And as my eyes close, shutting out a last glimpse of Lily’s ever-watchful presence, I’m struck with the thought that she must feel the same.
All the time.
Chapter Four
LILY
Most of the time, my assignments are willing participants, but I’ve never had one try to run away. So not only do I have to keep an eye out for anything unusual or threatening as we move through the small airport in Sarabella, but I also have to maintain a careful watch on Payton’s movements in case he tries to bolt again.
Like now, I have to course-correct him because he’s heading toward the exit. “Baggage claim first, big guy.”
“Big guy? If that’s your wifey nickname for me, I ask that you please try again.”
I squelch a laugh bubbling up. Payton’s sense of humor can be quite disarming. And distracting, which is a full-on negative in my book.
“You are taller than me,” I sing-song. When I was a kid, I hated being the tallest kid in the crowd, but then, as I got older, I learned to use it to my advantage, like staring down a bully who was a good six inches shorter than me. Worked every time.
He leans his head toward me. “Not by much.”
The look he gives me as he says this isn’t what I expected, as if he likes that I’m tall, finds it attractive, even. Most guysI’ve encountered seem to only want cute little petite women. And that’s never been me.
As we reach the luggage carousel, I guide Payton to the far end, away from the gathering crowd and closer to the side exit in case we have to leave fast, then send Del an update as to our location.
Just for the record, I don’t mind him pointing out my height. I’m used to it, mostly. I shot up in eighth grade, earning me the nickname ‘mosquito legs.’ And I’m often asked by shorter women to reach items on upper shelves at shops. So I’m tall. Big deal.
“We’d be eye level if you wore heels. Do you ever wear heels, Lily?”
Is he trying to flirt with me? “Not if I can help it. Can’t run well in them.”
“That implies you’ve had experience.”
“You could say that.” I spot my bag and move us both closer to the circling belt.
“I revealed all kinds of details about my life. Surely, you can spare a few more about yours.” A surly undertone accompanies his statement.
“I’ve told you all there is to know about me. Anything else,” I shrug, “NDAs have my lips sealed.”
“So, that’s your full story?” He uses his fingers to tick off each one. “You grew up an orphan, did a brief stint in the military after high school, and went into private security in London.”
“Good job, Payton. I’d give you a sticker if I had any.”
He turns to face me. “There has to be more than meets the eye.”
As his eyes move down my form to emphasize his point, heat rides up my neck to my cheeks. Why am I reacting this way to him? I’ve done protection details for celebrities who make most women’s toes curl, yet mine remained completely straight.
“Nope. That’s it.” I go to reach for my bag, but Payton gets there first, lifts it to the floor, and extends the handle. And he does all this without breaking eye contact. Does the man have eyes in the back of his head like some kind of secret antennae?
“What do you do in your spare time?”
I grab my suitcase and glide my bag toward the exit with Payton in tow. “Sleep.”
“What about books? Do you read? Do you have a hobby?”
“Not much time to read in my line of work. And I’m never home long enough to engage in hobbies. Unless you count working out.”
“That’s something.” His interest seems piqued. I always look for a way to connect with my principals for the sole purpose of building trust, which reduces resistance.
Observation #1: If my principal’s talking, he’s distracted and much easier to manage.
