Page 63 of Ruthless Guardian

Something like hurt flashes across those dark eyes, and his jaw stiffens. “That’s not what I want, Isa… This isn’t just about getting off.”

“Then what is it about?” I grab the comforter from his bed and wrap it around myself, suddenly all too aware of how naked I am. “You said it yourself, it was a one-time thing, an outlet for both of us. So why does it matter how you get to the orgasm?”

His lips press into a tight line and that tendon feathers in his jaw. The fingers of his left hand clench into a fist as he starts tosnap the tie around his wrist with the other. I can feel the anger roiling through him. Only I have no idea why he’s so pissed. “You’re such a fucking brat,” he hisses and jumps off the bed. “I knew this was a bad idea. You’re nothing but a child.”

I gasp, red hot mortification surging up my neck. A slap in the face would’ve hurt less. “Fuck you,” I grit out as tears threaten. He stalks out the door, that unfairly perfect ass clenched, and I tighten the blanket around myself, racing to the adjoining door to my bedroom.

What the hell just happened?

CHAPTER 31

DUTY AND DESIRE

Raffaele

As we walk through the immense gates of the Colosseum, the grandeur of ancient Rome engulfs us, its history echoing through the vast, open air. But I can’t even enjoy it, not fully. I scan the area instinctively, noting exits, potential threats, and the distances between us and other groups. But even as I perform my duties, my attention splits—mostly because of Massimo and that stupid smile on his face as he stands way too close tomyclient.

Fuck, even in my head the term feels wrong. It doesn’t encompass an ounce of what Isabella has become to me. Even now, pissed and confused as all hell about last night, I can’t keep my eyes away from her.

"Imagine the spectacles that once filled this arena, Isabella," Massimo says, drawing my attention to the pair as they saunter through the dim corridors. His voice is rich with passion, and it only pisses me off more. He paints a vivid picture of gladiatorsand roaring crowds, and I can almost hear the clash of swords and the shouts of thousands.

Damn him for being such a good storyteller.

Isabella's eyes light up with each word, her fascination clear, and I’m jealous, so damned envious that it’s her professor getting to share this moment with her. This ismycity, and she’smyclient. She moves closer to him, hanging on his every word. Occasionally, their hands brush, and though each touch seems casual, it grates on me like sandpaper. It’s hard not to see every accidental touch, every smile between them as a calculated move by Massimo.

Dio, I will strangle thebastardoif that hand brushes her ass one more time.

My role demands invisibility and silence, traits I’ve mastered over the years, but today, it feels impossible. Not after last night’s shitshow. After I stormed out like acoglione, I paced the block in front of the apartment for hours. I never dared roam too far, even with two guards stationed inside with Isabella and the usual three along the outer border of the apartment building.

I’d clearly lost my mind snapping at her like that. She didn’t owe me anything, not a blow job, not sex. I’d been dying to taste her pussy for months; I did it because I wanted to, not because I expected anything in return. But in retrospect, I’m sure that’s how it came off.

No, the real reason I freaked out is worse still.

I was fucking hurt.

Hurt that she thought so little of that pivotal moment between us.

I fully realize how insane that sounds since I was the one that insisted this would never happen again, butDio, it was so much more than I ever could have imagined. Kissing her, touching her, tasting her, it was everything.

Over the past few months, Isabella has become so much more than just my principal. Every day, she peels back another layer—showing her resilience, compassion, and genuine nature—and it's slowly breaking down the professional walls I thought were solid.

Watching her now, laughing in the soft afternoon light with Massimo, something inside me starts to change. It’s not just about duty anymore; it's about a deep need to keep her safe. Not just from the obvious dangers, but from anything that might dim that bright light in her eyes. Her happiness, her safety, it’s become part of what drives me, and it’s completely unsettling. I’m beginning to realize that my feelings for her might be the one thing I can’t protect myself against.

The good professor and Isabella continue on to the next alcove, and I follow behind them, trying my damnedest to focus in spite of the suffocating rage. Every muscle in my body is tense, and my jaw is clenched so tightly I'm sure I could crack a tooth. I stay close, always watching, always ready, but today the threat feels personal, and it's infuriating.

As they wander slightly ahead to a quieter section, Massimo leans in to whisper something to her, his words clearly meant only for her ears. The intimacy of the gesture is like a shout, and I ball my hands into fists, fighting the urge to physically remove him from her presence.

Isabella must be paying more attention to me than she’s pretending because she glances back, her lips pulling into a pout. Realizing I probably look like a psycho, I force my features into a neutral mask and focus on a detailed carving on the wall. "Signorina," I start, using her title to remind her—and myself—of our respective roles, "these markings here tell stories of great Roman victories, each one a chapter in the history of this city's glory."

Isabella joins me in the little nook while Massimo remains behind to continue reading the ancient text. The moment we’re alone, I’m filled with the most overwhelming desire to pin her against the wall and—. No… Shaking my head free of the heated delusions, I delve into a discussion about historical strategies and the empire's legacies instead. Anything to refocus my thoughts. The professor isn’t the only one with knowledge of this great city.Ha!

She watches me, carefully, a hint of awe in her expression, and satisfaction surges all the way to the tips of my toes. Because clearly, I’m a child. For a moment, I’m just her guard again, discussing, not defending. But the tension doesn't fully dissipate. It simmers under the surface, a silent standoff between duty and whatever the hell is developing between us.

Nothing is developing,coglione.

Last night was a mistake, a monumental, gigantic error.

As soon as we get back home, I have to apologize. Neither of us was even drinking so I can’t blame it on alcohol, which would have made the whole awkward conversation that much easier. Instead, I have to suck it up and admit the truth.

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