Burn: A South Beach Bodyguards Book by Erin McCarthy Page B

bent over, but instead of puking, all the blood rushed into my head and my vision went black. I reached out for the wall, but caught nothing but air, and I tried to lower myself to the ground, but I couldn’t see anything and my knee went down hard. Then suddenly my weight was being lifted up and I could hear Ryan’s voice.
    “Isabel, look at me.”
    The blackness receded and his face came into focus in front of mine. “Thanks,” I murmured. He had me by the waist and was holding all my weight. My legs felt like jelly. “I’m okay. I just have a headache.”
    “You shouldn’t be at class. I’m taking you home.”
    “Okay,” I agreed readily, just grateful that I hadn’t thrown up in the bushes in front of everyone or taken a facer. “I’m fine, I just need to eat or something.”
    I was still half hunched over but without warning Ryan scooped me off the ground and into his arms. “Oh, my God, what are you doing?”
    “I’m taking you home.” Still a little woozy, I swallowed hard, gripping Ryan’s T-shirt and staring up at his chin, confused. “I’m pretty sure that I can walk.”
    Ryan didn’t say anything, just started walking. My butt bounced against his stomach. I suddenly had the urge to laugh. It was like I’d fallen into one of the movies my mother loved so much. I was Whitney Houston to his Kevin Costner in The Bodyguard. Which had been filmed in Miami, actually. My thoughts were ridiculous, but even more so was what he was doing. Refusing to look at anything other than him, because I did not want to see people staring at us, I giggled against the cotton of his shirt.
    “What the hell is so funny?” he asked, sounding bewildered.
    “I was just thinking about something.” I giggled again, then moaned when he shifted his arms and I was jostled. “My head hurts.”
    “Close your eyes, Isabel.”
    “Why does it seem like you’re always telling me that? And you’re always putting me to bed for the wrong reason.” Life sucked when you never got what you wanted. I was a good girl, damn it. I was nice, and I was punctual, and I worked hard, and I never yelled at my mother. I went to church and I gave blood and I never had road rage, which was a huge accomplishment when you lived in South Florida, and yet, I just wanted this one little thing. This one little big thing.
    And I couldn’t have it.
    It wasn’t fair and I knew life wasn’t fair and that I was fortunate for so many reasons, blah, blah, blah, but there was an ache in my heart and didn’t anyone understand that?
    Unrequited love should be illegal.
    Final answer.

C arrying Isabel across campus back to my car, I was fighting the strangest feelings. Like protectiveness. That was cool. It made sense. I could deal with it. I always had a thing for the underdog. Puppies, tiny lizards on the sidewalk, babies with glasses. They all made me feel protective. So Isabel, quiet, sweet, quirky Isabel, with her head injury, made me want to shield her from pain and suffering and danger. Not a big deal. But I was also feeling something that I was terrified was a lot more like caring. Like genuine interest. That went beyond sexual. I hadn’t even had sex with her and I was feeling post-sex tenderness.
    This was bad. No good. Not helpful. I was losing my edge. Going soft. Sucking at my job. If it had been any other client, I would have just followed them into class, but I hadn’t wanted to embarrass Isabel. Her feelings mattered more than they should.
    She was still giggling, which was unnerving. I didn’t get it. I decided to ignore her comment about me putting her to bed.
    “What are you thinking about?” I asked. I was curious what went on in that little head of yours. I was starting to realize she had complicated thoughts and was super intelligent. Why hadn’t I ever known she was planning to be a vet? I didn’t want to be like Mickey. I didn’t want to be self-absorbed. I wanted to listen to people, get to know them. I had failed to do