After her rather endearing yet entirely unacceptable bid to save his life by leaving him, he’d punished her. For anyone else but Colin Morgan, inflicting punishment for such a selfless act would seem a strange reaction. However, he didn’t particularly like how he felt when he’d walked to their bedroom with the purpose of making love to her only to find her packing a suitcase. Therefore, when he’d finally subdued her impulsive, hilarious and ill-conceived flight and taken her to bed, he’d spent a good deal of time using most of the weapons in his rather honed sexual arsenal to drive her mad with desire.
When he had her wrists imprisoned over her head and after he’d lavished a goodly amount of attention on her lovely, responsive br**sts, he surged over her. Thinking, finally, she was going to get what she’d been begging him to give her for at least fifteen minutes, she opened her legs to receive him.
“By the way,” he muttered against her mouth and felt her h*ps tilt upward in invitation, at this act, his control slipped and he finished through gritted teeth, “I’ve hired a bodyguard for you. Starting tomorrow morning, he’ll be with you every minute when I’m not.”
Sibyl’s eyes focussed on him but Colin realised by their dazed quality she wasn’t hearing a word he said. Her mind was definitely elsewhere.
“Okay,” she mumbled without hint of protest and wrapped one long, shapely leg around his hip. Ever the practised negotiator, he decided to stop while he was ahead and slid slowly, deeply inside her and then his mind went elsewhere as well.
Later, he was sitting at the head of the dining room table, Sibyl to his left. They were all eating her mother’s vegetarian lasagne, homemade garlic bread and a salad that was so big it had to be served in two bowls.
Colin turned to Sibyl. “About Rick.”
Absorbed in eating her mother’s admittedly delicious meal, she munched a piece of bread and asked, “Who’s Rick?”
“Your bodyguard.”
Her head didn’t move but her eyes shifted swiftly to the side to stare at him and her mouth froze mid-crunch.
Unaffected by her response, he carried on, “He’s being paid to protect you, not to be your friend, not to be your project. This is a professional relationship, he drives you, watches you, guards you, keeps you safe. If he has a girlfriend he isn’t getting along with, that’s none of your concern. If his mother has terminal brain cancer, you don’t bake her cookies and hold her hand during chemotherapy.”
Her head snapped around to glare at him and she gulped down the bread before snapping, “Colin!”
“Is that understood?” he asked the question but didn’t expect an answer, he simply expected to be obeyed.
“I can hardly ignore it if his mother has a brain tumour,” she retorted angrily, hilariously defending her right to be the guardian angel for a fictional unfortunate.
“Then I suggest you don’t even talk to him so you won’t find out.”
“I can hardly not talk to him if he spends every minute of the day with me.”
“Sibyl,” he said warningly.
“Colin.” She used his tone against him.
“You befriend him and he loses focus, he’s gone.”
“I cannot believe –” she hissed.
“You do it with the next one then he’s gone,” Colin went on and finished. “Do you catch my meaning?”
Her rebellious gaze slid to Phoebe and Mags who were sitting across from her. Phoebe was trying very hard (but failing as her lips were twitching) to keep her face impassive. Mags wasn’t even trying to hide her smile but at least she dropped her head so she smiled at her plate of lasagne.
Finding no reinforcements at the table, Sibyl bit out, “Fine.”
Monday, he had barely sat behind his desk in his office when Mandy came rushing in with his coffee.
“There’s a man out there named Kyle James. He says he needs to talk to you. He says you know him from what he calls ‘The Centre’.” Mandy’s wide eyes got wider as she finished, “He mentioned something about a tranquilliser dart!”
When she finished, her eyes were round as saucers.
Calmly, Colin told her to send him in.
Sibyl’s friend strolled in, taking a good look around him as he did and then put out his hand for a friendly handshake. “All right, mate?”
“Kyle,” Colin responded to the familiar West Country greeting.
“Like the office,” he remarked. “Is Billie’s going to be this nice when you finish building it?” When he stopped speaking, he had a twinkle in his eye.