Muriel Jensen - His Bodyguard

Reckless with relief, Amos leaped off the stage, took the redhead into his arms and kissed her.

* * *

THIS IS GOOD, Meg told herself.

No. There had to be a better word than good. But she couldn’t think of one because her brain wasn’t working. Her lungs didn’t seem to be functioning, either. And as the kiss went on one protracted moment longer, her knees lost their ability to function.

In some distant corner of her mind, she heard shouting and cheering, but all she was really aware of was the warm mouth on hers, drawing up from deep inside her the woman she’d always wanted to be—the woman she’d always known lived inside her, somewhere.

I did it! she thought as he finally raised his head and looked into her eyes. I got him!

She felt herself reeled into the warm, sexy depths of his hazel eyes and realized that that had been the easy part. Now she had to hold him for a week.

She let her forehead thunk against his shoulder.

The crowd, already charmed by his flying leap off the stage, seemed to think her reaction was understandable.

The auctioneer pointed them toward the table where the auction officials waited. “Pay up, little lady.”

Meg was grateful for Amos’s supporting arm as she headed off to pay for him. She was in trouble—in more ways than one. The budget Boradino had given her was five thousand dollars.

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