Page 30 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

He thought about it. "Like you actually want to know. Not just curious. Not just making conversation."

She was quiet. The firelight from the small hearth caught her face, softening the sharp edges.

"I do want to know," she said. "I don't know why, but I do."

"That a problem?"

"It might be." She set down her cup, drawing her knees up to her chest in that way she had. Unladylike, unguarded. "I don't usually want to know things about people. It's safer not to."

"Safer how?"

"If you don't know them, you can't miss them when they're gone."

The words landed in the quiet room. He knew that lesson. Had learned it the hard way, same as her.

"How long can you keep that up?" he asked.

She looked at him sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Not knowing people. Not letting them in." He set down his cup. "It works for a while. Keeps you safe. But eventually…"

"Eventually what?"

He thought about the years before Sylvia. The emptiness of survival without purpose. The way he'd started to feel less like a person and more like a weapon waiting to be used.

"Eventually you forget why you're surviving at all."

She was quiet. The fire crackled. Rain drummed on the roof.

"Sylvia," she said finally. "She changed that for you?"

"She gave me something to protect instead of just survive. Made a difference."

"And now you protect other people."

"Now I try to."

She was quiet for a moment. Then: "Maybe that's why I wanted to know. About you." She looked down at her hands. "You understand things most people don't. What it's like to live with fear for so long it becomes part of you."

"Aye."

"It's strange." She almost smiled. "I've spent years making sure no one sees the real me. And you've known me two days and you see more than people I've known for years."

"Maybe they weren't looking."

"Maybe." She lifted her eyes to his. "Or maybe you're just better at it than most."

The moment stretched. The rain drummed. The fire crackled.

Matthew became aware of how close they were. The tray between them was the only barrier, the small room pressing them together. He could see her eyelashes fluttering in the gaslight. The way her breath had quickened.

"We should sleep," he said. His voice came out hoarse.

"Yes." She didn't move. "We should."

Neither of them looked at the bed.

Chapter eight