Protecting Miss Dawes - a job like any other

Chapter 11: Molly

As soon as the door closed behind him, I ran towards my bedroom and jumped into bed, literally, so I bounced on it like a child. Very not in manner worthy of Home Secretary. I felt all giddy, and I knew that the champagne and wine I had been drinking earlier had little to do with it. He had everything to do with it. I replayed all the best moments from the evening in my head – and he was part of them all.

When he turned to me as I walked into the studio once the stylist was done with me, so incredibly handsome in dinner jacket and white shirt that my heart almost stopped, I had realised that his opinion of how I looked was the only opinion I cared about this evening. I had wanted him to think me beautiful and his eyes seemed to tell me that he did, and then his words too even if I had to pull them out of him. That dress was not like me, but in retrospect I knew I had been thinking of him when I bought it. Had wanted him to see me in it, had wanted him to think I was something special. Had wanted him to want me.

During the party, I loved all those brief moments when our eyes met across the room. Each time I wished I could be close to him instead of parted by a crowd, but I also liked the feeling that we shared a common secret, even if I had no idea what that was. It helped me endure talking to and dancing with Rob McDonald. He did not seem discouraged at all by the awkward near-date I had interrupted, instead he seemed more eager than ever to be close to me. His sweaty palm too far down on my back, his stale breath on my face when we danced. I knew I could not stand it a second time, so when I saw him striding towards me over the floor again, it gave me the excuse I had wanted all evening to dance with Sergeant James. Charles. I had never called him that to his face, but I had thought the name many times. Dreamed of moaning it close to his ear.

He had never touched me before and now he was holding me steadily as we danced. Despite my high heels, he was so tall compared to me and being in his arms made me feel both small and safe at the same time. Despite his length and a body that ought to be heavy from muscles, he moved so lightly over the dance floor and when he nimbly lead me it felt easier to dance, and dance well, than I ever had experienced before. Unlike Rob, his breath smelled fresh, minty and he was wearing an after-shave I really, really liked. So much that I now considered if I should go to a perfume shop this weekend and try to find it, just to have it and sniff at when I felt like it, but it would be very awkward if he spotted the bottle when he was doing his regular check of the apartment. 'How come I have a man's after-shave? Well... errrr... And it's the same that you have? You don't say!?' That was a conversation I would not like to have. It would be very weird and difficult to explain, so I simply had to hope I would get to smell him wearing it again.

And his hands on me, that was nothing like Rob's. Large, comforting, yet exhilarating hands that did not move anywhere they should not – even if I would have liked them too. And later, when he unzipped my dress... I felt his breath on my neck, like a breeze moving the little hairs there, giving me goosebumps as he carefully, excruciatingly slowly pulled the zipper down, and I was dying for him to touch me. Hoped he would do it, if only by mistake, heard my blood whiz in my ears and the faint sound from the zipper, in the otherwise compact silence. He remained completely professional, just stepped away as soon as he was done – and I liked him even more for it.

Then we just had the greatest time, relaxing in the sofa. Had the meal, mixed seriousness with banter and I felt I got to know him a little better. I could have stayed up talking to him all night, but then he had to go. Naturally, because this was not a date, he was not to sleep over or even give me a kiss on the cheek as he left. This was his workday, I was his job and it was time for him to quit and go home and leave foolish little me here. Foolish because I was beginning to fall in love with my bodyguard. I snorted at the thought, if people knew! Celebrities like singers, seemed to fall for their bodyguards every now and then. Like Brittney Spears, or Whitney Houston – but that was a film come to think of it. Anyway, for them a bit of gossip involving a hot bodyguard might only be a boost to their careers, making them more interesting. For me it would likely achieve killing my career. Yet, thinking of those brown eyes, his smile, sometimes reserved, sometimes warm, his way of biting his lower lip when he was thinking about something, the dark, thick curls that I would like to run my fingers through, grab and pull him towards me – all that made my knees feel weak and he was what I saw when I closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep.