Singe (Guardian Protection #1)

My gaze jumped back to his, and for the first time since I’d met him, there wasn’t a hint of guilt in his deep-greens. An unbelievably beautiful megawatt smile nearly blinded me.

My mouth dried at the sight, but for the love of all that was holy, the words kept pouring out. “Okay, so that was a lie. You make me incredibly nervous. And, now, I’m rambling along with telling bad jokes. But, with all of that aside, assuming you don’t think I’m completely insane, I’d really like it if you’d stay and let me cook you breakfast.”

His smile grew wider, and I forced myself not to focus on it—at least not for long.

He still noticed.

“I did, after all, hold your hair while you threw up. You kinda owe me.”

Seriously. That’s what came out of my mouth.

To the man who saved my life? He owed me?

Shoot me!

His whole face morphed into horror. “I puked?”

I slapped a hand over my mouth, talking around it as I cried, “No! I was joking. I can’t stop.”

His lips twitched, and he tilted his head to the side. “Did you actually have a contractor make you an ocean room?”

My head snapped back at the randomness of that question.

He crossed his thick arms over his chest. “It just sounds like a joke.”

I shook my head. “I love the beach.”

“Oh, look. You can speak in single sentences,” he said, his grin playful.

I crossed my arms over my chest, mirroring his posture, while praying that he hadn’t seen my nipples harden at the sight of that fucking grin.

“Yeah, but don’t get used to it. Paragraphs seem to be my preferred method of communication where you’re concerned.”

A deep, masculine laugh sprang from his throat. It was better than the smile.

So, so, so much better, and it soothed my exposed nerves as much as it sliced through me.

Last night, I’d dared to hope that his smile would be aimed at me all the time. Maybe on my couch as he held me securely in his strong arms, or maybe even in my bed as I traced my fingers through the smattering of light hair that covered his sculpted chest.

And, now, thanks to his laugh, I knew exactly what I was going to be missing.

I pretended that it wasn’t devastating as I quietly asked, “So, is that a yes to breakfast?”

He smirked, and I decided right then and there that Jude Levitt’s smirking was enough to make me speak in short stories. For the rest of my life. Which wasn’t going to be much longer if death by embarrassment was possible.

“Right,” I mumbled, turning toward the kitchen before I had the opportunity to gawk at him any longer.

“Wow. A single word. We’re making serious progress here,” he teased, following behind me.

I ignored the ache in my chest as I poured him a mug and then passed it his way.

He casually propped his hip against the counter and crossed his legs at the ankle as he took a sip.

I stared because…Jude.

After he’d downed at least half a cup, he asked, “So, how long you been living here?”

“Two years.” I walked over to the fridge, praying that I had something I could make the man for breakfast after I’d all but begged him to stay.

He remained in the kitchen but turned so he could see the rest of my apartment.

My heart stopped when his gaze lingered on my bookshelf for a beat too long.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

Just seconds before I jumped out of my own skin, he put me out of my misery by saying, “This place is huge. You live alone?”

I vowed right then and there to go to church on Sunday.

“Yes!” I exclaimed on a rushed exhale.

He arched an eyebrow at me.

I avoided explaining my reaction by asking, “How about an omelet?”

A sound registering somewhere between a groan and a growl rumbled in the back of his throat. “Honestly, I’d be better with some toast and Tylenol.”

“I’m not sure if that was a good guess or if you magically knew that toast was my specialty, but either way, you are in for quite a treat,” I replied, closing the fridge and heading for the pantry.

For the way things changed a moment later, you would have thought my pantry was the doorway to an alternate dimension. That dimension being my personal Hell.

When I reemerged, I found him still leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand and frozen in midair, but he was staring at the door in what could only be described as mortified recognition.

My heart slammed into my ribs as I set the bread on the counter.

As he lowered the cup, his gaze jumped to mine. His eyes burned with some emotion I couldn’t quite read, but I felt the singe all the same.

“What?” I asked hesitantly.

“Your washer and dryer are in there,” he whispered.

Uh oh.

“They are,” I confirmed cautiously and then attempted to explain his memory away. “Just like they are at Guardian. We have the same floor plan.”

He blinked. “You have a tattoo of a butterfly on your chest.”

Uh oh.

“I have a lot of butterfly tattoos.” I lifted my arms in his direction as exhibits A and B.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “No,” he stated firmly. “This one…” He trailed off and then mumbled a curse under his breath. “It’s on fire.”

Uh motherfucking oh.

“Yeah. I told you about it last night,” I whispered. It wasn’t a total lie. It wasn’t the truth, either.

He half growled and half laughed, raking a hand through the top of his hair. “Only half of it’s visible. The other half is hidden under your bra.”

Shit! Chills pebbled my skin at the memory of his tongue laving over the flames of that butterfly while his finger hooked under the fabric to tease my nipple.

“Why do I know that, Rhion?”

Because, after I tore your shirt off in the pantry, you were kind enough to return the favor.

“Um…” I quickly turned away and, with shaking hands, began wrestling with the twist tie on the bread.

My stomach somersaulted when his chest brushed my back.

“What happened last night?” he demanded, his tall body looming over me.

I closed my eyes, wishing I could disappear—or, worse, turn in his arms and bury my face in his chest.

“Nothing,” I lied.

“Your bra was pink,” he said gruffly as he plucked the bread from my hands and tossed it down on the counter.

“Jude,” I breathed around the massive lump in my throat.

He inhaled sharply before exhaling a horrified, “Dear God.”





“Out of my way,” I growled at the older man flanked by two bodyguards. “Rhion!” I was inching forward when a hand shot down and landed on my chest.

“You go in that room and you’ll lose more than your job.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, not a whole lot more you can take away from me. Fucking move!” I pushed forward, but I was once again stopped.