Chapter 3

ZAINAB

He lets go of my hand. I wait for the spell to be broken, but butterflies from his touch linger behind.

He’s standing so close to me that I can smell the faint scent of his aftershave.

I would expect him to be the kind of man who wears a smoky or spicy aftershave, something typically cowboy or ~manly~. He ~does~ smell manly, just with a surprising twist. There’s a citrus note in there, but it’s softened by something floral like violets.

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.

He has high cheekbones and wide, full lips. I imagine he’s even more of a knockout when they spread into a smile.

Somehow, this man gives God-raised, cornfed, good ol’ American boy vibes while the icy look in his eyes also promises a slow and painful death to those who cross him.

It’s quite impressive that he can master both sides of the coin.

Huxley seems to be checking me out in equal measure, but 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. He mentioned that you’re staying with me, but do you know when you’re moving in?”

He grimaces.

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 discomfort in his voice.

I have a feeling that living with me was not exactly what he had planned when he agreed to come to England.

“Right, okay,” I reply slowly, my mind whirring as I 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 belongings.

“Where are your things? Faisal mentioned you had them brought back on the plane.”

“Yes, I got 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 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 being ferried from one car to another.

My family must be paying him enough not to care, although his face says otherwise. He is working to keep it impassive, but I am standing close enough to see the slight furrow between his brows and the corners of his mouth turned down.

“Yeah, Reagan drives my car.”

It’s a luxury BMW, a twenty-third birthday present from my father. I’ve always loved it, yet under Huxley’s frown, I feel almost… embarrassed.

I’ve grown up with wealth, and while I hope that I’m aware of my privilege and I donate to good causes, I admit that I can be blind to it.

“He 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.”

Huxley presses his lips together and gives a stiff nod. I don’t like the air of disapproval coming off him. It was much better when his eyes were studying me with intrigue, not judgment. He thinks I’m a rich bitch.

“When are we heading out, Faisal?” I ask, cutting off his conversation.

He looks over at me.

“Uh, now?” He gets to his feet and snubs out his cigarette. “Let’s bounce.”

“What time are you looking to get home? Huxley needs to move his stuff in.”

Faisal looks irritated by my questions. “I dunno, sis. I’m wiped, to be honest; this jet lag is fucking killer. I’ll probs be home by sunrise.”

~Just a tame night then.~

I look at my phone. It’s almost midnight. The thought of being out for another five hours makes my eyes burn.

“Can I take a rain check?”

When Faisal has been away, all he wants to do is visit every club. He never stays in one for more than an hour because he wants to do the rounds.

The thought of moving from one club to another all night, in these heels, no longer sounds inviting.

“What, really?” He looks disappointed, which makes me feel guilty, but not enough to change my mind.

I love my brother, but he has screwed me over with this security business tonight. He could have told me about this situation earlier, but no, he waited until now.

“Yeah. Look, go out and see everyone. We can meet tomorrow or Sunday for some proper family time. I’ll come out drinking with your boys next weekend. Tonight, I want to get Huxley sorted.”

I might be imagining it, but I think I hear a sigh of relief from the bodyguard behind me.

I don’t blame him. He’s jet lagged too, and he probably just wants to unpack his stuff and get settled.

“Yeah, all right I guess. You’re boring,” he insults me half-heartedly.

He pulls me in for a hug. I hug him back, squeezing him a little tighter this time.

“Be careful, okay?” I warn quietly in his ear.

“I’m always careful,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

Then to his crew, he calls, “Come on boys, let’s bounce.”

I turn back to Huxley.

“You good to drive us home?”

He nods, his jaw clenching.

I fall into step with him as we walk through the house. I’m glad we’re leaving now. That glass of wine earlier gave me a taste, and if I go out now, I’d probably have a few too many drinks. Best to cut myself off early.

The Range Rover is parked on the other side of the road. Huxley strides ahead and opens the passenger door for me. He offers his hand and helps me inside.

My stomach flips at the excitement of touching him again.

~You’re pathetic, Zai.~

He pulls out his phone once he’s in the driver’s seat, pulls up a text conversation, and punches my address into the Sat Nav.

“I’m sorry about the lack of organization here.”

I’m expecting him to say something placating or polite, but he doesn’t even glance in my direction.

I try not to bristle. I’m not used to being ignored.

Finally he replies, “I didn’t know I’d have to live with you.”

I don’t like his use of the word “have.” No one is ~making~ him do anything. I bite my tongue to stop myself from giving a snippy reply.

“I didn’t either. I’m sorry. I know you’re being paid, but there should be a certain degree of professionalism here.”

I cringe at my own wording. I’m not really proving that I’m not a stuck-up bitch.

“My brother should have made sure that your arrangements were sorted before he went out tonight.”

“It’s okay,” he says, his voice even.

He gives nothing away. It’s infuriating.

I pride myself on being able to read people, but I’m at a loss with Huxley already.

“When we get in, I’ll show you around, and then you can get some sleep. You must be exhausted.”

“A little,” he admits.

I point out the entrance to the underground parking garage. He parks and rushes around to open my door. I thank him and walk to the trunk.

He opens it, and I lay my eyes on everything he brought from America. His whole life has fit into two large duffel bags and three sealed cardboard boxes.

~That’s it?~

If my life was boxed up, you’d need about six cars to transport it all.

That probably says more about me than it does about Huxley, to be fair. He’s making me feel very materialistic right now. Perhaps I do have too much stuff.

“I can do this,” he says firmly and grabs the duffel bag that I’m reaching for.

I feel a frisson of irritation but push it back.

“Don’t be silly; we’re going to the same place.”

It’s annoying how easily he grabs the second bag, making it look a lot lighter than it is.

He pins me with a serious look.

“This is my job and these are my bags.”

I can’t tell if he’s just trying to be professional or if he thinks I’m some weak little princess who can’t lift them.

We step into the lift, and I press in the code to take us up to my flat.

The doors open onto my foyer. We move the boxes and duffels onto the tiled floor. Once again, he grabs them before I can, and my irritation returns.

“Want to follow me? I’ll take you through to the guest room,” I call over my shoulder. Then I quickly add, “Your new bedroom.”

“Thanks.”

The guest room is a large room with cream walls. There is a king-sized bed with a caramel-colored fabric headboard, built-in wardrobes with mirrored doors, a white wooden bookcase with a few rows of books on it, and a white wooden desk and chair.

It’s light and airy, if kind of boring.

“If you’re intending to stay on the job for a while, please feel free to decorate. I don’t mind you changing the walls or any of the furniture. Just tell me, and I’d be happy to help.”

Huxley looks at me and nods. “That’s generous. Thank you.”

He looks at me for a minute more than what’s comfortable, like he’s still trying to figure me out.

“I’ll help you bring your things in,” I tell him and walk out of the room before he can say another word.

I heave one of the duffels onto my shoulder. It’s actually not that bad. I turn around and flinch because Huxley is right next to me. He grabs the duffel in his big hands and gently pulls it from my shoulder.

“They’re my bags. Leave them.”

It feels like an order and awfully final. I press my lips together and drop my hands from the strap.

“Fine,” I snap and spin on my heel.

It’s a struggle not to slam my bedroom door.