” I grinned cheekily up at him. “How is our marriage going to survive the imbalance?”

He glared, pulling me away from the door so he could yank it open.

When he nudged me forward and into the hallway, I felt a light spank across my butt. I gasped and turned back to him.

He only smirked as he brushed past me in the hallway. “2 to 2. Game over. Don’t forget the sweats tonight.”

Will: Still keeping your distance, Walker?

Tate: You tell me. The bed we share is a roomy queen.

Will: Walker. You can’t get distracted. This is her life we’re talking about.

Tate:...

Will: Tate.

Tate: I know. I’m sleeping on the floor. I’m not going to hurt her.

True to my agreement, I wore sweats to bed that night. Tate had been serious about reinstating our boundaries. He was still Tate, always at the ready with an inappropriate comment, but a new line had been drawn between us. It was invisible to the eye but felt whenever he glanced away quickly or made sure that, whenever we were together, we were standing shoulder to shoulder, like good buddies.

He was trying to bring our hasty marriage back to a somewhat professional atmosphere. Which was good. Honorable. And for the most part, I was determined to do the same.

Unfortunately for me and for him, I hadn’t realized I’d grabbed the wrong pair of sweats from my bag until it was too late.

Tate was already in our room, lying on the floor on his bed, when I walked in from the bathroom. I had just showered. My hair was wet, and the clothes I wore as pajamas were the ones I'd brought into the bathroom when I showered. Meaning, when I got out of the shower and realized I’d grabbed the wrong pair of sweats, it had been too late.

Why didn’t I just put back on the clothes I had before my shower? Because I wore a dress I’d borrowed from Ann to wear to the rehearsal, and she’d told me to throw it down the laundry chute attached to the bathroom, which I had done. So, it was either the sweats or my underwear, and all things considered, the sweats seemed better aligned to the overall goal.

I beelined for my bed when his voice stopped me.

“Will you catch the light?”

He was reading something on his phone. Occupied. Banking on that, I turned, flew to the doorway, and flipped off the light.

“No,” he groaned.

“What?” I asked, flinging myself into the bed and whipping the covers over top of me.

“No. You can’t wear sweats like that. That negates everything we’re trying to do here.”