Page 6 of The Reluctant Wife

When neither of them replies, I scowl. "So, that’s it. I don’t get anything else?”

"Cara mia, it will only upset you. If there were something you needed to know, I promise, I’d bring it to your attention,” my father says in a soothing tone.

Verenza is an island adjacent to Italy. Hearing my father address me by that endearment, which is in Italian, the language my mother spoke with us, twists my heart. The fact that he uses it now also tells me that this threat is serious. Which scares the crap out of me. It also makes me want to find out more.

I shove aside the sadness that thoughts of my mother bring and protest, "But Papa?—"

My father cuts me off with his raised hand. "I will not entertain further discussion about this."

"But—"

"My decision is final." He draws himself up to his full height. Once again, he’s the King. The monarch. When my father gets this way, I know, it’s near impossible to sway him. But I have to try.

I blow out a breath, then fold my arms across my chest.

He must see the stubbornness in my expression for his eyes soften. "Aura, I only have your best interests at heart. You know that, right?"

I allow my shoulders to relax, feeling unhappy that he felt I might ever think otherwise. "Of course, Papa."

He nods. "Good." Then he looks at Fred, who pulls out his phone and dials a number.

"Send him in."

The door opens behind me. Footsteps approach. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, but I bat aside the frisson of awareness that runs up my spine.

My father nods in the direction of the person who draws abreast. "This is your new bodyguard."

"Ryot Davenport." A deep, dark voice reaches me. A voice I recognize. A voice that turns my insides to butter and my thighs into a mass of quivering need.

No! No…no…no. Surely not.I draw in a breath, and his scent—dark, smoky and rich, like the smell of fine, wornleather, spiked with something sensual and slightly animalistic—confirms to me that I have not made a mistake.This is him.The man I met at the nightclub last night. The man I called my husband. The one who I kissed. And to whom I’d have happily given myself, except I came to my senses and fled the scene. And now, he’s here. And he’s my?—

"Personal protection specialist." Ryot bows to the king. "That’s what I prefer to be called, Your Highness.”

My father seems taken aback, then nods. "Of course." He looks Ryot up and down. "You’re Arthur Davenport’s grandson and Quentin Davenport’s nephew."

Ah, so he’s part of the Davenport clan?They’re one of the leading and most powerful business families in the country. So, what’s he doing, working as a bodyguard? It’s not for the money, that’s for sure.

"I’d prefer to stand on my own merit," he retorts.

My father looks at Ryot as if seeing him for the first time and nods. "You have impressive credentials. You’ve been awarded the King’s Commendation for Valuable Service, as well as the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross, and the Military Cross."

Ryot sets his jaw. "Those who died in battle deserve it more, Sir."

Whoa, not only is he the most charismatic man I’ve come across, but he’s also humble when it comes to his achievements? He seems too good to be true.I narrow my gaze on him.

My father regards him with a considering expression. "Can you protect my daughter?"

Ryot tilts his head. “As long I’m the princess’ close protection officer, nothing and no one will get past me."

Is it my imagination, or was there a hard note to his tone when he saidprincess? Also, there is no doubt in my mind, he means it. So long as he’s guarding me, I’m safe. Funny how, I don’t know this man, but I already trust his ability to keep meunharmed. And it has nothing to do with the fact that I know how it feels to be held against his wide, firm, muscled chest. Also, why am I thinking of that encounter? I risk a glance in his direction then wish I hadn’t because,oh my god, he’s every bit as devastating as I remember him to be.

Green eyes, which seem almost hazel today, and remind me of the mesmerizing patterns on a snake’s coils—he’s just as dangerous; I need to watch myself with him.

There’s a confidence that clings to him, a dominance that shimmers in the air about him, a self-assurance that's almost annoying because I recognize it well. It’s the confidence that comes with breeding. With being born into a family that confers status on you. With not being used to taking no for an answer. With a trust, an unshakeable belief that you can have anything you want.

Only, he’s not going to control me. And I don’t want him as my bodyguard. The thought of this man who I’m so attracted to, in such close proximity to me? It both scares me and excites me. But I’m not a pushover.

I’m the Princess of Verenza and I, too, will get my way.

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