The Bodyguard

“Are you coming on to me, McKennon?”

“Yes.” He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Frankie lifted her head to reply. He kissed her lips. A soft tender kiss, the barest press of flesh to flesh.

His answer pleased her, but deepened her guilt. With her sister in danger she could afford herself no pleasure. “Bad timing.”

“In more ways than you know.” He pressed a finger to her chin and urged her to look at him. Feeling suddenly shy and strangely vulnerable, she resisted. “When we get your sister back, I’d like to take you to dinner.”

She cracked a smile. “What if I said you’re not my type?”

Chuckling, he curled his hand around the back of her head and drew her forehead-to-forehead with him. His embrace accomplished what reason could not. Hope feathered upward from deep in her belly.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He kissed her again.

She couldn’t have resisted him if she’d tried. She explored the texture of his lips and tasted the sweetness of his mouth.

“Is it a date?” he asked.

She sensed in him the power to make her believe in loyalty and goodness again. “Sure,” she whispered. “It’s a date.”