His Bodyguard (16 page)

“This’ll never work,” she said, backing away.

“Why? Because of Fox?” He nodded toward the bed. “He’s a lucky bastard, but he’s pumped to the gills with
painkillers. He won’t wake up. All I got to worry about is you,” he said, and lunged.

Brenna tried to dodge, to strike, to do something, but her mind was numb and her muscles frozen. Sarge’s hand closed over her throat. The syringe darted nearer.

But suddenly there was a crash behind him.

Sarge pivoted about, but Nathan was already swinging. The telephone crashed against Sarge’s skull. He flopped sideways, but came up with a roar, syringe held like a knife as he lunged forward. Nathan jumped back, but his splint crashed into the leg of the bed and he fell.

“No!” Brenna yelled and spinning round, slammed her bare heel into Sarge’s cranium. He reeled sideways. She gave him no time to recover. Gripping both hands together, she swung her fists. They caught him in the left ear. He went down in a clatter of bottles and bedpans.

Gasping in pain, Brenna sprang at him from all fours and hit him square on the back. He crumbled like a house of cards and lay still.

The door sprang open. Brenna spared one quick glance over her shoulder, but remained just as she was, her knees on his back and her hands in his collar. Three people stood in the doorway, their mouths open, their eyes wide.

“Call the police!” she gasped.

The trio remained staring with open mouths.

Brenna scowled. Now that the excitement was over, pain was snapping through her ribcage like electricity through a wire. “Call the police,” she snapped.

The only woman in the group spun into the hall in search of a telephone. The men continued to stare.

“What’s the matter with you? Haven’t you seen a bodyguard before?”

Nathan, still sprawled on his back at the foot of the bed, cleared his throat. “I think they maybe haven’t seen that much of a bodyguard before,” he said.

She tried to form a question, but he explained before she managed.

“These hospital gowns weren’t made for your life-style, O’Shay.”

She snatched the back of her gown closed and sputtered, “Sweet—”

“What’s going on here?” A dark-haired man pushed his way into the room. Four others followed him.

“Shamus!” Brenna gasped, still crouched like a tree frog atop Sarge.

“Are you Fox?” the closest man asked.

Nathan scooted to his feet as answers to unasked questions tumbled into his head. The blond guy was the man who’d harassed O’Shay in Charlotte, and Nathan had seen the dark-haired fellow flat on his back in a coliseum in Omaha. They were her brothers. He was sure of it.

“I’m Fox,” Nathan said, sizing up the nearest brother. He was built like an overzealous wrestler, and looked fit enough to wrangle the bull that had just tromped Nathan. “What do you want?”

“I want to know what kind of man hides behind a woman,” Shamus said.

Nathan shrugged and tried a grin, but even that slight movement sent a spasm of pain through him. “I guess that’d be me.”

Shamus snorted. “Guess so. Come on, Brenna. We’re going home.”

“Brenna!” Nathan said, delighted to finally hear her name. “That’s even better than Bambi.”

Brenna sent him an exasperated look before turning to her brothers. “Give it up, Shamus,” she said. “I’m not going home.”

“The hell you’re not. Daddy told me before he died to take care of you and that’s what I’m going to do,” he said and moved closer.

But Nathan stepped in between them, his hands raised in a symbol of peace. “She said she’s not going,” he said.

“Get out of my way.”

“You’re going to have to make me,” Nathan said, barely able to balance on his splint. “But I gotta tell you something
first Your sister’s a damn good bodyguard. And if that’s what she wants to do that’s what she’s going to do.”

“Get out of the way.”

“Well, I would,” Nathan said. “But if I do she’s going to kick your sorry behind, and I don’t want to see you hurt…’cause I’m hoping to make you my brother-in-law.”

“What?” Shamus snarled.

“What?” Brenna gasped.

Nathan turned toward her. “Marry me, O’Shay,” he said.

“But what about…” She shook her head, looking shocked.

“You want to guard bodies, go ahead,” Nathan said. “Mine or someone else’s. I understand dreams. I won’t stand in your way. Just…” For a moment, he forgot how to form words. “Will you…marry me?”

“Yes!” she croaked and, stumbling over Sarge’s flaccid legs, swooned prettily in Nathan’s arms.

“O’S
HAY
.”

Brenna sat up with a start. “What—”

“Shh,” Nathan whispered. The hospital room was dark again. A full day had passed since Sarge had been incarcerated and her brothers had left for Mississippi.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“Wanted to talk to you.”

“You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“’Bout time you asked,” he said, and half dragging his new cast across the floor, crawled in beside her.

“You can’t—”

“Shh,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep. Questions keep chasing each other through my head.”

In the dim light, his expression looked vulnerable and wounded. She reached for him, drawing him close. “I wish I had the answers. Your oldest friend. How could he do it?” She touched Nathan’s face. It felt warm and sandpaper-rough beneath her fingertips.

He exhaled softly. “Jealousy, I guess. We were a team a couple of lifetimes ago. Sarge and Shauna and me. I can’t
believe…” He squeezed his eyes closed, but opened them in a moment. “Shauna confessed her part about the letters. Sent them just to spook me. Didn’t expect Sarge to leave them in my hotel. In my kitchen. Never meant any real harm. Didn’t know what Sarge was planning.”

Silence filled the room.

“Guess it’s the truth. ‘Cause it looks like he was trying to frame her. The police found a syringe in her glove compartment. It had a drop of the same stuff he tried to kill me with.” He cleared his throat. “It had her fingerprints all over it.”

“I’m sorry,” Brenna whispered.

“Yeah, well, at least he hates her just as much as he does me.”

“How could he hate you? How could they—”

“Shh.” Nathan gently touched a finger to her lips. “Maybe I’m a cold-hearted son of a bitch, ‘cause it wasn’t
those
questions that were hounding me. I was wondering…are you sure?”

“Sure?”

“That you want to marry me. I know it wasn’t fair to ask you when you were all doped up, half-naked in front of your brothers and God and everyone. But I didn’t think…”

“I wasn’t half-naked.”

“Well…” He smoothed his fingers down her throat to her collarbone. “Not your best half anyway. Still, it was pretty intriguing. I thought I was going to have to chase the male nurses away with my crutches.”

She cleared her throat and tried to crush her embarrassment “Would you have?”

Leaning forward ever so slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of her mouth. Tingling feelings of utopia floated through her.

“Would I have what?” he murmured, his lips only a breath away from her ear, his touch feather soft against her neck as he brushed her hair back.

She closed her eyes at the glorious sensations. “Would you have chased them off for me?”

“Well, I don’t know.” His hand traveled past her shoulder, found the bare strip of skin down the middle of her back and followed it leisurely. “My south side doesn’t look as good in a hospital gown as yours does.”

He gently stroked the curve of her buttocks. Feelings distracted her, but uncertainty niggled at her mind, so she tried to keep focused.

“Are
you
sure, Fox?” she asked breathlessly.

He was silent for a moment. She could feel his gaze, warm as a spring breeze on her face, but she refused to open her eyes, lest she see uncertainty in his expression.

“Am I sure I want to marry you?” he asked.

She nodded, because her throat was suddenly and foolishly all clogged up, and she doubted her ability to speak.

“I’ve been sure for a long time, O’Shay.”

Joy snapped through her, but she carefully contained it, wanting,
needing
to know the truth. She forced her eyes open, meeting his.

“Really? Since when?”

“Do you remember when you said—” he paused as if recalling the exact words “—my name is B. T. O’Shay?”

She exhaled with a small huff, exasperated both by his poor attempt at her accent and his words. “That was the first time we met.”

“Yeah,” he said and kissed her throat.

“You’re kidding me,” she decided, but the words were only a murmur, lost in a rush of hot feelings that made her want to arch into him, to kiss him, to forget all about talking.

But nevertheless, he spoke. “Yeah, I’m kidding,” he admitted. “I didn’t know for sure until a couple days later—when you jumped Ian in the hall.”

“You knew you wanted to marry me when I made a fool of myself?”

“Exactly.”

She gave him a little punch to the ribs. He grunted, rubbed the spot, and grinned. “You should have seen yourself, O’Shay,” he said. “Beautiful and sassy and…” He paused,
his expression going sober. “And worried about me. Really caring about
me.
In this business that’s not so easy to find.”

She loved him. So much. “That’s when you knew? Really?”

“Yeah,” he said and sighed. “I tried to be patient Tried to give you space. But I’m damned tired of being your buddy, O’Shay. I don’t know if I can go back to that. But if you need more time—”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Yes what?”

“I’m sure I want to marry you. But only if you call me Brenna.”

“Brenna,” he whispered and loosened the tie at the back of her neck. The gown slipped languidly sideways. His lips touched her bare shoulder, igniting a thousand wild feelings. “Are you ready to shock the hospital staff?”

“More than ready,” she said and kissed him.