Billionaire Bodyguard by Sasha Gold

Author:Sasha Gold [Gold, Sasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Sofia

Speaking to Claire calms my fears about Damon. The tight band of anxiety that’s been wrapped around my lungs has loosened, a little. I’m still stuck in a remote location with a man I find dangerously sexy. I still feel like I’m in uncharted territory in more ways than one.

I feel a little ridiculous for assuming Damon was trying to kidnap me. I don’t mention my concerns to Claire.

Standing outside, admiring the beautiful mountain night sky, I wonder how long I’ll stay with Damon. I don’t want to ask Claire, because I’m certain that it’s not up to her and she doesn’t know. It’s up to Damon.

Over the next few days, Damon and I settle into a slightly awkward routine. We share the cooking and eat meals together, but other than that he leaves me alone while he works on his vehicles. I spend the days reading or napping. I’m as lazy as a housecat while Damon never seems to stop moving. He’s restless and irritable too.

One morning, I wake to the sound of banging. It’s coming from outside. I dress and find Damon chopping wood. A pile of logs sits to one side of his work area. He picks up a log, sets it on a stump and brings his ax down with a savage blow. The ax splits the log in two pieces. They tumble to the ground. He picks up another log and repeats the process.

I don’t want to distract him, so I say nothing. I watch him work. His motions are fluid and powerful. Splitting the logs is a simple act, but I find myself unable to look away. Silent, stoic, and so masculine, he’s the picture of an outdoorsman. Or a pioneer maybe. I smile, thinking about the books I read as a child, stories of the American wilderness and the people who settled the west.

I think I’m in the west, but he still hasn’t told me where we are, and I’m sure he won’t. All part of being my bodyguard and keeping me safe.

He sets his ax aside and gathers the wood, tossing the split logs into a wheelbarrow.

“You gonna help, princess, or just watch work getting done?”

I feel my lips curve into a smile. He’s gruff but at least he’s talking to me. I hurry over, pick up logs and set them in the wheelbarrow. When it’s full, I try to wheel it to the woodpile, but he waves me off. I follow behind him, admiring the way his flannel shirt spans his broad shoulders.

I set the logs on the woodpile, one by one. “I suppose this is what the early settlers did here in Wyoming.”

His lips quirk. He shakes his head.

“Montana?”

“Nope.”

“Kansas?”

I’m teasing, of course. I know enough of US geography to know this isn’t Kansas. He chuckles, and it feels like a small weight is lifted from my shoulders. But it doesn’t last. After we’re done with the wood, we’re right back to barely talking.

On the fifth evening, just before dusk, I wander out to the immense garage that he calls his toy room.

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