Page 6 of Three Billionaire Bodyguards and a Sneaky Mafia Princess

What about the nap she planned to take? Okay. She had to refocus. Telling them they didn’t need a chef was an imperative move on her part. She just had to stick it out and look at the positives. In six days, she would be home free.

She decided to fix them a couple of sandwiches and take them to their study. She supposed she should google how to make lemonade for extra gratitude points as well. Luckily, the chef who they had hired and was supposed to start working that morning had already ensured the pantry, fridge, and freezer were filled to the brim with every ingredient imaginable.

This was her doing the hard work. After dropping off their lunch in their study, she spent the rest of the day building up character sheets for each of them before dinner time.

Brent was grumpy. River was intuitive, and Cash seemed inclined to play with his prey before he ate her up. That, in turn, meant Brent was a chess guy. He liked to have power at his fingers, always one move away from crushing his enemy.

River was through-and-through a Scrabble guy. A thinker, relaxed but adventurous. He liked to be challenged before he annihilated his opponent.

Cash was a poker guy. He liked the thrill of it, going all in for the fun of it because he really had way too much money, anyway. But something told her he rarely lost a game. Well, there was a first time for everything, and she had just the right card up her sleeve for the event.

Rinse and repeat until she could go back home. She could do it.

Their mealtimes turned out to be a success as far as she was concerned. She entertained them nonstop about the weather they were having and conspiracy theories. One’s about aliens she’d never heard before, and she made sure to reiterate how grateful she was to them for keeping her safe, again and again.

They didn’t have any board games, go figure, and since she wasn’t allowed to leave the house, not without them, anyway, she asked Charlie, their chauffeur, to please pick up the board games for her and a pack of cards.

“Chess?” she asked Brent. It was already after nine, and they were still working in their study.

Brent looked up at her. She couldn’t read his expression, but then again, she couldn’t read any of their expressions.

He cleared his desk in answer, and she set up the board.

“I’m not very good at it, I’m afraid,” she said shyly. She really wasn’t. She played, of course, and won as many games as she lost. She thought maybe Brent would let her win. He did no such thing, beating her before she could take her next breath.

They played three more games after that, and he won all three.

“Who hurt you?” She mumbled under her breath so he wouldn’t hear, more flustered than she should have been at continuously losing at his hand. So easily. “Mr. Riddlestone. My math teacher in eighth grade. He called me a stupid bastard.”

Orchid felt a flood of fury fill her veins. How dare anyone tell Brent he was stupid. If she ever came across this Mr. Riddlestone, she would punch him in the eye.

Without a conscious thought, she reached out for Brent’s hand and squeezed. She pushed aside the electric shocks, thrilling her body at the touch of him.

“You’re not stupid,” she said so sincerely that she was shocked by her own strong response to the matter.

Brent’s green gaze locked with hers, then down to his hand covered by hers.

“Want to know why he called me a stupid bastard?”

“If it helps to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

“I opened a fictitious company, and he invested ten thousand dollars into it, which he never saw again.”

“Oh my god. What?” She snatched her hand away so fast she may have given herself whiplash. Did she hear him correctly?

“He was a prick. Checkmate,” he said. Orchid looked at him in stunned surprise, her mouth open. “Again,” he said rather than asking and reset the board.

What had just happened? There she’d been, with her bleeding heart for him, ready to get violent with his teacher when it was the poor teacher who had been duped by Brent. And he was getting ready to beat her again.

No way.

Without a moment of thought, she picked up his king and clutched it in her hand. “Checkmate,” she said haughtily and rose from the table, the sound of Brent’s chuckle following her out of the room, seducing all her nerves in one go.

The next night, she played Scrabble with River. And it was a seduction of words. She found herself unable to remove her gaze from the way he placed the letters on the tiles, his fingers long, his palms calloused, his forearms exposed since he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, corded and powerful. His voice, husky, deep, and a little gravelly, made her nerves dance a little. None of that was meant to happen.

He played words like zephyr. She played words like quim, which drew a laugh from him, and her heart started to pound as his gaze raked over her. He then taught her how to play Jenga, his hand touching hers as he guided her along, his scent creating its own whirlwind around her senses.

Yep. Absolutely enough of that.

---