Chapter - 15

RHYS POV...

HEARING THE WORD FUCK LEAVE BRIDGET'S MOUTH  IN THAT

posh, proper voice of hers…

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to do what I’d said I

would do. What she’d asked me to do.

But even though I wanted nothing more than to throw caution

to the wind and say fuck it, I’d give her exactly what we both

craved, I didn’t. Bridget was still drunk. Maybe not as drunk as

she’d been half an hour ago, but intoxicated enough to have

compromised judgment.

I had no clue if this was her or the alcohol talking. Hell, she’d

been ready to go home with Vincent Hauz, and she hated him.

“That wasn’t a promise, princess.” My fingers dug into her skin.

“It sounded like one to me.”

Jesus. Temptation was so close I could almost taste it. All I

had to do was reach out and…

What the hell are you thinking, Larsen? my inner conscience

snarled. She’s your client, not to mention a goddamned princess.

Get the hell away from her before you do something you regret

even more than what you’re doing now.

It didn’t matter she was only my client for two more weeks.

She was still my client, and we’d already shattered almost every

professional boundary tonight.

“This is what I meant,” I bit out, unsure who I was more pissed

at, her or me. “You’re acting like a different person. The Bridget I

know wouldn’t be asking her bodyguard to fuck her. What the hell

is going on with you?”

Her face hardened. “I didn’t sign up for a heart-to-heart, Mr.

Larsen. Either fuck me, or I’ll find someone else who will.”

She let out a small yelp when I bent her fully over the dresser

so her body was at a ninety-degree angle and her cheek pressed

against the wood.

I leaned down until I was so close, I heard her every shallow,

panting breath. “Do that,” I said. “And you’ll be responsible for a

man’s slow, bloody death. Is that what you want, princess?”

Bridget’s hands clenched into fists. “You won’t touch me, and

you won’t let anyone else touch me, either. So tell me, what the

hell do you want, Mr. Larsen?”

You.

My frustration with everything, my whole damn life, reached a

boiling point. “I want to know why you’ve been acting like an

impulsive teenager instead of a grown-ass woman!”

Bridget was the most levelheaded person I knew. At least, she

had been before her personality transplant.

“Because this is the last chance I have!” she yelled. I had

never, not once in the two years I’d worked with her, heard her

raise her voice, and it shocked me enough I loosened my hold on

her and stepped back. Bridget twisted out of my grasp and

straightened to face me, her chest heaving with emotion. “I have

one week left. One week until…”

Sudden, icy terror gripped me. “Until what?” I demanded, bile

rising in my throat. “Are you sick?”

“No.” Bridget looked away. “I’m not sick. I’m just getting the

one thing most people dream of.”

Confusion chased away my brief flash of relief.

“The title of Crown Princess,” she clarified. She slumped

against the dresser, her face weary. “Before you say it, I know.

First-world problems and all that. There are people starving, and

I’m complaining about inheriting a throne.”

My confusion doubled. “But Prince Nikolai…”

“…Is abdicating. For love.” Bridget flashed a humorless smile.

“He had the gall to fall in love with a commoner, and for that, he

has to give up his birthright. Because the law forbids the monarch

of Eldorra to marry anyone not of noble blood.”

Of, for fuck’s sake. What was this, the seventeenth century?

“That’s bullshit.”

“Yes, but it’s bullshit we have to follow. Including me, now that

I’m next in line to the throne.”

My mouth curled into a small snarl at the thought of her

marrying another man. It was irrational, but nothing about my

reactions was rational when it came to her. Bridget could wipe

away every sense of logic and propriety I had.

She continued, oblivious to my turmoil. “The palace is making

the official announcement next week. I’m not supposed to tell

anyone until then, which is why I haven’t said anything.” She

swallowed hard. “After the announcement, I’ll officially be the heir

to the throne, and my life won’t be mine anymore. Everything I do

and say will reflect the crown, and I can’t let my family or country

down.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why I’ve been going a

little…crazy lately. I want to savor being normal for the last time.

Relatively speaking.”

I was silent as I digested her bombshell.

Bridget, the future Queen of Eldorra. Holy shit.

She was right in that most women would kill to trade places

with her. But Bridget was the girl who once ran out in the middle of

a thunderstorm and danced in the rain. Who spent her free time

volunteering at an animal shelter and would rather stay home

watching TV and eating ice cream than attend a fancy party.

To her, becoming queen wasn’t a dream; it was her worst

nightmare.

“It was never supposed to be me. I was the spare.” Bridget

blinked, her eyes bright with unshed tears. My chest squeezed at

the sight. “It was never supposed to be me,” she repeated.

I

grasped her chin and tilted it until she was looking at me.

“You’re a lot of things, princess. Stubborn, infuriating, a pain in my

ass half the time. But I promise you, you’re not a spare anything.”

She let out a weak laugh. “That might be the nicest thing

you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

Another small laugh, one that faded as quickly as it had come.

“What am I going to do?” Bridget whispered. “I’m not ready. I don’t

think I’ll ever be ready.”

“You’re Bridget von Ascheberg,” I said. “You’ll be ready.”

Bridget excelled at everything she did, and being queen would

be no exception.

“In the meantime…” I hoped I didn’t regret what I was about to

say. “You’re going to live your life the way you want. As long as it

doesn’t involve Vincent fucking Hauz.”

If I ever saw that fucker again, I would break every bone in his

body just for touching her and occupying space in her thoughts.

He didn’t deserve any inch of her.

Bridget brightened a bit. “Does that mean you’ll fuck me?”

Definitely still drunk.

I groaned, well aware of the erection that hadn’t waned at all

this entire time. “No, princess. That’s not a good idea.”

She frowned. “But it’s on my bucket list.”

Oh, Jesus. I was almost afraid to ask, but… “You have a

bucket list?”

Bridget nodded. “For before I return to Eldorra.” She ticked off

the items on her fingers. “One, go someplace where no one

knows or cares who I am. Two, eat and read and sunbathe all day

without having to worry about an event later or waking up early

the next day. Three, do an adrenaline rush activity my grandfather

will yell at me for, like bungee jumping. And four, have an orgasm I

didn’t give myself.” Her shoulders slumped. “It’s been a while.”

Fuck. Now the mental image of Bridget giving herself an

orgasm would forever be etched in my mind.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. How the hell did I get myself

into this situation? The night had gone so far off the rails I couldn’t

see the tracks anymore.

“One is probably off the table,” Bridget said. “But you can help

me with four.”

She was going to achieve something neither my mother nor

the military had. She was going to kill me.

“Go to bed,” I said in a strained voice. “Alone. You’re drunk,

and it’s late.”

Bridget stared at my groin, where my obvious arousal tented

my pants. “But—”

“No.” I needed to get out of there. Stat. “No buts. You’ll thank

me in the morning.”

Before she could protest further, I left and headed straight to

my bathroom, where I took the world’s longest, coldest shower. It

did nothing to slake the heat of my arousal. Neither did fisting my

cock until I reached a wholly unsatisfying orgasm.

Only one thing could take the edge off my frustration, and I’d

turned it down like an idiot.

I shut off the faucet and dried myself, resigned to a sleepless

night.

Meanwhile, the terrible idea that had been brewing in the back

of my mind since Bridget told me about her bucket list wouldn’t go

away. Instead, it sounded more and more like a good idea.

It was crazy and possibly dangerous. I had no time to prepare,

and it went against all my training and protective instincts.

But I couldn’t get Bridget’s sad eyes or words out of mind.

I want to savor being normal for the last time.

“I’m going to regret this,” I muttered as I stepped out of the

bathroom and flipped open my laptop.

It didn’t matter.

Because as much as I wanted Bridget safe, I wanted her

happy more.

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