She can never be his...but he's taking her anyway.

Stoic, broody, and arrogant, elite bodyguard Rhys Larsen has two

rules: 1) Protect his clients at all costs 2) Do not become

emotionally involved. Ever.

He has never once been tempted to break those rules…until her.

Bridget von Ascheberg. A princess with a stubborn streak that

matches his own and a hidden fire that reduces his rules to ash.

She’s nothing he expected and everything he never knew he

needed.

Day by day, inch by inch, she breaks down his defenses until he’s

faced with a truth he can no longer deny: he swore an oath to

protect her, but all he wants is to ruin her. Take her.

Because she’s his.

His princess.

His forbidden fruit.

His every depraved fantasy.

***

Regal, strong-willed, and bound by the chains of duty, Princess

Bridget dreams of the freedom to live and love as she chooses.

But when her brother abdicates, she’s suddenly faced with the

prospect of a loveless, politically expedient marriage and a throne

she never wanted.

And as she navigates the intricacies—and treacheries—of her

new role, she must also hide her desire for a man she can’t have.

Her bodyguard.

Her protector.

Her ultimate ruin.

Unexpected and forbidden, theirs is a love that could destroy a

kingdom…and doom them both.

NOTE : FIRST READ TWISTED LOVE CAUSE  IT'S HAS OVERLAPPING TIMELINES...

***             SO ITS HIGHLY NECESSARY  TO PART I [ TWISTED LOVE ]***

#  SONG #

All along it was a fever

A cold sweat, hot headed believer

I threw my hands in the air, and said, "Show me something"

He said, "If you dare, come a little closer"

'Round and around and around and around we go

Oh, now tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can't live without you

It takes me all the way

I want you to stay

It's not much of a life you're living

It's not just something you take, it's given

Round and around and around and around we go

Oh, now tell me now, tell me now, tell me now you know

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can't live without you

It takes me all the way

And I want you to stay

Ooh, the reason I hold on

Ooh, 'cause I need this hole gone

Well, funny you're the broken one

But I'm the only one who needed saving

'Cause when you never see the light

It's hard to know which one of us is caving

Not really sure how to feel about it

Something in the way you move

Makes me feel like I can't live without you

It takes me all the way

I want you to stay

Stay

I want you to stay

Ooh

BRIDGET POV

" SPANK ME! MASTER, SPANK ME! "

I stifled a laugh at my bodyguard Booth’s face as Leather the

parrot squawked in his cage. The parrot’s name said all you

needed to know about its previous owner’s sex life, and while

some found him amusing, Booth did not. He hated birds. He said

they reminded him of giant flying rats.

“One day, he and Leather are going to get into it.” Emma, the

director of Wags & Whiskers, clucked her tongue. “Poor Booth.”

I

held back another laugh even as I felt a small pang in my

heart. “Probably not. Booth’s leaving soon.”

I

tried not to think about it. Booth had been with me for four

years, but he was leaving for paternity leave next week and

staying in Eldorra after to be closer to his wife and newborn. I was

happy for him, but I would miss him. He was not only my

bodyguard but a friend, and I could only hope his replacement and

I had the same rapport.

“Ah, yes, I forgot.” Emma’s face softened. She was in her early

sixties, with short, gray-streaked hair and warm brown eyes. “Lots

of changes for you in a short time, my dear.”

She knew how much I hated goodbyes.

I’d been volunteering at Wags & Whiskers, a local pet rescue

shelter, since my sophomore year of college, and Emma had

become a close friend and mentor. Unfortunately, she, too, was

leaving. She’d still be in Hazelburg, but she was retiring as the

shelter director, which meant I would no longer see her every

week.

“One of them doesn’t have to happen,” I said, only half-joking.

“You could stay.”

She shook her head. “I’ve run the shelter for almost a decade,

and it’s time for new blood. Someone who can clean the cages

without her back and hips acting up.”

“That’s what volunteers are for.” I gestured toward myself. I

was belaboring the point, but I couldn’t help it. Between Emma,

Booth, and my impending graduation from Thayer University,

where I was majoring in international relations—as expected of a

princess—I had enough goodbyes to last me for the next five

years.

“You are a sweetheart. Don’t tell the others, but…” She

lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’re my favorite

volunteer. It’s rare to find someone of your stature who does

charity because she wants to, not because she’s putting on a

show for the cameras.”

My cheeks tinted pink at the compliment. “It’s my pleasure. I

adore animals.” I took after my mother in that regard. It was one of

the few pieces of her I had left.

In another life, I would’ve been a veterinarian, but in this life?

My path had been laid out for me since before I was born.

“You would make a great queen.” Emma stepped aside to

allow a staff member with a wriggling puppy in his arms to pass.

“Truly.”

I laughed at the thought. “Thank you, but I have no interest in

being queen. Even if I did, the chances of me wearing the crown

are slim.”

As the princess of Eldorra, a small European kingdom, I came

closer to ruling than most people. My parents died when I was a

kid—my mother at childbirth, my father in a car accident a few

years later—so I was second in line to the throne. My brother

Nikolai, who was four years my senior, had been training to take

over for our grandfather King Edvard since he was old enough to

walk. Once Nikolai had children, I would be bumped further down

the line of succession, something I had zero complaints about. I

wanted to be queen as much as I wanted to bathe in a vat of acid.

Emma frowned in disappointment. “Ah, well, the sentiment is

the same.”

“Emma!” one of the other staff members called out. “We’ve got

a situation with the cats.”

She sighed. “It’s always the cats,” she muttered. “Anyway, I

wanted to tell you about my retirement before you heard it from

anyone else. I’ll still be here until the end of next week, so I’ll see

you on Tuesday.”

“Sounds good.” I hugged her goodbye and watched her rush

off to deal with a literal catfight, the pang in my chest growing.

I was glad Emma hadn’t told me about her retirement until the

end of my shift, or it would’ve been in my head the whole time.

“Are you ready, Your Highness?” Booth asked, clearly eager to

get away from Leather.

“Yes. Let’s go.”

“Yes, let’s go!” Leather squawked as we exited. “Spank me!”

My laugh finally broke free at Booth’s grimace. “I’ll miss you,

and so will Leather.” I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets to

protect them against the sharp autumn chill. “Tell me about the

new bodyguard. What’s he like?”

The leaves crunched beneath my boots as we walked toward

my off-campus house, which was only fifteen minutes away. I

adored fall and everything that came with it—the cozy clothes, the

riot of earthy colors on the trees, the hint of cinnamon and smoke

in the air.

In Athenberg, I wouldn’t be able to walk down the street

without getting mobbed, but that was the great thing about Thayer.

Its student population boasted so many royals and celebrity

offspring, a princess was no big deal. I could live my life like a

relatively normal college girl.

“I don’t know much about the new guard,” Booth admitted.

“He’s a contractor.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

The Crown sometimes hired private security contractors to

serve alongside the Royal Guard, but it was rare. In my twenty

one years, I’d never had a bodyguard who was a contractor.

for

“He’s supposed to be the best,” Booth said, mistaking my

surprise

wariness.

“Ex-Navy

SEAL,

top-notch

recommendations, experience guarding high-profile personalities.

He’s his company’s most sought-after professional.”

“Hmm.” An American guard. Interesting. “I do hope we get

along.”

When two people were around each other twenty-four-seven,

compatibility mattered. A lot. I knew people who hadn’t meshed

with their security details, and those arrangements never lasted

long.

“I’m sure you will. You’re easy to get along with, Your

Highness.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m your boss.”

Booth grinned. “Technically, the Director of the Royal Guard is

my boss.”

I

wagged a playful finger at him. “Backtalking already? I’m

disappointed.”

He laughed. Despite his insistence on calling me Your

Highness, we’d settled into a casual camaraderie over the years

that I appreciated. Excessive formality exhausted me.

We chatted about Booth’s impending fatherhood and move

back to Eldorra for the rest of our walk. He was near bursting with

pride over his unborn child, and I couldn’t help a small stab of

envy. I was nowhere near ready for marriage and kids, but I

wanted what Booth and his wife had.

Love. Passion. Choice. Things no amount of money could buy.

A sardonic smile touched my lips. No doubt I’d sound like an

ungrateful brat to anyone who could hear my thoughts. I could get

any material thing I desired with a snap of my fingers, and I was

whining about love.

But people were people, no matter their title, and some desires

were universal. Unfortunately, the ability to fulfill them was not.

Maybe I would fall in love with a prince who’d sweep me off my

feet, but I doubted it. Most likely, I’d end up in a boring, socially

acceptable marriage with a boring, socially acceptable man who

only had sex missionary style and vacationed in the same two

places every year.

I pushed the depressing thought aside. I had a long way to go

before I even thought about marriage, and I’d cross that bridge

when I got there.

My house came into sight, and my eyes latched onto the

unfamiliar black BMW idling in the driveway. I assumed it

belonged to my new bodyguard.

“He’s early.” Booth raised a surprised brow. “He’s not

supposed to arrive until five.”

“Punctuality is a good sign, I suppose.” Though half an hour

early might be overkill.

The car door opened, and a large black boot planted itself on

the driveway. A second later, the biggest man I’d ever seen in real

life unfolded himself from the front seat, and my mouth turned

bone dry.

Holy. Hotness.

My new bodyguard had to be at least six foot four, maybe even

six-five, with solid, sculpted muscle packed onto every inch of his

powerful frame. Longish black hair grazed his collar and fell over

one gunmetal-gray eye, and his legs were so long he ate up the

distance between us in three strides.

For someone so large, he moved with surprising stealth. If I

hadn’t been looking at him, I wouldn’t have noticed him approach

at all.

He stopped in front of me, and I swore my body tilted forward a

centimeter, unable to resist his gravitational pull. I was also

strangely tempted to run my hand through his thick dark locks.

Most veterans kept their hair military-style short even after leaving

the service, but clearly, he wasn’t one of them.

“Rhys Larsen.” His deep, gravelly voice rolled over me like a

velvety caress. Now that he was closer, I spotted a thin scar

slashing through his left eyebrow, adding a hint of menace to his

dark good looks. Stubble darkened his jaw, and a hint of a tattoo

peeked out from both sleeves of his shirt.

He was the opposite of the preppy, clean-shaven types I

usually went for, but that didn’t stop a swarm of butterflies from

taking flight in my stomach.

I was so flustered by their appearance I forgot to respond until

Booth let out a small cough.

“I’m Bridget. It’s nice to meet you.” I hoped neither man noticed

the flush creeping over my cheeks.

I

omitted the Princess title on purpose. It seemed too

pretentious for casual, one-on-one settings.

I

did, however, notice Rhys didn’t address me as Your

Highness the way Booth did. I didn’t mind—I’d been trying to get

Booth to call me by my first name for years—but it was another

sign my new guard would be nothing like my old one.

“You have to move.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your house.” Rhys tilted his head toward my spacious but

cozy two-bedroom abode. “It’s a security nightmare. I don’t know

who signed off on the location, but you have to move.”

The butterflies screeched to a halt.

We’d met less than two minutes ago, and he was already

ordering me around like he was the boss. Who does he think he

is? “I’ve lived here for two years. I’ve never had an issue.”

“It only takes one time.”

“I’m not moving.” I punctuated my words with a sharpness I

rarely used, but Rhys’s condescending tone grated on my nerves.

Any attraction I’d felt toward him crumbled into ash, dying the

quickest death in my history with the opposite sex.

Not that it would’ve gone anywhere. He was, after all, my

bodyguard, but it would’ve been nice to have eye candy without

wanting to drop-kick him into the next century.

Men. They always ruined it by opening their mouths.

“You’re the security expert,” I added coolly. “Figure it out.”

Rhys glowered at me beneath thick, dark brows. I couldn’t

remember the last time anyone had glowered at me.

“Yes, Your Highness.” His inflection on the last two words

made a mockery of the title, and the embers of indignation in my

stomach stoked brighter.

I

opened my mouth to respond—with what, I wasn’t sure,

because he hadn’t been outright hostile—but Booth cut in before I

said something I would regret.

“Why don’t we go inside? It looks like it’s about to rain,” he said

quickly.

Rhys and I looked up. The clear blue sky winked back at us.

Booth cleared his throat. “You never know. Rain showers come

out of nowhere,” he muttered. “After you, Your Highness.”

We entered the house in silence.

I

shrugged off my coat and hung it on the brass tree by the

door before making another stab at civility. “Would you like

something to drink?”

Irritation still stabbed at me, but I hated confrontation, and I

didn’t want my relationship with my new bodyguard to start on

such a sour note.

“No.” Rhys scanned the living room, which I’d decorated in

shades of jade green and cream. A housekeeper came by twice a

month to deep clean, but I kept the place tidy myself for the most

part.

“Why don’t we get to know each other?” Booth said in a jovial,

too-loud voice. “Er, I mean you and Rhys, Your Highness. We can

talk needs, expectations, schedules…”

“Excellent idea.” I mustered a strained smile and gestured

Rhys toward the couch. “Please. Sit.”

For the next forty-five minutes, we ran through logistics for the

transition. Booth would remain my bodyguard until Monday, but

Rhys would shadow him until then so he could get a feel for how

things worked.

“This is all fine.” Rhys closed the file containing a detailed

breakdown of my class and weekly schedules, upcoming public

events, and expected travel. “Let me be frank, Princess Bridget.

You are not my first, nor will you be the last, royal I’ve guarded.

I’ve worked with Harper Security for five years, and I’ve never had

a client harmed while under my protection. Do you want to know

why?”

“Let me guess. Your dazzling charm stunned the would-be

attackers into complacency,” I said.

Booth choked out a laugh, which he quickly turned into a

cough.

Rhys’s mouth didn’t so much as twitch. Of course it didn’t. My

joke wasn’t Comedy Central worthy, but I imagined finding a

waterfall in the Sahara would be easier than finding a drop of

humor in that big, infuriatingly sculpted body.

“The reason is twofold,” Rhys said calmly, as if I hadn’t spoken

at all. “One, I do not become involved in my clients’ personal lives.

I am here to safeguard you from physical harm. That is all. I am

not here to be your friend, confidant, or anything else. This

ensures my judgment remains uncompromised. Two, my clients

understand the way things must work if they are to remain safe.”

“And how is that?” My polite smile carried a warning he either

didn’t notice or ignored.

“They do what I say, when I say it for anything security

related.” Rhys’s gray eyes locked onto mine. It was like staring at

an unyielding steel wall. “Understand, Your Highness?”

Forget love and passion. What I wanted most was to slap the

arrogant expression off his face and knee him in the family jewels

while I was at it.

I

pressed the pads of my fingers into my thighs and forced

myself to count to three before I responded.

When I spoke again, my voice was frigid enough to make

Antarctica look like a beach paradise. “Yes.” My smile sharpened.

“Luckily for us both, Mr. Larsen, I have no interest in being your

friend, confidant, or ‘anything else.’”

I didn’t bother dignifying the second part of his statement—the

one about me doing what he said, when he said it—with a

response. I wasn’t an idiot. I’d always heeded Booth’s security

advice, but I’d be damned if I fed into Rhys’s inflated sense of self.

“Good.” Rhys stood. I hated how tall he was. His presence

obliterated everything else in the vicinity until he was the only

thing I could focus on. “I’ll assess the house before we discuss

next steps, including upgrading your security system. Right now,

any teenager with access to YouTube tutorials can bypass the

alarm.” He shot me a disapproving glare before he disappeared

into the kitchen.

My jaw dropped. “He—you…” I sputtered, uncharacteristically

speechless. “Why, I never!” I turned to Booth, who was trying to

melt into the giant potted plant by the front door. “You’re not

leaving. I forbid it.”

Rhys could not be my bodyguard. I would murder him, and my

housekeeper would murder me for staining the carpet with blood.

“He probably has first-day jitters.” Booth looked as uncertain

as he sounded. “You’ll get along just fine after the, ah, transition

period, Your Highness.”

Perhaps…if we made it out of the transition period alive.

“You’re right.” I pressed my fingers to my temple and took a

deep breath. I can do this. I’d dealt with difficult people before. My

cousin Andreas was the spawn of Satan, and a British lord once

tried to grope me under the table at Monaco’s Rose Ball. He only

stopped after I “accidentally” stabbed his hand with a fork.

What was one surly bodyguard compared to entitled

aristocrats, nosy reporters, and evil family members?

Rhys returned. Surprise, surprise, his glower hadn’t melted.

“I’ve detected six security vulnerabilities we need to address

ASAP,” he said. “Let’s start with number one: the windows.”

“Which ones?” Stay calm. Stay reasonable.

“All of them.”

Booth covered his face with his hands while I contemplated

turning my hairpin into a murder weapon.

Rhys and I definitely weren’t making it out of the transition

alive.

RHYS POV.

**PRINCESS BRIDGET VON ASCHEBERG OF ELDORRA WOULD BE **

the death of me. If not literal death, then the death of my patience

and sanity. Of that, I was certain, and we’d only been working

together for two weeks.

I’d never had a client who infuriated me as much as she did.

Sure, she was beautiful (not a good thing when you were in my

position) and charming (to everyone except me), but she was also

a royal pain in my ass. When I said “right,” she went left; when I

said “leave,” she stayed. She insisted on spontaneously attending

crowded events before I could do the advance work, and she

treated my security concerns like they were an afterthought

instead of an emergency.

Bridget said that was the way things had worked with Booth,

and she’d been fine. I said I wasn’t Booth, so I didn’t give a damn

what she did or didn’t do when she was with him. I ran the show

now.

She didn’t take that well, but I didn’t give a shit. I wasn’t here to

win Mr. Congeniality. I was here to keep her alive.

Tonight, “here” meant the most crowded bar in Hazelburg. Half

of Thayer had turned out for The Crypt’s Friday night half-off

specials, and I was sure the bar was over max capacity.

Loud music, loud people. My least favorite kind of place and,

apparently, Bridget’s most favorite, considering how vehement

she’d been about coming here.

“So.” Her redheaded friend Jules eyed me over the rim of her

glass. “You were a Navy SEAL, huh?”

“Yes.” I wasn’t fooled by her flirty tone or party girl demeanor.

I’d run in-depth background checks on all of Bridget’s friends the

moment I took the job, and I knew for a fact Jules Ambrose was

more dangerous than she appeared. But she didn’t pose a threat

to Bridget, so I didn’t mention what she did in Ohio. It wasn’t my

story to tell.

“I love military men,” she purred.

“Ex-military, J.” Bridget didn’t look at me as she finished her

drink. “Besides, he’s too old for you.”

That was one of the few things I agreed with her on. I was only

thirty-one, so I wasn’t ancient by any means, but I’d done and

witnessed enough shit in my life to feel ancient, especially

compared to fresh-faced college students who hadn’t even had

their first real job yet.

I’d never been fresh-faced, not even when I was a kid. I grew

up in dirt and grit.

Meanwhile, Bridget sat across from me, looking like the

fairytale princess she was. Big blue eyes and lush pink lips set in

a heart-shaped face, perfect alabaster skin, golden hair falling in

loose waves down her back. Her black top bared her smooth

shoulders, and tiny diamonds glittered on her ears.

Young, rich, and regal. The opposite of me in every way.

“Negative. I love older men.” Jules upped the wattage of her

smile as she gave me another once-over. “And you’re hot.”

I didn’t smile back. I wasn’t dumb enough to get involved with

a client’s friend. I already had my hands full with Bridget.

Figuratively speaking.

“Leave the man alone.” Stella laughed. Fashion design and

communications major. Daughter of an environmental lawyer and

the chief of staff to a cabinet secretary. Social media star. My

brain ticked off all the things I knew about her as she snapped a

photo of her cocktail before taking a sip. “Find someone your own

age.”

“Guys my age are boring. I’d know. I dated a bunch of them.”

Jules nudged Ava, the last member of Bridget’s close friend

group. Aside from Jules’s inappropriate come-ons, they were a

decent bunch. Certainly better than the friends of the Hollywood

starlet I’d guarded for three excruciating months, during which I

saw more “accidental” genital flashings than I’d thought I would

ever see in my life. “Speaking of older men, where’s your boo?”

Ava blushed. “He can’t make it. He has a conference call with

some business partners in Japan.”

“Oh, he’ll make it,” Jules drawled. “You in a bar, surrounded by

drunken, horny college guys? I’m surprised he hasn’t—ah. Speak

of the devil. There he is.”

I followed her gaze to where a tall, dark-haired man cut a path

through the crowd of said drunken, horny college guys.

Green eyes, tailored designer clothing, and an icy expression

that made the frozen tundra of Greenland look like tropical

islands.

Alex Volkov.

I

knew the name and reputation, even if I didn’t know him

personally. He was a legend in certain circles.

The de facto CEO of the country’s largest real estate

development company, Alex had enough connections and

blackmail material to bring down half of Congress and the Fortune

500.

I

didn’t trust him, but he was dating one of Bridget’s best

friends, which meant his presence was unavoidable.

Ava’s face lit up when she saw him. “Alex! I thought you had a

business call.”

“The call wrapped up early, so I thought I’d swing by.” He

brushed his lips over hers.

“I love when I’m right, which is almost always.” Jules shot Alex

a sly glance. “Alex Volkov in a college bar? Never thought I’d see

the day.”

He ignored her.

The music changed from low-key R&B to a remix of the latest

radio hit, and the bar went wild. Jules and Stella scrambled out of

their seats to hit the dance floor, followed by Bridget, but Ava

stayed put.

“You guys go. I’ll stay here.” She yawned. “I’m kinda tired.”

Jules looked horrified. “It’s only eleven!” She turned to me.

“Rhys, dance with us. You have to make up for this…blasphemy.”

She gestured at where Ava was curled into Alex’s side while he

wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. Ava made a face;

Alex’s expression didn’t so much as budge. I’d seen blocks of ice

show more emotion than him.

I remained seated. “I don’t dance.”

“You don’t dance. Alex doesn’t sing. Aren’t you two a bundle of

joy,” Jules grumbled. “Bridge, do something.”

Bridget glanced at me before looking away. “He’s working.

Come on,” she teased. “Aren’t Stella and I enough?”

Jules let out an aggrieved sigh. “I suppose. Way to guilt-trip

me.”

“I learned the subtle art of guilt-tripping in princess school.”

Bridget pulled her friends onto the dance floor. “Let’s go.”

To no one’s surprise, Ava and Alex called it a night soon after,

and I sat at the table by myself, keeping half an eye on the girls

and the other half on the rest of the bar. At least, I tried. My gaze

strayed back to Bridget and Bridget alone more often than I’d like,

and not just because she was my client.

I’d known she would be trouble the minute Christian told me

about my new assignment. Told, not asked, because Christian

Harper dealt in orders, not requests. But we had enough of a

history I could’ve turned down the assignment had I wanted to—

and I’d really fucking wanted to. Me guarding the Princess of

Eldorra when I wanted nothing to do with Eldorra? Worst idea in

the history of bad ideas.

Then I’d looked at the picture of Bridget and saw something in

her eyes that tugged at me. Maybe it was the hint of loneliness or

the vulnerability she tried to hide. Whatever it was, it was enough

for me to say yes, albeit reluctantly.

Now here I was, stuck with a charge who barely tolerated me,

and vice versa.

You’re a goddamned idiot, Larsen.

But as infuriating as I found Bridget, I had to admit, I liked

seeing her the way she was tonight. Big smile, glowing face, eyes

sparkling with laughter and mischief. None of the loneliness I’d

spotted in the headshot Christian gave me.

She threw her hands in the air and swayed her hips to the

music, and my gaze lingered on the bare expanse of her long,

smooth legs before I tore it away, my jaw tightening.

I’d guarded plenty of beautiful women before, but when I saw

Bridget in person for the first time, I’d reacted in a way I never had

for my previous clients. Blood heating, cock hardening, hands

itching to find out how her golden hair would feel wrapped around

my fist. It’d been visceral, unexpected, and almost enough to

make me walk away from the job before I started, because lusting

after a client could only end in disaster.

But my pride won out, and I stayed. I just hoped I wouldn’t

regret it.

Jules and Stella said something to Bridget, who nodded before

they left for what I presumed was the bathroom. They’d been

gone for only two minutes when a frat boy-looking type in a pink

polo shirt beelined toward Bridget with a determined expression.

My shoulders tensed.

I

rose from my seat right as Frat Boy reached Bridget and

whispered something in her ear. She shook her head, but he

didn’t leave.

Something dark unfurled in my stomach. If there was one thing

I hated, it was men who couldn’t take a fucking hint.

Frat Boy reached for Bridget. She pulled her arm away before

he could make contact and said something else, her expression

sharper this time. His face twisted into an ugly scowl. He reached

for her again, but before he could touch her, I stepped in between

them, cutting him off.

“Is there a problem?” I stared down at him.

Frat Boy oozed the entitlement of someone who wasn’t used

to hearing no thanks to Daddy’s money, and he was either too

stupid or too arrogant to realize I was two seconds away from

rearranging his face so thoroughly a plastic surgeon wouldn’t be

able to fix it.

“No problem. I was just asking her to dance.” Frat Boy eyed

me like he was thinking of taking me on.

Definitely stupid.

“I don’t want to dance.” Bridget stepped around me and stared

Frat Boy down herself. “I already told you twice. Don’t make me

tell you a third time. You won’t like what’ll happen.”

There were times when I could forget Bridget was a princess,

like when she was singing off-key in the shower—she thought I

couldn’t hear her, but I could—or pulling an all-night study session

at the kitchen table.

Now was not one of those times. Regal iciness radiated from

her every pore, and a small, impressed smirk touched my mouth

before I squashed it.

Frat Boy’s ugly scowl remained, but he was outnumbered, and

he knew it. He shuffled off, muttering “Stupid cunt” under his

breath as he did so.

Judging by the way Bridget’s cheeks pinkened, she heard him.

Unfortunately for him, so did I.

He didn’t make it two feet before I grabbed him hard enough

he yelped. One strategic twist of my wrist and I could break his

arm, but I didn’t want to cause a scene, so he was lucky.

For now.

“What did you say?” A dangerous edge bled into my voice.

Bridget and I weren’t each other’s favorite people, but that

didn’t make it okay for anyone to call her names. Not under my

watch.

It was a matter of principle and basic fucking decency.

“N-nothing.” Frat Boy’s puny brain had finally caught up with

the situation, and his face reddened with panic.

“I don’t think it was nothing.” I tightened my hold, and he

whimpered in pain. “I think you used a very bad word to insult the

lady here.” Another tightening, another whimper. “And I think you

better apologize before the situation escalates. Don’t you?”

I didn’t need to spell out what escalates meant.

“I’m sorry,” Frat Boy mumbled to Bridget, who blinked back at

him with an icy expression. She didn’t respond.

“I didn’t hear you,” I said.

Frat Boy’s eyes flashed with hate, but he wasn’t stupid enough

to argue. “I’m sorry,” he said louder.

“For what?”

“For calling you a…” He shot a fearful look in my direction. “For

calling you a bad name.”

“And?” I prompted.

His brow creased in confusion.

My smile contained more threat than humor. “Say, ‘I’m sorry for

being a limp-dicked idiot who doesn’t know how to respect

women.’”

I thought I heard Bridget choke back a small laugh, but I was

focused on Frat Boy’s reaction. He looked like he wanted to punch

me with his free hand, and I almost wished he would. It would be

amusing to see him try to reach my face. I towered over him by a

good eight inches, and he had shrimp arms.

“I’m sorry for being a limp-dicked idiot who doesn’t know how

to respect women.” Resentment poured off him in waves.

“Do you accept his apology?” I asked Bridget. “If you don’t, I

can take this outside.”

Frat Boy paled.

Bridget tilted her head, her face pensive, and another shadow

of a smile ghosted my mouth. She’s good.

“I suppose,” she finally said in the tone of someone who was

doing someone else a huge favor. “There’s no use wasting more

of our time on someone insignificant.”

My amusement tempered some of the anger running hot in my

veins at Frat Boy’s earlier comment. “You got lucky.” I released

him. “If I ever see you bothering her or another woman again…” I

lowered my voice. “You might as well learn how to do everything

left-handed because your right one will be out of commission.

Permanently. Now leave.”

I

didn’t have to tell him twice. Frat Boy fled, his pink shirt

bobbing in the crowd until he disappeared out the exit.

Good riddance.

“Thank you,” Bridget said. “I appreciate you dealing with him,

even though it’s frustrating it took someone else to intervene

before he got the hint. Isn’t me saying no enough?” Her brow

puckered with annoyance.

“Some people are idiots, and some people are assholes.” I

stepped aside to allow a group of giggling partygoers past. “Just

so happened you ran into one who was both.”

That earned me a small smile. “Mr. Larsen, I do believe we’re

having a civil conversation.”

“Are we? Someone check the weather in hell,” I deadpanned.

Bridget’s smile widened, and I’d be damned if I didn’t feel a

small kick in my gut at the sight.

“How about a drink?” She tilted her head toward the bar. “On

me.”

I shook my head. “I’m on the clock, and I don’t drink alcohol.”

Surprise flashed across her face. “Ever?”

“Ever.” No drugs, no alcohol, no smoking. I’d seen the havoc

they wreaked, and I had no interest in becoming another statistic.

“Not my thing.”

Bridget’s expression told me she suspected there was more to

the story than I was letting on, but she didn’t press the issue,

which I appreciated. Some people were too damn nosy.

“Sorry that took so long!” Jules returned with Stella in tow. “The

line at the bathroom was insane.” Her eyes roved between me

and Bridget. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Mr. Larsen was keeping me company while you guys

were gone,” Bridget said without missing a beat.

“Really?” Jules arched an eyebrow. “How nice of him.”

Neither Bridget nor I took the bait.

“Calm down, J,” I heard Stella say as I returned to the table

now that I’d handled the situation with Frat Boy and her friends

were back. “It’s his job to look after her.”

Damn right. It was my job, and Bridget was my client. Nothing

more, nothing less.

Bridget glanced at me, and our eyes locked for a split second

before she looked away.

My hand flexed on my thigh.

Sure, I was attracted to her. She was beautiful, smart, and had

a spine of steel. Of course I was attracted to her. That didn’t mean

I should or would act on it.

In my five years as a bodyguard, I’d never once crossed my

professional boundaries.

And I wasn’t about to start now.