Pushing off the desk, I exit and make my way toward the living area, finding Myla’s door open. Sounds coming from what I know to be a mini kitchen area off the dining room, lead me in that direction, and I find Myla in the small, rectangular space, staring at a Keurig cup dripping, her long dark hair a sleek shiny wave down her back.
Seeming to sense my presence, she whirls around, the pale pink dress she’s wearing hugging every slender curve, which I’d rather be hugging myself, the hem falling just past her knees. “Hi,” she says, pointing at the machine, and looking incredibly nervous. “They have a Keurig, but the coffee is just Plain Jane. You might like that, but I like my chocolate coffee. I need to see if I can get it ordered.” She grabs some sort of box I think has condiments, and manages to drop it.
I am there immediately, picking it up to hand it to her, the sweet scent of her floral perfume mixing with fresh brewed coffee with surprisingly sexy results. She reaches for it, and I close my hand over hers. “Easy, sweetheart. We’re okay. Everything is going to be okay.”
“Last night-”
“Was me speaking the truth and after I kissed you-”
“You didn’t -“
“Yes,” I say, “I did, and not only do I own that action, it was too damn short, and too damn good for us to deny it happened. Or that it won’t happen again.”
“It can’t happen again.”
“It will, but not now. Not when you doubt me.”
“It’s not about doubt. It’s about Michael.”
That name is the one and only reply she could give me that makes me release her and step backwards. “Right. Michael.”
Her lashes lower and she turns to face the counter, pressing her hands to the marble. “I’m his. That’s just how it is.”
“And yet, you want me.”
“I’m his.”
I shackle her arm and turn her to face me. “You don’t belong to him. No one owns you.”
“Let go, Kyle. You’re my bodyguard, but that doesn’t require touching.”
I narrow my eyes on her and find what I’m looking for. Fear. Anger. Confusion. “This won’t work.”
“What won’t work?”
“You can’t push me away. There is no door that will shut me out.”
“I already did. Door shut.” She turns and sets the condiments on the counter, grabbing her cup and trying to get the cream out of the container, and I don’t miss how her hand shakes a moment before she drops her sugar packets on the floor.
She squats at the same time I do, and we end up eye-to-eye, the charge between us electric; a punch of pure lust and attraction that sucks up all the air around us, then seems to sway us toward each other. “You’re making me crazy,” she hisses. “This isn’t helping me. It’s made me a wreck.”
I reach for her elbow and help her to her feet. “Making me the enemy isn’t the answer,” I say, forcing myself to let her go. “And you have no reason to feel awkward with me. None.”
“Last night-”
“I was honest. I’ve done undercover work for a lot of years, sweetheart. What we hide from instead of control, is what becomes the poison that can destroy us.” I scoop up her sugars and tear them open. “How do you like your coffee?”
“You don’t have to make my coffee.”
“Myla,” I say softly. “How do you like your coffee?”
“From Starbucks, but I’ll settle for two creams and two Splendas.”
I empty the contents of all of the packets and fill her cup, using a stir stick to blend it before tasting it. “Just the way I like it,” I say, handing it to her, a challenge in my action. Will she drink from the cup I drank from? “Try it.”
She takes the cup from me and considers me a moment, then takes a drink.
“Well?” I ask.
She sets the cup down and rests her hands back on the counter, head low. “What are we doing, Kyle?”
I mimic her position, my shoulder touching hers. “Let’s talk about that.”
She faces me and explodes the minute I do the same. “Talking won’t solve this. I can’t share coffee with you and you can’t touch me or call me sweetheart. No more. No more.”
“That won’t be enough.”
“It will. It has to be enough.” She hesitates, and frowns. “Wait. What does that mean? That won’t be enough?”
“The danger isn’t in what we say or do. The fire between us wasn’t created by me or you. It simply is. It’s a living, breathing, life of its own that radiates energy, and it’s that energy we have to control.”
I expect denial, but she gives me acceptance. “How?” she asks, folding her arms in front of her.
“I’m going to take on a persona of being cold and withdrawn when I’m with you. There won’t be conversation between us. There won’t be laughter or friendship. No matter what happens, I can’t react like the man I am, but only the man they expect me to be with you.”
“So I’ll hate you like I do Juan.”
“Don’t act like you hate me. Don’t act like I’m anything but that bodyguard who is there, and won’t go away.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be seducing me or something?”
“They want me to prove or disprove your loyalty to Alvarez. I’m going to tell them you’re reserved and keeping to yourself, and eager for his phone calls.”