Page 95 of Her Protector Daddies

Smoothing my index finger over the lines, I try to flatten them. I certainly don’t want to look older than my years. Maybe I’m going to need to snag one of my sister’s many potions or lotions. She’s in the know about all the latest when it comes to looking younger and having gorgeous skin.

“Well, I suppose it’s time to meet my fiancé,” she says without a trace of emotion.

My heart rate kicks up and I start wringing my hands again.

Gia walks over and squeezes my arm. “You look like you’re about to puke, Lessi. Relax. Why are you so worried, anyway? Just go downstairs and talk to the good-looking man for a little bit. Be agreeable, smile and laugh at his jokes. Easy, right?”

Easy for her maybe, but not for me. “Yeah, okay,” I mumble. Watching Gia whirl away without a care in the world makes me green with envy. I wish I could be more like my sister. But we’re pretty much opposites in every way. While she’s tall and slender, I’m short and curvy. She’s calm and easygoing, I’m anxious and high strung. And, she’s a social butterfly. The boys at school all loved and chased her everywhere while I preferred to stay in my dorm and spend a quiet evening reading or studying.

Maybe I’m just wound too tight and being with Rocco Bianche will help loosen me up and learn to enjoy life more. But, for whatever reason, something about him doesn’t feel right. Clasping a hand over my stomach, I wonder if I’m going to be sick. Stop being so dramatic, I scold myself. Get it together and go down and meet your fiancé.

Grabbing another piece of candy, I unwrap it and pop it into my mouth. I don’t know why sucking on sweets calms me down—at least a little—but I pause and grab a handful of the candy, tucking them into my pocket. Better to be safe than sorry. Because I have a feeling I’m going to need every single one of them when I go face my husband-to-be…a complete and total stranger, as of this very moment.

Walking out of the safety and comfort of my bedroom, I head to the back staircase which will take me down to the library where Rocco is waiting. As I walk down the steps, I wonder if I should’ve dressed up more or put more makeup on? Gia looks like she just stepped off a runway and I look…well, like I always do. I didn’t put any extra effort into my appearance and I wonder if that’s because a part of me doesn’t want Rocco to find me attractive? Because I want him to tell my father he isn’t interested in marrying me.

Hmm. A devious, little plan begins to form in my brain. Maybe I should purposely try to turn him off. Do something unlady-like or be quiet and mousy, refusing to make polite conversation. Or…maybe I could tell him I’m in love with someone else. Make up a boyfriend and pretend I can’t get married because I love someone else.

No, that won’t work. He would probably just get annoyed and then go ask my father who would quickly deny the existence of my fictional man.

Standing right outside the library now, I hesitate, needing a moment to get myself together. Pushing my nerves down, I force myself to unclasp my hands and let them hang at my sides. Then, I pull in a deep, steadying breath and walk through the doorway.

A very tall man stands in front of the windows, his back to me. A very broad back with wide, muscular shoulders visible through his suit jacket that tense the moment he hears my soft footsteps on the carpet. The first thing I notice is the sharp cut of his lightly-stubbled jawline as turns and when he’s fully facing me, my heart thumps harder. Holy hell, the man is insanely good-looking. I didn’t expect to be face to face with a Greek adonis and I suck in a sharp breath.

With a naturally tanned complexion and thick, dark brown, slightly wavy hair slicked back off his gorgeous face, he makes me grab onto a nearby chair for support. Eyes darker than the deepest espresso focus on me and, maybe I’m imagining it, but I think I see approval. And maybe a wave of relief, too.

The other thing I immediately notice about him is he exudes power. And it has nothing to do with his perfectly-tailored black suit. It’s the way he carries himself and the purposeful way he walks toward me. His vibe screams “I’m in charge” and you better listen to every word that comes out of my mouth.

Which, by the way, is a beautiful mouth. His lips look soft, very kissable, and the dark stubble gives him a dangerous look. It also makes me want to reach out and lay a hand against his cheek so I can feel its rough texture. The boys I’ve known were exactly that—boys with clean-shaven faces. This is a man in every sense of the word and when he extends a large hand, I glance down at it, suddenly at a loss and forgetting basic manners. I’m too fascinated by the groove that appears on his left cheek when he gives me a small smile. A freaking dimple that makes my stomach flip because it’s the only thing about him that looks slightly boyish.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, voice so deep I can feel it rumble through my chest and roll all the way down, down, down to my toes.

“You, too,” I force out as his huge hand encompasses mine like a softball mitt. Our gazes lock and I stare into eyes that are so dark brown they’re almost black. Our hands hold for a moment too long and his intense gaze makes me uneasy. Uneasy and utterly mesmerized.

When he finally releases my hand, I let out a shaky breath.

“Shall we sit?”

I nod and follow him over to the couch. Keeping my distance, I carefully sit down a couple of feet away and instantly clasp my hands in my lap.

“You’re not what I expected,” he murmurs, his voice low and almost to himself.

I can feel him studying me and I shift under his thoroughly penetrating gaze. “Oh? And what did you expect?” I ask, daring to look over and up.

He leans closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not you.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, I can’t help but burst out laughing. Maybe it’s my nerves making me be inappropriate or maybe I’m starting to feel a tiny bit more comfortable in his powerful presence. Which is the oddest thing. How can I be feeling less anxiety when I should be feeling more? But something about him is almost…I don’t know. Familiar? It makes no sense.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect this at all, either.”

His mouth edges up and my attention zeroes in on that dimple. “Really?”

I nod, unable to stop smiling. Maybe this situation isn’t as bad as I originally thought it would be. Marrying a stranger still scares the bejesus out of me, but if he’s a calm, kind, gorgeous man who can put me at ease and take his time, be patient with me, then perhaps I’d be willing to try.

“I know this whole situation is awkward,” he says, as though reading my mind. “And our families are being…pushy. But I want you to know, I’d never force a woman into marriage. If you’re truly not interested in getting to know me better, I’ll walk away.”

“You would?” Of course, I lean forward and this makes me like him a little bit more.

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