Bodyguard...To Bridegroom?. Nikki Logan

joke. On the contrary, his face sobered up until it was the professional mask again. ‘Is there anything I need to know? About earlier... In the pool?’

      Every muscle in her body coiled tighter. She shouldn’t be surprised he knew about her big cry-fest. He was trained to know. But how did you tell someone you’d just met that you’d been waiting all year for that cry? That you’d been holding on to the indignity of your arrest and the disappointment it had brought your father since it had happened, knowing that, while the family lawyers had kept the actual arrest quiet, the court case was always going to be public and a total media circus. How knowing that still hadn’t prevented the other shoe thudding down onto your heart like a steel-capped boot when the conviction had finally gone public a fortnight earlier.

      And, with it, your boyfriend’s betrayal.

      Though really she’d lived with that since the day it had dawned on her what Mark had done. And why.

      He’d officially ended their four-month ‘thing’ while sitting in the arraignment waiting area at courtroom number four. As redundant exercises went it was pretty spectacular. What—other than his enormous male ego—made him imagine for a moment that she would want to be anywhere near the man who had set her up for arrest? The man who had betrayed her trust and used her for the publicity her name would bring to his animal-rights cause.

      Though, truthfully speaking, she’d set herself up. She with her hopelessly optimistic expectations and lousy judgement. He’d just sealed the deal by holding the metaphorical door open for her to walk into the arms of the authorities.

      ‘Crying is good for you,’ she joked. ‘Better out than in, right?’

      ‘So that was...catharsis?’

      ‘It was decompression. I’ve had a rough couple of months.’ She struggled to keep it light. ‘To be honest, you’re lucky it didn’t start at the airport. It was touch and go for a while there.’

      He didn’t understand. The three little lines between his eyebrows said so.

      She tilted her head and studied him. Men were such alien creatures. ‘I guess crying is unprofessional, too, huh?’

      ‘I’ve cried,’ he said, before thinking about it. A dark flush streaked up his jaw but he didn’t shy away from the topic. ‘But it didn’t feel good.’

      He struck her as a man who wouldn’t appreciate her pity. Or her curiosity. So she didn’t ask.

      ‘I’m not in any trouble,’ she confirmed instead. ‘But thank you for the concern.’

      It seemed so genuine—even if it was reluctant—Sera had to concentrate on not letting it birth a warm glow deep inside. It was his job to care. It wasn’t personal.

      It never was.

      Grey eyes bored into hers, but then he must have decided to trust her. ‘Okay. But remember—’

      ‘I will come to you the moment I’m in any real need,’ she pledged. ‘Rule four. I haven’t forgotten.’

      He meant risk kind of need, of course. If she felt in any kind of danger. But it felt lovely—just for a moment—to think that she had someone to go to if her heart hurt or her head wanted to explode or something just really messed with her mind. An emotional storm home.