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‘Stay,’ she blurted.
It stunned him into silence.
‘I’ll hire you privately … to stay … here.’
With me, she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.
Tiny lines appeared at the corners of both his eyes. ‘I can’t, Sera.’
She kicked up her chin. ‘I’m not worth breaking a few rules for?’
‘I’m not … I can’t …’ Breath hissed out of him. ‘I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, Sera.’
Just when she’d felt sure her newfound courage would be rewarded. Did the universe not realise how difficult it was for her to open herself up like this? But having started she couldn’t stop. Too much rode on it.
‘Then what’s stopping you? Because it’s not your job?’
‘I think I’m stopping me, Sera,’ he murmured.
It was the pain that got her attention; it shadowed his gaze and thickened his voice. His leaving would hurt her, but staying was hurting him. Somehow. She didn’t want to hurt him. But she had to understand. And she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try just one last time.
‘Some things are more important than rules, Brad. Aren’t they?’
Bodyguard…to Bridegroom?
Nikki Logan
NIKKI LOGAN lives on the edge of a string of wetlands in Western Australia, with her partner and a menagerie of animals. She writes captivating nature-based stories full of romance in descriptive natural environments. She believes the danger and richness of wild places perfectly mirror the passion and risk of falling in love.
She loves to hear from readers via www.nikkilogan.com.au or through social media. Find her on Twitter: @ReadNikkiLogan and Facebook: NikkiLoganAuthor
For Margaret Kruger
‘White, no sugar, half a cup.’
And for the staff—and wildlife— of Al Maha Desert Resort who offered me such a transformative experience.
Contents
IT TOOK BRAD KRUGER all of three seconds to sift through the faces in the crowd of passengers disembarking from the pointy end of the flight from London and identify the one he needed. First, he filtered out anyone with a Y chromosome, then the women over forty or under eighteen, then the impeccably dressed locals returning to the pricey desert emirate of Umm Khoreem. That left only three priority passengers that could be his client and only one of them had her long hair out and flowing gloriously over bare shoulders.
There she was...codename ‘Aspirin’—for the headache he was going to have for the next month.
Of all the gin joints in all the towns...
Brad glanced along the long row of immigration staff in their pristine robes and watched as Seraphina Blaise was subtly corralled to the entrance of a long, winding and empty queue that casually eased her away from the one filled with locals and towards a counter with double the staff. As she negotiated the maze of retractable belts, she seemed oblivious to the fact she’d just been selected for special immigration attention.
She might have left a British Christmas all rugged up, but somewhere over the Baltic she’d pared back into something more suited to a desert one—except that apparently she’d dressed for the heat rather than for the culture.
‘Here we go...’ Brad muttered under his breath, pushing off the ornately carved pillar he’d been leaning against and triangulating a course to bring him as close as possible to the official who’d flagged her.
Her inadequate dress had probably caught Immigration’s attention, but it was her arrest record that would likely keep it. Umm Khoreem issued visas on arrival for those who were just visiting. No visa,
