Page 11 of The Reluctant Wife

When I look up into his face, he’s staring at me with those emerald-green eyes. I notice the flecks of silver in his irises, like light dancing on a forest floor. The dark depths to them hint at mysteries, at secrets he harbors, ordeals I can only imagine he’s been through. He’s seen war. Has killed men in the line of duty. In comparison, I’ve led a sheltered life.

The worst thing that ever happened to me was losing my mother. Yet, there are similarities between us too.

He served his country by joining the Royal Marines. I opt to serve mine by sticking it out in this role I was born into—a princess who might often come across as a figurehead but who can make a difference. It’s something I remind myself every time I feel I’m in a gilded cage. Having tighter security is the price I have to pay for my privileged position.

His eyes narrow, and the ferocity of his gaze shoots delicious heat through my veins. I don’t look away, though. Neither does he. Without breaking the connection, he leans in closer, closer.

Close enough for the heat of his body to wrap around me like an embrace, for the spicy muskiness of his scent to invade my senses, for those fine lines radiating from the corners of his eyes to stand out in relief. That familiar attraction between us roars forward and slams into my chest. I gasp and raise my chin. My lips tingle. My throat dries. His gaze lowers to my mouth and stays there. His eyes widen, and he hesitates, then he raises his hand, and my breath catches.

He’s going to touch me. Touch me. Please.Instead, he slams a button on the elevator panel. The car begins to descend, which is the only reason my stomach bottoms out. It has nothing to do with his nearness, of course.

He pulls back, and tucks his arms into his sides, then turns to face forward.Damn.And I was so sure he wanted to kiss me.

The thought of our lips almost meeting has heat flushing my cheeks. The fact that he had me fooled makes me bristle.

I straighten my spine, square my shoulders and, as soon as the doors open, I brush past him and walk out. Only, with his long strides, he overtakes me.

He slows his pace, forcing me to slow down as well, then angles his body in the direction of the corridor that leads away from the main entrance. "It’s safer to use the side-entrance. The car is waiting there."

He leads me out past the waiting security, toward a Rolls Royce, which is flanked by another two vehicles. None of which I recognize.

He dismisses the security personnel standing by the backseat and opens the door to the Rolls for me.

“The car you’ve been using will be driven by a member of the security team who will be following us.” He explains. “Youwill be in this armored vehicle. It’s safer for you.”

I frown. “This feels like overkill.”

“Better thanyoubeing killed,” he says in a bland voice.

I blink. “Are you trying to frighten me?”

“Just stating the facts, Princess,” he continues in that same overtly reasonable tone which sets my teeth on edge. "Your driver is trained in security measures and evasive techniques, so he can protect you, if the need arises.”

“You’re very thorough,” I murmur.

This is not something the last team thought of. I have to appreciate this man’s foresight. But it means I can’t drive my own car. Having that small freedom taken away makes me feel trapped. My chest tightens. That feeling of suffocating returns. Stronger this time. It squeezes my guts and tightens around my rib cage. I struggle for a modicum of composure and take a few calming breaths. “Driving my car is one of the few times I felt free from constraints, but I understand why that’s not possible anymore…”

Spine straight. You’re a princess.I draw in a breath.Thanks, Mom.I square my shoulders.

“But don’t expect me to fall in line and submit to your every whim." I tip up my chin.

Something flashes in his eyes, something carnal, and hot. Those green eyes turn a darker shade, a color that reminds me of the hidden depths of an underground spring. A fever spikes my blood. My throat dries.Jesus, did he choose to misinterpret my words and give them an X-rated meaning? Or did I mean it that way without realizing it?

A shutter lowers over his eyes and he’s, once again, inscrutable. I want to demand that he not hide what he’s feeling from me.

"Why don’t we discuss this, enroute to your next meeting, which"—he looks at his watch—"I believe we need to be at in less than half-an-hour." He scrutinizes me steadily.

Once again, our gazes clash. I sense his will. The strength in his stance. The fact that I won’t be able to cajole him into doingthings my way, the way I do with my wider team. The car in front and behind has members of my new protective detail on either side.

“Your assistant Veronica will follow in a separate car.” He shuts the door, walks around and gets in from the other side of the passenger seat. Then the chauffeur eases the car forward.

I press the button set into the door, and the privacy screen rises, cutting us off from the driver. With the heavy tint on the glass on either side, we have complete privacy.

“I expected you to be more upset that she’s not riding with you. She certainly seemed put out about it,” Ryot rumbles.

“Oh?” I glance out the window. Veronica and I use these car journeys to discuss details related to my schedule. It’s easier to do that face-to-face, but if Ryot thinks it’s better for her to be in a different car, I’m not going to fight it.

From her point of view, it would be simpler if she could be in the same vehicle as me, so I can understand her being upset about this.

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