“She’s pretty,” Shane replied, turning to head into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and pulled out two beers. “She reminds me of the lawyer’s wife. You know, Mitch’s wife. What’s her name?”

“Laurel. There’s a reason they look alike. She’s Laurel’s sister.” Apparently he should be glad Shane didn’t play at Sanctum or Lisa might not have needed a bodyguard. “And could you try to remember that I’m the one who needs to follow her? Flirting with my target isn’t going to help this mission.”

Shane popped the top off his beer after handing Remy one. “You’re following her, not dating her. Not that I want to date anyone right now, but if I was going to date someone, I could hang out with her. Have you thought about the fact that she might be easier to handle if someone’s friendly with her?”

The idea kind of threatened to fry his brainpan, and that didn’t make a lick of sense. Not a bit. He wasn’t interested in her. He’d meant that. So why was he acting like such a possessive jerk? She’d stood there with her designer clothes and a purse that likely was worth more than a week’s worth of bar receipts and his dick hadn’t cared that she was a poor rich girl whose family could afford to spend insane amounts of money so she didn’t have to have a moment’s discomfort.

And those shoes. Those fuck-me heels made her legs long and sleek and would look good wrapped around him while he thrust his cock inside her.

Friendly? There was nothing friendly about this.

“Did I mention I wasn’t looking for anything serious?” Shane asked, backing up slightly. “Or at all. I’ve decided to give abstinence a chance. You know, I think she actually reminds me of my sister.”

“You don’t have a sister,” Remy heard himself say.

“Yeah, well, if I did I would treat her with the careful sexual distance I’m now going to treat Lisa Daley with,” Shane replied, leaning against the bar. “You look crazy right now. Like a little on the psychotic side. I’m serious. Drink that beer and chill out. No one’s touching your shit, man.”

Remy sighed and dropped down to the couch. He’d known going in that this wasn’t a simple assignment. He could force himself not to think about her when she wasn’t around. Mostly. How was he going to handle watching her constantly? “She’s not mine. Not in any way. Well, except she’s my client. But she’s not. Her sister-in-law is my client. I can’t even let her know I’m guarding her.”