The ride back to my house is tense. Wills sits with his jaw clenched, his shoulders set in a rigid line. Neil, sitting opposite me, tried to engage Wills a couple of times before he gave up. I did not try, as I know Wills would not open up in front of an audience.

My heart breaks for the torment he is putting himself through. The man he attacked was just trying to get an autograph. I called the Agency and they are all over clean-up.

Wills is out the door almost before the limo stops. “It was nice meeting you, Neil,” I offer as I slide across the seat.

Always the gentleman, Wills stands on the pavement with his hand outstretched, waiting to assist me out of the limo. I place my palm in his and rise, stroking my thumb over his skin. He pulls back and uses that hand to close the door, leaving me to drop my arms by my side. After he bangs on the limo’s roof, it pulls away.

My heartrate picks up. I need to get him to open up. Otherwise, I fear he will disappear and I will never see him again.

“Wills, can we discuss tonight?”

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys. “There’s nothing to talk about.” Leaving me, he heads toward his Jeep.

“I want to help,” I blurt.

He stops as if he hit a brick wall. “I’m fine. I don’t need any help.”

I rush over to him. “This cannot be healthy for you. Let us talk about it.”

“Listen, I don’t want to go over it. You’re home. Safe—not that you ever were in any danger. I’m going to let you be.”

“Not like this,” I cry.

We are both breathing as if we ran a four-minute mile. We need to find a neutral place to talk. “How about we take a walk on the beach?” Knowing that my permit status does not let me drive after dark, I try to interject some humor. “I will even let you drive there.” I touch his forearm. “S'il vous plaît.”

I suck in my breath while I wait for his response. The slumping of his shoulders is all the affirmation I need.

Given the time of night, the drive to the beach is shorter than the usual twenty minutes. I leave my Jimmy Choo’s in his Jeep and enjoy the sand soothing my feet after dancing in the high heels. The almost full moon casts a silvery beam across the ocean. It would be romantic out here on the deserted beach. If only.

After a couple of steps, his cell phone rings. He glances at the screen and then looks at me. “It’s the police.”

I nod and he picks up the call. We continue walking toward the ocean as I listen to his side of the conversation. Which consists mainly of “yeses” and “I see’s.” Arriving at the shoreline, I follow him as he turns left. The water rushes over my feet, causing me to jump from the cold.

Next to me, Wills puts his cell into his back pocket.

I need to break through his walls. “What did the police have to say? Is the man going to press charges?”

He stares straight ahead. “No. He said he understands my role as your so-called bodyguard and how his actions could have been misconstrued.”

I release a pent-up breath. Publicity will be contained—which is good for both his and my careers. “At least that is one worry off our plates.”

He nods once and slips his hands into his pockets.

I run my fingers through my hair. His kisses told me that he feels the same way about me as I do for him. How can I get him to open up and let me help him? Obviously, the trauma Cole’s stalker inflicted is very raw. I have a niggling suspicion that I may be out of my depth.

Stormy blue eyes meet mine for a second before flicking back to the sand. His hands remain in his pockets. “All I saw was an unknown man pursuing you. He was after you, and it was my job to stop him.”

“Well, you certainly did that.”

His jaw tenses. “I was wrong about him.” He bends down and picks up a shell. Throwing it into the waves, he says, “I can’t trust my instincts anymore, Em.”

“You just need to relax and stop beating yourself up.”

He increases his pace, fists flexing. Next to him, I lengthen my stride to keep up with him. “Please. Tell me what I can do to help you.”

He swallows, causing his Adam’s apple to bob. The silver chain he wears glints in the moonlight.

As the silence lengthens, I keep reliving our kisses. So much passion. I rub my upper arms trying to figure out a way to reach him. “What about us?”

“Emilie.” He stops, grabs my shoulders and faces me. “There is no ‘us.’ There can never be any ‘us.’”

“But what happened at the club? Our kisses—”

His fingers flex on my bare skin. “Were a mistake. Won’t happen again.” He drops his hands as if the moonbeams scalded him. Turning on his bare heel, he retraces our footsteps.

I do not believe him. They were my lips his were pressed against. Our kisses were many things, but a mistake was not one of them. Everything in my body screams that he is wrong.

“Liar!”

He halts. His spine stiffens to ramrod straight, straighter than any male model on set trying to impress. From a few meters away, he turns to me and says, his tone even and low. “I am no good for you.” Then he repeats, “There is no ‘us.’”

I cross the sand and stop before him. How can I make him see he is so wrong? “But what happened? I was there. I know…” My hand reaches toward him.

Wills catches my wrist before it reaches my destination, returning it to my side. “Everything I touch goes bad, Emilie. You saw that yourself tonight.”

I shake my head. “No, you are wrong. Look at Cole—”

He cuts me off. “Remember Roberto. Remember Jared.” He mumbles something that I do not catch as his right-hand rubs over his heart, squeezing his shirt. Eyes downcast, he says, “You can’t become another casualty.”

“I know I am safe with you.” I need to prove to him that he is wrong. After filling my lungs with salty air, I push ahead. “Come with me to Rio. Be my bodyguard. I need someone who not only knows what he is doing, but who cares about me. Tell me you care about me, Wills.”

His entire body tenses and he turns to look out at the waves.

“You were concerned about the news report on the radio,” I remind him.

“Neil can protect you.”

“I don’t know Neil. I trust you.”

His knees bend, then straighten. Bend and straighten. His hand strokes the back of his neck, the silver chain catching on his fingers. He blows air through his mouth, his eyes searching the ocean as if it contains all the answers. Something moves behind his eyes. A sadness perhaps?

After a long moment, he replies, “Fine. I’ll go to Rio with you. But when we get back, I’ll vet my replacement for the Agency. I have my gym to attend to.” He looks away and mumbles, “My own life.”

My entire body surges as if electrified. My heart reaches out to him, but he is too closed off to let me comfort him. I have the time in Rio to reboot the spark between us. And to somehow show him that he is worth fighting for.