Page 18 of Daddy's Bodyguard
Again, Sofia adjusts herself against me until she’s comfortable. “These are my tiring days,” she says with a deep yawn.
“I’m sure last night didn’t help.” I adjust, letting my head fall back on the couch. “A lot of action and adrenaline.”
“Shhh. You’re cutting into my ten-minute break. After that, we have to do dinner, and then I have some lesson plans to adjust.”
“Jesus, woman, you just never stop. What do you have to lose by takingone nightoff?”
“Why waste the available time?”
“Because resting is just as important as working. If you don’t rest, studies show your brain doesn’t operate at its highest capability.” I let my hand stroke over her arm. “Maybe take just one night off. Call it … recalibration.”
“Sounds like procrastination to me.”
I chuckle and shake my head. She’s stubborn, but I have to admit her ability to argue, to plan out the rest of the day, to go this hard constantly is amazing. A little energizer bunny who knows what needs her attention, where to focus and exactly how to get a job done. She’s a freaking powerhouse, this woman.
Sofia would kick ass in the military. She’d have soldiers ready to follow every command, and I bet she’d still take on other projects. She’s really something else, a woman who’s ready to make the life she’s dreamed of, whether it comes easy or takes constant effort.
I chill with her for a while, almost shocked that she’s sticking to the idea of rest for even this long. With the energy of a four-year-old and the drive of someone with a legacy to protect, Sofia doesn’t seem like the kind to give herself any relaxation, but here she is proving me wrong – like she has been over and over today.
More than some corporate hard ass, she’s the kind who rolls up her sleeves to get the job done and never asks for more than what someone can do. When she’s in her element, her stubborn, persistent, and pissy attitude gets shit done. Her determination is kind of … sexy. Not that I can possibly tell her that.
Sofia takes a deep breath, then exhales across my chest. Slowly, I open my eyes and look her over. Her dark hair sweeps across her face, hiding a bit of her beauty. She’s quite small and soft and fits perfectly against my side. I could get used to this, having her here against me because she wants to be. She didn’t hesitate to take this spot; I didn’t have to force her. But I’m sure it’s temporary. Once she’s back at full battery strength, she’s going to find a way to brush off this moment and turn it into nothing at all.
Which makes me all the more eager to save what I can. Cuddling Sofia on the couch isn’t exactly the white picket fence and happy family I want, but it’s a huge step closer to a normal civilian existence. It’s nine at night, but we’re comfortable, home and safe.
I’m not on the battlefield or trying to put a fire together to keep my team warm on a cold night, not assigning two men to stand watch as we hunker down in the desert. I can just enjoy the plush couch under me, the woman pressed to my side, and the fact I don’t have to worry about some late-night hellfire to interrupt my sleep.
Sofia stays in place for another minute before her eyes open and meet mine. She clears her throat and sits back, pushing her hair out of her face. “So … that pizza.”
“I need to check the windows and door along with the security feed,” I murmur.
Sofia gets up with a yawn, then stretches and walks quietly to the kitchen. Her feet barely make a sound across the wood floors. I hear her go to the kitchen, then she starts grumbling again about me leaving the pizza in the oven.
Shaking my head, I get up, check all the windows and walk around outside to note any changes, any shoe prints, anything that might hint that we’re not as safe as we think. Nothing. The windows are latched. The home security is in place. The cameras aren’t obvious.
We should be alerted to any kind of breach before it becomes a problem. Honestly, I don’t see an easy way for anyone to get in the safehouse, which means if they do come for Sofia, they’ll go for her while she’s at work or commuting.
I return to the apartment, intending to talk to Sofia about that possibility. Before I can bring this potential attack to light, Sofia’s cell phone rings. Her eyes flick to me, and she picks it up. “Qué quieres?”
It must be her father. She minimizes her Spanish use around me, but I’d rather her think I don’t know what she’s saying. It’s a good way to ensure that I’ll have a heads-up if she decides to voice a plan to leave.
Leaning against the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room, I watch her as she paces the kitchen floor, obviously agitated. She complains about the restrictions, makes it clear that she’s not enjoying being here with me and reminds her father that no one actually wants her; they want him. Soon she sighs, then closes the distance between us to hand me the phone.
“He wants to talk to you.”
I pick up the phone. “Hello, Mr. Hernandez.”
“Mr. Brookes. How are things going with my daughter? We’re nearing the twenty-four-hour mark, and I want to be sure she doesn’t have you hog-tied.”
“We’ve reached a compromise that ensures I’m doing the most effective work possible.” I slip into my normal reporting mode. “No targets have been spotted, and no boogies have made contact.”
“Excellent. Let’s keep it that way,” Mr. Hernandez replies. “And don’t be afraid to put her in line. Nothing is more important than her safety … including her comfort.”
“Of course, sir.” My eyes flick to Sofia, and the scowl on her face lets me know she heard every word of what her father just said. Damn it. The last thing I need is to take two steps back with her.
“I’d like to speak to my daughter, please. Thank you, Brookes.” Mr. Hernandez keeps his even tone.
I hand her the phone, and Sofia hangs it up at once, then tosses it on the kitchen counter. She has the pizza warming in the oven rather than the microwave, and I shake my head at her. She puts her hand on her hip, giving me a glare.