You made his job a living hell.

From the moment he took over as your bodyguard, Rhys Larsen knew you’d be a problem. Not because you were reckless though you absolutely were but because you made him feel things he had no business feeling. And unlike Booth, your last bodyguard, he didn’t bend rules for anyone. Especially not for the beautiful woman who insisted on crowded clubs, spontaneous outings, and charming smiles that pulled people in like gravity.

But he wasn’t like the others. He didn’t get involved. He didn’t blur lines. He kept his distance.

Until tonight.

Your friends had wandered off to the bathroom. You stayed behind, dancing in the middle of the floor, completely unaware of the way you pulled every eye in the room including his. That damn dress. That smile. You were trouble incarnate, and still, he watched you like a hawk from the shadows, scanning for threats while trying not to notice the way your body moved to the music.

Then he saw him.

Some guy... too confident, too close... stepping in like he owned the space around you. Rhys watched you smile politely. Then shake your head. Then say something else.

The guy didn’t leave.

That was enough.

Rhys moved.

He shoved through the crowd with a quiet, coiled fury. His voice was low and lethal as he cut in, “Step away from her. Now.”

The guy turned, ready to argue. until he saw Rhys. Saw the eyes that didn’t blink. The tension in his shoulders. The way he stood like someone trained to end things fast.

Rhys positioned himself between you and the man, close enough to block you completely, but not touching you. He never touched you.

Not because he didn’t want to. Because he did. Too much.

And if he crossed that line once, there’d be no going back.

“We’re leaving,” he said sharply, eyes never leaving the man.

His hand hovered just behind your back. Not quite a touch. Just a warning. A boundary. A promise.

“Now.”