Page 33 of How To Tempt A Bodyguard

"Goodnight."

She closed her eyes. Listened to his breathing. Felt the heat of him, so close and so carefully distant.

Three weeks, she thought. Or maybe tonight. We'll see.

Chapter nine

Waking Up Next To Mrs Archer

Matthew

An hour passed. Maybe two. The fire died to embers, casting dim orange shadows across the sloped ceiling.

Mrs Archer's breathing had slowed, deepened. She was asleep, or close to it. Her body had relaxed, losing the rigid tension she'd held all day. At some point she'd shifted, turning onto her side, facing him. Her hand rested on the mattress between them, pale in the darkness.

Matthew lay on his back, eyes open, acutely aware of every inch of space between them. Every breath she took. Every small sound she made.

This was a mistake. He'd known it would be a mistake, and he'd agreed anyway, because she'd been right. He was exhausted, and he couldn't protect her if he couldn't think straight. But lying here, feeling her warmth seep across the narrow distance, listening to her breathe…

This was worse than the floor would have been. Worse than no sleep at all.

She murmured something. He couldn't make out the words. Her hand twitched on the mattress, fingers curling.

Dreaming.

He turned his head to look at her. In sleep, her face was different. Softer. The sharp edges smoothed away, the wariness gone. She looked vulnerable in a way she never allowed herself to be while awake.

Don't, he told himself. Don't look at her like that.

He looked anyway.

She shifted again, and her hand moved, drifted across the mattress until her fingers brushed his arm. Just a touch. Accidental. Meaningless.

His whole body went taut.

She didn't wake. Didn't pull away. Her fingers rested against his sleeve, light as a breath, and she sighed in her sleep. A small, contented sound that did something complicated to his chest.

Matthew closed his eyes. Focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

Professional distance. She's the job. Nothing more.

The words felt hollow. Had felt hollow for a while now, if he was honest. Somewhere between the carriage and the inn and the long conversations that kept revealing pieces of her he hadn't expected.

He'd stopped thinking of her as just a job.

That was dangerous. That was the kind of thinking that got people killed.

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling and waited for dawn.

He must have dozed. He didn't remember falling asleep, but suddenly he was jerking awake, heart slamming against his ribs, hand already reaching for the knife under his pillow.

Mrs Archer was thrashing beside him.

Not awake. Still caught in whatever hell had her in its grip. Her head tossed against the pillow, dark hair tangled across her face, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps. Her hands clawed at the blankets, at the mattress, at ghosts he couldn't see.

"No," she gasped. The word came out broken. "No, please… Don't. Please…"

Matthew sat up. "Mrs Archer."