Bulletproof Hearts

Forcefully breaking eye contact, she gave in to the toll of the day’s events. She was totally out of emotional and physical energy to spend on this…on him. She didn’t shut the door. She just let go of the handle and walked back to the sofa.

He followed her inside the suite. “Why don’t you rest while I make arrangements for dinner?” he offered.

“If I go to sleep now I won’t wake up for a month. I’d rather eat first.”

“Of course.” He nodded and picked up the room service menu from the coffee table. “What would you prefer?” His question, spoken in that lovely rhythmic cadence hung in the air as thunder rumbled outside. Rain pummeled the window and suddenly everything here felt too intimate, too close. Abby didn’t want to be alone in a room with this man who set her libido to buzzing simply by talking and looking at her. In her diminished state of resistance that could be very bad.

“I think I’d rather go to the restaurant downstairs. Can we do that?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

Whatever she’d like was a loaded phrase and one she wasn’t going to dwell on. What she’d like was this man’s hands on her body, a huge glass of Merlot, ten hours of sleep and most of all…Jason. Laughing, joking, taking her shopping. Alive.

But none of that was going to happen. Her brother was buried in a grave less than ten miles from where she stood. He was never coming back. The people who killed him might be coming for her next, and she had no idea who to trust, who to believe. As comforting as oblivion might be, if she had a glass of wine right now on an empty stomach, she’d fall asleep on the spot or do something incredibly foolish with her new bodyguard.

No way was she going to bed with Shaun Logan. Not after everything she’d learned today. And definitely not after he’d lied to her.

“I’M FINE WITH WATER.” Abby sat across from Shaun in an opulent dining room overlooking the Capitol and watching it rain. She was desperately trying not to get comfortable with him. With that Irish charm, he was pressing a glass of wine on her—despite her objections. And it was only four in the afternoon.

“You just buried your brother and someone tried to shoot you. Have a drink, Abigail.”

And whose fault was Jason’s death? Shaun’s? Donner’s? Some mysterious competitor’s? A terrorist trying to derail DHS? How could she know? That initial question more than anything had her sipping the Merlot more quickly than was prudent as Shaun drank iced tea. She was even ordering another glass after the salad, when she should have waited on the main course.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled, putting on a display that many would have paid to see. The food arrived when she was halfway through the second glass of wine.

“What was it like growing up in Mississippi?” Shaun asked.

She shrugged, wary of his attempts to make her open up. She’d shut him down earlier when he’d brought up the possibility of going to Jason’s tonight.

She didn’t want to talk to him about her childhood. She’d spent a lot of money and time in a therapist’s office dealing with it. Lord knows after her parents’ upbringing, she’d needed the help.

“I’m not sure what to compare it to,” she finally answered. “My brother and I were very close. My parents and I weren’t. And while part of my childhood was quite wonderful…my teenage years were not.”

“Care to elaborate?”

She sighed. “My home was a difficult place to grow up in.”

She knew she should keep her mouth closed or better yet, take another bite of the luscious steak in front of her and chew till the urge to talk had passed. But she didn’t. Later she’d blame it on that second glass of Merlot.

“My parents always said we could tell them anything and they’d love us no matter what. They lied. When my brother came out of the closet, my parents disowned him. It was the spring semester of his senior year in college. I was sixteen years old. After Jason told them he was gay, they cut him off without a penny. I begged my father not to do it, but he wouldn’t listen. Jason barely scraped by that last semester, but he graduated with honors and never set foot in our house again until their funeral. I never forgave my parents for that.”