Her Mafia Bodyguard

“I thought we already went over that. It’s not going to happen, remember?”

Her hand is up in a flash, pulled back like she’s about to slap me. If I wasn’t half crazy with disgust—and the frustration of not being able to get her in line—I might regret being an asshole. But no, this is her fault. This is what she’s made me do.

“Go ahead, princess,” I growl, leaning in close enough that I swear I smell her hatred. “Slap me. See if that makes you feel any better.”

Instead of using her hand on my face, she makes a chopping motion with her arm. It hits my elbow, bending my arm and knocking me off balance. She uses that to her advantage, getting herself free and scrambling across the room. I’ll give her this much: she’s quick.

Her brain moves pretty quick, too. “You need to stop projecting onto me, you know that?” She plunges a hand into her tiny purse and pulls out her phone. “Out of the two of us, you’re the one who’s really afraid of my father. Anything I do, he’ll forgive. But you?” She blows out a low whistle, shaking her head like she feels sorry for me.

“Why don’t you test that theory? Give him a call and tell him what you’ve been up to tonight. I know that’s what you’re about to threaten me with. I’m pretty sure you’ll find him taking my side.”

“Not if he finds out you made a move on me.” She bats her eyes. “Poor, innocent me, all alone with a predator.”

For the second time, she’s knocked me off balance, but this time, it doesn’t show outwardly. At least, I hope not. “You would lie like that? Are you that fucked in the head?”

“Would it be a lie?” The little bitch even pouts. “I mean, you did just get awfully close to me. You described how gross and sick your brain is. And fantasies—you talked about having filthy fantasies. It made me very uncomfortable. I think you behaved extremely unprofessionally.”

She holds up her phone, wiggling it around. “Now, whose side do you think he’s going to take?”

There are limits to even my patience. “So help me, God. Mia, I will take you over my fucking knee and spank the shit out of you if you ever try something like that.”

She thinks I’m bluffing. “Oh, so you want to give me more ammunition. Awesome. Come on, threaten me again. Keep making my job easier.”

I lunge for her, and only then does she panic, scrambling for the kitchen. I’m too quick for her—one arm is all it takes to grab her around the waist and haul her in close to me.

And that’s a mistake because now her wiggling, overheated body is rubbing against mine in the best and worst way possible. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to fight off the erection that keeps threatening.

“Now you listen to me,” I warn in a growl. “You lie to your father about me; you make up stories where I’m the aggressor, and you’re the innocent party. He might get to me, but believe me, I’ll get to you first. It takes ninety minutes to drive here from the compound. That’s an awfully long time for a bad girl to receive her punishment, don’t you think?”

“Release me,” she grunts, doing her damnedest to break free. While I pull her closer, whirling her body around in the process. I’m not going to make it easy for her this time.

“No way. Not until I know you understand.” I take her by the chin, lifting it so we’re eye to eye. “I’m the one with the power here. And you are going to behave yourself. Not because I give a shit whether some frat boy uses and discards you like a cum-filled tissue, either. Because it’s my job.”

Something I don’t recognize flashes in her eyes, drawing her brows together in what looks like sadness. Hopelessness.

“Tell me you understand,” I mutter, my fingers pressing against her jaw a little tighter with each passing moment she’s silent. “Tell me, or else we can stand here like this all night.”

She trembles, but something tells me it’s not from fear. More like blinding rage. “I hate you.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck, yeah. It’s a yes, you bastard.” My arm loosens, and she shoves herself away from me before running to her room and slamming the door loud enough that the walls shake.

One night down. One night when I was barely able to hold on to myself long enough not to cross the line.

How many nights like this do I have left in me?

Because something tells me I might have won the battle, but the war is far from over.