Her Bodyguard Read online

  He cuts me off before I can speak another word, his arm sliding across my lower back and drawing me to him in one swift, hard movement. When he brings his mouth down on mine, the world stops. Everything in the universe pauses.

  I’ve never been kissed the way he kisses me. He kisses me with an intensity that takes my breath away, his tongue finding mine hungrily, and I melt against him.

  It’s the kind of kiss that demands more.

  It’s the kind of kiss that demands everything.

  I think I let out a moan that is completely inappropriate for a wedding chapel, even one in Vegas with an Elvis impersonator. The fact that I’m so swept away by Albie sends a pang of fear through me, and I break away. I look at him, my fingers touching my lips, still swollen from his kiss.

  “Just a dare,” I repeat.

  But the way my hands tremble, the way this kiss has shaken me to my core, says it’s not as simple as just a dare.

  I shake off the memory. I try to shake off the feeling it leaves with me, the goose bumps that dot my arms at the thought of his lips pressed against mine, his tongue finding my tongue. I try to forget the thrill that rushed through me at his touch.

  He was deceptive. He could have told me he was a prince.

  He’s a playboy.

  He’s definitely no good.

  And he’s my new stepbrother. That fact alone makes him off-limits.

  I can still feel his lips against mine. How fucked up is that?

  It’s even more reason for me to leave.

  The knock on the door startles me out of my thoughts and I jump, immediately feeling guilty for sitting here thinking of Albie the way I’ve been thinking about him. I clear my throat. “Yes?”

  I swear to all that is holy, if it’s Albie at the door, I’ll kill him. He seems to have a way of turning up at the most inopportune times, and an uncanny knack for being able to read my thoughts.

  And the thoughts I’ve been having about him are certainly not ones I want read.

  “Are you going to hide out in here all summer, or what?” Alexandra stands just inside the doorway, her hand on her hip, glaring at me. She’s still dressed in her t-shirt and jeans, and she twirls a piece of jet-black hair, laced with colored strands – pink and lime green – around her fingers as she surveys me.

  “I was thinking that might be nice,” I say. “At least until I find my passport.”

  “You’re going to leave?” she asks. She sounds simultaneously accusing and disappointed, and I don’t know what to make of her. I’m not sure if she wants to be friends with me, or if she hates me on sight.

  I cross the room to sit on the bed. “You can come inside, you know,” I say. “If you want, I mean.”

  Walking inside the room, she looks around. “I haven’t been in here in a while,” she says. “I forgot how stuffy these guest residences are. You’re not the stuffy type, the kind of girl that goes for all of this.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I think it’s a compliment, although I’m not quite sure about her, especially considering her reaction to my broken engagement earlier. To describe her reaction as gleeful would be an understatement.

  She has her back turned to me, looking at one of the paintings on the wall. “All this shit,” she says. “You know this painting is worth like a million dollars. It’s practically a museum in here. You should definitely redo it, if you stay.”

  A million dollars. I’m afraid to touch anything.

  Alexandra turns around, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and I notice a lip piercing I didn’t see before. Maybe she takes it out for special events -- like engagement announcements sprung on her new stepsister. “I’m sorry I was a bitch before,” she says, her tone matter-of-fact. “About you not getting married, I mean.”

  I shrug. “It’s pretty scandalous, I guess.”

  “I’m usually the one disappointing my father,” she says. “It was nice to not be the center of a scandal, for once. That sounds terribly selfish, I’m sure.”

  I can understand not wanting to be the center of gossip. “It must be hard being in the spotlight all the time.”

  She cocks her head when she looks at me. “It’s about to be your turn, you know,” she says. “Your whole life is going to be torn apart.”

  Her words send a pang of anxiety rushing through me. “Did you just come here to make me feel worse?”

  Shame flickers in her eyes, and she glances down at the ground. “I didn’t,” she says. “Shit. I mean, sorry. Sometimes I – I’m too blunt.”

  Her phone buzzes, and she slides her thumb across the screen, a look of relief crossing her face. “I have to go,” she says, not looking at me as she walks away.

  I watch the door close behind her, filled with a sense of dread.

  Your whole life is going to be torn apart.

  60

  Albie

  “It’s not a formal event. It’s only dinner with the family. I can dress myself, Ben, thank you,” I say, not bothering to even try to hide the edge in my voice. A flicker of embarrassment crosses the valet’s face, and I feel badly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

  He nods. “I can have Doctor Evanston called, if you like, Your Highness,” he says.

  “No,” I say, quickly. Too quickly. “It’s nothing. It’s fine, I mean.” It’s not nothing. I haven’t slept well all week, not since I got back from the States.

  “As you wish, Your Highness,” he says, retreating toward the door.

  “Ben?” I ask. “Were you able to find Miss Kensington’s misplaced passport?”

  “Not yet, Your Highness,” he says. “But, rest assured, I will find it.”

  The idea of having Belle Kensington around the palace all summer might be entertaining, but if she really wants to go back to the States, she should.

  I wonder if she’ll even be at dinner. It’s casual tonight, according to the agenda – which really means that it’s black tie and not full dinner dress. For me, dinner dress would mean military dress with full regalia. This is the dinner engagement announcement to my cousins and aunts and uncles, a small family gathering before the more public events get underway.

  I walk down the hallway in the direction of one of the dining rooms, an informal one, not the formal ones used for the larger dinners.

  “Alb, wait,” Alex calls, and before I can react, she’s slamming into me, swinging her arm around my shoulder.

  “God, you’re a pain in the ass,” I joke, as she leans into me. “What are you doing? Are you coming to dinner?”

  “Yah,” she says, snapping her gum loudly in my ear. “Why are you dressing up for this bullshit, anyway?”

  “Because I’m a responsible member of society,” I say, grinning. “And a respectable member of the royal family.”

  Alex wrinkles her nose at me. “You’ve never been responsible, you lying liar,” she says. “Don’t even try to scam me – I know the Army didn’t change you that much. And seriously, what is with the tux? You can’t make me the only rebel. Who are you trying to impress? Ohhh.”

  I shake my head as her eyes go wide. “I’m impressing no one,” I say.

  “The girl,” she says, her voice a sing-song. “Yeah, you are. You’re trying to impress her cause she’s totally hot.”

  I shrug. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Yeah, right,” she says, laughing. “You noticed. She’s your new stepsister, in case you haven’t figured that out. That means you need to keep your dick in your pants.”

  “That’s a phrase I could do without ever hearing come out of your mouth again,” I say. “You might want to go put on something that isn’t jeans. Maybe consider buttering our father up a little bit by actually playing by the rules, for once. Aren’t you planning on going to Monaco?”

  “So?” she asks. “Finn’s father has a plane.”

  “Yes, but aren’t you using our house in Monaco?”

  Alex exhales heavily. “Fine. You have a point.”

  “What�