The American Bodyguard ✔️

chapter three

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Zainab's POV.

He lets go of my hand and I wait for the spell to be broken, but butterflies from his touch linger behind. He's standing so close to me, I can smell the faint scent of his aftershave even though we're outside. I would expect him to be the kind of man who wears a smoky or a spicy aftershave, you know, something typically cowboy or manly.

He does smell manly, just with surprising flavour notes. There's some kind of citrus note in there, but it's soften by something floral like violets.

Up close, I can also study his face in detail. While a conversation starts up between my brother and his friends behind me, I take in my new bodyguard with undisguised intrigue. He has a thick neck, which is no surprise because of his wide set shoulders, but it leads into a sharply defined jaw.

His cheekbones are high and as such, he has hollows in his cheeks. His lips are wide and full, I imagine he's even more of a knockout when they spread into a smile. Somehow, this man gives both God-raised, corn-fed, good ol' American boy vibes while simultaneously the hard look in his icy eyes and bulging muscles promise a slow and painful death to those that cross him. It's quite impressive that he can master both halves of the coin.

Huxley seems to be checking me out in equal measure. His face gives nothing away, I have no idea if he is impressed with what he sees or if he hates me instantly. I imagine part of his job is remaining as stoic as possible to keep professional. I take a look over my shoulder, my brother is deep in conversation. I turn back to Huxley.

"My brother seems to have left out a lot of details. While he has mentioned that you will be staying with me, do you know when you will be moving in?"

He grimaces, looking uncomfortable. I get the feeling I am not going to like his answer before he even speaks.

"Your brother told me that you would be expecting me, and that I could move in today."

His American accent is thickened by the emotion in his voice. I have a feeling that being lumped with living with me was not exactly what he had planned when he agreed to come with my brother back to England.

"Right, okay," I reply slowly, my mind whirring to try and think of what to do.

While he can come home with me tonight -thank God I always keep the guest room made for emergencies- he will need his things.

"What are your things? Faisal mentioned you had them brought back on the plane."

"Yes, I collected them earlier. They're in the Range Rover out front."

Ah, the Range Rover.

It's the car he gives to his bodyguards to drive most of the time. I joke that it makes him look like a drug dealer because the windows are blacked out and the alloys match the black paint job.

"He said that I should use the Range to drop my stuff at your place and then I should swap to the SUV?"

I feel sorry for Huxley. He has been dragged to a different country, been given a temporary home living with a woman he's never met before and now, he's been ferried from one car to another. My family must be paying him enough not to care.

"Yeah, Reagan drives my car."

It's a luxury BMW, bought for me as twenty-third birthday present by my father.

"He's probably used it to get to the airport, but he will have arranged for someone to bring it back. Look, let's use the Range tonight because it's got your stuff in it and we can swap cars tomorrow."