Page 12 of The Forbidden Bodyguard

I hoped not. For my client’s sake.

The elevator doors open fully, and I lift my head.

Before me stands a slim, five-foot-six brunette. She’s even more gorgeous in real life, and I can’t help but think she looks remarkably like a mafia princess with her olive skin and sleek, dark, wavy hair.

“Stella Voss.” She holds out her hand confidently as I step out of the elevator.

“Declan Sloan.”

The moment our hands connect, a bolt of electricity slams through my body. When her eyes widen, I know she felt it, too.

Damn.

I can’t believe my job is to protect this beautiful woman while I stand back and watch her marry a monster.

CHAPTER FOUR

STELLA

––––––––

The idea of hiring my own security came to me in the middle of the night after my father announced he was trading me to a man he owed.

Trading me for his life.

That was two weeks ago.

I don’t know if Dad was always planning to choose the man I married, or what he told me was true. My father lies; I know that. It’s no wonder, in hindsight, that he wanted me to remain in Manhattan.

Not that I’d planned to leave the city.

In many ways, he controlled my life via my trust fund and the purchase of the penthouse.

Despite brushing off Charlotte’s question the other night, I have no choice but to marry this man. To marry Tony Marino.

I refused initially. “No. No way. I can’t believe you’d even ask me to do this.”

“I’m not asking,” my father replied.

“Why?” I was shocked and not even sure why I asked that question, because the answer was still no. Pure and simple.

No fucking way.

“Stella, you need to go into your new family without knowing the details. I’m not telling you a thing,” Dad said as if this was a done deal.

My new family.

“Are you insane? I’m not marrying a stranger. There are laws against this sort of thing,” I’d gasped, feeling like I had walked into a wormhole or different reality.

But I knew my father.

I knew he was serious.

This wasn’t a joke and, sadly, I wasn’t in a drug-induced coma having a nightmare. It might have been a better option.

Dad had invited me into his den and closed the door. That rarely happened. He meant business, and I knew, somehow, that’s exactly what this was.

Business.