Before that, he was Amelia’s bodyguard for five years on and off as she needed him. During that time, he became kind of famous for being one of the hottest bodyguards in the world. And a dangerous one. If you google Hot Dangerous Bodyguard, Will’s picture is the first one that shows up, along with a slew of videos of him pinning against walls scary people attempting to get to Amelia, or showing him tackling a guy to the ground who pulled a knife when he was guarding a politician. There are lots of terrifyingly brave images and videos of him doing his job thoroughly and successfully. And then there’s the BuzzFeed article, which is my personal favorite. They devoted an entire piece to the many looks of Will Griffin. It’s basically a rotation of images and GIFs where he’s either stern or swoony. Will has perfected the balance between I-will-knock-you-flat-if-you-try-to-cross-me, but my-hands-can-be-oh-so-tender-on-your-body.
There’s also the People magazine article showing photographs of him with several different women on various dates around the world. And there are many. I don’t love that article as much.
Amelia—the one woman in the world who seems immune to his charms—claims he looks like a street fighter, but she’s wrong. Street fighters have chunks missing from their ears and chipped teeth and meaty fists. Will Griffin is…beautiful.
He has these strong inky black brows that slash over mischievous blue-gray eyes. A muscular lithe body, and a playful mouth that looks absolutely wicked when he smiles. And there’s his left arm, covered in beautiful, ornate, black-line floral tattoos that wind all the way down his toned arm to end at a butterfly spread over the top of his hand and knuckles. I don’t have to look now to confirm the butterfly is there. I studied it enough times to have memorized its shape when Will wasn’t looking at me over those weeks he was around town.
Will has the kind of face that dares you to cross him because he would adore the chase—craves the adventure of it. No, he’s not a street fighter, he’s a roguish, wild fiend. A pirate. At least, he is in my fantasies. Also, in said fantasies, he has an earring and wears tight buckskin breeches with an open-collar, white linen shirt that reveals the chest portion of his tattoos that I’m assuming exist.
Did I mention my hobby is reading historical romances? Specifically in the piratical genre.
As Will and his gorgeous date step into the restaurant, it seems like the whole place suddenly hums to life. His soft grin sends a swirl of electricity through the air. When he places his hand on his date’s lower back, I feel a phantom of that same touch against my skin. Time slows as Will and the woman glide through the restaurant to their table—so secure and confident that they seemingly don’t even notice everyone staring. Maybe he’s used to it.
Right on cue, John’s phone starts buzzing. I smile to myself as he puts on an Oscar-worthy performance. He casts his eyes down at the phone, and etches a tiny frown between his eyebrows. A funny little hmm escapes him. “I wonder why my roommate is calling me. Do you mind if I answer?”
“No, not all,” I say weakly, distracted by the sight of Will removing his skin-licking suit jacket and draping it over the back of his chair before rolling up the cuffs of his shirt. Holy Guacamole, those forearms are glorious.
John answers his phone, voice dripping in alarm as he says, “Hello?”
Immediately his face morphs into something frowny, and I replicate it because I want an Oscar too.
“Seriously? What happened?” He holds up a be-right-back finger to me and then stands up from the table, walking away to anxiously chat with his roommate or whoever is on the other end of that line.
I finally flag down the waitress who seemed intent on avoiding us all night and ask for the check as well as a giant brownie to go.
Then I busy myself with folding my napkin into a perfect little square.
“Annie?” comes a familiar male voice from above me.
My heart hiccups, and I lift my head to look right into the mystical eyes of Will Griffin. I’ve never heard him say my name before—it was magical. I didn’t even plan to say hi to him because I wasn’t sure he would remember me.
As Amelia’s bodyguard, he was every inch the focused agent. Sure, he’d smile kindly and always winked at the old ladies, making Mabel absolutely swoon; but he never really engaged in chitchat. He always hung on the outskirts in his reflective aviator sunglasses and looked ready to take a bullet for Amelia at any moment. I get chills just thinking of it.
“Will Griffin. It’s you. Hi.”
He smiles. “Annie Walker. Hi back.”
“What are you doing here?” I look around hoping to see Adele, but no. Just the gorgeous brunette he came with looking over her menu. I turn my eyes back to Will and that’s when my gaze sweeps over him. His tailored suit pants hug nicely muscled thighs, and a formfitting black button-down shirt covers his top half. It’s snug to his shoulders, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to his forearms. An artful sleeve of magnolia flowers and foliage wind out from under his shirt and descend to his wrist.
Holy Potato, I bet Will has all the other men in this restaurant clutching their ladies for dear life, just hoping Will doesn’t decide to run away with one of them.
“I’m on a date actually,” he says, signaling to the lovely lady at his table.
“You’re on a date thirty minutes away from Rome? Is that a coincidence?”
He grins, and two creases—not quite dimples—bracket his smile like even his body understands how outstanding a smile it is and wants to emphasize it. “Not really. Gretchen and I were both passing through this area so we met up for the night, and then I’ll be headed to Rome tomorrow. Did Amelia not tell you? I’ve been assigned to her again for a while.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.” Why didn’t she tell me? Then again, why would she tell me? No one knows I’ve had a thing for Will since I first met him.
“Her team is anticipating a rise in media around the town with the wedding approaching. They wanted me near just in case.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re coming back.” And then I realize how that sounded and add, “I mean, for Amelia’s sake.”
He grins softly and my stomach swoops.
I swallow thickly. “And nice you’ll get to be so close to your girlfriend for a while,” I say, trying to distract him from accidentally admitting I’m glad he’ll be around town again. Around me again.
He looks over his shoulder briefly and back. “Gretchen isn’t my girlfriend—just a date.”
But he said he’s staying the night with her…
Oh! Right! They’re just hooking up. Cool, cool, cool. Totally cool and normal and the thought of Will taking off all his clothes doesn’t at all make my skin burn hot and weird and tingly.
“So are you here alone?” he asks, eyes sweeping over me and then the table and empty chair.
In the next moment, John steps back to the table. Before he opens his mouth, I speak for him, “Well, I was on a date. But I think John is about to leave because he has an emergency.” I look up into John’s wide eyes. He thinks I’m a psychic now. “Is your house on fire? Grandma’s in the hospital? Or does your roommate have a flat tire?” I ask cheerfully.
He hesitates a second. “Uh—the flat tire one.”
So much for that Oscar. Under Will’s suddenly dark stare, John’s acting skills are deflating along with his courage.
“Hate when that happens,” I say kindly as the waitress brings our check and my to-go brownie. She sets it down with a double take at Will. She’s momentarily shocked by his handsomeness. Get in line, ma’am.
“Well, John, good luck helping your friend. Drive safe!” I reach into my purse for my wallet to pay for my drink and dessert before I leave—more than eager to get out of here and put this date behind me.
John shifts on his feet, and taps his keys on the side of his leg. “Yeah. Thanks for understanding.”
“No problem.” I wave him off while still digging in my purse.
I look up when I hear a throat clear and see Will’s shoulder pressing lightly against John’s chest, keeping him from walking away like he was apparently attempting. Will’s head hitches toward the table in some unspoken Man Language, and then John whips his hand into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet, and tosses a fifty on the table. “Uh—I’ll catch the bill since I’m the one having to bail.”
“But I spilled—”
“It’s fine. Have a good night, Annie.” And then John is gone so fast there’s a smoking streak left on the carpet.
I sling my purse over my shoulder and stand. Will hasn’t moved yet, and I’ve never realized how tall the man is until right now. I come up to his shoulder. But that isn’t necessarily hard to do when you’re only five foot three inches.
“You okay?” Will asks with pinched brows.
I smile. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because that jackass seemingly just made up an excuse to bail?”
“Oh. Yeah. He definitely did.”
Will eyes me closely for signs of distress. “And that doesn’t bother you?”
I think about it and then answer honestly. “A little, but not much. We were both having a terrible time. I wouldn’t want him to stick around if he was miserable.” I shrug. “Hopefully he’ll recover his night now.”
Will laughs a short, disbelieving laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Should I not be?”
He smiles and again it shoots down into the pit of my stomach. Geez, what would it be like to date a man like him? All charisma and confidence. I would definitely embarrass myself.
“I think maybe you’re too nice?” He says it like a question.
“My sisters would agree with you, but one peek inside my head during traffic…” I whistle lightly and let the implied villainy dangle.
“So what about you? Are you going to have a bad night now?”
“Can anyone really have a bad night if they have a giant brownie to eat on the drive home?” I raise my plastic container as evidence.
Oh no. Now he’s giving me Pity Eyes. “Yes. That absolutely makes it worse. Do you want to join me and Gretchen for dinner?”
That makes me laugh audibly. “No—thank you, but not in a million years. That would be so embarrassing,” I say, inching my way toward the exit of the restaurant. Will hangs at my side, matching me stride for stride, and I can’t quite figure out why he’s still talking to me. Oh right, pity. “Don’t worry about me. Seriously. I’ll have a spectacular night. There’s a book I’ve really been wanting to finish.”
It’s a half-truth. I will most definitely cry on my way home from the sting of John’s words, but then I do have a steamy romance to finish where a pirate has just stolen a lady, and she’s about to turn his world upside down with witty remarks and a bewitching personality.
“A book,” he repeats incredulously.
“Uh-huh.”
“A book is going to be fun?”
I chuckle as we continue to walk. “Are you one of those nonreaders? The movie is never better, I assure you.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m a nonreader. Reading just hasn’t been on my radar before.”
“But now it is?” I ask hopefully, glancing at him.
“Maybe.” He smirks.
I make it to the door and think this is the moment where Will and I will part ways, but to my surprise, he leans forward, opens the door for me and then follows me out, tossing a glance back at his date and looking for the signal that it’s okay for him to walk me out. She gives him a little wave to go ahead. Nice gal.
The air is hot and muggy like all summer nights in the South, and my heels clip–clop on the concrete sidewalk. I can’t help but laugh. It’s not at all the usual soundtrack of my life. My normal shoe of choice is a pair of white Converses. Attire: one of my five different-color overalls with a T-shirt underneath. If you look up the word comfy in the dictionary you will find a picture of me.
“So which book will it be?” asks Will when we make it to my truck and I pull out my keys.
I laugh lightly. “What?”
“What book are you going to read tonight?”
I glance briefly back at the restaurant, wondering why in h-e-double hockey sticks he’s out here with me trying to join my secret book club instead of back in there with his date. It almost feels like he’s stalling—trying to lengthen our conversation. But no, I’m sure he’s just being kind. There’s no way a man like him would be interested in a woman who was just dumped mid date because she’s unbelievably boring, prettyish, and not even hookup material. I’m sure Will is just paying the nice girl a little attention before going on his way.
I squint an eye and smile. “Well, I’d tell you—but then I’d have to kill you. And I’m really not a fan of murder, so I think I’ll just keep it to myself.”
Will coughs a laugh. He has no idea what to make of me. And that makes two of us because I suddenly realize that I’m standing here having an effortless conversation with Will Griffin and I have no idea how I’m managing it. All I know is that somehow, it’s easy.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I hope you really do have fun reading your book.”
Will opens my truck door and I feel momentarily upset—only because this five minutes with him has already been better than any date I’ve ever been on, and yet I’ll never get to have it again. And now on every date I go on I’ll hope they get the door for me—which they won’t, because half the women in the world hate it when a man gets their door and the other half love it, resulting in the man panicking and cannonballing into his side without ever asking what the woman actually prefers. I’ve never particularly cared either way, but now, after having Will do it for me, it’s decidedly in the like column.
Even worse, I’ll hope my next date has bluish-gray eyes like Will’s—but not just any blue-gray but grayish blue with a thick dangerous rim of black around them. I’m not even sure what that means, I just know I feel it down to my toes that that rim is dangerous.
It’s possible I’m reading too many romances.
I smile. “And I hope you have fun with Gretchen in all your amorous adventures.” Oh gosh. I grimace when Will’s eyes widen.
If it’s not abundantly clear already, I’m a virgin. Just feels important to note in this moment.
“I probably shouldn’t have said that. Sorry. Residual first date awkwardness. I’m going to go before I tell you about the reproduction of flowers.”
Will doesn’t cringe or look away. He smiles fully and it slips right into the fleshy part of my heart, inflating it like an emergency flotation device. “Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around town, Annie.”
“I guess you will.”
Then I hop up into my truck. But I hop a little too high and slam my head on the doorframe.
