Page 35 of Ruthless Guardian

I sit back in the leather chair, leaning on the headrest. My fingers are still curled around his forearm, but not squeezing quite so forcefully. I consider removing my hand, but the plane dips for an instant, and my fingers instinctively clamp tighter around his skin. Refusing to give into the fear, I attempt a distraction instead. “How did you learn to do that?”

“The breathing exercise?”

I nod as his eyes chase to mine.

“As you know, I served in Italian special forces for a few years before I got into private security. I found myself in sometense situations with my team, and it was a coping mechanism I learned from the start.”

I can’t imagine what sort of situations he was forced to endure. My knowledge of special forces extends to what I’ve seen on television shows. Not that my life has been a cakewalk either, but it must have been infinitely less stressful than running covert operations in foreign countries and putting your life at risk on a daily basis for fellow countrymen who don’t even know you exist.

“What was that like?” We have an eight-hour flight ahead of us, and I would much rather spend the time distracting myself than focusing on the fact that we’re flying over miles of endless ocean below.

“I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you,principessa.” He leans against the headrest, closing his eyes.

I heave out a sigh, and my knee begins to bounce. The other bonus of the Xanax is that it knocks me out.

Raf’s head swivels in my direction, peeking through heavy lids. “What’s wrong now?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“It’s a red eye. You’re seriously not going to sleep the whole night?”

“Maybe a few hours, but I’m not tired yet.” I doubt I’ll sleep a wink, honestly. My insides are a twisted knot of excitement and anxiety. There is so much riding on this trip, I’m not sure I’ll ever relax. Not only do I have to prove myself as an intern, but also as a capable adult who can survive on my own. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and now that I’m hours away from having it, I’m petrified.

“So what is it that you’d like to do?” he grumbles.

“Tell me about you, your family, your life? Anything really.” In the past few weeks we’ve spent together, I’ve realized I knowlittle about the man who is glued to my ass twenty-four hours a day.

“There’s not much to tell.”

“Raf,” I whine.

“What? I’m not the biggest conversationalist.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“And I don’t like to share. As I said before, it’s best to keep things professional.”

I roll my eyes. “So if you tell me about your parents or siblings that’s going to make it unprofessional somehow?”

“I’m not close with my family, okay? They’re nothing like yours… When I left, I didn’t have dozens of cousins, aunts and uncles filling up a hangar clamoring to say goodbye.” His eyes slide closed again, but this time it doesn’t feel like it’s from exhaustion, but rather a way to block something out.

“Okay, what about a significant other?”

His lids snap open, and he shoots me a murderous side-eye. “I told you before, I don’t do relationships.”

“Ever? Aren’t you like thirty-something? You’ve never had a girlfriend—or a boyfriend? I don’t want to assume?—”

He straightens in his seat, bristling. “Cazzo, Isabella, yes, I have at some point in my life had a girlfriend, and just to clarify Iaminto women. And I just turned thirty not thirty-something.”

“There you go, you see? That’s sharing.” I toss him a smirk, and his dramatic eyeroll in return is everything.

“If you’re so into sharing, then why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”

“Well, you’ve spent the last month with me, so I’m fairly certain you already know a lot. Or you’re not as perceptive as you tout yourself to be.”

A chuckle escapes through the hard set of his jaw. “You’re right. I do know a lot about you. I know that your favorite coffee is a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and onepump of vanilla coupled with Nutella spread on pretty much anything, that you enjoy sunbathing on your balcony, that you text Serena every morning when you wake up, that you nibble on your bottom lip when you’re nervous and that the vein across your forehead pulses every time I call youprincipessa.” A wicked grin slashes across his face, and there’s nothing I want more than to rip it right off.

Just when I think he’s being semi-tolerable.

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