Bodyguard...To Bridegroom?. Nikki Logan
hair into something vaguely stylish—using every complimentary product in the place and delighting in the complex, Arabian smells—and her bare arms and throat practically glistened from whatever oils her masseuse had used on her. She felt spoiled and mellow and fresh.
She signed her tab at the spa’s reception desk and then turned and floated out the door. Brad trailed behind her, playing Sherpa to her camera gear.
‘Don’t forget to eat,’ he murmured. ‘One banana isn’t going to keep you going for long, no matter how delicious it was.’
‘After that massage I’m ravenous. Let’s go get lunch,’ she said. Sometimes—just sometimes—it was nice to have someone to do your thinking for you.
They headed for the resort’s pretty hub, stopping only once to take a photograph along the way—a leggy young gazelle standing in the sand, its little tail waggling madly. Sera captured its markings, coat colour and the deep, watery depths of its eyes. Then she remembered her growly stomach.
Brad had ditched the suit in favour of dark jeans and a light shirt, but he’d kept the pricey glasses firmly in place and added a neutral baseball cap for good measure. Totally Secret Service now. Did he imagine he blended right in with the other guests? Given how he carried himself, he probably blended in nowhere outside some elite force of Arab mercenaries.
It was all very distracting.
She forced her focus back onto the landscape as they wandered along the winding stone pathway criss-crossed by the traditional watercourse that ran through the whole resort. The light was gorgeous even in the middle of the day—textures, colour—and everywhere she looked were images worthy of capturing later. The wind ripples on a bank of sand that looked otherwise completely solid. Plants she’d never seen. Birds she’d never seen. A crazy little side-winding lizard that took its twisty time cutting across in front of her.
But right now she was all about eating. And partly about ignoring the man tailing so close behind her.
He followed her over the doorway plinth into Al Saqr’s heart—literally over it, all doors in the resort were cut into a much larger timber frame to keep the sand out—onto the plush rugs scattered across the stone floor. The heat and glare immediately dropped off. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust but only a moment longer to scan the entire space. The restaurant hanging off the back of the main building offered darkened, delicious-smelling dining indoors, or decorated, shade-covered tables on its deck, peering over the desert waterhole below.
‘Outside, I think,’ Sera said, when asked for her preference.
A minute later, she was seated on the edge of the deck, looming over the desert, her favourite juice on hand and a jug of icy water delivered. They seated Brad a few tables back, out of her view but presumably where he had a good clear outlook over the whole area. If she were her father, there was no way his security would have let him sit here, so exposed to anyone bedded down in a distant dune. But the kind of obsessive crazies The Ravens’ gothic music occasionally attracted and the kind of pathetic try-hards she would attract were totally different creatures.
The only shot someone was going to take at her would end up in the tabloids, not in a morgue.
There were six other diners also having a late lunch, all of them in couples and looking very loved up. This was exactly the right sort of resort for honeymoons or anniversaries. Or romantic Christmases, as it turned out. On balance, though, it was still better to spend the festive season here than back home. Alone.
Even if she was in disgrace.
Her meal came, and right behind that Brad’s did. They each ate in silence, the occasional clink of his cutlery a kind of Morse code reminding her he was close by. Sera never once turned to look at him but his presence almost hummed; the silence was thick with it. It dragged her attention off the gorgeous view and the delicious cuisine until she might as well have been eating airline food.
When the staff came to remove her first-course dishes, Sera pushed her chair back, turned and marched towards him.
‘This is crazy. Come and join me.’
‘I’m on the job,’ he declined. ‘But thank you.’
‘Okay, you’ve said what your employer would want you to say. Now, please join me.’
His eyes didn’t quite meet hers. ‘Let’s just keep it by the book.’
His manners did little more than irritate her further. Partly because she wasn’t getting her way. Mostly because she was supposed to be off men—she shouldn’t want his company.
But she did.
‘What’s problematic about having a conversation while we eat?’
His grey eyes turned wary. ‘I’m paid to shadow you, not monopolise you.’
‘I don’t feel monopolised,’ she said, low, glancing around at the other diners. ‘I feel conspicuous.’
‘You’re not used to dining alone?’
Was he kidding? She was mostly alone, even when she had company. A nanny had always eaten with her when she was younger but it was always a very...functional exercise. Any conversation they’d had was mostly limited to which hand she held her fork in or whether she had to eat all of her beans. ‘In case it’s escaped your notice this is a very coupley resort.’
His gaze scanned the pairs dotted around the restaurant. ‘You want it to seem like we’re together?’
Her hiss of annoyance drew more than one curious look. ‘Look. I’m the client, asking you to join me for—’ she glanced around for inspiration ‘—my safety!’
He wasn’t the slightest bit moved.
‘Okay, forget it. I’ll just go back to my gorgeous view and have no one to talk about it with.’
With that, she turned and flounced back to her seat, taking an oversized gulp of her dewy melon juice and sinking lower than before into her padded chair.
Stuff him—she was not about to beg. She’d never begged for someone’s company in her life.
No matter how tempted she might have been.
* * *
The first Sera knew that Brad had moved was the scrape of the chair opposite hers. He stepped into the gap he’d created, placed his iced water on the table and sank down in front of her.
‘The reason we don’t do this,’ he said without waiting for any kind of response from her, ‘is that it sets up awkwardness later. What if you want to dine alone in future? What if I do? This way there’s no pressure or expectation on either side. Everything remains easy.’
She turned a baleful glare at him. ‘You think I’m going to expect you to dine with me?’
He held his mettle and her gaze. ‘You wouldn’t be the first female client to misinterpret the terms of service for their protection. The rules exist for a reason.’
‘If you can’t handle yourself with some cougar, Brad, that’s on you.’ She turned back out to the desert.
His voice next came quietly—amused but slightly disappointed.
Oh, well...join the queue! Her father had communicated more disappointment in the past few months than any other sentiment all year.
‘You didn’t strike me as a sulker.’
‘I’m not sulking,’ she gritted, forcing patience she didn’t feel. ‘I wanted to... I don’t do the reach-out thing, normally.’
Because reaching out just wasn’t worth the potential rejection, in her experience. Which begged the question: Why bother, now?
‘But?’
‘But...even if some newspaper did track me out here into the middle of all this nothing, those gigantic fences and armed guards