BODYGUARD - Part One (The BODYGUARD Series, Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

bar. You can choose a song and sing for me. Won't that be wonderful? Hey, Tiff, what's up? You’ve gone kind of weird on me."
    My body has stiffened, and I feel like I'm going to pass out. My life is ended. It's that old dilemma again. If I go, I'm ruined. If I don't go, I'm ruined. Oh, Jamie, what do I do? I want you so much, and I don't want to lose you. He sounds worried.
    "Tiffany, talk to me!"
    I press my head against his hard, muscled chest and work to stop the tears. What am I to do? Why did he have to drag up the past? Then I remember he never answered my question about his past. I asked him why he left the Navy, and he replied, 'long story.' There's a mystery, and through my misery, I speculate on the reasons. There's something in his past he wants to remain hidden. Somewhere in the dark depths where it'll never see the light of day, and that thing about the cab driving? It doesn't fit with the bodyguard lifestyle, no way.

Chapter Six
     
     
    "You want to put him on the leash and we can walk around some?"
    We are in Central Park, and it's early, just after eight. I have to be at work by ten, and I'm wearing my juice bar uniform. Short, wraparound gym skirt in navy blue, a matching navy blue polo shirt with the company logo, and white trainers. We're supposed to look sporty. I feel like a referee at a junior league hockey match.
    There's a reason we're here at this hour. Buddy is a two-year old cocker spaniel. Complete with wavy golden coat, dark, liquid eyes and as cute as a button. He's romping in the trees at the edge of the grass, playing hide-and-go-seek, and Sarah is watching him like a nervous new mom.
    To explore Central Park with a pooch, he has to be leashed in some areas, and all areas after nine in the morning. We arrive early so he can run free.
    I like Buddy. He's warm, affectionate, and I think of him like a real live teddy bear. I leash him, and we follow the tree-lined walk around the Lennon Memorial. Sarah points to a bench. "Why don't we sit for a few minutes? Tell me what's on your mind."
    She's wearing a woolen waistcoat she says came from Outer Mongolia. It's thick and heavily embroidered, made from some kind of goat hair. The odor has almost faded. Her ensemble includes a long flowing skirt, with a kind of Indian pattern. I don't ask. It's topped by a cotton headscarf she bought from a shop that imports from Borneo. They say the tribe that makes them are headhunters. Or they were, until they decided headhunting was a dead end. They made the switch to exports of ethnic clothing, and since then they are prospering. They now realize the benefits of a capitalist culture and spend the profits on appliances and color televisions.
    I can't tell her. I almost can't tell myself. In the shower this morning, I went through my vocal warm up and sang a couple of songs. I was thinking about when I might have to go through with this Karaoke thing, and I wanted to see how I felt. Two songs good, three songs bad, I dried up. It sounded like a serial killer was choking the life out of me. Worse.
    We are sitting on the bench. Buddy licks my hand. I guess he knows how I feel. Dogs are like that. Intuitive. Some say they're almost psychic. I stroke his head, and he wags his tail.
    "It's this guy, Jamie," I finally say.
    A sigh hisses from her lips. "I'd never have guessed, honey. Did he abuse you? Has he hurt you? You know men are all two-timers."
    I try not to smile. She means well, but she does have a certain view of the male sex.
    "He's not..." I stop. Not what? Not two-timing me? That's not fair. We're not dating, not yet. Although we had sex, doesn't that count? Yes. I try again. "I don't know he's two - timing me, Sarah. We just met."
    "Huh!"
    There is a world of meaning in that single word. Like, 'You're kidding me. They're all the same. You can't trust them.'
    Maybe I should get a dog. I think back to my singing that morning. Two songs, and I was rusty as hell. Even now, my throat is hoarse, and that third