The Trouble With Bodyguards: Part 1 Read Free Page A

that he would embellish the story, perhaps turn it into a pornographic scene of lavish lovemaking on her kitchen counter. Oh well, let him have his fun.
                  She looked down at the small package in her hands. It was wrapped in brown paper, and had no label or store markings that she could see. Her mother had probably ordered her accessories to go with her gown for tonight, but strange that the delivery person from that store had not knocked or rung the bell. Perhaps she had been in the shower at the time, and had just not heard them when they arrived. She ripped away the paper, tossing it onto a chair in the living room, and flipped open the small, white box.
                  A paste jewel sparkled at the bottom of the box, nestled in black velvet. It was beautiful, catching the sunlight and transforming it into tiny rainbows that danced across its surface. She slipped her fingers under the delicate silver chain, lifting if from the box, and held it up before her eyes. It seemed to be alive, colors moving through the depths of the jewel. She loved it. Walking to the mirror in the entryway of her apartment, she held it up to her throat. It was the perfect length and size to snuggle itself safely between her breasts, shining like a star against her alabaster skin. She was amazed that her mother could have picked out something that she would enjoy so much; normally they didn't have even slightly similar tastes.
                  Setting the necklace on the counter, she lifted the cover off the box containing the dress. A simple but elegant gown, floor-length black satin, thin straps that wrapped around her neck, leaving her back exposed. She ran her fingertips along the fabric. The soft, slippery feel pleased her. It would feel fantastic against her skin. And with her natural red hair and pale skin, she would look ravishing in the stark black.
                  Nestled in the box with the dress was a pair of heels, three-inch stilettos with a shine all their own. This would do, she thought. It wasn't too terrible. She thought of the dresses that her mother had picked out for her when she was child, all ruffles and lace, acres of fabric piled up around her as she sat like a doll on display in one of her mother's cabinets. She was glad that her mother was finally starting to see her as an adult, as a woman.
    …
                  His heart was hammering in his chest, his palms damp with sweat as he sat on the bench outside her apartment, trying to catch his breath. It had been risky, to go to her door like that, but he had wanted, needed her to have the beautiful gift that he had bought for her. She had rewarded him, displaying her body for him, dancing languidly in front of the open windows, showcasing her love for him as he gazed upon her beauty from stories below on the street.
                  He had loved her since the moment that he had laid eyes on her, outside the gallery downtown where her pictures were being shown. She took such wonderful photographs, capturing the beauty and pain that truly was life. No one appreciated her work, not like he did. No one saw the way that she toiled, day after day, night after night, attempting to create perfection. He saw it, he saw her efforts. He wanted to reward her, for everything that she did for him, and so he had gotten her the gift, left a treasure for her to find, letting her know that there was someone in this dark world who understood.
                  He wiped his palms on his jeans, still trying to calm himself after he had run into the delivery boy on his way up the stairs to her. His heart had stopped when he had made eye contact with the boy, stepping away from her door, where he had been resting his hands on the warm wood, feeling her presence resonating from the other side. He had darted down the stairs, leaping down the flights, escaping the eyes of someone who would not