The Bodyguard by Lena Diaz

corner of his eye, he noticed her lips curve into a tiny smile. Encouraged, he continued. “And on the walls of the pretentious gallery are paintings. Most of them are of other buildings or animals, a few portraits here and there. And smack-dab at the top of the stairs is some alleged artist’s really blurry, wretched attempt at painting an outdoor scene, but it looks more like a picture taken out of focus.”
    She let out a burst of laughter. “It’s a Monet! And it probably costs more than this entire house.”
    He cocked his head. “Hmm. Can’t say that I see the appeal.”
    She cocked her head as well, mimicking him. “Honestly, I don’t see its appeal, either.” Her eyes danced with laughter as she smiled up at him.
    Unable to resist the impulse, he brushed her hair back from her forehead.
    Her smile faded, but she didn’t look upset that he’d been so familiar. Instead, she looked puzzled.
    “I should be afraid of you,” she said.
    He stiffened. “I would never, ever hurt you.”
    “I know. I’m not sure how I know, but I know. You’re a large, muscular, incredibly handsome man.”
    He grinned. “Good to know.”
    “That wasn’t a compliment. Big men, handsome men, scare me. Normally. Because I expect them to be like my husband. But you’re...different. You make me smile. And you make me feel...safe.”
    She turned back toward the stairs. Her eyes were still full of shadows, but she squared her shoulders, and her mouth tightened into a determined line. “Let’s do this.”
    * * *
    T HE HOUSE WAS DARK , silent. The live-in staff had retreated to the wing on the opposite side of the estate hours ago. And Carol was asleep in the guest room next to Luke’s. So what had woken him?
    He slid out of bed, yanked his jeans on and shoved his gun into the back of his waistband. Moving as quietly as possible, he rushed through the open doorway that joined his room with Carol’s. She was lying in the middle of the bed, looking like a fairy princess in her diaphanous, long, white nightgown, her golden hair splayed out on the pillow around her like a halo. The door from her bedroom to the hallway was still locked. If he’d heard something in his sleep, it hadn’t come from this room.
    He hurried back to his own room and eased the door to the hall open. Wall sconces along the gallery spaced about every twenty feet gave off a dim glow, like expensive, crystalline night-lights. Just enough light to change the pitch black to a muddy gray, to reveal images, shapes, but little else. Enough light to keep someone from stubbing their toe on one of the decorative tables that lined the hallway, or to keep them from stumbling against the marble balustrade and taking a nasty fall to the foyer two stories below.
    He waited, listening intently, watching. But he didn’t see or hear anything. He thought about going downstairs to check on the guards, but that would mean leaving Carol upstairs alone. Not an option. Instead, he pocketed the door key to his room and locked the door closed behind him to prevent anyone from going inside and getting to her that way. He quietly made his way to the end of the gallery, listening at each door, then quickly searching each room until he stood in front of the double doors that led to the one room he hadn’t searched. The master bedroom.
    Earlier, when Carol had led him upstairs and pointed out the guest rooms where they would both stay, she’d waved toward the end of the hall and announced that was the master bedroom. But she hadn’t looked at it, and she’d quickly turned and gone into her own room after saying good-night.
    Now he stood in front of the elaborately carved double doors, carefully turned the knob, then eased one of the doors open. The room was surprisingly well lit, as if the former occupants didn’t like the dark. Dim light filtered from wall sconces spaced throughout the room, much like the ones in the gallery.
    He edged farther inside. Everything was neat, nothing