Page 5 of Reluctantly His

With a guttural moan, I pulled my thumb from her mouth and grasped her jaw, forcing her head back. My lips lowered… stopping barely a breath away from touching her.

Instinctively, I knew if I kissed her… it would be game over.

Her body trembled.

I pressed into her more deeply as my gaze fixated on her closed eyes. The thin skin of her eyelids gave the rapid movement of her eyes beneath them away.

It would be so easy.

Just a taste.

Just a small lick to see if she tasted as sweet as in my fantasies.

The distant murmur of voices, carried as a faint echo down the expansive hallway, broke the spell.

Curling my hands into fists, I launched myself backwards until I was a respectable distance from her.

Charlotte swayed at the sudden loss of my body pushed against her own.

My arm rose, ready to catch her.

Her thick eyelashes fluttered as she opened her eyes. For just the barest of seconds, she stared back at me through an unfocused haze of burgeoning awareness.

Then she slipped behind her father’s protective wall.

The color rose on her cheeks as she swiped the back of her hand over her lips as if to wipe the taste of my skin away.

Possessive anger came to life from deep inside my chest. I had to fight the impulse to grab her hair and force her to her knees as I reached for the zipper of my pants, almost overwhelmed by the driving need to imprint my taste, my scent, my mark on her.

With her chin tilted up, she stepped out of the traitorous alcove shadows, back into the glaring light. “Obviously, this is not going to work. I’ll ask my father to assign someone else as my bodyguard.”

Objective achieved.

My plan had worked.

Which was why what I did next made absolutely no sense.

CHAPTER 3

CHARLOTTE

“Nice try, princess. You’re stuck with me.”

I clutched the pearls at my throat.

To have this man following me around, always standing close by—watching over me—would be a disaster. My upbringing had not equipped me with the skills needed to keep a guard dog like Sergeant Reid Taylor on a leash.

I desperately wished that wasn’t true. I had plenty of friends who reveled in their feminine power over men, who loved flirting and taunting and keeping them dancing at the end of their fingertips, but I was most definitely not one of them.

Even the very idea has me practically breaking out in hives.

It was a truth universally acknowledged that some women were Elizabeth Bennett and others were her misunderstood and overlooked middle sister, Mary.

Substitute the cello for the piano, and I was the perfect fit. Poor, plain Mary.

And everyone knew, the Marys in this life didn’t end up with the handsome and powerful Mr. Darcys.

“Please don’t call me princess.”

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